Petulant Russian guards often topped off deportee trains with Russian vagrants… just to mess with the republics.
“No. It was an administrative error,” said Primakov, before hastily adding, “… by the Ukrainians.” Korlov was already on the cover up effort. Nobody could know about this tossing the Consultant snafu.
“Ukrainians… of course,” observed Chief Otorbayev wearily, “Suddenly they are too good for our Kyrgyz guards. Their embassy wants… demands, Ukrainian guards. Can you believe it?”
“Those Ukrainians…” Primakov nodded.
“You know Comrade, shagging up with the Americans doesn’t make them Americans.”
“Hey nobody is ‘shagging up’ with anybody. If anything it’s you guys, with your American air base…,” it was the suddenly nationalistic Ilya. He was more than willing to take shit from the Russians. But Kyrgyz? Come on. The red republic had allowed the Americans to build a friggin air base… largest in Asia… that Kyrgyz? Hell no. Plus it violated the sacred insult rankings: You had Russia on top followed by Ukraine and Belarus. Then came the Chechens, Georgians and what not. At the bottom of the pile were the Kyrgyz below the Tajiks.
Otorbayev would have begged to differ.
“Shut up,” Primakov growled at Ilya. Affronting the town’s Police Chief wasn’t on his ‘things to do in Bishkek’ wish list. Plus the brief Kyrgyz flirtation with the Americans had already ended. Time to move on.
“Shut up, prisoner,” added Marko for emphasis.
Chief Otorbayev’s walkie-talkie cackled, “Chief, Train 917 is two kilometers away. You should be able to see it now.”
“Great… that’s Omburek, our Station Master,” said Otorbayev, “Let’s get close to the action.” Chief Otorbayev led the way as Primakov, Ilya and Marko followed.
“The illegals are on the last coaches. According to Omburek, we have three coaches today. Started with ten. Tashkent took three, Dushanbe four.”
“Is there gonna be a rush? We don’t want to lose him.”
“The coaches are locked. We let them out one by one. Everyone has to register.”
“How many guys are we talking here?”
“About hundred a coach… three hundred total.”
“Exits?”
“Every coach has four exits. We open only one. But this is a walk through train, so your guy can come out of any of the three.”
Train 917 from Moscow began braking. After like a minute of anal braying it came to a halt.
Three Kyrgyz guards approached and opened one door each. Primakov held his breath. Chief Otorbayev pulled out his phone and checked up on his daughter’s VK.com activities. Ilya craned his neck in search of his bro. Marko seemed uninterested in the proceedings.
“Ilyaaa…. Ilyaaa… you crabby ass mofo… Ilyaaa…”
“Someone’s calling your name,” said Primakov.
Something flashed between the fur heads. Something tan. Something fast.
Chapter 32
Ian Maxwell
Blow Jobbs from Calamity News continued, “…in other business news, as expected the new Russian airliner, the Tupolev — 420 has met with lukewarm responses. Despite the Russian claims of a quiet supersonic jet, western airlines seem to have shied away. An anonymous American airline executive had this to say… ‘They did it with the Tu-144 which was a copy of the Concorde… and now thirty years later they are at it again… Plus research shows that the public… American public, in particular enjoys slower planes and smaller seats. Plus these days the focus is on Wi-Fi, cell signals and entertainment.’ Meanwhile, Russia leaning experts have accused Washington of protectionism and general Russophobia. To get more on this story, let’s go to our own… Jack Jizzer who is outside the FAA, ‘Thanks Blow, my sources in the FAA tell me that, this thing… the Tu-420 is a flying coffin. Did you know that 90% of airlines operating in Russia and the FSU are banned by the FAA, EU and Japan.’… 90% wow… why is that Jizzer? ‘Blow, in one word, its safety. Old planes, very old planes, lack of spares, drunk flying, letting your kids into the cockpit, archaic procedures… you name it Blow.’ So I assume, these airlines, because they are banned internationally just fly within Russia? ‘That’s right Blow they stay within Russia and its republics the — five Stans, Belarus, the Russian South and also… wait for it…. Cuba and North Korea.’ Get outta here… Cuba and North Korea? Well that completes the trifecta. ‘Yes Blow, aviation out there is a joke. In fact they got an airline named Scat?’ Please be serious Jizzer, perhaps SCAT stands for Socialist Communist Air Transport. ‘No it doesn’t Blow. I checked.’ Perhaps SCAT means air or flying in Russian… ‘The last thing I want my Scat to do is fly man…’ Hahaha… always with the classics… that’s our Aviation Correspondent Jack Jizzer everyone… thanks Jizzer.”
“Whoa. Are these guys serious? They have a SCAT in the air?” asked the stunned Undersecretary of State, Sarah McAllister.
“I guess… but then again, this is Calamity News. So whatever,” replied Jim.
“Ok getting back to this Tu-420 being an ICBM, it doesn’t make sense. I mean they already have the largest pile of ICBMs, which by our estimates is still very good. So… why?”
“For starters these things are airborne. Being a commercial jet they get to go anywhere freely. For example if they do Moscow to Vegas they get to fly over places like Area 51 and other critical areas. And once they get there, they can go kaboom.”
“But to even get to that stage… they need to be certified by the FAA and I guess the NTSB and the EU. During those inspections it should be pretty easy to see if this thing is for real… like if it can hide a warhead or if it’s an ICBM… also what about the seats, you can’t have a missile and seats and inflight entertainment and fool the FAA…”
Jim Borland shrugged, “Yeah, I guess it’s just baloney.”
“It’s time we did something… to counter the Russkies.”
“Cuba?”
Krasnoyarsk Krai, Russia
“You sure this is not a prank?” asked Pulikesi for the 19th time.
Ilya lost it, “Fuck’s sake man, NO. It’s not a prank. The Russian FSB or whatever they are, abducted us… the entire Albatross team. During transit they tossed you out… thinking…”
“…thinking I am the janitor. Right, but it was so much fun. The Tajiks, those guys are off the rockers. I had the best pot-plov ever. The Fergana Valley is insane. And the Kyrgyz… they say you can ‘take’ any woman you want and marry her in Bishkek…”
“Dude, its barbarian and misogynist. Those nomads… and before you start again, NO. This isn’t a prank.”
Pulikesi held up his hands in mock surrender. “So I took a look at the specs and it’s got nothing to do with our Albatross.”
Ilya was miffed, “Well I am just the code monkey. Throw your questions at the business owners.”
Without preamble Primakov and a pale older dude walked into their mini office. The older dude was Mueller the mad scientist from Under Russia. He had taken a superfast elevator up from underground Krasnoyarsk.
“You boys have any questions about the spec?” asked Primakov.
Pulikesi cleared his throat and started, “Is this still not a prank?”
Ilya groaned. Primakov said with finality, “Nope.”
Pulikesi made a smug face that implied, they were all in on the prank. “Ok. So about the specs, it’s got nothing to do with the Albatross. I mean usually there are some fundamental modules but this… this thing, whatever this is…”
“We don’t have all day. Mueller,” Primakov looked at the older guy, “here is a super busy guy. He is a heavy hitter.”