Moscow Machination Page 8

  “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.

  Chapter 13

  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 4th 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 4th 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 4th 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 u
s the 4th 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 4th 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 4th 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.”

  “Kid, trust me. It was the previous administration’s stand on the DPRK. Not mine.”

  The Leader exhaled deeply before countering the Chinese Premier.

  “Previous Administration? Whats gotten into you tea baggers? Previous administration? Who talks shit like that…? Of the top of my head only one country…”

  “I know, I know things are changing in China. I just want to thank you for what you guys did.”

  “Ya whatever man. I just can’t believe how your Hu Gong, talked you into this tiger abduction bs. Even a sophomore at Pyongyang State’s Political Sciences would have told you to stay the fuck away from that tiger.”

  “Well we have our rare lapses. But he is gone now, which means…”

  “Which means you can put your own guy, that perv, as the new chief of MSS.”

  “Hey, Li is not a perv. He just wanted to make sure my wife wasn’t cheating.”

  The Leader had the upper hand today, “Like I said to that Russian moron, Bears-Packers kick off is in like three minutes.
So… make this quick.”

  “Well, as a gesture of goodwill, you are invited to our thanks giving party this year. How does that sound kid?”

  “Ok, I am listening.”

  “Also, we know you love fireworks. We can’t lift the fireworks embargo, but how about a visit to Beijing or Shanghai, for our Chinese New year celebrations?”

  “Hong Kong.”

  “Kid you are busting my balls here. Shanghai and Beijing are way better than that cesspit. Trust me. Plus the whole ‘free media’ will be there.”

  “Alright, I will think about it. Rodgers is lining up. I don’t plan to miss a single snap this season.”

  “Well kid. Take care. No more stunts without telling us. That’s all we ask for.”

  “The Leader can’t promise anything. Bye.”

  By the end of the first quarter the Pack were up 10-0. No surprises there. As long as they had Rodgers, the Pack always had a chance. No personnel, coaching or front office shenanigans was going to change that. Sort of like himself and the DPRK. As long as North Korea had him as their Leader, they were always in the game.

  Just as the Leader was ready to dive into his mock KFC bucket, he was informed that the Russian Foreign Minister wanted to chat.

  The Leader grabbed the receiver and barked, “What is this asshole day? Sergey you dried up piece of shit, how dare you call me? Where are your protocols mofo? I am not talking to anyone lower than Anna Fucking Petrova herself.”

  “…nobody talks to Sergey like that….”

  The Leader hung up the phone. He had no intention of missing a bear beat down.

  Chapter 14

  Kremlin, Moscow

  Anna Petrova felt invincible that morning. Walking the Kremlin’s power corridors, she finally felt ‘in place’. In the past year she had been jerked around by one dumb crisis after another, plus the Russian bureaucracy hadn’t helped either. Not anymore. Not anymore.

  Everything looked different in Project Catie’s glow. Her guards Mika, Marat and Vlad had become more respectful towards her. No kid gloves.