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.
“Pyotr, as you may or may not know, we have lost a friend today.” Primakov wondered if this was about Sergey Luzkhov’s trip to the Vorkuta Gulag. Moscow’s inner rings were in a tizzy.
“Case in point,” President Petrova nodded at the TV, where a senile Castro was saluting the American flag. “Look at him. God… he disgusts me…”
The secretary knocked and came in with two steaming cups of fine Americano.
“So the reason you are here is because of Project Catie.”
Primakov nodded and took out his notebook. He liked to pretend to take notes in the presence of superiors.
President Petrova continued, “Recently I have discovered an uber-secret, ultra-insane Stalin era project, which how shall I put it… has been tragically forgotten…”
Primakov agreed, “Tons of cool projects were flushed down the drain, Madam… especially in the 90s.”