Choices of Power

Stefon Slavov sat on a sidewalk bench outside the Sheraton Sofia Hotel. The hotel was situated on Maria Luiza Boulevard, midtown in Sofia, Bulgaria. The thoroughfare was busy with both pedestrian and vehicular traffic. The sky was overcast. The time was 11:45 in the morning.

A large beard, mustache, and eyebrows complemented a white wig in Stefon’s carefully applied disguise. He looked three times older than his twenty-six years. He wore an overcoat on his oversized frame.

To Stefon’s left was a gently sloped ramp leading to the entrance of the hotel. Sitting on his right, beside the bench, were two twenty liter containers of gasoline.

Sitting and waiting fostered Stefon’s uneasiness, and occasional furtive glances at the hotel entrance accentuated his anxiety. His subconscious played games with his psyche as he mentally reinforced his resolve. He wondered, “What are people thinking about the gasoline cans? What did they think when I casually walked to the bench with the cans and sat them down?”

One part of his brain answered, “Apparently not much,” but the other side said, “they read my mind; they know what I’m doing.” Stefon focused on the task at hand as he forced his misgivings out of his thinking.

***

General Rumen Nikolov exited the hotel and strolled down the ramp to the sidewalk. His two bodyguards followed three steps behind. Bulgaria’s defense minister paused at the sidewalk and looked around; his pompous ego exuding an aura of mastery.

Stefon stood up. With one fluid motion, he drew a Russian Makarov pistol from within his overcoat and fired two rounds into the side of the bodyguard nearest him. He stepped forward and pushed the wounded bodyguard to one side. The second bodyguard was drawing his gun when two of Stefon’s bullets struck him in the chest. Stefon swatted the second bodyguard’s gun to the pavement and turned toward General Nikolov, who was attempting to flee. He fired twice into the general’s back. Swinging the gun back to the bodyguards and stepping closer, he shot one in the top of the head and the other in the temple. Stefon swung back to the fallen general, and shot him behind the ear.

Stefon released the gun’s clip and replaced it with a full clip. He worked the action to chamber a fresh round. Looking around, he searched for danger in the scurrying onlookers.

Sensing none, Stefon holstered the Makarov and moved to the bench. He picked up a gasoline can, and poured napalm enhanced gasoline on all three fallen men. When the can was empty he turned the three men over. Picking up the second can, Stefon poured fluid on the dry side of all three. Then he stacked the bodies. Producing a cigarette lighter, he ignited the incendiary liquid.

Flames leapt as the oxidation of fluid accelerated exponentially. The faster it burned, the hotter it got; and the hotter it got, the faster it burned. The bonfire blazed with ever blackening smoke as the putrid stench of burning flesh became pronounced.

Engaged observers, keeping their distance, watched as Stefon drew the Makarov and picked up a bodyguard’s gun. He stood with a gun in each hand … a murderous monster bemocking intervention.

One half block away two Bulgarian policemen stood frozen. They did not know if they were watching a one man execution or a mafia ambush. Risking their lives to apprehend the assassin seemed a reckless option.

The policemen’s decision was judicious, for standing in an alleyway sixty meters from the desecrations were three of Stefon’s mafia confederates. Each was armed with a Russian AK 47 fully automatic assault rifle. They were on dead ready to quell any interference with a barrage of bullets.

The public executions and desecrations were accomplished. Sofia’s reputation of being the “murder capital of Europe” sickeningly persisted.

Stefon turned and ran through parting spectators to a black Fiat parked a quarter block from the bonfire. The Fiat had no license plates. Getting into the car, he drove away.

No one chose to follow. When Stefon realized that there was no pursuit, his tension eased. He felt neither jubilant nor despondent. He felt depleted and apprehensive about his future.

***

The fall of Communism left Bulgaria’s government in turmoil. The country’s attempt to establish a free market economic system floundered. Self-serving former communists compounded the disarray as they vied for positions of power.

One highly paid group from the communist system found itself in a vacuum. Under the Communist regime, these men were popular sportsmen, mostly wrestlers, who represented Bulgaria in international competitions. This group considered itself elite, with a developed chauvinism that categorized sportsmen as entitled superiors and others as underlings. They earned high salaries using their muscle.

Now the group was unemployed in a country with a government in transitional chaos. As a consequence, the sportsmen turned to brutality, and created a business protection racket. The name they adopted was the Bulgarian Mafia. They terrorized businesses who did not subscribe, and with the money they accrued, they invested in the activities of drugs, prostitution, extortion and human trafficking. Funds taken in were dirty money. To be spent freely, it required laundering. To facilitate the cleansing, they bought supermarkets, insurance companies, hotels, casinos, and land. The money became legal tender by moving it through the accounts of their legitimate businesses.

The mafia confederates decided early on that they would be dominated by no one or no group, including the government and the army. A series of more than 150 mafia assassinations attested to this doctrine. Most murders took place in downtown Sofia. The mafia fraternity established itself as an image of life and death dominance in Bulgaria.

The public assassination and desecration of General Rumen Nikolov and his bodyguards by a single man was a statement. It portrayed the preponderant power that the mafia fraternity believed it held. The intent in using a single assassin was to place a question in the minds of the populace: If one mafia assassin can conduct the public execution and desecration of three armed men, what could a group of mafia assassins do?

The mob was not interested in doing business with ordinary people. Obviously street dope pushers and pimps were necessary, but these bottom-of-the-barrel underlings were not even considered as members of the mafia. The real mafia restricted their dealings to the big money category. The mob preferred to keep a low profile and to avoid unnecessary hassle with the law; but when it did take action it was emphatic.

***

Stefon Slavov was an Olympic grade wrestler. His 240 pound frame carried little fat and abounding athleticism. His facial features portrayed stoic good looks, with blue eyes and close cropped brown hair. His features resembled Charlton Heston’s.

Stefon’s mafia fraternity function was to intimidate at the highest levels of the government, the police, and the army. At this, Stefon was superb. He had a knack for hardening his facial expressions and tone of voice just the right amount to assert a menacing authority in confrontations. Sometimes his mafia superiors wished him to be removed from the scene, as they were not always exempted from his sway.

Stefon was unequaled in mortal combat. With weapons and in hand-to-hand engagements, he had unfettered composure and an anticipatory sixth sense. This gave him a decided advantage. He was a valuable tool for the mafia fraternity and a concern to its leadership.