Ukrainian Side
The two loaded Kamaz trucks rolled into a side bay for inspection.
“Idti…idti…” bellowed an armed border guard.
Kirill the SBU guy opened the door of his makeshift asbestos office.
“Oh… what the fuck is that smell?” asked the guy from Ukrainian Intelligence.
“Trash brother. Trash,” bellowed their driver Maks.
“Why are you hauling trash into Russia? Jesus, I am gonna throw up.”
“Well the dealer wanted 10,000 dollars American per truck for cleaning. The punk.”
“$10,000? You kidding me? Who did you say this dealer was?”
“UAB Autogaz. They are robbers, brother. They won’t even take roubles.”
Kirill rifled through the trucks registration, insurance and cargo manifest. It read empty.
“It says here the truck is empty. How much trash do you have in there?”
“Not much, 10% capacity. It gets stuck real hard and seeps into the metal. Ingrained. You know whaat I am saying brother?” Maks scratched the trucks doors with his nails to drive home the point.
“Uh oh. That’s disgusting. Alright,” Agent Kirill signaled the border guard to lift the gates.
“Spasibo… thank you brother,” yelled Maks as the Kamaz trucks rolled over into no man’s land.
Agent Kirill hurried back to his asbestos cave to avoid the waft from the departing trucks.”
“Stinking Muscovites,” shouted the Border guard.
Korlov breathed in relief. Apparently the Liquid Ass spray had worked. To mask odors Primakov had imported some of the best Liquid Ass from a party supply store in Vegas. Apparently there was no trade embargo on Liquid Ass.
The Spetsnaz Team’s final task, before leaving the Kiev-Lubyanka had been to bathe the Kamaz trucks with this Liquid Ass. Their cries of “Not in my job description… you will have to answer to my boss,” went unheeded.
“See I told you we will roll right through. Those guys are idiots,” smirked Primakov with satisfaction.
Sumy — Kursk Border Crossing
Russian Side
In the ensuing shuffle the truck carrying the office equipment overtook Primakov’s truck and entered the checkpoint area first. After waving through the equipment truck, the guard whimsically halted their truck.
“Open the cargo hold,” screamed the Russian maniac.
“Trash brother. It’s just week old trash…” repeated their driver Maks.
“We don’t care. No funny stuff from Ukraine will pass me.”
They heard their truck driver Maks open his door.
“Jesus we got a moron on our side,” swore Primakov.
“I thought the preferred term was patriots,” said Korlov.
“Well the brute is doing his job… shit I can’t get any reception in here. This steel is real thick… Korlov, think of something.”
“Like what? A weapon?”
Primakov contemplated a weapon before dismissing the thought. This was the premier Russia-Ukraine land crossing. There were bound to be several more guards in the vicinity. Fuck, they should have chosen the Belarus — Chernobyl route. Very remote crossing. Plus the ‘Entered Pripyat’ tag usually worked like a charm.
Primakov dejectedly replied, “Nah, we can’t shoot a Russian border guard. Think think…”
“How about a decoy. We give him something else… like my gun… or even myself…”
“The guard will assume you are an illegal Ukrainian. He will probably take a better look… and then assume Maks is a human trafficker… ”
“Shoot. Well we should just got out. We can fix this mess later.”
“Eww, I have zero intention of hanging out at some piss ass police station in Kursk. It could take hours, maybe even days before they let us use a phone. No fixing.”
“But I thought you were the President’s right hand man…” said the exasperated Korlov.
“True. But if I can’t even execute a simple border crossing she might think I am an amateur. No.”
“I fix bugs… I exterminate… like a pestmaster… a gatekeeper… like a janitor…”
“Who’s that?”
“…bugs… large… stinky… bugs… bundle three together… they merge into one monster bug…”
“Shit, it’s one of the computer nerds. He is waking up.”
“…like a janitor… I swat the nastiest bugs… squelch them… crawl through the code…”
Maks their driver whispered through a strategic crack, “Boss. I don’t think I can hold him much longer…”
“Stall him for two more minutes. Try cigarettes and vodka.”
“No guarantees.”
Korlov soon identified the source of the voice. “Boss look at this guy’s face. That’s no Ukrainian.”
Primakov beamed a flash light, “I will be damned… Check his pockets.”
Korlov took out the wallet and read, “Pulikesi. Says he is a Kiev resident.”
“That’s an odd name… bet the ID is fake. He is probably from the republics… he babbled something about a janitor.”
“Janitor from the republics?”
“Ya, I say Tajikistan.”
“So 43 is a janitor from Tajikistan?”
“Could be Kyrgyz or Uzbek…”
“Down there, everyone is Tajik.”
Sumy — Kursk Border Crossing
Russia
Maks the driver wasn’t doing too good… he had been setup to fail, “Bogdan dude, come on. I thought we were Comrades. Hows the vodka?”
“Tastes like piss, is it Moldovan… you gotta do better man,” said Bogdan the border guard.
“How about porn? American military grade stuff.”
Bogdan hesitated, “You got DVDs?”
“I got them on my phone, right here,” Maks held out his 6” touch phone.
“Hmmm… you have BBW?”
“BBW? What is that?”
Bogdan stamped his cigarette in fury. “If you have to ask, it’s already too late.”
“Come on I got internet on my phone. 3g. I will download it right now.”
“Nah, don’t have time to buffer. Let’s just get this over with ok. Open the door.”
Maks gave up and banged the side of the truck as a warning shot.
“Fine brother,” Maks bellowed as he climbed back to the cabin, “you leave me no choice.”
“Maks release the jaw only. Not the door. You hear me Maks… hydraulic JAW ONLY…” Primakov shouted through the strategic crack.
Above the hauling mechanism’s ruckus, Maks grunted.
“STOP. STOP. STOP. Stop the damn thing,” screamed Bogdan the border guard.
Maks halted the hydraulic jaw and jumped out of the cabin and ran back.
Bogdan was petrified.
There was a brown arm dangling out of the metallic jaw. Maks took a step closer. The arm was connected to a torso. Good. The torso was connected to two legs and another arm. Even better. Dreading every moment Maks closed his eyes and bent over to take a look at the upper body. Legend had it that the Kamaz truck’s jaw had the crushing power of… seventy F-150s.
“Ahhh thank god. The head is intact.”
The brown face was twitching… trying to avoid a Ukrainian fly.
A relieved Bogdan helped Maks pull the guy out.
“An Uzbek laborer…,” said Bogdan in disgust, “You know him?”
“What? Me? Hell no. He must have jumped onto the truck when I stopped for a leak.”
“Well that makes it clear then…”
“Clear?”
“Ya man, illegals. Tajiks, Uzbeks, Kyrgyz, we catch at least one every day. Trashmasters huh… these guys are always evolving with their techniques… last week it was benzene tankers… week before it was… ”
Bogdan was impatient, “So what do we do?”