Moscow Machination (11 page)

Kremlin, Moscow

Anna
Petrova flipped through the usual suspects. Like a team of synchronized
swimmers the western news networks broke the story within micro seconds of one
another:
Washington was all set to lift sanctions against Iran and Cuba
.

Anna
Petrova had been expecting something along these lines. In fact Sergey before
his little ‘vacation’ to Vorkuta had predicted an inclusion of Venezuela and
North Korea to create an uber unholy quadrifecta… so darn predictable. But what
the west wasn’t going to predict was her
Project Catie
.

“Madam a
Mr. Pyotr Primakov from SVR-SB is here to see you.”

“Bring him
in,” said the President. She had promoted a drone to replace Sergey as there
was going to be very little work for the Foreign Ministry in the immediate
future. Russia was being sent out into the cold, yet again. But this would be
the last time.

On the
operational side she needed someone to oversee
Project Catie’s
execution
– the nuts and bolts – as per the retro-Nazi’s specifications. Eleven months
into her presidency, she still couldn’t get straight answers from the FSB and
SVR. The agencies still yearned for her gator chasing predecessor. Factoring in
American spies, it was going to be hard to execute
Catie
, without some
outsider-insider help.

After the
loss of Sergey, she had drawn up requirements for this new position: The person
had to believe in Russia and had to be sort of an outsider... someone ignorant
of Moscow tendencies.

While
rifling through binders full of men, a familiar face had caught her attention.
It was Primakov, the guy who had planned that train incident in Guangdong. The
Japanese and Germans had been pleased with the outcome. In fact, when the Cuban
news broke, the German chancellor had texted, ‘
Vee got ur back
’ and the Japanese
emperor had DMed an ‘
IOU
’.

Primakov shuffled
in uncomfortably and took the seat across the President. He really felt out of
place. With no interpreter to bridge the power gap, he smiled awkwardly at the
President.

“Would you
like something to drink? Some Starbucks? Supposedly that’s what the American President
drinks.”

“Yes Madam.
Thank you.”

“Two tall
Americanos,” Anna notified her secretary.

“Madam, I
am yearning for the day when the espresso mafia will add a Tall Russian.”

The President
smiled. She had found her man.

“Pyotr, as
you may or may not know, we have lost a friend today.” Primakov wondered if
this was about Sergey Luzkhov’s trip to the Vorkuta Gulag. Moscow’s inner rings
were in a tizzy.

 “Case in
point,” President Petrova nodded at the TV, where a senile Castro was saluting the
American flag. “Look at him. God… he disgusts me…”

The
secretary knocked and came in with two steaming cups of fine Americano.

“So the
reason you are here is because of
Project Catie
.”

Primakov nodded
and took out his notebook. He liked to pretend to take notes in the presence of
superiors.

President
Petrova continued, “Recently I have discovered an uber-secret, ultra-insane
Stalin era project, which how shall I put it… has been tragically forgotten…”

Primakov
agreed, “Tons of cool projects were flushed down the drain, Madam... especially
in the 90s.”

“Well,
this isn’t from the 90s, it’s from the 40s… 1945 to be exact.”

“Whoa
that’s insane Madam.” Primakov wondered if he should temper his fake enthusiasm.
Secret Projects… please.

“
Project
Katie
, is essentially an ICBM that looks like a regular airliner. So we are
going to tell the world that we are reviving the Tupolev program, specifically
the Tupolev – 420. You see where I am going?”

Primakov
realized where the President was going, “Oh yes. We make a show as though we
are building a real airliner but we are actually producing a large number of
ICBMs…”

The
President nodded.

“...The
west will disparage it and maybe even crash it into an Indonesian volcano. And
we will build a handful of real prototypes for the world to pee on, but then we
build hundreds of the deadly ICBMs and add them to our Aeroflot fleet.”

The
President breathed easy. “Go on…”

“Oh… so when
the time comes, we will send in scheduled flights to wherever we want…
Vancouver, Miami, etc.”

“Good. But
there is one major flaw…”

“Yes, we
haven’t built an airliner in three decades and nobody is going to believe us
when we come up with one in just a year.”

“Yes. Precisely.
So how do we circumvent that…?”

“Simple. We
revive an older jet… the Tupolev, Tu-144 to be exact. It still looks very cool.
Plus it’s a supersonic aircraft. Given the Kremlin’s backing, I bet our
factories in Komsomolsk can churn one out in six months.”

“Perfect. Any
further questions?”

Primakov
was on a roll. He was conversing with the second most powerful person in the
world. “Madam, this is a good idea. But I really don’t see how this is of
strategic significance. Or as the Americans say, a game changer. You said this
was a Stalin era project right?”

“Mhhmm,”
nodded Anna Petrova.

“Stalin
had great foresight. No doubt. But this… this
Project Katie
would have
been cool in the 80s and maybe even the 90s. Who knows, it could have even
helped Gorbachev. But… but not today. I mean we could shoot off a handful of
fake liveried missiles before anyone suspects anything. But its…just not…”

“What?”

“Elegant… or
effective.

“So?”

“Plus I am
not super comfortable with wiping out cities – ours or anybody else’s. The
entire point of a WMD is to use it as a threat. A hedge. A defensive mechanism.
Not offense. The second we or someone uses it… it’s not cool anymore…”

“Alright.
You are hired.”

“I am
sorry?”

“Yes. This
is exactly why I want you to oversee
Project Katie
. Or pretend to.”

Primakov
wondered if the secretary had spiked his Americano. “Ok Madam, my head is
spinning. Why exactly are we threatening Washington with a fake WMD?”

“Welcome
to my web, Primakov… or rather, help me build my web.”

Primakov
looked around cautiously. Perhaps the rumors about the President being a crazy
cat lady were true. Was Sergey Luzkhov her first victim?

“Primakov
relax. There is a second secret project.
Project Catie
…
Catie
with a C… like… Catherine the Great.”

“What? A
Katie
and a
Catie
?”

“Yeah, the
airline thing is going to be the decoy.”

“A decoy
WMD…? Sweet baby Jesus.”

“The real
Project
Catie
, the one with the C, is the most innovative weapon in the world. And
it’s ready to deploy in three months. Unlike a typical WMD it’s not going to
harm anyone.”

Primakov while
outwardly spellbound was extremely skeptical of this
Katie
vs
Catie
bs. He continued to chug his Americano and pretend to take notes.

As if on
cue the President requested her guard Mika to come in.

“Primakov,
you are going to meet a couple of sweet gentlemen named Otto and Mueller. They
will give you a tour of
Katie
and
Catie
. Both – real and fake. From
here on out, you are to work closely with them. Ok?”

Primakov
nodded.

Six hours
later, Primakov was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“So?”

“Madam,
this is beyond beautiful. This is the real shit. This is it… This is the thing
that’s gonna return Russia to its glory.”

“There you
are, I knew we were kindred spirits.”

“Absolutely
Ma’am. Plus it’s so clean… so elegant… no silly EMPs… no dirty nukes and none
of that bio bs. It’s almost… poetic.”

“Great. I
am off to a BRICS meeting. I plan on doubling the gas prices to China… heck I
might even triple it.”

Primakov
saluted his President, “This has been a honor Madam.”

Johannesburg, South Africa

Like high
schools, international politics was split between the cool nations and the freaks.
The cool kids got together and formed cliques like the G7, NATO, World Bank and
the IMF, where dudes did ludes, dudes and strippers.

This
pissed of a great number of cool nations like Cuba (before Castro sampled bat
shit), Argentina (before groping the Falklands), Ireland (despite Guinness),
Morocco (despite Burroughs-Tangiers), Congo (during the rumble in the jungle) and
Israel by the sheer magic of its existence.

Over time
through realignments, non-alignments, dissolutions, wars and reincarnations a
new middle class of nearly cool but not cool enough nations had developed.
These new age nations fell somewhere between Anarcho-Social Sweden and the
Anarcho-Libertarian Somalia. After getting rejected yet again by the cool kids and
failing to find common cause with the freaks, these nations began forming new
groups like the SCO, OPEC, GCC, TPP, SEATO, FIFA, NFL, CIS, SAARC, AU, DEA, MERCOSUR,
ADB, ASEAN, OSCE, APEC, TED and NAMBLA.

Still
unsatisfied a few nations got together and formed yet another group - A new
group to rule them all, a new group to bind them and pound from behind. The
group involved Brazil, Russia, India and China and hence was called BRIC.

But at the
last moment, South Africa was tacked on to make the acronym kinda pronounceable
for disatxploitation journalist Amanpour, who made Michael Bay seem like Woody
Allen.

Some of Amanpour’s
news hit titles included – Blowing up Belgrade, its sequel Honey, Who Blew up
Belgrade, Sigh! Am I in Sarajevo?, its sequel Sarajevo Sucks – Even on Speed, Bender
in Baghdad, Return 2 Baghdad, Debacle in Damascus, Debacle in Damascus 2: State
of the Union, Oops I did it in Beirut, the Award winning West Bang Story, Cuddling
with Castro, Mogadishu Diaries, B&B Rwanda, Tel Aviv: The Teargas Diaries, Tickling
Tehran, Tickling Tehran II, Tickling Tehran III, Aloha Abbottabad, the unauthorized
biography - Tripoli Tart and the latest hit Getting Down in Greece.

Before
‘roping’ in South Africa, the BRIC had gone after Kiribati. But Kiribati’s
kumbaya had been shattered by an MI6 plot whereby a bunch of brits were caught
trying something called the ‘
synchronous-lay-a-brick
’.

Mostly
shifty, ever unsure and always on the lookout for better deals with the G7,
these BRICS summits stuttered between weird locations like Ufa behind the
Urals, Brasilia in the amazon, Delhi during the 13
^th 
macaque-langur
war and Sanya, surrounded by the US Navy.

President
Anna Petrova found herself staring at the Chinaman. Surrounding her were semi-naked
face painted warriors offering coffee – both regular and decaf. Behind them were
an ambush of leopards coordinating their own ambush. The South Africans had
certainly upped the ante. This latest BRICS summit was being held at a real safari
outside Johannesburg.

Out of
respect for her hosts, Anna had had to pare down her own security to just two
guys. Sipping decaf, she returned the stony stare at the Chinese Premier Wong
Xiannian.

“So Wong,
how’s your ankle?”

“Enough chit
chat Madam. Unlike your country we have real business in Africa. The dictators
love us.”

“Happy for
you Wong. I actually requested this meeting to… make you an offer.”

“Ah compensation
for our sweet trains. Finally. But only after apology.”

Without
losing her stride, Petrova said, “Ok, I guess I am sorry.”

“Hahaha. No.
A public televised apology on
Calamity News
,
The Nephew…
only
respected western outlets…”

“Ok. If we
do that, we would have to double the gas prices to Urumqi.”

“What the
fuck? I knew this was a mistake. This is a travesty. I could be having a
threesome in Bamako right now… You, you owe us a massive apology Anna.”

Anna
Petrova added the sixth pack of sugar to her decaf.

“Final
offer: Triple the gas prices to Urumqi. Double the freight passage rates to
Germany. And a new pipeline from Sakhalin to Beijing.”

“Jesus
Anna… you can’t be serious. Why would we ever agree to these fucked up terms.
You do realize that I am your last non-enemy at the moment.”

“Premier. One
more thing… we want you to stop selling your fucking forged trains.”

“Haha… do
you know what the Americans are offering me to flip… to come over to their side?”

“Hmmm let
me guess… you get to buy the iPhones on the same day as the Americans?”

“Enough…”

“Whoa that
must be cool, having the opportunity to buy Made in China phones IN China… wow
man one heck of a deal.”

“This
meeting is over Anna,” Xiannian brushed aside his green tea and rose.