The women arrived just before midnight, delivered without introduction: one in a claret silk slip, the other in a cream dress loose enough to puddle at her ankles when it fell. Their beauty was immediate, smiles deliberate—the kind that promised everything and revealed nothing. Mikael hovered briefly at the door, exchanged standard pleasantries in Farsi,…
Tag: politics
The COMC Files Book V chapter 20
The jet shuddered into a slow taxi, twin engines spooling down as Tehran’s dawn tilted gold over the tarmac. Imam Khomeini International unfurled beyond the glass: vast, oddly tranquil—its mirrored surfaces glinting like distant mosque domes. Tarmo leaned into the cabin window, pulse half-lulled by altitude and adrenaline, aware that every arrival—no matter how choreographed—carried…
The COMC Files Book V chapter 17
The Persian at the Table I cross Istiklal, tram bell shrilling and simit vendor’s shouts echoing off marble façades and old Beaux-Arts apartments. The phone buzzes hot in my hand—you trust the wrong one—but my eyes stay locked on the lace-curtained window. Asdar falls into shadow-flank, no words; all fine-tuned presence, golden eyes watching for…
The COMC Files Book V chapter 13
Tarmo Most women, for me, are beautiful cities: worth savouring, never worth staying. Elena was never a pin on my map. She’s the one place I keep circling, whatever the longitude: Pärnu, Zurich, the nights where, against every adult instinct, I bargained with powers older than strategy. Called on Odin like some northern fool in…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Transylvania
While Karim secures our exit and radios Mikael, Sandi, and I move through the manor—door by door, hope burning with each threshold crossed. Whether Tarmo waits in chains or cowering in decades-old terror, I won’t abandon this borderland until we’ve carved our own ending into history. I slam through the study door, lungs burning, sweat…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Lake Tarnita
Outside, the first bells ring through the valley, signalling not only another day, but also the pressing weight of what lies ahead. After breakfast, I slip on my jacket and gather the day’s documents:CYcrds identification, clearly visiblefresh grant letters bearing European emblemsa thick folder filled with signed permissions from museums, schools, and council offices—thanks, naturally,…
The Chronicle of a Memory Cartographer: Odoreu
I let Karim’s hand settle in mine, guiding him into the sparse hush of my room. The shadows shift as we draw the curtains, leaving only a sliver of moonlight across the bed—enough to see how hunger and doubt flicker in his eyes. We don’t speak. The space between us is already thick with memories:…
The Chronicle of a Memory Cartographer: Romania
Stories and Suspicion at Europe’s Edge The journey carries us into Ružomberok. Hills close in—dark and wild, as if the old stories about mountain spirits and forest witches linger here longer than in other places. The streams are rowdy, climbing over their own stones, reminding me of tales where rivers could be both guide and…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Oravská Polhora
As we cross the border and descend into Oravská Polhora, it feels like rolling into a hush that belongs to another century. The mountains behind us fade into blue layers, their silence trailing into the valley. Here, the land flattens into gentle, green pastures, edged with those distinctive low, flat back stones—some pressed into fence-lines,…
The C.O.M.C. Files 