Moscow Machination (9 page)

“The thought
never crossed our minds.”

“Better
not. Every Russian Leader has purged at some point. Mine is still due.”

“Yes Ma’am,
we completely understand the pressures of the Presidency.”

President
Petrova returned to the weapon itself. “So why did you develop this? Stalin
said only one…?”

“We were
ready with the ICBM-AVI by the end of the Brezhnev era. But after what happened
to our comrade Karl, Otto’s brother, we decided to start working on something way
beyond ultimate… pushing the letter.”

“You mean
pushing the envelope? Fine, whatever. And save your sad Karl stories for
someone else. Time to deploy?”

“Give us
forty five days Madam. But the above ground preparation is up to our comrades
on the ground.”

The
President made a few calculations. She had to time her moves in accordance with
the next IMF, NATO, US and the other alphabet bozos. “You know what, you have sucked
us dry for seventy fucking years. A few more days won’t matter.  Take three
months, work out the kinks. I will have what you need up there.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Right
gentlemen, see you on the other side.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“One last
thing… whats the codename of this weapon? I need some sort of name to give my
people.”

“We used
Katie
for the ICBM-AVI and
Catie
for the beyond-ultimate nuke weapon.”

The
President looked at Mueller quizzically, “Katie after our Katyusha rockets?”

Mueller seemed
confused, “No Madam, Katie after Katie Perry… the greatest artist of our times and…
Catie after Catherine the Great…”

It wasn’t a
disaster, “
Katie and Catie
… alright.”

Anna
Petrova took the Express One back to Moscow. She was back in like an hour. The
under-Russians had shunted traffic in favor of the Presidential train. The retro-neo-Nazis
learned fast.

On the
ride back to Moscow, Anna explored the limitless possibilities of
Project Catie
.
Project Catie
was well beyond the realms of CIA, Mossad, MI6 and even the
old KGB put together.

Project
Catie
felt like the iPhone
moment of doomsday weapons. It was smarter, cleaner and way cooler than any of
the existing tripe. And just like the iPhone it was bound to usher in crappier,
mass market competitors. But as the great sage once said, ‘they were five years
ahead’, which in the weapons world translated to about two decades. Two decades
of superiority. Two decades of dominance. Enough to make Russia better.

In Moscow,
Anna Petrova was reunited with her dazed guards, Mika and team. A simple, Presidential
stare that conveyed ‘keep the whole thing quiet’ was sufficient.

Pyongyang, North Korea

The Leader
of Laidback Korea was unimpressed with the beast. He took a few steps back and
cocked his head. After 2.6 seconds of holding Zoya’s eye he shook his head
again.

“No, no.
Are you sure this is the Presidential tiger, Dong Ki?”

Dong Ki Moon
offered to take a blood oath. Uninterested, the Leader continued to walk around
the tiger’s cage. Dong Ki, the second best black ops operative and the tiger
had rode an army Antonov out of the tri-border area to Pyongyang. His men and
equipment were sitting pretty on the deluxe,
Leader’s Light Express
.

The Leader
had insisted upon getting the tiger away from their manic neighbors. Overtly he
put out the vibe that the South… South Korea was his enemy No.1. They had
started out as his grandpa’s enemy. They had always been his dad’s enemy and
today, seventy years later they still kept up with their
enimitude
. The
Leader preferred the South in a ‘known devil’ sort of way.

Plus his
supposed friends, the bear and the dragon had been acting like big time
bitches. Always annoyed, always questioning, always helicoptering… and even threatening
to cut off his pocket money at the drop of an uncle’s head. All he wanted was a
few rockets for the 4
^th
of July celebrations. He couldn’t understand
what his dad and grandad had seen in his northern neighbors. Some day he hoped to
find true love, like the one between Seoul and Washington. Someday…

And this
tiger… what a buzzkill. It wasn’t even half the size of the Bengal tiger in his
basement. Now that was a majestic beast. This… this Russian Zoya looked morbid.
Eww.

“Nope. I
don’t want this thing. Just FedEx it to Moscow or wherever the heck. I don’t
want this carcass anywhere near my great collection.”

All Dong
Ki, wanted to do was to return to his apartment where his hot Asian wife waited.
Which again proved that there was no safe haven when it came to yellow fever.
No vaccines. No shots. Nothing.

Dong Ki had
done his job. That was it. Nobody ever asked for opinions inside Pyongyang’s beltways.
Dong Ki had received a few medals in the past from the Leader, so it wasn’t
even like a thing he could cross off his bucket list.

“I
understand, Great One. Shall I call the vet?” asked Dong Ki.

“Call the
vet, but call my cook first. Don’t want this thing to die on our hands.  Tell
him to get a few cold cuts.”

Dong Ki
relayed the Leader’s commands to a nameless female assistant, as another
assistant rushed in.

“Great
Leader, Dimitroff the Russian ambassador is here to see you,” said the
assistant.

“Fuck.
Let’s get this over with.”

The
Russian Ambassador Gregory Dimitroff walked into the great leader’s sitting
room. Dimitroff was doing time in the DPRK for trying to encash a few Gazprom options
right after the Crimean clusterfuck. He sorely missed the Bratislava posting.

“Mr.
Leader. How are you?”

“Yo wassup
homie?” replied the Leader was nonchalantly, “Long time no see.”

“Well, we
thought we were at an understanding… until I heard you aren’t returning our
tiger. Do I need to remind you that the tiger is Russian state property?”

“A ‘thank
you for preventing a nuclear ass rampage’ would have been a better opener.”

Dimitroff
looked at the morose tiger and wondered what could be lower than Pyongyang on
the diplomatic ladder. Somalia? Perhaps an Ebola country? Or Haiti? Probably Afghanistan?
Ah wait… Thailand. Pyongyang vs Mogadishu – Pyongyang had only one moron;
Pyongyang vs Monrovia – Ebola unlike yellow fever wasn’t on Pyongyang’s visa
exempt list; Pyongyang vs Port-au-Prince? DPRK was seismically solid. Pyongyang
vs Kabul? Hmmm, nothing off the top… oh wait, that little thing with the Soviet
invasion. Fuck. Pyongyang vs Bangkok? Sweaty Russian dudes who didn’t know what
a ladyboy was.

Well, Pyongyang
wasn’t that bad.

“Fair
enough. Thank you Leader. You and your people did us a solid.”

“Apology
accepted.”

“Well can
I have my tiger back?”

“Dimitroff
my man, not so fast. Don’t you wanna taste some kimchi, perhaps catch a game?”

“Dear
Leader, I kinda got this report to write, to Moscow of course. You know Anna,
she can get pretty iffy during this time of the month…”

“Oh for
fuck’s sake. Don’t you dare shit on Anna man... She is like the last radiant
thing left in that cesspool nation of yours. Don’t you fucking sully her.”

“Oh… sorry
dear Leader. I thought we were buddies, you know, shooting up the shit,”
backtracked Dimitroff.

The great
leader paced the great room with the great rug and a great view. He slowly circled
Dimitroff, who absolutely needed to get out and drown himself in a Smirnoff
distillation tank. The Leader was giving him the creeps. Not classic serial
killer creep but more of a soap drop creep.

The Leader
began, “Ok. If we were buddies… where were you when the Americans were giving
me shit about those tests back in July? It was just one test. And it wasn’t
even a new one. Ever since I was a kid, all I wanted to see was some fireworks
on the 4
^th
of July….”

“Dear Leader,
please…I am just the messenger, my hands are always tied….”

“Just
fireworks man. Ever since I was a kind, I have always wanted to see the 4
^th
of July celebrations from the Brooklyn Bridge. But you… and the fucking Chinese
wanted my family as the bogeyman. So no one in my family – not me, not my dad
or grandpa has ever seen the fireworks… Because of you, the Americans have denied
us the 4
^th
of July.”

“Oh
Leader, I understand. I can’t stand the Americans either. Hollywood huh? What a
racket? Have you seen the latest…?”

Oops.
Dimitroff had pushed the wrong button.

“Don’t you
dare speak ill of Hollywood inside My Korea. I swear on the sickle, I will
fucking cut off your Johnson…”

“Jesus
man. Relax.” Dimitroff was furiously searching through his wardrobe, mentally.
He was trying to locate his ‘
I Love Kabul 2
’ t-shirt that he had custom
made to rankle the American ambassador to Bratislava.

“Ok, dear
Leader, why don’t you buy a massive LCD… say 1000 inches, I am sure we,
Russia,  can get you one, from the Japanese… hah see I know you hate those other
Koreans… and then you can live stream the 4
^th
of July fireworks from
New York.”

“Yo
Dimitroff, what kind of an ignorant punk are you man? Don’t you think I haven’t
thought of that? The fucking American’s are blocking our internet man. They
block their TV shows, movies, they cancel my iTunes account and… and… deleted all
three of my Facebook accounts.”

“Oh…” said
Dimitroff.

“You think
I would ever deny my people of sweet shows like Rizzoli and Isles? Or Grey’s
Anatomy? Or the Good Wife? No way man. No way. I have always wanted my people
to be exposed to strong, self-respecting women… but the Americans… they fucking
block everything.”

The Leader
began to sob.

“And last
week… last week…”

“What
happed last week, Dear Leader?”

“Last
week… they even blocked the porn.”

“Block a
man’s porn? Oh that’s low… Real low.”

“Even VPNs
are down.”

Dimitroff
needed to pulls some diplomatic magic, “Oh damn. That sounds rough Dear Leader.
You know what I’m sure that the sewer we have called the FSB records and stores
everything that comes out of America. I will get you a copy of this Risotto
woman… and Gary’s anatomy, Dear Leader. Please don’t cry.”

The Leader
opened his eyes in horror and shoved the Russian hard. Dimitroff landed in a
fluffy sofa and bounced right back, albeit extremely terrified. He hadn’t given
any standing instructions to his chauffeur. It could take the Russian embassy
and the Foreign Ministry years to determine whether he was just cut up or cut
up and fed to the crocs.

“What
makes you think I like to watch replays? I am not some loser with a 60hr job,
who has to DVR his life away man. I am the fucking Leader of the DPRK and I demand
to see every episode as it premiers on the American East Coast. Not after a fucking
five minute ‘safety’ delay or in some wretched Mountain Time. And definitely
not from your FSB dump.”

“Ok,
Leader. I have made a note of your concerns. I will make sure the President
gets it. Now if you will release our tiger, I will be on my way.”

“Hey
asshole, this ain’t the Hangover, where you come here like a white Mike Tyson
and demand your tiger back. I am the Tyson here. I have always wanted to be
Tyson. I will fuck you up so bad man. You know what I am talking about right,
Dong Ki?”

The Leader
suddenly turned to the silent Dong Ki, who stood nervously like the last
freestanding statue of Lenin in Kiev.

“Huh?” responded
Dong Ki.

Realizing that
Dong Ki was patriot, the Leader softened and asked him, how he handled the one
hour delay of broadcasts when daylight saving time was in effect.

Without a
thought, Dong Ki responded, “Anal with my girlfriend.”

“Anal… Classic…
Classic,” gushed the Leader as he fist bumped Dong Ki, “Anal… maybe I will try
it this year.”

Sensing a
deflection in the mad man’s focus, Dimitroff said “Okie dok. Thanks for your
time Great Leader. I will see myself out,” and absconded from the scene.

“Yo wait.
I got a Bears-Packers game in ten. Don’t you want to see the Packers deflate the
Bear’s ball sack?”

“Maybe
next time, Great Leader,” echoed Dimitroff’s voice.

“The bears
are a metaphor for your sorry ass country, Dimitroff. You got that?”

“How could
I not?” came the reply from the parking lot.

As
Dimitroff’s limousine zoomed out, “At least he has sweet, sweet Anna as a
compatriot. That should be comforting,” observed the Leader dejectedly.

As he was
the last one left in the room, other than tiger, Dong Ki Moon felt obliged to
respond, “Yes your leader. She is very beautiful.”

“Ah my man,
I knew we were kindred spirits. So who do you think Anna Petrova looks like?”

“Like someone
in Pyongyang?

“No dude.
Like someone famous.”

“Oh ok.
Hmmm,” after pretending to think for seven seconds, Dong Ki came back with “Teri
Hatcher.”

“Whaaat? Teri
Hatcher? How are you getting Teri Hatcher…? Dong Ki, we are so not kindred man…”

“Oh, I am
sorry Dear Leader. I thought she is real and spectacular.”

“Ya
whatever man, I myself thought Olivia Wilde. But whatever, it’s not like my
opinion counts in this world.”

Unlike
Dimitroff who had a tiny bit of diplomatic protection, Dong Ki was out on his
own. His only option was to suck up real hard to the Leader.

“Oh
Leader, I truly believe your opinion matters. I mean think about it, the
Russians sent their top man to plead with you. After what you did to him, I am
sure the Russian Foreign Minister is going to have to suck up now. Russia has no
choice... all because of you.”

“Hmmm. But
you don’t know these guys Dong Ki, they are absolute conniving bitches.”

“Sure they
are. But what more can they do to suppress our great nation. There is nothing
left to take away. Nothing to rob. We are a lean and mean nation. Super
resilient and completely independent of outside meddling.”

“Hmmm. 
Well you may be right… I don’t know. My dad, his dad and myself have played
this game long enough to know that there are seldom any winners, man.”

“I am
sorry I can’t do more for our great nation, dear Leader.”

“Oh, don’t
beat yourself Dong…” The Leader had just called him Dong. Wow he was on a first
name basis with the leader of the laidback world. “…What you did out there at
the tri-border was heroic. You will get the highest military medal during our 4
^th
of July celebrations. Trust me.”

“Thank you
Dear Leader.”

The cook
came in with some rare steaks, which piqued the tiger’s interest.

Another yellow
feverish-assistant buzzed in.

“Dear
Leader, the Chinese Premier is on Line 1.”

The Leader
watched Zoya the tiger gobble the steaks as he took the Chinese call. He
motioned Dong Ki to take off. A relieved Dong Ki, saluted and left the Leader’s
Summer Residence in one piece.

“Go for Leader.”

“Hey kid
how are you?” jibed Xiannian, the Chinese Premier.

“What do
you care? Just because I saved your sorry ass doesn’t mean we are back to
buddies ok. Not after your ‘realignment of Chinese business interests’ crap.”