Moscow Machination полностью

“And to four of us wolves…,” said Marko.

“Wolves? Shit. Where?”

“Four of us wolves… running around Siberia together…”

“… looking for boars…”

“… and trouble… da…”

“To Siberia…”

“Primakov… Primakov…”

Someone was pounding on his door with the butt of an AK-74 assault rifle. Primakov knew that unique sound… the sound of an AK-74’s butt crashing into a two inch willow. Primakov really knew that. That was the first thing they had taught him at the KGB Academy in Rostov-on-Don. ‘Like every weapon, the AK-74 comes in two variants,’ their Instructor Whatshisnamikov had said, ‘the inferior export variety and the superior version for our own usage.’

“Primakov… Primakov… open up…”

Primakov opened his eyes with a splitting headache. He felt the room spin. The moonshine … right… but why had he imbibed it… he never did moonshine… unless he was undercover… was he undercover? … was he in Abkhazia? … or was he planning an Avocado Revolution in Bolivia… perhaps trying to mingle with Che Guevara types… or was he blazing saddles in Sarajevo.

“Primakov… Primakov…”

He tried to concentrate. Over the moonshine’s hammering he heard a distinct metallic edge to the AK-74’s banging. Instructor Whatshisnamikov had broken the suspense by saying, ‘… among other things, the great Kalashnikov added a steel beading to the Soviet version of the AK-74. This greatly enhanced the rifle’s balance and butt strength. The Iron Butt feature had been so popular that NATO soon changed the AK-74’s codename from Klash+ to Klash-Butt… ’ Plus the iron butt added a slight yet distinctive metallic clang to its knocks.

“Primakov… Primakov…”

Skimming and scouring through his dreams, Primakov fought for his sanity. Was he in Chechnya? Or was it Angola? Canberra? Instructor Whatshisnamikov’s monologue was reaching a crescendo, ‘Comrades, anytime you answer the calling of an Iron Butt… you are answering to the Soviet State itself… and I guarantee you one thing: You are being an absolute Patriot… the reddest of reds… ’

‘The reddest of the reds…? Damn right… a fucking first ballot Patriot… that’s what I am.’ Primakov swung off his iron cot. The world lurched. Holding onto the wall, he slid up to the door.

“Primakov… Primakov…”

He opened the door.

“You gotta see this Boss.” It was Korlov. He looked pristine. No hangovers.

“You? What the fuck?”

Korlov thrust a smartphone into Primakov’s face.

“No, no… no,” Primakov pushed away the phone. A few years ago, while stationed at Magadan a young protégé had knocked in a similar fashion and shown him something called, Two Girls One Cup. This was one of the last forms of reverse hazing allowed within the Russian forces.

“Come on man, I am too old for this shit.”

“Boss this isn’t one of those. This is important. Like America important. CIA important.”

“See… now that’s exactly what that punk said in Magadan… he said it had something to do with Tokyo rearmament…”

“Boss, I am no rookie, I am too old for that shit too,” pleaded Korlov. “… Trust me, I wouldn’t be banging an Iron Butt if I didn’t have to.”

“Trust you… hahaha… ah fuck, my head hurts… pretty sure Marko messed up that recipe.”

Korlov wouldn’t take it, “Boss, now.”

“Fine.” Primakov took the phone and plopped back onto his bed.

It was a video. Of course it was a video… it always was. The production quality on the porno was excellent. Primakov fully expected to see the two Brazilian girls any moment now.

“Oh boy. Korlov, is this a sequel? The Girls and Cups made a lot of money eh?”

“Boss please… this shit is real.” said an exasperated Korlov.

Yep, the shit had indeed been real. Too real.

The video opened with the usual music and graphics proclaiming the ‘Breaking News’, A Calamity Exclusive. A bunch of yahoos were angrily debating something.

Primakov breathed a sigh of relief. Why tarnish the original with a tacky sequel. Smart girls…

Soon the whack-a-mole of analysts were replaced by a footage. Taken from a satellite, it showed a big plane flying over water and crashing into the side of a super massive submarine. After losing its front section the plane tumbled over the submarine and somehow ended up on the airport’s tarmac. ‘Landed’ was pushing it, but the fuselage, the engines and the tail had all made it… one way or the other.

“SWEET. Wonder who planned this… where?”

“Cuba. Havana.”

“Is that our sub? Looks like our Yasen Class.”

“Calamity News and the Americans are speculating. They are trying to pin it on the Chinese. But yeah, it’s our Severodvinsk.”

“… at least they were more subtle with the Kursk.”

“Boss, the Severodvinsk should be fine, this is like a left hook from the retired Tyson… am I right?”

Primakov agreed with Korlov, “You are right. Damages?”

“Outer shell damage. But otherwise fine. Heading to Murmansk as we speak.”

“By the way, why did the Severodvinsk breach the surface?”