The Russian Bleu was lighter and the flag’s stripes were the other way and there was no elegant way to explain it.
As she was about to give up on the Frenchmen, Sarah heard thumping footsteps behind her. It was Doug.
“Saraaaah. The Russians…”
“Yes I know…”
Doug was already ten feet ahead of her.
“Follow me… Luuuuzkhov began five minutes ago…”
The Undersecretary from the State Department took off her heels and ran after her American colleague. She planned to stuff the Le Bourget brochures into a Mirage’s exhaust.
Ten minutes later they rushed into the jam packed Russian hangar. Luzkhov looked different. He was prancing around in jeans, sneakers and a black turtleneck.
“Thanks for tuning in to
Jim Borland burst into laughter. Those deranged Russian fucks…
“… things got testy when the
“… later at a nearby hospital, 99 % of the identified, confessed to have at least had a thumb…”
“… the two Algerian-Frenchmen have also confirmed that they don’t swing according to societies’ pre-set beliefs… which brings the
The new wave of laughter caused Jim to fall off his chair. He continued to guffaw in a fetal position for the next twenty two minutes.
“… welcome back to our 24x7x365 broadcast. This is
The thought of the German Chancellor getting hit on by straight men in gay clubs put an end to Jim’s giggles… he threw up.
Jim Borland swore and reached for his blue line.
“… In other
Sarah McAllister was somewhere over Iceland while Doug Sanders was deep inside a dark Eurostar tunnel. Both were unreachable.
“… stay tuned to find out what this former Iranian President had to say about the
“Ok. That should work. Well thank you… sure, talk to you next week.”
By the time the buffoon in Bangalore had uttered those words, it was 11PM in Kiev. The brute in Berlin took fifteen more minutes to come to the same conclusion. “Ok. That should work. Talk to you next week.”
The entire Albatross team had had to stay back on a Tuesday night, as the brute and the buffoon had asininely walked through every one of the 85 remaining bugs.
“Well that went well,” said Ilya.
“I guess… how long was it?” asked Pulikesi.
Ilya checked his phone, “Phew 4hrs… that’s a record… Hey, I was hoping we could take the day off tomorrow? I mean we have been here since 7.”
“Nah. It’s only Tuesday. I don’t think I can approve that.”
“I distinctly heard Von Barfman say that you are the man.”
“He was being polite… just a corporate asshole.”
“Well your own guy in Bangalore also said quote he never expected this pleasant surprise… ’”
“Fine. Thursday, 8AM sharp.”
Ilya messengered the team, as a boisterous chorus broke out “Da… da… da…”
Pulikesi saw a sudden flash… an unidentified flying object… headed right at him. Fuck.
“Pulikesi… catch,” shouted one of the developers.
Pulikesi dived as Ilya caught the vodka bottle one handed and proceeded to take a massive swig. Within seconds the entire dev floor was filled with clinking bottles and dudes. Someone even plugged in an electronic mix into the old prison’s PA system. The old PA system had probably been used for wolf music. Its acoustics were… incredible.
A developer, happy as a clown handed him a personal shot. As Pulikesi held out his hand the drink exploded into a fiery shower. Oooh cool trick thought Pulikesi. The hollow point had ignited the vodka.
