Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Sunday, August 06, 2017

Pravda!

"Finally, some sun coming out!" exclaimed Texas Congressman Zeke "Slick" Hicks, pulling his captain's hat lower over his eyes.  "Just as we were heading back to D.C.!"  He idled the motor of the newly acquired Molotov Cocktail (a gift from Exxon) and headed back to the cooler to grab another beer.  "Man, I wish I was deep-sea fishing in the Gulf instead of chugging up the Chesapeake!"

"Why did you stop the boat?" whined Congressman Devin Nunes.  "I don't wanna miss my flight to California!"

"Aw, don't get your shrimp nets in a tangle!" replied the Chairman of the secret Russia Caucus.  "I just wanna look at the blue sky for a minute!"

"Blue sky," muttered Wisconsin Congressman Paul Ryan under his breath, rolling down his shirt sleeves.  (The Speaker of the House had to avoid direct sun since becoming a zombie earlier in the year.)

"Can we go over the talking points again?" asked Rep. Nunes.  "I still don't understand how I'm supposed to explain to my constituents why we increased sanctions on Russia even though Russiagate is a big fat nothing burger."

"We're just doing what the intelligence community recommended," said the Speaker of the House.  "But none of it is connected to Trump ...or to us, for that matter."

"Well, what if my constituents see it differently?" continued Nunes.  "Mueller's got the second grand jury now, somebody leaked that phone call where Trump complained to the Australian prime minister that Putin was more pleasant to talk to, somebody leaked that Trump was involved in Junior's bogus statement on the Russian adoptions meeting, Trump complained about having to sign the Russia sanctions bill--"

"We've gone over this!" said Rep. Hicks (who was perfectly capable of denying to his dying breath being in over his head).  "Plausible deniability!  Limited liability corporations!  We've done everything very carefully, and there's no way that Manafort will squeal because, well, you know."

"He'd be whacked by the Russian mob!" laughed the Speaker of the House, a little more light-headed than usual with the sunlight affecting the maggots in his brain.

"It's not funny!" protested the sunbathing Representative from Florida (who was in denial about skin cancer, sea-level rise, and her re-election odds if voter suppression efforts failed in her District).  "You can't just laugh it off, Paul!  We need to stay in agreement on these talking points!  I don't want some guy named Vitaly showing up at my door when push comes to shove."  (Actually, she did have some fantasies about a young, handsome "Vitaly" getting physical with her, but that's in a different blog....)

"The Russia bot Twitter trolls are cranking out more #MAGA Tweets than anybody else," said Rep. Hicks.  "They're also in the top ten for Tweeting "fakenews" and "SethRich"--they've got our backs, and we've got theirs, and Exxon hasn't given up hope of reversing those sanctions later and drilling in Russia.  The way I see it, Mueller's gonna nab a couple little low-lifes from the campaign, the New York A.G. is gonna nab a couple of Russian money-launderers, and the Republican voters will come roaring back to vindicate Trump, like a tornado zipping across Interstate 10!"

"Damned straight!" exclaimed the Speaker of the House.

"Well, at least we still have Obamacare," sighed Devin Nunes.  "I won't have to take questions about repeal and replace anymore."

The smile faded from Rep. Ryan's face, and he started fantasizing about ripping the Californian's head off and chowing down on his brains right now.

Back in D.C., Captain Tyler Glockmann rolled his wheelchair into the upper floor meeting room of the Brewmaster's Castle.  Today he was the first one in for the Heurich Society Meeting, though he had already spoken to Condoleezza Rice every morning and every night this week.  He grabbed a muffin from the tray that butler Han Li had left out, dreading the bad news he would have to deliver today:  the Joint Chief of Staff would go to the mat against Trump on transgender service members, but nothing else...at least, not yet.  He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about his brother--the real, deceased Captain Tyler Glockmann.  Did you serve your country?  Am I serving my country?  The god-damned President of the United States had just launched his own propaganda news channel, which would declare any indictment against the entire criminal enterprise a lie, but I am lying every day I'm at the Defense Intelligence Agency.  Means justify the end.  What is the end?  He took a swallow of lemonade.  It was clear to everybody at the Defense Intelligence Agency that the old KGB agent had played a very, very long game, and it was far, far from over.

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't, am I right?" asked the treasurer, walking into the conference room.

"Sir?"

"Take the shot," he replied with false cheerfulness.  "Of course, there's no need for that--he could just be smothered in his sleep.  But then what?  The barbarians would be at the gate with their home-made AK47s squaring off against the Pentagon.  The brass have to stand down, sit back in the name of democracy while it rots from the inside.  Is this chocolate chip or raisin?"  Glockmann shook his head.  "Next year we're either gonna look like Venezuela or Russia, and Russia would be better, don't you think?"

"Venezuela, actually," said the international arms merchant, who had just sat down.  "I'm making a ton of money selling weapons down there!"

"Would you sell them here if there's a civil war?" asked Glockmann.

"There already is, Captain!  And the Heurich Society never loses in any war!"

Not far away, junior partner Bridezilla was hosting her largest ever Russia practice reception at Prince and Prowling, up on the roof deck, with a harpist sitting under a tent ready to begin the sunset serenade music.  Her boyfriend ("Esperantu Edward") had helped her pick up a few Russian words over the last few months, and she was fairly certain people were whispering about Mueller's grand juries and the New York RICO investigation, but she was uncertain what exactly they were saying.  She smiled with false serenity as she moved among the guests, pleased that she had brought millions in dollars of business to the law firm but fully aware that the government practice division was raking in ten times that amount doing unlisted support work for the Justice Department's Trump-related litigation defense teams.  She still suspected Edward might be a spy of some sort, but everything about DC had become so surreal that it scarcely mattered anymore.

"When are you two going to get married?" asked an importer, taking Bridezilla by the arm and pointing to Esperantu Edward.

Bridezilla looked down in surprise at her ring finger, which was empty.  How long has this been empty?  When did I meet Edward?  What will happen to us?

"Well?" laughed the importer.  "He would do anything for you!"

In fact, Edward was now deeply enmeshed in the Russian resistance to Vladimir Putin, and the more clients he brought to her at Prince and Prowling, the more dangerous it was becoming for her.

"Would he?" she smiled.

Down in Southwest, the secret Russia Caucus--willfully ignorant their new boat was loaded with hidden state-of-the-art Soviet listening devices--was pulling the Molotov Cocktail into its new pier slip--right next to the Singapore Surprise.  Ten feet below, Ardua of the Potomac knew nothing about geopolitics, but the demon did know evil hubris when she saw it.

****************************************************************
 COMING UP:     Out, damned leak!

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