On the eve of a critical visit by the Russian President a former KGB general is shot to death on a quiet street in a Washington suburb. His death is attributed to a common mugging. The CIA is suspicious, but is barred from operating on American soil and must call a shadowy operative out of retirement to investigate. | Photo: Michael R. Davidson | Link | Incubus, Michael R. Davidson, Cia, Kgb, Book, Author, War, Cold War, Russia,

Former KGB general is shot to death in DC

In the development of this novel the author was inspired in part by actual events connected with the dissolution of the Soviet Union and its aftermath that have been amply reported in the press and literature.

Having made this clarification it is important to emphasize the fact that this is a work of fiction and the situations described, as well as the characters and their actions are totally imaginary.

Dedication: To the mole hunters who guard our flanks
Incubus: One that oppresses or burdens like a nightmare.
The question... hangs like an incubus in the air.
Richard M. Helms
Director, CIA 1966 - 1973

Ballston ' Northern Virginia
The General wished his condominium provided a parking area. The two block walk from the space he rented by the month in a public garage was beginning to tax him and his daughter nattered at him constantly about it. What was he supposed to do? Hire a chauffeur? He chuckled softly to himself as the thought crossed his mind that at his age he should consider himself fortunate to be able to walk two blocks at all. He'd just returned from a small gathering of friends organized by his daughter to celebrate his 80th birthday, which would be tomorrow.
He was a man accustomed to cooler climes so the evening drop in temperature was a relief from the heat of the day. He had led a full life, a successful and above all interesting life, and in that he was more fortunate that most or more cursed. Like other men the General also had done things that upon reflection now caused him shame, but soon he would rectify at least one those mistakes so that he might meet his Maker with a 50/50 chance of escaping Hell.
He shook his head at the irony. Advancing age, like foxholes, abhors atheists.
He considered the implications for an old atheist as he turned from the bright lights of the main thoroughfare into the side street where he lived and the final half block to his building's entrance. The lighting here was not so good, with pools of relative gloom between the evenly spaced street lamps, but he knew the way well.
The dead end street was only a block long and lined with look-alike red brick condos whose residents seldom ventured outside in the evening to socialize, preferring instead to remain within the electronic bubbles created by the glow of flat screen TV's and five channel sound systems. The General found such voluntary isolation curious and wondered if it were a phenomenon caused by the infestation of modern society by electronics, or if there were something deeper within urban dwellers that rendered them antisocial.
Given the slow pace of the old man it would cost only a few seconds for the dark figure following to catch up. John Buchalter wore a baseball cap that placed his face in shadow, and a loose shirt with the tail outside his jeans.
He reached beneath his shirt for the snub nosed .38 he carried stuffed into his waistband. It was a cheap gun, a 'Saturday night special,' for which he had paid a man he knew in Northeast DC an exorbitant $300.
Buchalter had waited for the old man in the parking garage and considered killing him there, but had discarded the idea almost immediately. The garage was too public and too close to the main thoroughfare. He didn't want to have to kill any innocent witnesses. The dead-end street on which the General lived would serve his purpose well.

He closed the distance quickly, the rubber soles of his athletic shoes silent against the concrete, drawing the .38 as he moved. Buchalter was a big man, and he could have overpowered the aged General easily. But his orders were to shoot him with the cheap gun. Within seconds he was directly behind his quarry who sensed his presence and had just begun to turn his head when Buchalter extended his arm so the pistol was within inches of the General's head and pulled the trigger. His victim dropped like a bundle of rags to the sidewalk. Death was instantaneous.
Buchalter waited, listening. There was no reaction to the crack of the single shot in the night, no windows opened, no alarm raised. This July was oppressively hot in Washington and its suburbs. Air conditioners were pumping tons of cooled air into hermetically sealed apartments and houses, isolating their inhabitants from the outside world.
Satisfied that he had attracted no attention, he knelt quickly to go through the dead man's pockets, removing the wallet, the man's watch, everything of value. This was supposed to look like a common street crime. But for Buchalter, the most valuable find of all were the keys to the General's condominium. They would be used later to make a surreptitious entry and search, but not tonight. The body could be discovered at any moment. Best not to push his luck.

Buchalter turned away back toward the main thoroughfare. The near-by Metrorail Orange Line would drop him at Farragut West, only a few short blocks from the White House, where his boss waited.
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Michael R. Davidson
Michael R. Davidson

Mr. Davidson spent 28 years as a Clandestine Services officer. Seventeen of those years were spent abroad in a variety of sensitive posts working against the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact. | Photo: |
Having reviewed the manuscript, as required by law, the CIA required the following disclaimer: "All statements of act, opinion, or analysis expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official positions or views of the CIA or any other US Government agency. Nothing in the contents should be construed as asserting or implying US Government authentication of information or Agency endorsement of the author's views. This material has been reviewed by the CIA to prevent the disclosure of classified information."
PUBLISHED BY Legacy Publishers 2012

INCUBUS: Copyright ? 2012 by Michael R. Davidson.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

Legacy Publishers
PO BOX 62442
Virginia Beach, VA 23466

Cover illustration by M. Davidson
Printed and bound in the United States of America.
First printing 2012

Thanks are due to my family, especially my long-suffering wife, Alma, for their patience and support. I can be sometimes difficult to live with when I'm in the throes of research and writing.

The original inspiration for the title, INCUBUS, was the testimony of former Director of Central Intelligence Richard Helms before a House Select Committee in 1978. Excerpts from this testimony can be found at the end of this book. Richard Helms was still the DCI when I joined the Agency and was a man we looked up to and admired for his strength of character and his dedication to insuring that the CIA became and remained a professional and respected intelligence service. He came up through the ranks of OSS and CIA, and I doubt that we will ever have another experienced intelligence professional of his caliber as DCI. The nomination of a career CIA officer to the post would in these mistrustful times be considered politically incorrect.
The affair at the center of the INCUBUS plot was extremely painful for the Agency and is still the subject of controversy. I will not reveal the plot here in the hope that the story will be read without preconceptions, but for those interested in the best account of actual events I have seen to date, I recommend SPY WARS by Tennent "Pete" Bagley (Yale University, 2007).

My sincere appreciation goes to Author Robert O. Morris and his wife Maka and to Legacy Publishers for helping me bring INCUBUS to print.

Michael R. Davidson
New Market, VA
October 2012

Library of Congress Control Number: TXu 1-811-884
ISBN 978-0-615-72390-7

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