Moscow Machination полностью

“Conclusion?”

“A bad day to reenact a good movie.”

NATO’s Doug Sanders, CIA’s Jim Borland and the State Department’s Sarah McAllister watched the live feed from the French destroyer Zizou. The last of the Russian sailors were getting off the Mistral ship Sevastopol and onto the rescue rafts. As expected the Sevastopol’s Russian officers had been easy to corrupt. The price: One, maybe two American wives and a big Ford F-150 truck.

Within minutes, the Sevastopol escorted by the US Navy set sail to Miami. Apparently some basketball superstar wanted a new pad to party. The Sevastopol’s 40 helicopter parking spots was quite attractive to his eclectic guests. Perhaps even Marine One might show up. Undersecretary McAllister, Doug and Jim, were all on the list.

After a few parties, the Sevastopol was scheduled to be moved to Orlando where a Commie theme park was being planned. The park’s attractions would include a GUM Store, rehabilitated Migs, Ladas, cheap vodka, stuffed sables and several miniature gulags. With its centerpiece Sevastopol secured, the next task was to grab a few Lenin statues. Apparently there was a fire sale in the Ukraine.

The French Navy’s Mistral warship was on its way to Sasebo Base in Japan. It was scheduled to take part in some war games alongside the US Pacific fleet. The point of this anal exercise was to showcase the Mistral’s capabilities to the visiting Vietnamese General. Apparently the Vietnamese were in the market for a ship and the French happened to have one. They would have had two, if not for the powerful Orlando Theme Park lobby.

Captain Deschamps Depardieu looked ahead gallantly.

The cloud engulfing their hill suddenly evaporated and exposed the dazzling sun. Their sunrise often beat Hokkaido by 3 minutes.

Primakov and Korlov however were hooked to their gadgets. From the looks of it, everything was on schedule. Everybody was accounted for and in place. Every aspect of their prep had gone right. Every contingency had been accounted for. It was an odd feeling.

Right there, right then Primakov realized that he was experiencing something extraordinary. A Russian efficiency. Well oiled, well equipped, well planned — Russian efficiency. He played with those words in his mind and felt a tingle. Russian efficiency. During their heyday the KGB planners… his predecessors had probably felt the same.

“Tran Boi Nguyen and his convoy just exited the Hilton,” cackled their local asset, Masaki in Sasebo City, Japan.

“Can we trust this Masaki guy? His dossier says this is his first job,” queried Korlov.

“I wouldn’t worry. He is just a favor,” informed Primakov.

Korlov and Primakov had been eagerly waiting for the Vietnamese delegation. Intelligence reports from the Atlantic confirmed that their Mistral, the Sevastopol had just been Red October-ed by the Americans. The French Ambassador to Moscow had voluntarily turned up at the Kremlin and informed that the ship had gone missing during a ‘training incident’. Apparently the brave Russian officers had sunk with the ship and the young sailors had been rescued.

Zero imagination. Zero.

“Favor? He isn’t in it for the money? What a creep.”

“Samurai Squad, that Vietcong and his buddies just got out of the Hilton. Be ready to pounce in six minutes.”

“Copy that Team Leader,” came the response from Spetsnaz’ Samurai Squad. It consisted of Russian dudes with Asian blood. Today their mission was to impersonate the Vietnamese convoy and ultimately pull off a Jack Sparrow style heist.

“I suppose he reads manga. But he’s not a creep. He has been vetted by both sides.”

“Both sides?” asked Korlov.

“Well, the Japanese are returning the favor. Masaki is their guy, he just doesn’t know it himself.”

“Favor for the cocaine train?”

“Yep.”

“Aren’t the Japanese like snuggle buddies with the Americans? At some point the Americans are going to stay enough is enough.”

“Yeah, but they are beginning to tire of capitalism. Or maybe they want to open a new Toyota factory in Detroit. This is all probably just some bargaining chip…”

“Mhhmm. Sneaky little fucks… boss the USS Green Bay is in position.”

“They are sticking to the route,” said Masaki who had been following the Vietnamese convoy on his unisex motorbike.

“Samurai team … two minutes.”

“Rodger that.”

Maria the Vladivostok office manager stumbled into Primakov’s command center.

“The fuck woman…? We are in the middle of something here. Get out.”

“Kremlin on Line 9, you little shits,” replied Maria. It was her 29th year as a secretary at the Vladivostok office.

“Fuck.” The clock was winding down. Primakov picked up Line 9.

It was the President. “Primakov this is Petrova. I need you to abort.”

“Fuck. Right now? Are you sure Madam?”

“Just do it.”

Primakov signaled Korlov to kill the mission. Weeks of prep down the drain. Russian efficiency…