Moscow Machination

Volokov and Marko pulled out a pair of pliers and got to work on the chain link fence. Two days ago they had picked the spot and pre-cut the fence. Today they just had to make sure they found the pre-cut spot again. They had marked the location first with the Audi’s odometer and as a backup, splashed the scene with red insulation tape. With little exertion, they bent out the pre-cut fence to create an opening that measured 4sqft.

The train with the stolen IP was due in twenty minutes.

Volokov unspooled a steel cable of two millimeters diameter. Handing one end to Marko he pointed him to go north. Unlike everything around them, the steel cable wasn’t ‘Made in China’. It came from good old Magnitogorsk. Totally Russian.

After unspooling about a hundred meters of cable, Marko suddenly began running back. Volokov panicked and looked behind for the murmuring train. According to its manuals the CRH400A generated just 20 decibels, about 90 % quieter than the Acela Express. Fortunately for Volokov, there was no train.

Volokov turned back to the scrambling Marko and shouted “Nyet, what are you doing?”

“Noose mechanism… still in the car,” yelled back Marko.

“Fuck.” Volokov slapped his forehead, “How could you forget it?”

Marko shrugged and threw up his arms.

“Jeez. Just go get it then.”

Marko hurried out the fence, back to the Audi. As he arrived, he realized that the trunk was locked and waved back at Volokov, who fumbled and dropped the key onto the tracks before, eventually retrieving it and hitting the right button.

The cluster fuck known as post-Soviet Russia’s contributions to the world were: a) Russian mafia, b) Stunning apocalyptic scenery c) Blonde bombshells and d) Inept Special Forces.

One such inept unit based out of Moscow was the SVR-SB, where the SB stood for Sneg Barusk or the Snow Badger. Some four star general had come up with the name after catching Rob Schneider’s Animal at a Moscow cinema. He had thought it was hilarious. 21^st century Perestroika and Glasnost were fun times.

Unlike the feared Spetsnaz or the GRU, the SVR-SB was a bit lower on the totem pole of Russia’s guardian agencies. It ranked somewhere above the Armenian-Babushka Mafia and below the provincial, Chelyabinsk PD. This latest iteration of the SVR-SB had Primakov as the brains and the duo of Volokov-Marko as its brawns.

While not being that good would have spelt doom for most special units, the SVR-SB thrived in its role as a ‘fearless trier’ and a gracious ‘fall guy’. Realizing the potential, the new Russian leadership had begun assigning the SVR-SB to ‘half-assed’ ops which unlike regular ops didn’t really depend on the outcome but rather on the effort — both real and perceived.

And for some reason, the Japanese Foreign Minister Yoshi Yamazaki, wanted exactly half an ass… half an ass of the Chinese rail industry.

Marko rummaged around the boot of the Audi and emerged back with two tiny palm sized steel boxes. Handing Volokov one of the boxes, Marko resumed his run. At the 150 meter mark, he knelt to track level and placed the steel box on the inside of the eastern track. He then attached the steel cable to it. Volokov did the same to the western track. After checking the tension on the cable, the SVR-SB men exited to their Audi.

The steel cable thus connected the two adjacent train tracks diagonally over a span of 150 meters. The eastern track was used for southbound traffic into Shenzhen while the other handled northbound traffic out of Shenzhen to Guangzhou.

Six minutes away, the CRH400A rushed towards the little steel box at 400Km/hr. On the other track the CRH300, a 3^rd Generation Canadian, approached its little steel box at 280 Km/hr.

Marko thumbed his phone, as Volokov floored the Audi.

Chapter 2

Moscow

Pyotr Primakov peeped over the massive shoulders of the SVR satellite guy, Babichev. They were examining the live satellite imagery coming out of Southern China. This ‘new’ capability had been restored after the launch of their state of the art satellite, Koba.

An eager analyst at the fall of Communism, Pyotr Primakov had been jerked around for two decades at various backwater postings all over Russia. So when an ‘elite’ unit from Moscow had come knocking, he had jumped blindly.

However, in the ensuing six months, his Moscow dreams had crumpled like a reversing mushroom cloud. He had realized that the SVR-SB had no authority, no funds, Peter da Great era equipment, terrible recruits and a knack of being at the wrong place at the wrong time… by design.

Still, at least he was in Moscow, not on the outskirts of Magadan spying on some Uzbek laborer levelling a pothole on the Road of Bones.

The SVR Officer, Boris Babichev couldn’t keep a straight face as Marko and Volokov fumbled with their tasks. It was 1AM in Moscow and he was about to win 5Gs. He was exultant. The towering Babichev was the antithesis of the five foot five, hundred thirty pound, Primakov.