| Vladimir Vladimirovich 20050209-1 (A-bomb) |
[Feb. 9th, 2005|10:23 pm] |
Russian original by Maxim Kononenko (c)
http://vladimir.vladimirovich.ru
One day Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin was sitting in his Kremlin office and studying the golden needle stuck into the green velvet pad.
"Snap – and that’s it," muttered Vladimir Vladimirovich, looking at the sun reflections on the needle’s edge. "Snap – and that's it."
Vladimir Vladimirovich smiled, picked up the phone, and dialed the London number for Boris Abramovich Berezovsky.
"Listen Brotha," said Vladimir Vladimirovich lightheartedly, "do you still think that Maskhadov and Basaev are invincible?"
"Since nothing has been done about them in ten years, then nothing’s gonna happen to them now," replied Boris Abramovich quickly. "While the Russians were reveling in their patriotic fever, the Chechens got themselves a nuclear bomb."
"What?" didn’t understand Vladimir Vladimirovich. "What bomb?!"
"A portable nuclear bomb," replied Boris Abramovich. "It’s still missing some kind of element, but it’s just a minor detail. I wrote to Patrushev all about it last fall."
"No way," said Vladimir Vladimirovich. "Who told you about it?"
"Reliable sources," replied Boris Abramovich.
Vladimir Vladimirovich quickly disconnected, and immediately dialed Nikolai Platonovich Patrishev, the Federal Security Agency Director.
"Listen Brotha," said Vladimir Vladimirovich, agitated, "Berezovsky just tried to BS me about Chechen’s nuclear bomb."
"Sure, he wrote to me about it earlier," replied Nikolai Platonovich.
"So, is it true?" asked Vladimir Vladimirovich in low voice.
"True," replied Nikolai Platonovich, we checked.
"Berezovsky told me it’s still missing some kind of element," said Vladimir Vladimirovich, losing all hope. "What do we do, Brotha?! What do we do?!"
"Basically, nothing," replied Nikolai Platonovich. "It does matter which element is missing."
"So, which is it," asked Vladimir Vladimirovich, breaking in cold sweat.
"Plutonium," replied Nikolai Platonovich.
Vladimir Vladimirovich exhaled, hung up the phone, and wiped out his forehead with the sleeve of his presidential jacket.
"Well, thank you, Nikolai Plutonievich... shoot... Platonovich," murmured Vladimir Vladimirovich, putting the pad and the needle back into the platinum egg with golden double-headed eagles on its paunchy sides. |
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