Moscow Machination полностью

Still unsettled, Brezhnev (btw who could blame him) had presumed it was a western conspiracy to break the Berlin Wall and reunite Germany. He ordered a GRU squad to fly into Madrid and recalibrate the West German team hotel’s air conditioning system.

A bone cold W Germany had lost the World Cup 3 — 1 to Italy.

After an hour Mika gave up. “Madam I think you should purge him.”

“I suppose,” sighed the President.

“But that Brezhnev bit was pretty odd and yet, quite detailed. Maybe we could check up on old KGB archives… to see if he is telling the truth?” suggested Vlad half-heartedly.

“And West Germany did lose to Italy that year,” added another guard.

The President made up her mind. “Nah. Forget it. I got a better idea.”

“You sure… this… whatever it is that you have planned is our best approach?” queried the Chinese Premier.

“Trust me. My analysts know what they are doing,” assured Hu Gong, the head of Chinese Intelligence.

“Ok, explain to me again, why I’m here on this God forsaken tower on a Sunday, instead of sipping green tea with my family?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Can’t believe I let you drag me here,” Premier Xiannian shook his head.

“Let me explain…” said the Hu Gong.

Premier Xiannian and his intelligence chief Hu Gong stood on the observation deck of the new Fangchun Tower. Located on the tongue of the tri-border area with Russia, it was a typical Chinese tower, with sweet curves and sharp edges.

This tongue of Chinese land was wedged between the Tumen River to the west and the Trans-Siberian railway to the east. Some Yale returned twerp, son of a party official, had done a SWOT analysis and concluded that a tower in this forsaken place had a huge potential for tourism. Ten years and counting, the crowds had never showed up while that twerp had returned to Yale for an MBA.

The Fangchun Tower wasn’t even that tall, as the Russians had objected to anything over 100ft. Something about being in the line of sight of their ICBM silo. Boo freakin hoo.

“I am still waiting…”

Hu Gong began, “Ya ok. So the Russians hit our trains and damaged several of our factories. Right?

“Right.”

“The Japanese put them to it.”

“I thought it was the Germans…”

“Oh yeah right, Japan and Germany. Both. The question is why?”

“Yes, because of the whole IP theft allegations, UN voting… Hu I know this part quite well.”

“Yeah and now our own high speed rail manufacturing program is in danger… or at least delayed…”

“Come on… Hu, get to the point,” said the Premier as he trained his high power binoculars on a freight train chugging along the Trans-Siberian. He wondered what was in its cargo hold.

“Yes, I’m getting to the point, Mr. Premier. Just give me a second.”

“Fast.”

The Premier felt a breeze. It smelt of sea weed. Sweet. The breeze grew stronger. Sweeter… and then unexpectedly a dick punch… a pungent disgusting odor…

“Sweet Buddha… what the hell is that smell?”

Hu Gong took in a deep gulp, “Good old fish.” Unlike his Premier he savored it.

“Ughh. Give me your whisky,” ordered the Premier.

Hu Gong passed over his flask.

“Relax Premier. It’s just dried fish… very delicious.”

“You eat that shit? I thought we paid you well? Are we paying you enough?” smirked the 42 year old Premier.

“Don’t tell me you have never tasted that…”

“Never.”

“You Beijing pretty boys…” said Hu Gong, “… You are all soft. Just because people want to build their phones and cars here doesn’t mean we have to give up on our simple pleasures.”

“Enough. Don’t patronize me. Get to the point. Where is this action you promised?”

Satisfied with the Premier’s outburst, Gong continued, “Two months into Anna Petrova’s presidency a British tabloid ran a story accusing her of being a crazy cat lady. The photos they published showed Petrova seated next to a samovar and two cats.”

“Two is not too many…” countered the Premier.

“Well an American tabloid ran a closer analysis and found hair on the carpet. Black hair.”

“So?”

“The pictured cats were both snow white. There was a third cat.”

“Okay three cats. But that’s probably the line between genius and genocidal.”

“That’s not all. The meek Russian tabloids finally got bold and found two more cats, bringing the total to five.”

“Ok I’m intrigued, but what the fuck does all that have to do with us… here in this shithole?”

“Those Presidential cats have vanished…”

“She is a cat strangler now?” smiled the Premier, “It was probably the FSB. They must have sold them off to some crazy cat lady in Idaho.”

“We are not sure. But our intelligence did find something…”