Moscow Machination

“Sorry Madam. I can’t answer any of those questions. Like I said, I am just the Messenger, and the message is: The weapon is ready.”

“So whats the point of telling me it’s ready, you creep? Wait this beer tastes awfully good… this mustn’t be a dream… I think I am going to call my guards.”

“Sure. But you can’t hurt me. No one can hurt me.”

“Eww why is that…? Please don’t tell me you are a ghost or a half dead werewolf or something like that… please…”

“I am very much alive Ms. President. Don’t worry, I won’t eat your brains out. It’s just that we have taken the necessary precautions this time. Not after that incident with Leo.”

“Oh… Leo… of course, Leo… who the fuck is Leo?”

“Leonid Brezhnev.”

If she had been on a chair instead of the Lazyboy, the President would have tipped over. “You have met Brezhnev? Wait ‘We’? There are more of you lot…? Are you some surviving Old Bolshevik?”

“No Ma’am. We have no political ethos. Last time, my brother Karl was picked to deliver the message. He had an encounter with Leo… that awful unibrow and his guards…” Otto shuddered before continuing, “they… they killed Karl… ugh… ya long story short, they fucking killed him. Since then it was decided to always go in with the safety on.”

“You met Brezhnev, dead Karl, more of you… Oh god… I think I know what this is … it’s the Chinese revenge… the Chinese have drugged me…”

“No madam… Anna… Just finish your beer… oh ok good… here chug another one… ya.”

In the Corona fueled swirl, Anna Petrova wondered how the Chinese had bribed an Old Bolshevik to kill her. Because the Bolsheviks didn’t believe in money… so had to do with ideology… but ‘Otto’ the German had just said… no political ethos… ethos… German… Lebowski… Nihilists… Nazis… ah… they weren’t called the National Socialists for nothing… Socialists… Karl Marx… the Father of all Reds… but how did the Chinese fit in… oh yeah they were Reds too… Must have something to do with Mao… and his Old Chinese Politburo… the one that was into purges… aha… so the Soviet Reds, the Chinese Reds and the German Reds had all gotten together to Assassinate her… oh god… why… why… why… that’s it… she knew why… because the old geezers couldn’t stand a woman on top… aha… noooooo…

* * *

Anna Petrova’s usual somniloquy lasted anywhere between 45-183 seconds. At 389 seconds and counting she was on a tear tonight. At the 450sec mark when they heard the loud ‘Nooo’, the guards had had enough. The Federal Protective Service aka the President’s’ body guards entered the bedroom.

“Madam is everything all right?” asked the leading guard Mika. He immediately saw the old guy in the white coat seated next to Petrova. “Shit there is someone else in the room… looks like that chicken guy… hey who are you…?”

“Looks more like Santa…” screamed Vlad one of the other guards on the detail.

Otto Fuchs waved at the three Presidential guards. “Hola. This time the safety is on.”

Seeing Otto the rotund guy, seated next to their sweet, sleep talking President, the guards almost went America over Otto’s ass with the ‘Sir… hands where I can see them… lie down on your tummy… slowly spread your legs… ’ routine. Almost.

But then, Mika and his men weren’t some inner city blues, they were Russian Special Forces, the best in close-quarter hand to hand combat.

So Mika the main guard, ran and punched Otto in the face. Hard. Otto blanked out. But his safety was still on.

The commotion nudged Anna back out of her mind bending assassination plot. She was fully awake in about 87.6 seconds and wondered whether the nightmare had ended. She then noticed the unconscious Otto sprawled under Mika.

“Madam are you alright? Did this man hurt you?”

“Yeah. I think I am ok. A little bit drunk though.”

“Ma’am do you know this man?”

“No. He said some strange things about a weapon.”

“A weapon? Don’t worry ma’am. We will extract all information within the hour.”

* * *

President Anna Petrova ordered the guards to start interrogating Otto then and there, right in her room. The guards had suggested calling in the bigger guns from the FSB, but the President had been adamant. She needed to know first-hand. The Russian public and world leaders had often assumed/accused her of being soft and lacking experience. So she really wanted to see one of these things in person… see an old man spill out his bloody guts. A sort of an initiation.

* * *

Fifty minutes into the torture session, Anna pleaded with her guards to stop. She just couldn’t take it anymore. The so called new torture technique was unbearable. Even the Pacquiao-Mayweather bum fight had been more interesting than this ‘session’. The insane new technique was an assault on her senses and an insult to the long line of Great Russian torturers.