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budapest

budapest

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set in the time when Budapest and Romania were fighting for freedom. This is a true story of 5 journalist and a C. I. A. officer who put themselves out there.
set in the time when Budapest and Romania were fighting for freedom. This is a true story of 5 journalist and a C. I. A. officer who put themselves out there.

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03/06/2013

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1EGRI BIKAVER.Prologue
 
When you sit down to write a novel, you search, sometimes invain, for the prefect beginning. I did and after several failedefforts, I settled on this: Not one of us died that week inBudapest. And this in itself was true enough. Not one of us diddie. Not Hemingway. Not Peter. Not Katrina. Not Daniel. Andcertainly not myself. But after a few days of thought I realizedit wouldn't do because there are more ways to be dead than to die.And for a second I wanted to attempt to chronicle the 'ways' butthen the second passed taking with it the poetic desire tovindicate my life, and I decided to leave such to a less cynicalwriter then myself. So I took match to cigarette and ice tobourbon and worked on a new opening. After several days filledwith cigarettes and glasses filled with three fingers of bourbon,I decided to begin with Julie and Anna because...well because thatweek in Budapest began with them.
 
3Chapter One.I first took notice of them, and I didn't know their namesthen but would some hours later, while sitting on the floor of theF-10 departure lounge at New York City's Kennedy internationalAirport waiting for the flight to Budapest to be announced. Thelounge served as the departure gate for Yugoslavian Airline'sflights to Belgrade and other central points in Eastern Europe.The lounge was a cube like room and had eight rows of plasticchairs, fifteen chairs to a row. The chairs were positioned sothey came to a V a few feet from the wall at the far right handcorner of the room, and it was here that I sat. I suppose, no Iknew damn well I looked silly sitting there on the floor. And whynot. I was a few months shy of my forty-eight birthday and lookedit and I also sported a suit and tie. I was also a Senior editorfor United Press International, although none of the otherpassengers who sat comfortably on the chairs could possible knowthis. Anyway, the combination of the three, my age, the suit andmy position, should of prevented me from sitting on the floor. Butthere I was, hunkered down, back against the wall, legs stretchedstick-like out before me. I felt very conspicuous sitting there.

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