Moscow Machination (17 page)

Washington DC

“Thanks
for tuning in to
Calamity News
, this is your host Blow Jobbs. French
authorities have confirmed that yesterday’s riot at Le Bourget was indeed
caused by the unveiling of the
GAYDAR
. During a live demonstration, the
Russian
GAYDAR
apparently identified every Frenchman in the audience as
being gay….”

Jim Borland
burst into laughter. Those deranged Russian fucks…

“…things got
testy when the
GAYDAR
identified *cough* accused *cough* two French
nationals of Algerian descent…”

“…later at
a nearby hospital, 99% of the identified, confessed to have at least had a
thumb…”

“…the two
Algerian-Frenchmen have also confirmed that they don’t swing according to societies’
pre-set beliefs… which brings the
GAYDAR’s
un-closeting efficiency to a 100%”

The new
wave of laughter caused Jim to fall off his chair. He continued to guffaw in a
fetal position for the next twenty two minutes.

“…welcome
back to our 24x7x365 broadcast. This is
Calamity News
and I am your host
Blow Jobbs… More reactions from world leaders on the
GAYDAR
. The German Chancellor
was earlier quoted as ‘I think this is probably a prank. Nonetheless un very
guud prank. Off the top of my head I can think of putting these in gay clubs… to
perhaps keep out straight men trying to hit on …err …girls just having fun… proof?
This happened to me… during my state visit to Brisbane’ ….”

The
thought of the German Chancellor getting hit on by straight men in gay clubs put
an end to Jim’s giggles… he threw up.

Calamity
News’
Blow kept plowing
ahead, “… in related news, the Russian delegation has been 86ed from Le Bourget
for life. When asked about the ban, Russian Minister Luzkhov had this to say… ‘Boo
freakin hoo…’ when pressed for details, Luzkhov added… ‘Well we were all set to
unveil
Project Katie
, our new supersonic commercial airliner. Yeah it’s
the Tupolev 420….super-fast and super long range. Can hit NYC in three hours … and
we have no intention of selling it to the Frenchies… spasibo’….”

Jim
Borland swore and reached for his blue line.

“…In other
GAYDAR
news, the City of Seattle and City of San Francisco hope to
acquire a dozen…”

Sarah
McAllister was somewhere over Iceland while Doug Sanders was deep inside a dark
Eurostar tunnel. Both were unreachable.

“…stay
tuned to find out what this former Iranian President had to say about the
GAYDAR
…”

Kiev

“Ok. That
should work. Well thank you... sure, talk to you next week.”

By the
time the buffoon in Bangalore had uttered those words, it was 11PM in Kiev. The
brute in Berlin took fifteen more minutes to come to the same conclusion. “Ok.
That should work. Talk to you next week.”

The entire
Albatross team had had to stay back on a Tuesday night, as the brute and the
buffoon had asininely walked through every one of the 85 remaining bugs.

“Well that
went well,” said Ilya.

“I guess…
how long was it?” asked Pulikesi.

Ilya
checked his phone, “Phew 4hrs… that’s a record… Hey, I was hoping we could take
the day off tomorrow? I mean we have been here since 7.”

“Nah. It’s
only Tuesday. I don’t think I can approve that.”

“I
distinctly heard Von Barfman say that you are the man.”

“He was
being polite… just a corporate asshole.”

“Well your
own guy in Bangalore also said quote he never expected this pleasant surprise…’”

“Fine.
Thursday, 8AM sharp.”

Ilya
messengered the team, as a boisterous chorus broke out “Da…da…da…”

Pulikesi
saw a sudden flash… an unidentified flying object… headed right at him. Fuck.

“Pulikesi…
catch,” shouted one of the developers.

Pulikesi dived
as Ilya caught the vodka bottle one handed and proceeded to take a massive swig.
Within seconds the entire dev floor was filled with clinking bottles and dudes.
Someone even plugged in an electronic mix into the old prison’s PA system. The old
PA system had probably been used for wolf music. Its acoustics were…
incredible.

A developer,
happy as a clown handed him a personal shot. As Pulikesi held out his hand the
drink exploded into a fiery shower. Oooh cool trick thought Pulikesi. The
hollow point had ignited the vodka.

Then the
music turned staccato. The staccato was accompanied by flashes. Then the music
stopped entirely. Pulikesi heard something super loud. After that he couldn’t
hear much. But there was a lot of smoke and everyone was running wild. There
didn’t seem to be any blood though…

“Old
Badger, this is Alpha Leader.”

“Go ahead,
Alpha Leader,” said Primakov. He silently winced at his new codename. Some SVR
bozo had dug up his file and was now taunting him.

“Old
Badger, we have bagged them up. They are good to go.”

“Any
causalities? Major hits?”

“Nope.
None whatsoever.”

“Sweet. Alright
we are coming in,” said Primakov getting up from his desk on the Kiev-Lubyanka’s
4
^th
floor.

“Boss, can
I just say this is one of the best ops we… you have planned. I mean hitting the
target by sitting in the target… I gotta say…”

“Korlov… get
a grip even the Yakutsk FSB would have come up with a similar approach.”
Primakov seethed, “Using our old prison to develop software that we can’t even use?
What were they thinking?”

Both the
decoy
Katie
and the real
Project
Catie
, needed some
airline software. So when Primakov had found that the Albatross was developed
at their old Kiev-Lubyanka it had become irresistible. Inevitable. The Kiev-Spetsnaz
had simply camped out in the building’s attic and waited for the long
conference call to end.

“How
many?” asked Primakov as he entered the dev floor.

A few
toppled monitors. But otherwise not much damage.

“Forty
three,” replied the Alpha Team Leader.

“My records
say forty two,” said Korlov.

Alpha
Leader shrugged, “Well we found forty three.”

“Fine.
We’ll id the black sheep later. Bag them up.”

“The
equipment too?”

“I thought
we were clear on this. Bag everything and everybody up… Korlov call the trucks.
Get them to the loading bay.”

Thirty
minutes later, two garbage trucks sped away from the Kiev-Lubyanka. The Kamaz Trashmasters
were headed to Moscow. Primakov and Korlov rode in the back of the first truck,
along with the 43 dazed Ukrainians. Should have been 42, but…

“Boss you
sure there won’t be any issues at the border?” asked Korlov.

“Relax. We
ran out of landfills in Moscow. Moscow’s streets are lined with trash. So we
need more trucks to move the trash out to Yekaterinburg. Easy.”

“Yeah I
drove on Merv Prospekt. It smelt real.”

“Because
it
is
real.”

“The border
guards may believe it, but what about the SBU agents… Ukrainian Intelligence? I
am sure there are a few manning the Sumy-Kursk crossing.”

“Don’t
worry,
Calamity News
interrupted a Kardashian interview with the ‘Moscow
Stinker’ story. Trust me… the second they interrupted Big K, they began to believe
it… truly and deeply.”

A few
minutes later Korlov pondered aloud, “So how did we mess the count? Who is the
43
^rd
?”

“Well it’s
getting harder to operate in Kiev... you know… since…”

Sumy – Kursk Border Crossing

Ukrainian Side

The two loaded
Kamaz trucks rolled into a side bay for inspection.

“
Idti
…
idti
…”
bellowed an armed border guard.

Kirill the
SBU guy opened the door of his makeshift asbestos office.

“Oh… what
the fuck is that smell?” asked the guy from Ukrainian Intelligence.

“Trash
brother. Trash,” bellowed their driver Maks.

“Why are
you hauling trash into Russia? Jesus, I am gonna throw up.”

“Well the
dealer wanted 10,000 dollars American per truck for cleaning. The punk.”

“$10,000?
You kidding me? Who did you say this dealer was?”

“UAB
Autogaz. They are robbers, brother. They won’t even take roubles.”

Kirill
rifled through the trucks registration, insurance and cargo manifest. It read
empty.

“It says
here the truck is empty. How much trash do you have in there?”

“Not much,
10% capacity. It gets stuck real hard and seeps into the metal. Ingrained. You
know whaat I am saying brother?” Maks scratched the trucks doors with his nails
to drive home the point.

“Uh oh. That’s
disgusting. Alright,” Agent Kirill signaled the border guard to lift the gates.

“Spasibo… thank
you brother,” yelled Maks as the Kamaz trucks rolled over into no man’s land.

Agent
Kirill hurried back to his asbestos cave to avoid the waft from the departing trucks.”

“Stinking
Muscovites,” shouted the Border guard.

Korlov
breathed in relief. Apparently the Liquid Ass spray had worked. To mask odors
Primakov had imported some of the best Liquid Ass from a party supply store in
Vegas. Apparently there was no trade embargo on Liquid Ass.

The
Spetsnaz Team’s final task, before leaving the Kiev-Lubyanka had been to bathe
the Kamaz trucks with this Liquid Ass. Their cries of “Not in my job
description… you will have to answer to my boss,” went unheeded.

“See I
told you we will roll right through. Those guys are idiots,” smirked Primakov
with satisfaction.

Sumy – Kursk Border Crossing

Russian Side

In the
ensuing shuffle the truck carrying the office equipment overtook Primakov’s
truck and entered the checkpoint area first. After waving through the equipment
truck, the guard whimsically halted their truck.

“Open the
cargo hold,” screamed the Russian maniac.

“Trash
brother. It’s just week old trash…” repeated their driver Maks.

“We don’t
care. No funny stuff from Ukraine will pass me.”

They heard
their truck driver Maks open his door.

“Jesus we
got a moron on our side,” swore Primakov.

“I thought
the preferred term was patriots,” said Korlov.

“Well the
brute is doing his job… shit I can’t get any reception in here. This steel is
real thick… Korlov, think of something.”

“Like
what? A weapon?”

Primakov
contemplated a weapon before dismissing the thought. This was the premier
Russia-Ukraine land crossing. There were bound to be several more guards in the
vicinity. Fuck, they should have chosen the Belarus – Chernobyl route. Very
remote crossing. Plus the ‘
Entered
Pripyat
’ tag usually worked
like a charm.

Primakov
dejectedly replied, “Nah, we can’t shoot a Russian border guard. Think think…”

“How about
a decoy. We give him something else… like my gun… or even myself…”

“The guard
will assume you are an illegal Ukrainian. He will probably take a better look… and
then assume Maks is a human trafficker… ”

“Shoot.
Well we should just got out. We can fix this mess later.”

“Eww, I
have zero intention of hanging out at some piss ass police station in Kursk. It
could take hours, maybe even days before they let us use a phone. No fixing.”

“But I
thought you were the President’s right hand man…” said the exasperated Korlov.

“True. But
if I can’t even execute a simple border crossing she might think I am an
amateur. No.”

“
I fix
bugs… I exterminate… like a pestmaster… a gatekeeper… like a janitor…
”

“Who’s
that?”

“…bugs…
large… stinky… bugs… bundle three together… they merge into one monster bug…”

“Shit, it’s
one of the computer nerds. He is waking up.”

“…like a
janitor… I swat the nastiest bugs… squelch them… crawl through the code…”

Maks their
driver whispered through a strategic crack, “Boss. I don’t think I can hold him
much longer…”

“Stall him
for two more minutes. Try cigarettes and vodka.”

“No
guarantees.”

Korlov soon
identified the source of the voice. “Boss look at this guy’s face. That’s no
Ukrainian.”

Primakov beamed
a flash light, “I will be damned… Check his pockets.”

Korlov
took out the wallet and read, “Pulikesi. Says he is a Kiev resident.”

“That’s an
odd name… bet the ID is fake. He is probably from the republics… he babbled
something about a janitor.”

“Janitor
from the republics?”

“Ya, I say
Tajikistan.”

“So 43 is a
janitor from Tajikistan?”

“Could be Kyrgyz
or Uzbek…”

“Down
there, everyone is Tajik.”

Sumy – Kursk Border Crossing

Russia

Maks the
driver wasn’t doing too good… he had been setup to fail, “Bogdan dude, come on.
I thought we were Comrades. Hows the vodka?”

“Tastes like
piss, is it Moldovan… you gotta do better man,” said Bogdan the border guard.

“How about
porn? American military grade stuff.”

Bogdan
hesitated, “You got DVDs?”

“I got them
on my phone, right here,” Maks held out his 6” touch phone.

“Hmmm… you
have BBW?”

“BBW? What
is that?”

Bogdan stamped
his cigarette in fury. “If you have to ask, it’s already too late.”

“Come on I
got internet on my phone. 3g. I will download it right now.”

“Nah,
don’t have time to buffer. Let’s just get this over with ok. Open the door.”

Maks gave
up and banged the side of the truck as a warning shot.

“Fine
brother,” Maks bellowed as he climbed back to the cabin, “you leave me no
choice.”

“Maks
release the jaw only. Not the door. You hear me Maks… hydraulic JAW ONLY…”
Primakov shouted through the strategic crack.

Above the hauling
mechanism’s ruckus, Maks grunted.

“STOP.
STOP. STOP. Stop the damn thing,” screamed Bogdan the border guard.

Maks
halted the hydraulic jaw and jumped out of the cabin and ran back.

Bogdan was
petrified.

There was
a brown arm dangling out of the metallic jaw. Maks took a step closer. The arm
was connected to a torso. Good. The torso was connected to two legs and another
arm. Even better. Dreading every moment Maks closed his eyes and bent over to
take a look at the upper body. Legend had it that the Kamaz truck’s jaw had the
crushing power of … seventy F-150s.