Moscow Machination полностью

Then the music turned staccato. The staccato was accompanied by flashes. Then the music stopped entirely. Pulikesi heard something super loud. After that he couldn’t hear much. But there was a lot of smoke and everyone was running wild. There didn’t seem to be any blood though…

“Old Badger, this is Alpha Leader.”

“Go ahead, Alpha Leader,” said Primakov. He silently winced at his new codename. Some SVR bozo had dug up his file and was now taunting him.

“Old Badger, we have bagged them up. They are good to go.”

“Any causalities? Major hits?”

“Nope. None whatsoever.”

“Sweet. Alright we are coming in,” said Primakov getting up from his desk on the Kiev-Lubyanka’s 4^th floor.

“Boss, can I just say this is one of the best ops we… you have planned. I mean hitting the target by sitting in the target… I gotta say…”

“Korlov… get a grip even the Yakutsk FSB would have come up with a similar approach.” Primakov seethed, “Using our old prison to develop software that we can’t even use? What were they thinking?”

Both the decoy Katie and the real Project Catie, needed some airline software. So when Primakov had found that the Albatross was developed at their old Kiev-Lubyanka it had become irresistible. Inevitable. The Kiev-Spetsnaz had simply camped out in the building’s attic and waited for the long conference call to end.

“How many?” asked Primakov as he entered the dev floor.

A few toppled monitors. But otherwise not much damage.

“Forty three,” replied the Alpha Team Leader.

“My records say forty two,” said Korlov.

Alpha Leader shrugged, “Well we found forty three.”

“Fine. We’ll id the black sheep later. Bag them up.”

“The equipment too?”

“I thought we were clear on this. Bag everything and everybody up… Korlov call the trucks. Get them to the loading bay.”

Thirty minutes later, two garbage trucks sped away from the Kiev-Lubyanka. The Kamaz Trashmasters were headed to Moscow. Primakov and Korlov rode in the back of the first truck, along with the 43 dazed Ukrainians. Should have been 42, but…

“Boss you sure there won’t be any issues at the border?” asked Korlov.

“Relax. We ran out of landfills in Moscow. Moscow’s streets are lined with trash. So we need more trucks to move the trash out to Yekaterinburg. Easy.”

“Yeah I drove on Merv Prospekt. It smelt real.”

“Because it is real.”

“The border guards may believe it, but what about the SBU agents… Ukrainian Intelligence? I am sure there are a few manning the Sumy-Kursk crossing.”

“Don’t worry, Calamity News interrupted a Kardashian interview with the ‘Moscow Stinker’ story. Trust me… the second they interrupted Big K, they began to believe it… truly and deeply.”

A few minutes later Korlov pondered aloud, “So how did we mess the count? Who is the 43^rd?”

“Well it’s getting harder to operate in Kiev… you know… since…”

The two loaded Kamaz trucks rolled into a side bay for inspection.

“Idti… idti…” bellowed an armed border guard.

Kirill the SBU guy opened the door of his makeshift asbestos office.

“Oh… what the fuck is that smell?” asked the guy from Ukrainian Intelligence.

“Trash brother. Trash,” bellowed their driver Maks.

“Why are you hauling trash into Russia? Jesus, I am gonna throw up.”

“Well the dealer wanted 10,000 dollars American per truck for cleaning. The punk.”

“$10,000? You kidding me? Who did you say this dealer was?”

“UAB Autogaz. They are robbers, brother. They won’t even take roubles.”

Kirill rifled through the trucks registration, insurance and cargo manifest. It read empty.

“It says here the truck is empty. How much trash do you have in there?”

“Not much, 10 % capacity. It gets stuck real hard and seeps into the metal. Ingrained. You know whaat I am saying brother?” Maks scratched the trucks doors with his nails to drive home the point.

“Uh oh. That’s disgusting. Alright,” Agent Kirill signaled the border guard to lift the gates.

“Spasibo… thank you brother,” yelled Maks as the Kamaz trucks rolled over into no man’s land.

Agent Kirill hurried back to his asbestos cave to avoid the waft from the departing trucks.”

“Stinking Muscovites,” shouted the Border guard.

Korlov breathed in relief. Apparently the Liquid Ass spray had worked. To mask odors Primakov had imported some of the best Liquid Ass from a party supply store in Vegas. Apparently there was no trade embargo on Liquid Ass.

The Spetsnaz Team’s final task, before leaving the Kiev-Lubyanka had been to bathe the Kamaz trucks with this Liquid Ass. Their cries of “Not in my job description… you will have to answer to my boss,” went unheeded.

“See I told you we will roll right through. Those guys are idiots,” smirked Primakov with satisfaction.

In the ensuing shuffle the truck carrying the office equipment overtook Primakov’s truck and entered the checkpoint area first. After waving through the equipment truck, the guard whimsically halted their truck.

“Open the cargo hold,” screamed the Russian maniac.