“Around here we take that kind of thing seriously… it’s a punishable offense.”
“Right. Sorry… the Uzbek, you going to jail him?”
“Nope, first train to Dushanbe…”
The Kamaz Trashmaster zoomed out of the border plaza in a swirl of dust.
“The
“Technically though, what are talking here? You have seen the photos.” asked Sarah.
“Well it’s got a powerful radar, I’ll give you that. But otherwise pretty juvenile stuff. It simply checks your testosterone level and compares it to a standard distribution. Nationality, sex, age, bmi that sort of thing. If the T-levels are abnormal you get flagged. Oldest trick.”
“So definitely a prank?”
“Yeah. Millions of armchair racists have taken this approach before.”
“But the Frenchmen… every one of them accepted the analysis.”
“They are
Sarah gave up. “Shall I put all this in my briefing to the Secretary?”
“Sure go ahead.”
Finished, Sarah looked at the time. 10 more minutes on this briefing with Jim.
“So whats the deal with the new Russian airliner, the one Luzkhov said they will never sell to the French.”
“Tu-420?”
“Right. Hear it was a supersonic airliner.”
“Man, like I told this gorilla, we need our Techno-Functional Expert Consultant…” Ilya was extremely discombobulated. One moment they had wrapped up that bug call with Berlin and the next here they were in what appeared to be a dilapidated Russian base.
“… He is the guy who knows the ins and outs of the Albatross. We just do whatever he says. He is PMI certified,” repeated Ilya wearily.
“Again with the PMS… You see Boss?” growled Marko.
“Yeah Boss, he thinks we are pussies… I am going to punch his balls,” threatened Volokov.
Sifting through the goons’ diatribe, Primakov heard something, “PMI?”
“Yeah man, the Project Management Institute.”
“Institute?” Primakov motioned for Marko to back off and said to Ilya, “… Go on. Who is in this Institute and why do you need him?”
“No one is the institute. Our Consultant Pulikesi… is certified by that Institute. He is the guy who actually reads the specs and takes it to us. He is like our boss…”
“Wait a minute did you just say Pulikesi?”
“Yeah.”
“You are telling me this Pulikesi… was… was a part of this Albatross software?”
“Yeah dude, like I have been telling your gorillas here,” Ilya gestured at Volokov and Marko, “he was with us that night. 42 Ukrainians and 1 Indian. That’s the only way the project became viable financially… at least that’s what Berlin said…”
Primakov furiously extracted his phone and dialed Korlov. There was no signal. The base was jamming the signals.
“Marko where is the nearest phone?”
“On the wall. But it’s not worth it Boss. It goes through the Base Control Room. I tried to call up my buddy in Omsk and those onion heads kept asking for… authorization, validation a signature from the base commander. Frankly they just need a good analization.”
Primakov patted his pocket, “Not for me. I have authorizations… I need to get Korlov… Ilya you sure this guy… this Pulikesi is not your office janitor?”
“We had no funds for a janitor man… but then again, that’s what Berlin said…”
Primakov had to repeat the 11 digit authorization code thrice before getting linked to Moscow.
Korlov answered on the first ring, “Korlov here.”
“You remember the janitor from the border… the Tajik guy we dispensed?”
“Sure Boss.”
“Yeah, so did you run him through the system? Due diligence?”
“Yeah… he is not in our system. Couldn’t get into Kiev’s. Why? Are the Tajiks returning him?”
Primakov got to the point, “First of all he is not Tajik. Apparently he is Indian. And he is not a janitor. He works on the Albatross.”
“Whaaat, but he looked like…”
“I know…”
“Wow… but he definitely uttered the word ‘janitor’”
“I know.”
“Boss we made the call under duress. You know how things bounce,” Korlov was in CYA mode.
“Fine. Just, just get hold of Border Control and see where they shipped him to.”
“It’s been what… four days, they must have put him on a train within the first 24hrs… he should be hitting the republics anytime now… today.”
“Ok call Border Control and find out the details. Then hit up the Police Chiefs of Tashkent, Bishkek and Dushanbe.”
“No Ashgabat? Ashgabat, Turkmenistan?” Korlov clarified.
“Korlov, Border Control are pigs… not psychopaths.”
“Just making sure, Boss. We don’t want to give him away the second time.”
“Yeah, let’s get this Indian punk.”
