Chapter Four: Lietuvēns
Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s time for me to tell you a tale that highlights the dangers involved when a man allows his “big head” to be controlled by his “little head”. First, let’s flash back to a time well over seven decades ago.
On the 9th of May, 1945, the final German Instrument of Surrender was signed. That was the official end of Hitler’s war on the European continent. This momentous occasion took place in Soviet headquarters in Berlin-Karlshorst and, ever since, this day has been an occasion of much celebration among Russians, who consider the allied effort against Hitler to be singularly a Russian victory. In Latvia, this Victory Day is celebrated by ethnic Russians like a gigantic party. I rarely see such singing and dancing and drinking and merry revelry among the Russian community on any other day of the year.
It really is quite remarkable, considering that Hitler and Stalin started out as good friends and carved up Europe among themselves by means of an agreement called the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. I know this, because I was there when the pact was signed. I heard everything that was discussed. I even remember the really high quality schnapps that Joachim von Ribbentrop brought Vyacheslav Molotov as a gift. They shared a joke as Ribbentrop told Molotov his country was most welcome to take Latvia by any means fair or foul. Those two men loved war with all their hearts. They were both looking forward to seeing each other’s armies marching across Europe, stealing everything in their path.
In hindsight, maybe if Soviet Russia had been a little less accommodating to their good friend and brother, the Nazi warlord Adolf Hitler, this war might never have started in the first place. But you’re not allowed to say that, are you?
The reality is that Communists and Nazis have more in common with each other than either of them could ever have in common with liberal democracies. Neither system of governance was ever developed to serve the people. When Latvia gained its independence from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics in 1991, it was a cause for much celebration among Latvians. Their small but beautiful country was going to become a democratic nation and Latvians would return to being free and they would have the opportunity to become prosperous. Little did the people know, that even three decades later, their country would still be secretly under the influence of former Soviet gangsters who serve some very evil agendas.
We now move forward to what was to be a very important night for the Prometheans. It was the 9th of May. As tens of thousands of Russians had gathered at the Victory Momument to the Soviet Army in Āgenskalns, Rīga, a lavish soirée was to be taking place 190 kilometres away in the city of Daugavpils.
There is a large political party in Latvia that is well-known for its cosy, cuddly, kowtowing relationship with the President of the Russian Federation. They kiss his ass like it was coated with vanilla ice-cream and chocolate syrup. They hold a lot of seats in the the Latvian Parliament, known as the Saeima. Their policies rarely, if ever, represent a departure from the desires and wishes of their business associates in the Kremlin. The party’s most senior members are all very rich men. Of course, much of that money comes to them via a series of numbered bank accounts owned by offshore shell companies that are directed by nominal proxies. That’s how nefarious interests in Moscow and St Petersburg pay them to cast their votes in the Saeima according to the whims of their masters and commanders, who lurk within the shadowy corridors of power traversed by the Russian economic and political élite.
Tonight, these Sons of the Kremlin would be celebrating Victory Day with expensive champagne and caviar, along with a variety of gourmet finger foods provided by a catering company owned by Valērijs Kapustins. I’m still wondering if anybody else can see the irony that a group of Nazis in Daugavpils were going to be celebrating the downfall of the Third Reich. Little did the party élite realise that five of their most prominent members were going to wish they had never arisen from bed that morning.
At 18:37, Gamma was on the phone to Alpha.
GAMMA: “Has the hotel accommodation in Daugavpils been set up?”
ALPHA: “Yeah. I’m not there right now, but Bravo said all the webcams and microphones are in place. Where are you right now?”
GAMMA: “I’m about… gee, where am I?… I’d say I’m about five kilometres away now. I’ve got Natallia, Aksana, Julija, Hanna, and Nastassia here with me now. I should be there in about ten minutes. Where do you want me to drop off the girls?”
ALPHA: “Just drop them off somewhere behind the Latgola in Cietokšņa iela. They can walk from there.”
GAMMA: “I’ve organised their taxis, too. They should be ready to head off at about 20:00.
ALPHA: “Good. How was Minsk?”
GAMMA: “It was great. I was able to get the girls without too many questions being asked. There was a bit of minor trouble crossing the border at Silene. You know, one Latvian, five Belarusian prostitutes pretending to be rich girls. I think one of the border guards was a bit suspicious us.”
ALPHA: “I’d recommend you head to straight to Bauska once you’ve dropped the girls off. You’ve done enough, old friend. Just keep your head down until we get there. And no dangerous driving! You don’t want to attract the attention of the police.”
GAMMA: “Gotcha! You’re gonna love the girls, Alpha. They’re hot! You can thank me later!”
ALPHA: “I will. Look, I’ve gotta go now. I have to make sure that Zeta has our Command Centre set up. We absolutely cannot afford any technical errors.”
GAMMA: “Good luck, Alpha. Send my regards to Zeta and the boys, too!”
ALPHA: “I will. I’ll see you in Bauska tomorrow.”
Alpha ended the call and quickly rang Zeta, who was now taking up his position in the Prometheans’ Command Centre, which was set up in a room in the Biplan Hotel on 18 novembra iela about 1.9 kilometres away from where the Belarusian girls would be staying.
ALPHA: “Please tell me that everything is up and running and working perfectly.”
ZETA: “It’s working as smoothly as a Swiss watch on an oligarch’s wrist. We’ve made a few minor changes, just to protect us from anything going wrong.”
ALPHA: “Minor changes? You’re making me nervous, Zeta.”
ZETA: “No need. It’s all going well. We’ve got two independent sets of cameras and microphones in each of the girls’ rooms. One set are linked to a laptop that’s using Lattelecom’s internet service. The Virtual Private Network we’re using is routing that data through an obfuscated internet server in the Netherlands. The other set are linked to a laptop that’s using Bite’s internet. That data will be sent via an obfuscated server in Japan. Both laptops are fully charged just in case electricity drops out. Meanwhile, we’re doing much the same thing at this end. We’d have to be very unlucky to have all our technology malfunction. Everything has back-up.
ALPHA: “Now, does any of this actually work?”
ZETA: “We’ve tested everything. We’re getting razor sharp images from each of the cameras and the sound is as clear as a bell. We’re going to be making some fantastic porn videos tonight!”
ALPHA: “Provided the Belarusians can do their job well.”
ZETA: “What are these chicks like?”
ALPHA: “I haven’t seen them. Gamma insists they’re hot, and being the dirty little voyeur that he is, I trust his judgement!”
ZETA: “Ha! That’s great. Anyway, we’re heading off to grab some pizza stocks for later tonight. I’ll see you a bit later on, boss.”
ALPHA: “Will do, buddy.”
As the glitterati of pro-Russian politics filed into the main foyer of a palatial manor on the outskirts of Daugavpils, nobody noticed the security guard at the door giving a nod and a wink to five statuesque Belarusian beauties dressed in sparkling evening attire, with their breasts sitting high on their chests like forbidden fruit waiting to be served. Everybody was too busy looking at these Eastern European goddesses enter the manor as if they owned the place. Who was ever going to notice the lowly security officer breaching his duty?
Gamma had good friends in many places. The guard on the door that night, Juris, had known Gamma since the times that Gamma had been working as a corrupt police officer in that district. Juris didn’t know the real reason he was letting the girls in. They weren’t on the manifest and Juris didn’t know what Gamma was up to. Gamma told Juris he wanted to send the girls in as a surprise gift for a friend who was going to be there that night. With a little cash slipped into the guard’s hand, all five girls were now socialising with the movers and shakers of Daugavpils.
The Spanish have a saying: “Tetas de mujer tienen mucho poder” – a woman’s breasts have much power. They certainly did on this fateful night. Only a matter of two or three hours later, one by one, over the space of forty five minutes, five very wealthy politicians filed out the door, each to secretly meet their newly acquainted Belarusian lady friends in their respective hotel rooms at the Latgola on Ģimnāzijas iela.
As each man entered into his lustful rendezvous with an angel of sex from Minsk, a group of former police and military personnel were watching and recording everything live online from their Command Centre inside the Biplan Hotel. Alpha had to tell everybody to control their laughter. He was worried that the hotel management would send hotel staff to their room to quell the noise.
DELTA: “You know, I must admit that I had my doubts about Gamma’s plan in the beginning. But now, I can’t wait to get to Bauska so I can shake his hand. That guy is a genius. He is the best! And I will never doubt his taste in women again, either. For organising this group of girls, I almost feel as if I don’t even have the right to be in the same room as him!”
ALPHA: “Pour some Scotch boys! Let’s have a toast to Gamma in Bauska!”
DELTA: “To the Master!”
ALPHA, BETA, EPSILON, ZETA, ETA, THETA, IOTA: “The Master!!!”
The very next morning, five men checked out of the Latgola. As they switched on their smartphone to check their emails, each one died a thousand deaths. They had each received an email from an unknown identity using an unrecognisable Gmail address. Each email demanded that 30,000 euros be dropped by each man into a bank account in Cyprus, or a certain video would be made public. Attached to each email was an mp4 file. As each man nervously opened their mp4, they watched with their hearts beating in their throats as each one saw himself engaging in utterly humiliating sexual antics with nothing less than a Belarusian prostitute. Each video commenced with a monologue by each girl, as she introduced herself by name and stated that she was a porn actress from Minsk. Each girl named the man she was seen with. There were some really cool close-ups of the politicians involved.
Before the Daugavpils Five had read their emails, Natallia, Aksana, Julija, Hanna, and Nastassia had already fled from the Latgola and were well and truly on their way to Silene to cross the border and return to Minsk.
The Daugavpils Five tried to bluff their way out of paying the money. Each man replied to their email saying that they knew who was behind this blackmail attempt and they were going to arrange for the perpetrators’ painful death by torture.
The Prometheans didn’t fall for it. They decided to release one of the videos, just for demonstration purposes. Within twelve hours, there was hardly a person in Latvia with access to a computer who hadn’t seen a copy of the video in which the Party Secretary was down on his knees, completely naked, with a feather duster inserted in his rectum, begging to touch the private parts of a semi-naked Belarusian porn actress as she spanked him with a soup ladle while addressing him as “naughy little boy”.
Later that same day, 120,000 euros landed in a Cypriot bank account. “Naughty Little Boy” abandoned his wife and children and disappeared completely. His current whereabouts continues to be a mystery.
Credit where it’s due, the Prometheans were gentlemen of honour. They remained true to their promise that they would not release the other videos to the public because the money had been paid. However, Gamma took the liberty of forwarding the remaining four videos to the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation, in Moscow. Gamma told the others, “Before, they were on Moscow’s payroll. Now they’ll be Moscow’s slaves!”
The Prometheans had more money than they needed to finance their guerrilla war against Aivars Lipšitzs and Valērijs Kapustins. Unfortunately, that money was in Cyprus, and nobody in that group was stupid enough to go to Cyprus to recover the cash. They risked being arrested by Cypriot Police. They would need a more creative way to recover that money and they had to do it quickly.
Without further ado, the Prometheans swung into action.
Back in Rīga, the members of the Jelgava Circle were at the Armoury Bar again, having a heated debate about their plans to execute the biggest scam against a Latvian oligarch in the history of Latvia. At this point in time, they were still hammering out the details of their deliciously wicked little plot. Little did they know that what they were doing would be destined to inspire an Oscar winning Hollywood movie in fifteen years from now.
(to be continued Friday 13th July, 2018)