Moscow Machination (23 page)

Kremlin, Moscow

Primakov
was in a grand looking room from the Tsarist era. He was seated at the head of
an ornate 30ft table that carbon dated back to the good years of Catherine the
Great. Historic events like coups, assassinations, wars, revolutions and
invasions usually started here. The last major decision in the room had been
the approval of Moscow’s first ever McDonald’s in 1989. Since then, Yeltsin and
his dapper successors had abandoned the great tradition in favor of a conference
room at the Moscow Hilton. ‘The commute is easier da?’

But all
that changed today, as they were back at the proverbial situation room,
starting something beyond imaginable. For some reason each of the ten seats at
the table had a big swiveling model globe.

Primakov
cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go.”

Korlov his
lieutenant, activated the massive wall mounted screens. Adjacent to the screens,
10ft high portraits of Catherine the Great, Peter the Great and Ivan the
Terrible stared down in revulsion. Lenin’s portrait suggested that, he had
never really given a fuck. Stalin however seemed eager.

One by one,
the three 100inch screens came alive. The first one showed a harried Mueller.
He was conducting his last minute checks in a hassled fashion somewhere deep
under Krasnoyarsk in underground Russia. 70 years later they were ready to
think beyond the nuke with
Project Catie
.

The second
screen showed the forty three software guys who had developed the new Albatross
landing software. Out at the Krasnoyarsk base, they were waiting expectantly
for the airshow to begin.

The third
100in screen showed a skinny yet sharp looking aircraft surrounded by an army
of support vehicles. The Tupolev Tu-420 was being readied for its maiden
flight. The countdown timer beeped at the 10 minute mark.

Primakov
turned to Korlov and said, “Fax it.”

“Faxing…it…”
replied Korlov as he stuffed the Tu-420’s flight plans into the fax machine.
The plan informed the American FAA of the intended route between
Komsomolsk-on-Amur and Moscow’s Vnukovo airport.

“Make sure
you cc the NTSB as well as that crack house in Brussels.”

The fax
machine blared its old tune.

“Boss, you
can’t cc someone in fax… at least not in this machine here… you just gotta send
it again and again.”

Primakov
looked up quizzically from the globe on his lap.

“Never
mind Boss, I got it. EU, NTSB…”

“And don’t
forget Langley.”

President
Anna Petrova stormed into the situation room still arguing with her generals.
Other than Foreign Minister Luzkhov, everyone seemed upset. The guy most upset
was the head of the Strategic Rocket Forces, Boris Antipin.

“Madam I
need to see what this Mueller guy is doing. I just can’t believe you fell for
this… American plot.”

“There is
no American plot, Boris,” said Anna Petrova as she gestured her generals to be
seated, “they are only interested in proxies and sanctions.”

“But Madam
President, even if this
Catie
weapon works as expected, the economic
implications are simply unfathomable…” it was the Chairman of Russia’s Central
Bank Engalychev, “I mean we have no models to predict the fallout… this is…
this is…”

“A once in
a lifetime event?”

“More like
once in a big bang event…” offered Astrophysicist Yuri.

“Well after
600 years we are still trying to uplift our people... Russian people. And I am freaking
tired.”

“But Madam
President, you yourself have said that it’s these German spies… thugs who are
responsible for Russia’s foibles. You just said that they steal our people and
resources depriving Russia…:”

“Boris,
yes I know, what I said. These so called German thugs have also built the most
sophisticated railway in the world… an underground Trans-Siberian… an
underground Baikal Amur Mainline… plus an underground Bone railway to Magadan
through Yakutsk… thugs they may be… but they sure as hell have created
something terrific… and you know what the best part is? No one died of
frostbite.”

“Madam 60
seconds to launch
Katie
… the one with the K,” announced Primakov.

“Good.”

The Health
Secretary cleared his throat, “Madam I am sure this is good for Russia in the
long run, but what about the immediate aftermath? The fluctuations in
temperature and weather patterns could be too drastic… diseases, water supply…”

“That’s
why we got a billion barrels of
Beat-It
.”

“But
Madam, we should have got
Himm’s
, especially now that we have German
spies working for us…”

“For the
last time these Germans aren’t spies. When Berlin fell, they came over as
guests.”

“Guests?”

“Yes,
guests of the great one himself… General Secretary Stalin. By the time
Mueller’s team got settled in, the nukes were already passé. Secretary Stalin
needed something better… way better… and I think we have it today.”

“Madam,
jet Tu-420 is taxiing,” announced Primakov.

“We all
set?” asked the President turning to the three 100in monitors.

Mueller nodded
while Pulikesi and Ilya gave their thumbs up.

“Still can’t
believe you guys let in a bunch of Ukrainians and Indians on something like
this,” remarked the Rocket Chief.

The
President shrugged, “Well, we got Germans and Russians too.”

No one
spoke as the sharp looking Tu-420, the
Project Katie
, thundered down the
4000m runway. As the jet eventually lifted off, there were hoots from the 3
^rd
screen streaming live from Komsomolsk.

“Primakov,
what’s next?” asked the President.

“We wait…”

Langley, Virginia

“Looks
like it’s sticking to the waypoints …,” observed Undersecretary Sarah
McAllister.

“Yeah it’s
no Transaero,” replied Jim Borland.

As it
streaked across Siberia, the Tupolev reached the critical speed of Mach 1. If
the thing was going to burn up and disintegrate, it had to be now.

“Any
second now?” asked Doug from Brussels. He was once again being delivered in
bits through
GovChat
.

“Yep… hey
who’s that guy with the pornstache?” asked Sarah.

A
post-soviet, pre-yuppie guy with a neat stache was seated next to Doug at his Brussels
office.

“Ah…
Tomas, he is the Lithuanian rep to NATO. He is cool.”

“Dude what
the fuck… you can’t bring in born again type crazies into a live op. Are you
insane?”

“Guys,
guys Tomas is cool. He is NATO. Lithuania is NATO. We are all NATO. Plus we
just sent a bunch of F-35s to Vilnius. We cool.”

“That’s
not how things work,” protested Sarah.

“Yeah man,
this is so uncool. You are going to have to check his anal cavity now,” said
Jim, who had just cleared his psych eval after the
Clowning
incident.

“Get outta
here. No way. I have known him for years.”

“Alright,
you dump the guy or we are cutting you out of this.”

“And I
just filed an ‘abusing
GovChat’
complaint with IT.”

“Whaaat… I
thought this was an allied party, the Lithuanians are real concerned about
Moscow. We even got doner kebabs…”

“Lose the
weirdo, Doug. You got 10 seconds.”

“Seriously
dongers…? Be a man and eat a pizza… pepperoni.”

“Fine,”
said Doug as he grudgingly showed Tomas out of his office. All they heard back
was repeated nyet-s and da-s.

The Tupolev-420
pushed past Mach 2.

Kremlin, Moscow

“Phase
II,” said Korlov.

“Madam we
need Antipin to guarantee that he will fire. We really need a few MIRVs … like
I said decoys will do,” said Primakov.

“Of course
Boris is on board. Aren’t you Boris?” asked the President.

“Yes
Madam. We have everything ready,” replied Boris grudgingly. Launching MIRV
rockets? With or without active warheads? Resistance was futile.

“Komsomolsk
control hit the after burners.”

Langley, Virginia

“Holy
shit.”

The Tu-420
suddenly lurched forward at an ungodly Mach 10.

“Fuck!!!! It
just hit Mach 12.”

“Damn it,
someone call NORTHCOM.”

The
Tupolev raged past Mach 20… before it hit the magic Mach 24.

“Nooo.
Mach 24 is ICBM territory. Anything at that speed they automatically do their
thing.”

“Which
is?”

“Fire a
few anti-ballistic missiles. And if that doesn’t work, launch a few of our own
MIRVs in retaliation.”

“Shoot the
Tu-420 or missile… just veered off course. It’s heading stateside.”

“Fuck, I
can’t believe the Russians are this dumb.”

Reindeer Station, Canada

Reindeer
Station, located north of the Arctic Circle, was one of the Anti-Ballistic
Missile (ABM) sites in Canada. After easily detecting the incoming missile, the
unmanned ABM site responded with a barrage of Patriot missiles. Adhering to protocol
the Reindeer Station then site sent out a coded message to NORTHCOM that read,
“Yo, a Russian snitch was tryin’ to like sneak in. So we sent out a bunch of Patriots.
Projected destination Portland.
”

Langley, Virginia

“Patriots
failed. I repeat Patriots failed. NORTHCOM just confirmed. The Patriots failed
to intercept the intruder,” announced Sarah.

“Fudge
ruckers. Now what,” asked Doug from Brussels.

“Umm…
Evacuate.”

“Evacuate?
That’s it? We got no other plays?” asked Sarah, furiously pacing the room.

“As
humans, no. Machines, yes. Yeah, we will have to let the machines fight this out.”

Something
chimed. It was NORTHCOM.

“NORTHCOM
just launched a bunch of Minuteman missiles. Moscow, St. Petersburg, Volgograd
get the first wave.”

“Machines?”
asked Doug, still trying to locate the English section of the ICE instructions
at Brussels.

“Yeah,
either our ICBMs beat their ABMs or their ICBMs beat our ABMs”

“So there
is still a chance?”

“Yeah no.”

“Why the
hell not?”

“Coz of
the
Dead Hand Protocol
.”

“What in the
fuck is a Dead Hand Protocol?”

“Very
simply, total mutual destruction… complete obliteration of whoever is left. I
am sure there will be pockets of survivors. But please… I have zero intention
of sampling post-apocalyptic hell holes. Werewolves, critters, rationed
supplies… no tv, no internet… washing off in streams… scavenging Walmarts… forced
breeding with ugly cousins… if they are hot its fine… but… still am not taking
chances… fuck no… I had rather face an ICBM head on.”

Kremlin, Moscow

“Three MIRVs
coming in fast. Unlike our unarmed Tupolev, these bitches are locked and
loaded,” announced Korlov.

“I guess it’s
time for the real
Project Catie
to stand up,” said Mueller with a fake
evil laugh.

“Nope. We
gotta wait,” said Primakov.

“Madam I
got a bad feeling about this,” said someone in the room.

“Why
wait?” asked the President. A cold sweat was soaking up her sweet back.

“We need
more missiles Madam… more of their missiles. Antipin, your turn dude.”

Chief of
Rocket Forces Boris Antipin swore under his breath.

Finally he
asked, “How many?” He might have been asinine, but he clearly saw reason here.

“Whatever
you got… whatever Russia has got… 100… 1000… 3000…?”

“Well
since your request we have dusted up about 10,000. We have 500 in the Ukraine,
400 in Belarus, Kazakhstan has like 1000, and the other republics have 500.
Cuba 100.”

“Terrific,
let’s start with say… 300.”