Moscow Machination Page 3
Back in his seat, he looked around and noticed the Japanese Minister Yamazaki and his interpreter Yuki were seated in a plush corner. As the Minister raised his drink at him, Yuki smiled emoji style….
Chapter 5
Ministry of State Security, Beijing, China
“Waterboarding?...hmmm…lie detectors?... Ok, what about labor camps for their cousins? Even distant cousins?... hmmm… interesting… deputation to the Congo?... did you try Pyongyang?... still nothing? Hmmm… tough cookies.”
Head of State Security Hu Gong, was running out of options. In his forty years of service to the party, he had come up against some freaky shit. But the incident on the Shenzhen – Guangzhou high speed line had been something else. It was brash, idiotic and pointless. Only a dimwit-poindexter/wannabe-Joker could have come up with that. Tripping up two trains with a steel cord to unleash havoc... Hu Gong shook his head.
Hu Gong was the head of the all-encompassing Ministry of State Security (MSS), Beijing’s counter intelligence arm. It had been three weeks since the incident in Guangdong. Despite initial fears, the world’s confidence in China’s stability as a business partner hadn’t changed. Everyone knew Beijing was ruthless towards internal bs. Yet for some reason, the Tokyo Tentacler and the Berlin based, Marx Monthly, had run identical hit pieces dissing ‘Made in China’.
Initially, railway security had discovered a scapegoat, a maintenance engineer who had turned up fifteen minutes late for work on that day. Despite the railway authority’s insistence, the Ministry of Public Security (MPS), China’s internal security arm had come away unconvinced. There were no traitors in China, unless of course they were Tibetans or Uighurs.
Even after ‘thoroughly’ interviewing the CRH400A’s pilots, Ms. Zhen Zhao and Chang, they hadn’t find anything amiss. Chou Chang though was fined 1000 yuan for playing games on her unregistered cell phone. After this lack of progress and pressure from the Politburo, the Ministry of Public Security had turned over the investigations to the MSS.
MSS chief Hu Gong knew that he was the last stop on this deadly game of passing the parcel. There was no one after him and his MSS. He had to do something. So he had gotten hold of the suspected maintenance engineer, the pilots Zhen Zhao and Chang, and put them through his own version of Chinese Horror Story.
Everyone including himself knew that it was just a just sham… a charade to show, that the MSS was doing something. Deep down, Hu Gong knew that there were no bad people in China, unless of course they were from Hong Kong. He preferred Uighurs over Hong Kongers… even on the day of his daughter’s wedding.
“…so in your opinion?... mostly harmless?... hmm… have any of them travelled to Hong Kong in the past year?... no?... ok… well, let them go… release them all… wait… that pilot… give her some medal, she did figure out the escape hatch… I guess… ok.”
Hu Gong, returned the pink phone to its cradle and returned his gaze to the two squirming men. They were from the State SIGINT satellite division.
“Are you absolutely sure?” Gong goaded.
“Yes sir. There were three satellites over the area of disaster. Ours, an American and a Russian. The American satellite has been doing its rounds for over forty years now, we don’t think it caused anything. It’s most likely the Russian Koba…”
“Koba huh, weird name for a satellite. What do we know about this Koba?”
“Not much. It was launched two months ago from their old Soviet era Cosmodrome - Plesetsk up in Arkhangelsk.”
“Not Baikonur?”
“No Sir. Baikonur has been relegated to feces transports from the International Space Station.”
“Because it’s in Kazakhstan?”
“No Sir. The Russians are pissed at the Kazakhs for renting it out for a Hollywood movie.”
“Ah, which one?”
“The one with the Bullock and George Clooney. Clooney…”
“Ah, the damsel in distress in space movie. I have seen it. Clooney gets killed trying to save the bimbo.” Hu Gong continued his rant with, “… Just like Titanic Jack. So very sad… but you know what?”
“Whats that Sir?”
“At least Rose didn’t look like a man.”
After a few more incisive observations, Gong eventually returned to this new Russian satellite Koba.
“So Russia? Really? But why and why now? We are the closest thing to an ally right now.”
Hu Gong’s secretary knocked and peeped in. “Sir, the Foreign Minister and the Finance Minister want to meet you today.”
“Both?”
“Yes Sir. At the same time.”
“What? Same time?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Regarding?”
“Japan and Germany. They both want a trillion dollars in compensation for their destroyed factories. Or else they are threatening to move their factories to India or South Africa.”
“Panda’s anus!” whispered the chief of the Ministry of State Security.
“Sir?”
“The Baboon and the Gorilla are fondling the idiot Bear.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Sir,” replied the secretary, “Is this at the Beijing Zoo or the Chengdu Zoo, Sir?”
It all made perfect sense. Other than the United States and maybe Mossad, no one had the balls to pull off such a flagrant stunt on Chinese soil. The Uighurs? Please, not those goat herders. Tibetans? Those pacifists? Buddha no. Indians? Bold democracies didn’t exist. Taipei, Seoul, Pyongyang? No, no and hell no. But then of course there was the forlorn, forgotten yet capable bear.
There were four land crossings with Russia, mostly permitting day trips for Chinese traders and Russian babushkas. Security was pretty lax up there in Siberia. Russian special agents from the SVR, dressed as babushkas could have easily slipped in. Or perhaps it was the Asiatic Russian agents. Either way it would have been easy.
“What?” responded Hu Gong.
“I’m sorry to hear that Sir… Or is it the Shanghai Zoo?” persisted the secretary.
“Zoo? What the fuck are you talking about? Get out. All of you. Tell those morons at Foreign Affairs and Finance to jerk each other off.”
“Oh. So should I cancel those meetings, Sir?”
“Are you deaf? Tell them exactly what I said. And tell the Premier I need to see him now.”
“Yes Sir.”
“And you nerds,” Hu Gong turned to the SIGINT men, “what the fuck are you waiting for? Get out. Go.”
Hu seethed and stormed around his office. He opened his door and barked at his other secretary, “Get me Liang on the phone.” Liang was his own henchman in the MSS.
43 seconds later Liang was on Line 3.
“Boss?”
“I want you to check on the three Siberian crossings with Russia. I want you, personally, to see every face that came in – Russian and Chinese – and bring me a list of suspects.”
“Ok. How far back should I go?”
“Three months.”
His secretary popped in, “Sir the Premier is free for the next hour.”
Hu Gong had already stormed out of his palatial office. The security guard outside his door immediately signaled the agency’s fleet of armored Audis to get ready. The boss was out on a hunting trip.
Chapter 6
Kremlin, Moscow
“Madam, the Chinese Premier Wong Xiannian is on the line,” informed an assistant.
Anna Petrova motioned for Sergey Luzkhov, her foreign minister to leave the room.
She picked up the phone, “Evening Wong.”
“Madam President thank you for taking my call at such short notice.”
“Call me Anna. Here at the Kremlin, the doors are open 24x7… especially for old friends.” She had emphasized the old part.
“Yes of course Madam… Anna. It’s just that, a few hours back your Foreign Minister issued a very disturbing threat against our great nation. When we brought up a train mishap in Guangdong, Minister Luzkhov said he was willing to turn us into a bow
l of teriyaki sauce… if we didn’t drop the matter.”
“Oh that’s so offensive. I apologize to your People. He keeps forgetting Teriyaki is Japanese. How ignorant of him?”
“Madam… Anna, that’s clearly not the point. He issued a threat…”
“Mr. President relax. On my first day in office, Sergey threatened me. Then he threatened our FSB head. Last week he even threatened the American Secretary of State. He probably threatened Pyongyang and Paris before breakfast. It’s what he does.”
“Hmm. I see... So you don’t think Sergey is out of line?”
“Nope. I stand by him and his ministry.”
“And you have no explanation for the train incident…”
“Like I said, I stand by Sergey. Whatever he said is probably true.”
“This is going to be a problem, Anna.”
“I am getting tired Xiannian. You are either a friend of the Federation or a foe of the Federation. Choose wisely.”
Wong Xiannian slammed his magenta phone. “Fucking bitch… that fucking bitch… It wasn’t rogue elements in the Russian government. It was an authorized hit. That… Hu, close all our land crossings, suspend visas to Russians, send their envoy back,” screamed the Chinese Premier.
Ministry of State Security head, Hu Gong had heard both sides of the conversation. A couple of female interns had listened in on the call as well. Hu Gong couldn’t believe that the Premier would let a bunch of twenty something interns listen in on an important state call.
The rant still hadn’t ended. Unlike the politician throwing the tantrum, he was an intelligence dude. Guys like him always knew more, always had an upper hand in any conversation, and almost always outlived their premiers. Bush Sr., Beria, well almost, Andropov and a long line of Pakistani presidents had all proved that being an intelligence chief was the best place to chart a Presidency. Perhaps he would be the first good one.
“Premier, relax.”
The premier wasn’t listening or relaxing. Just give it a rest already, thought Gong. What was it with these adult children? Anna Petrova was barely 40, and his own moron premier was 42. There was no subtlety in threats and counter threats these days. The Russian President had almost openly admitted to being involved in the Guangdong train incident. Both would have failed Presidency 101.
“How can I relax? Turn around our ICBMs… turn around the ones aimed at Indianapolis, Denver and Seattle… point them at Moscow. Right now.”
Gong tried again, “Or maybe it’s that time of the month for Anna… you know cycles…”
The stunned Chinese Premier stopped and turned around. He looked intensely at his head of counter intelligence. The female interns gasped in horror.
Hu Gong thought he heard Katy Perry in the background… was it ‘Firework’. Yep… one of the darned interns was fiddling with her iPod. But he plodded on, “Or maybe you know, she is quite pretty, almost in a Nicole Kidman way, her boyfriend probably dumped her. Heartbreak?”
Premier Xiannian was seething, “Time of the month? What kind of comment is that? It’s probably the worst thing you can say about a woman. Whats with you old party boys? Time of the month, really?”
It was Gong’s turn to lose it, “Turning away our missiles is probably the dumbest thing a Chinese President could do. Nukes aren’t play things.”
“Huh? So what do you propose? Get her to see a psychologist about her bad break up?”
“See… now we are thinking… that might actually work. I will add it to our arsenal of offensive initiatives. Great… maybe we could recruit one of Moscow’s psychologists… or maybe a Chinese citizen of Russian ethnicity… we could train him… or her…”
Gong actually took out a small notepad and began scribbling his brain fart. He made a big show of his ballpoint pen not working and jerked it around for a while. It took him 45 to get it all down. Luckily, by then, some sort of sanity had returned to the Premier’s office.
The Premier motioned the interns to get out.
“Ok so what’s the Russian motive here? Why are they suddenly cuddling with the Japanese and Germans? Who, right now are threatening a new set of sanctions against Russia?”
“Well it’s a classic cry for help,” replied the smug Hu Gong.
“So you are certified physiologist now? First with the love theory and now this… I think I need a drink.” Premier Xiannian opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Maker’s Mark and two glasses.
Gong began, “Don’t you see, we shouldn’t have voted against them on Ukraine… Crimea.”
“But we didn’t. We abstained at the UN vote.”
“Exactly. What do you think, ‘you are either a friend of the Federation or not’ means? Plus that gas pipeline.”
“But we can’t just sit down and take this Russian shit. I will look weak to the Politburo. We need to retaliate.”
“I know, I know. I found something from Anna Petrova’s past in Volgograd.”
“What?”
“Pictures.”
“Huh?”
“Oooh yeah. Trust me, they are not shots of her saluting the Mamayev Kurgan.”
“Mama what? Wait is that code for dirty pictures? Come on Hu…”
“No Premier, not dirty pictures. I will let you know when my team has developed this ‘initiative’ into something potent…”
“Just spill it right now, I am your boss,” pleaded Premier Xiannian.
“Sure whatever. I thought you wanted probable deniability when it came to the operations of MSS. You know if something went wrong?”
The Chinese Premier sighed.
“Trust me…the moment I have something concrete, you will know… here have another drink.”
The premier gulped down the smooth liquid as Gong refilled his glass.
Chapter 7
NATO, Brussels
Before the Crimean rapture, everything had been dainty in Europe. Things had been so dainty, that the French had agreed to sell aircraft carriers to the Russian Navy. Super dainty.
And then Crimea had happened.
Not willing to arm Russia with anything from the 21st century, the French had followed NATO’s aka America’s orders and suspended the sale of the Mistral ships.
As everything was fair in war, both sides had agreed to let the matter slide – at least for the time being. But despite such assurances, everyone knew something was bound to happen sooner or later… one way or the other.
The first Mistral ship, the Vladivostok was undergoing live trials with Russian sailors and the second ship, ironically named Sevastopol, was 80% done. The boats were moored at the docks of Saint-Nazaire, in western France. Saint-Nazaire itself was on the Atlantic Coast, far away from Russian infested waters.
Gathered at NATO headquarters, were Lefebvre the French rep to NATO, Doug Sanders the American rep, a Jean Bernard from DGSE – the French Intelligence and the NATO Secretary, Norwegian Torgeir Larsen.
“Obviously a Spetsnaz black ops?” said Richard Lefebvre.
Everyone nodded in agreement. Despite the Russians backing off, everyone knew that some kooky Russian analyst was cooking up a scheme as they spoke, to abduct the Mistrals.
Irrespective of the effectiveness of the Spetsnaz, the French still felt good about protecting the ships. Despite being completed, the Vladivostok and Sevastopol weren’t like an Audi or a Camry, where one could just hotwire it, gas it and drive it into a sunset.
Even if the Russians did manage to get them out of the harbor, there was always the French Navy, the US Atlantic Fleet and a zillion other hostile air aircraft. Without armor, weapons or communications, the chances of a Russian breakout seemed bleak.
“Unless you guys take the ships out into the sea… for training… we can cross that one out,” noted Torgeir Larsen.
“Oui. Obviously we have stopped all excursions,” agreed Lefebvre.
Torgeir Larsen unsure about the presence of the DGSE Intelligence guy, prodded “So Jean, you have anything to add?”
&
nbsp; “Well, we have been keeping tabs on the sailors’ quarters. Monitoring calls, movements that sort of thing. Nothing so far. The other thing we are monitoring is new house rentals or purchases by anyone sounding Russian, Ukrainian or Belarusian. Nothing there either. Overall we feel good about the ships. That’s all I got.”
“Ok, now that we know the Russians aren’t stealing it, what do we do with the ships?” the NATO General Secretary, tried to move the meeting forward.
“Obviously we could sell them off to some neutral or allied country.”
The American Sanders finally spoke, “But why even return the money to Russia. Let them roil over it. I don’t give a flying fuck.” Sanders returned to the delicious croissants.
“Yes Doug, that’s what we all want. But we still need to explore the possibilities… right?” said Torgeir the Norwegian.
“Hmmm. Ok, so why can’t you Frenchies, just induct these boats into your own navy? All you would have to do is rewrite the Cyrillic crap with oui and non, oui?” observed Sanders.
American Doug Sanders owned these types of meetings in Brussels as NATO equaled United States plus token contributions from limeys, frenchies, krauts, micks and the ones that got voted in each year.
“Non, Monsieur. The French public doesn’t like weapons or wars. They think our 4 Mistrals are more than enough.”
“Jeez alright, alright. Once again we have to save your soft, untanned asses.”
“Oui.”
Doug Sanders preened, “Before this super productive meeting, I had a word with NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander. He had a few mind blowing suggestions.”
“Oui?” said one of the Frenchmen. The Norwegian had given up.
“Well, we obviously can’t sell your wine cooler to Brazil, China or India. Apparently they are in a freaky four way called BRICS with Russia. That just leaves…”
“Non, Monsieur it’s a five way.”