by Ian Maxwell
To execute Project Catie and revive the Russian glory, she needed a few people. Not too many to fuck it up, but just a couple maybe. Sergey Luzkhov, had been rising through the Foreign Ministry, ever since 90s. Being the second most powerful dude in her administration, he had helped her navigate Crimea and the ensuing sanctions. Above all he seemed to be a Patriot who believed in Russia.
Sergey Luzkhov, the bespectacled diplomat and patriot stood up as the President walked into his office. He seemed flustered.
“Morning Sergey. Everything alright?”
“Dimitroff our man in Pyongyang has failed. I tried to do damage control and I ended up making things worse. My responsibility.” Luzkhov put up his hands defensively.
“What did you do?” asked Anna apprehensively. Was Sergey cracking?
“Well I broke protocol and spoke to that punk directly and he got pissed. Now he will only talk to you.”
Anna was slightly relieved. Project Catie was going to hurt a ton of countries, but The DPRK probably wasn’t one. The dumb brat could come in handy later. She didn’t have much to lose.
“Ok, fine. Get him on the phone right now. What does he want in return for the tiger?”
“God knows what that bum wants. Probably S-400 SAMs. Or aid… but most likely cocaine.”
“Don’t overthink it Sergey.”
“Ok Ma’am, but just make that you address him as Dear Leader or Leader.”
Five minutes later President Petrova was on the phone with the Great Leader.
Unlike the prickly conversation with Sergey, the Leader was quite jovial. The Packers had delivered the bear beat down.
“Hello Madam President. How are you?”
“He is probably high,” whispered Sergey.
“Leader, thank you for taking my call. You can call me Anna.”
“Oh ok, Anna… Anna I am huge fan of you and your work and your values. I like the new direction Russian direction.”
“You are very kind Dear Leader. I just wanted to thank you and your forces for saving our Russian treasure Zoya and staving off a nuclear strike.”
“Oh, did Sergey put you to this. We roughhouse all the time Anna. Don’t worry about it.”
“That is a relief Leader. Thank you.”
“Before you say anything, I am putting Zoya on the next deluxe train to Moscow.”
“But…”
“No buts Anna… I insist.”
“Don’t you want anything in return… Leader?”
“Did old Sergey tell you I demand things? Did he say I cry like a baby?”
“That devious shit,” seethed Sergey quietly.
“Uhh. No Dear Leader, Sergey has been all praise. In fact he invites you to his hometown Kirov. He wants to showcase its rich history.”
“Thanks. Tell him, I will think about it.”
“Good. Is there anything else, you would like to discuss Dear Leader?”
“Hmmm… let’s see… there is this one little thing…”
“Aha, I knew it. Here comes the dagger Madam,” frothed Sergey unable to contain his glee.
“I am all ears Dear Leader.”
“Anna, your predecessor’s administration made a deal with us. Your homeboy Sergey who is hiding behind your sweet behind is well aware of this.”
“I am not fucking hiding behind anyone’s back,” replied Sergey in a tightly contorted tone.
“Sergey Luzkhov in the flesh? Well Madam… Anna the deal, was we send you some sweet ores... iron ores, in exchange of something we need.”
“Which is?”
“Fish.”
“Fish?”
“Yes my people love some good fish and chips.”
“We have been sending the fish… by the train load,” interjected Sergey.
“No. You have been sending us rotten fish you rotten piece of shit,” remarked the Leader.
“Rotten?” asked Anna. Sergey was silent.
“My people have been eating the same rotten fish that Zoya ate for months. The same rotten fish that made Zoya sick. The same rotten fish that made Zoya salivate at the Chinese snipers. The same rotten fish that made Zoya puke and faint.”
“Jesus that’s awful. Sergey did you know about the rotten fish?” asked Petrova.
Sergey seemed lost. Eventually he shrugged, “I delegated it to our Vladivostok office.”
“No shit,” yelled the Leader, “that clown is fishy as fuck Anna.”
“Dear Leader, I am terribly sorry. I am sorry for what we have put you and your people through.”
“Wow! Anna, Anna, Anna…did you just say sorry? Now there’s a word I have never heard a Russian utter!”
“We will fix this right away Dear Leader. I will ensure that your people, the North Korean people… get the best fish from our Kamchatka fisheries. You have my word on this Great Leader.”
“Anna I could kiss you right now. If Sergey wasn’t listening in, I swear, I would.”
“Please Dear Leader. Nothing pains me more than sending rotten food. Again I’m truly sorry.”
“Man, I knew you were different,” proclaimed the Leader of North Korea before hanging up.
Anna Petrova sighed and turned to the defiant yet shaky Luzkhov.
“Sergey, I don’t know what you did in the past. I sure as hell don’t care how you delegate stuff. From now fucking on, you better pull it together.”
“Madam I can explain…”
“Rotten fish? Your rotten fish almost got my tiger killed, then ended up killing the head of Chinese intelligence, took out the Chinese Premier and now this… starving innocent people... that’s fucking genocide man.”
“Madam… but you started this. You authorized the hit on the Chinese train.”
“On your FUCKING advice. You vouched for it. Plus this has nothing whatsoever to do with the Chinese hit.”
“Oh come on… Anna…”
“Don’t ‘Come on Anna’ me. You know what… you don’t seem to be getting the situation. Here we have a sweet, misunderstood boy, whom you made me believe was a drug addled maniac.”
“Anna, the whole world knows he is bat shit eating crazy…”
“Hey even I was accused of being a crazy cat lady…”
“Exactly. And due to my spin, you are now associated with a tiger…”
The President had heard enough. Anna Petrova picked up an intercom, “Send in someone from my security detail. Wait, send in as many as possible.”
“Whats going on Anna?” asked Sergey Luzkhov the Foreign Minister.
“Well I thought up a fun adventure for you Sergey.”
The three guards, hearing the rising argument, instinctively encircled the Foreign Minister.
“Haha. So… what are you going to do… send me to Lubyanka? This isn’t 1936 anymore… don’t you dare let these gorillas touch me… hey… get off me… hey.”
“Lubyanka is still in Moscow and I don’t trust the FSB.”
“So? Hey… hands off me.”
“You are off to Vorkuta. I want you to oversee the mining operations for a couple of months. Consider this your last warning. Guards.”
The three guards secured the former Minister and dragged him away.
“The Guuulag?” screamed Sergey as he was taken away, “Nooo.”
Chapter 15
Washington DC
Sarah McAllister, the Under Secretary of State stared at the doofus from Ukraine. This was his second trip to DC in the past three weeks. His laundry list of needs included more weapons, more ammo, more training, more yoghurt, more antacid, more teargas and more riot gear. The only stuff missing were the requests for clothing from Macy’s and perfumes for his mistresses.
Viktor rocked a bald egghead, wimpy spectacles and some never shaven smooth cheeks. With his incredible lack of masculinity he was probably the last unsullied man in Ukraine. Hmm… he did seem cute from that perspective.
Sarah shook herself out of the daze.
“Ms. Sarah, I know you have given hope and
change to my Ukrainian people. But we need more.”
“Look man… Viktor. Our aim was to catch the Russians offside. And we succeeded, with your help. That’s it.”
“But Ms. Sarah, that wasn’t our deal…”
“What was our deal Viktor? We made you the Prime Minister. What more could you want?”
“I am the President.”
“Oh. Ok sure. We promised you the Presidency and here you are, a year later in that… strong Presidential throne.”
“But what about our economy? Investment in our industries… you promised all that…”
“Viktor let’s face it, the Ukraine is a basket case. You guys have the worst economy in Europe. Worse than Greece, worse than Portugal. Even if we grouped you with Africa and made a new MEA-U, you won’t crack fifty. I bet you guys tie with Chad.”
“This is unacceptable to me and the Ukrainian people who voted for me...” Viktor tried fury.
“Please Viktor, stop the act. Or are you that retarded. Even you can’t believe that 78% of the electorate voted for your egghead.”
“Egghead...? What do you mean 78%?”
“Jesus. You are one seriously dumb Prime Minister.”
“President. I am the President…”
“Look here Viktor, you are a puppet, a device, a folly, a yokel, a village idiot and a tool… a tool that we used to advance our agenda… the United States’ agenda. That’s all. I mean we can give you a few used F-16s and some old tanks but… that’s it…”
“But our air force flies Migs….”
“Exactly and you use T-90 tanks, which you freakin co-designed with the Russians.”
“Yes, but…”
“And you can’t integrate our Aegis or Patriot defense systems….”
“Yes but…”
“And your rail tracks aren’t standard gauge.”
“They are Soviet standard gauge…”
“Which means European trains can’t run into Kiev with toilet paper.”
“But we can’t re-lay 60,000 miles of tracks just for toilet paper Ms. Sarah. That’s insane.”
“And you have made my point. You have been too close to Russia for far too long man. I mean we can only do so much. As long as we can rankle and irritate Russia, my job here at the State Department is done. Finished.”
The President of Ukraine remained silent for a while before saying, “You are saying I don’t matter? The people of Ukraine don’t matter?”
“Oh no! You matter to us very much… like say Afghanistan, Kosovo or Mexico or even…”
“But those are failed states.”
The Undersecretary chided the Ukrainian, “Now Viktor, we don’t use that term anymore. It’s considered offensive.”
“But… but your President said so himself at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner.”
“Jesus man, the Kardashians were there. He would have sent the Queen of England to G-Bay for a glance at Kim’s dimples. That’s not our foreign policy man… unless of course Kim wants it to be, but…”
“But isn’t comedy supposed to be the truest form of truth…?”
“Man your idioms are all fucked up. You are misinterpreting a lot of things. I suggest you get a better interpreter Viktor, like someone who isn’t using you to get to New York and get on the runway.”
“FYI, I went to Cambridge. My English is just fine. Also Elena isn’t my interpreter, she is my body woman.”
Sarah McAllister cringed, “Yikes, whatever man. I am running late for my next meeting. I got to meet someone from Langley. Just… just try to do some reforms or something ok. People like that kind of message.”
“But what about Crimea? What about Donetsk? Mariupol? And why the fuck is that Georgian psycho running our Odessa?”
Sarah held up her arms defensively. “First of all Crimea was always Russian. It was transferred by Khrushchev to the Ukraine, when the Ukraine was still part of the USSR. In fact back in 91, when you guys came out of the closet, you should have voluntarily retuned that wasteland surrounding Chernobyl to Russia. See, if you had returned Chernobyl you could have kept Crimea.”
“But…”
“It’s like transferring Nashville to Kentucky or something. It’s all cool because Nashville is still in the USA.”
“But that doesn’t even make sense.”
Sarah McAllister was done with the Ukrainian dummy. The nerd was pathetic. “Yes it does. As for our boy from Tbilisi, I don’t know why, but he truly believes in selling the idea of democracy.’
“But that’s not actual democracy.”
“And that’s why we like him. And the POTUS loves him… loves him.”
“But…”
“That will be all Prime Minister.”
Washington DC
“Jim, I think Viktor is about to jump the shark,” said Sarah McAllister as she settled back into her chair.
“Whatever… we got a platoon of bums ready to sub in,” assured Jim Borland the CIA’s in-house Clowning Specialist.
“Ok, but is that Georgian really necessary? He seems to be getting on Viktor’s nerves.”
“Nobody irritates Russia more than Saakashvili. And irritating Russia always wins out over placating Ukraine. Our stance is quite clear.”
“Yeah,” began Sarah pulling up a new file, “rankling the bear is a noble endeavor, I agree. But the economics are beginning to outweigh this… this thing with Russia.”
Jim shrugged. Economics – what did it even mean, “Shoot.”
“In the past 5 years, the global economy has lost Egypt, Syria, Libya, Tunisia, Iraq, Lebanon, Greece and now Ukraine.”
“Yeah, but… that’s a very small price,” protested Jim as Sarah waved him off.
“Our allied corporations would beg to differ. Companies here as well as in Europe and Asia are extremely concerned.”
“But the losses are nullified by the sale of ammo and F-16s and choppers and what not.”
“Yeah, that’s great for Boeing and Lockheed. But what about the little guys? Guys like Apple, Samsung, BMW, IBM, and Starbucks… someone’s still got to buy the phones and sip those lattes.”
Jim sipped his strong morning brew as he pondered. “Ah, I see where this is going. We carrot the shit out of India and stick it to China and Brazil. A bump of say 2% for the Indian economy would probably erase all memories of Greece and Ukraine. A 0.5% bump to the Chinese GDP should wipe out all of our Middle Eastern losses. A 1% rise in the Brazilian output should put us in the clear.”
“No Jim, it’s gotten to a point where we can no longer redistribute GDP.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Russia.”
“Russia…? Please. Economically they are the equivalent of Pakistan or Puerto Rico on a good day. They aren’t even a trillion dollar economy.”
“Not so simple. Russia has natural resources and now they are turning the heat on Exxon and Shell and BP…. And because of Russia we have lost the Stans and Belarus as well. Granted they aren’t big, but if Russia goes through with their Eurasian Customs Union we are screwed.”
Still unconvinced Jim asked, “Ok. So what do you propose?”
“We ran the numbers. We are going to need more than the B ICS.”
“Well I got Papua New Guinea, New Caledonia, Fiji, Algeria, Laos, Western Sahara and Burma… Burma has infinite potential…”
Sarah shook her head and smiled coyly. “We thought of something else. Something way better.”
Something went off inside Jim, “You can’t be serious…”
“We are lifting sanctions on Cuba.”
“Oh no…”
“And Iran.”
“Oh Nooo….”
“Maybe even Pyongyang.”
Chapter 16
Kremlin, Moscow
Anna Petrova flipped through the usual suspects. Like a team of synchronized swimmers the western news networks broke the story within micro seconds of one another: Washington was all set to lift sanctions against Iran and Cuba.
Anna Petrova had been expecting something along these lines. In fact Sergey before his little ‘vacation’ to Vorkuta had predicted an inclusion of Venezuela and North Korea to create an uber unholy quadrifecta… so darn predictable. But what the west wasn’t going to predict was her Project Catie.
“Madam a Mr. Pyotr Primakov from SVR-SB is here to see you.”
“Bring him in,” said the President. She had promoted a drone to replace Sergey as there was going to be very little work for the Foreign Ministry in the immediate future. Russia was being sent out into the cold, yet again. But this would be the last time.
On the operational side she needed someone to oversee Project Catie’s execution – the nuts and bolts – as per the retro-Nazi’s specifications. Eleven months into her presidency, she still couldn’t get straight answers from the FSB and SVR. The agencies still yearned for her gator chasing predecessor. Factoring in American spies, it was going to be hard to execute Catie, without some outsider-insider help.
After the loss of Sergey, she had drawn up requirements for this new position: The person had to believe in Russia and had to be sort of an outsider... someone ignorant of Moscow tendencies.
While rifling through binders full of men, a familiar face had caught her attention. It was Primakov, the guy who had planned that train incident in Guangdong. The Japanese and Germans had been pleased with the outcome. In fact, when the Cuban news broke, the German chancellor had texted, ‘Vee got ur back’ and the Japanese emperor had DMed an ‘IOU’.
Primakov shuffled in uncomfortably and took the seat across the President. He really felt out of place. With no interpreter to bridge the power gap, he smiled awkwardly at the President.
“Would you like something to drink? Some Starbucks? Supposedly that’s what the American President drinks.”
“Yes Madam. Thank you.”
“Two tall Americanos,” Anna notified her secretary.
“Madam, I am yearning for the day when the espresso mafia will add a Tall Russian.”
The President smiled. She had found her man.