Chapter 2 - The Washington Consensus
December 3
rd
, 1998 - The Promethean Research Organisation Facility, Level B4.
Their clothing was the first giveaway, but their accents were unmistakable. Agent Sofiya Sokolov was being escorted into the next level of the facility by Americans. Anna had been taken in the night, and now it was her turn. The presence of the
Anglosaksy
in Poland was no surprise - they'd been spreading their tendrils all across Europe. Still, there was a visceral shock to seeing one up close. The arrogant swagger with which they walked, their bleached, perfectly straight white teeth, and the way they never seemed to stop smiling, like they were all in on a big joke they weren't sharing with you.
"You know I never seen the Eye-Tallians so angry as what you and yer friend made 'em, Girlie," said the tallest of the Americans, a sun-dried middle aged man wearing a denim ensemble and a high crowned, wide rimmed hat in cowboy style. "Oh I never liked them Catholics anyway. Too much pomp and circumstance. Too many funny words. No Ma'am I'm a Protestant, like my Momma taught me. Least I am on a Sunday morning, if you catch my drift."
Sofiya remained silent as she was seated. Being unrestrained was something of a novelty now, and she took the opportunity to recline in the surprisingly comfortable padded chair. It was luxurious compared to a church pew.
This level didn't look like a Latin Cathedral. It looked like an office. There were overhead projectors, water coolers, fax machines, and a big board-room table. There was also a slightly ominous looking electronic machine on a trolley being wheeled in by smiling women. Some of them looked American, but others definitely weren't. It was a very international group. They were all dressed in identical garb, an ensemble of impractical-but-sexy office-wear. Stockings held up by garters, a short dress, high heels, and a tight fitting blazer that covered the shirt but almost none of their cleavage.
Around the perimeter of the room there were several guards armed with what looked to be standard issue American service rifles. Though not bound by handcuffs or ropes, there would always be the knowledge she was at the mercy of her captors. Sofiya was appalled when one of the guards slapped one of the women on the arse as she walked by. The woman didn't skip a beat and just kept walking.
The Cowboy's younger compatriot, an African-American man in a well tailored suit stepped forward and extended his hand.
"The name is Smith - Jack Smith. I see you've already met Billy-Bob. It seems he forgot his manners."
Sofiya was taught this style of American greeting during her comprehensive espionage, etiquette and seduction courses - mandatory for any agent expected to be deployed beyond the borders of the Union. She met his hand, paying special attention to maintaining eye contact, gripped firmly, and shook it up and down several times.
"Woah there, you've got quite an arm on you," he said.
Sofiya didn't relinquish the grip. She knew that Americans considered the ability to cut off circulation during this traditional greeting to be a sign of strength and dominance. Only after he started wincing in pain did she finally smile and let go.
Billy-Bob laughed and punched Mr Smith on the arm, which he did not seem to appreciate.
"They're a wild bunch, these Ruskie spies. What'd I tell ya?" he said. "The last one damn near bit my ear off."
Does he mean Anna? Is she here?
she thought.
"Yes, very spirited," said Jack, backing off a little more.
Sofiya looked around at the machinery now positioned beside her. Large domed helmets, electrodes and wires all hooked up to a step-down converter hanging from the side. It must have been designed for the American electrical grid. From the size of the converter, it also meant it needed to draw a very large current.
"What is that? You won't break me," said Sofiya defiantly. "As you should know, all 'Ruskie spies' as you call them have been trained to resist torture."
"Goodness, no! We're not barbarians," said Jack, glancing appreciatively at Sofiya's cleavage up close. "What do you think we're here in Poland for? We're here to make friends, not enemies. We live in a brave new world, where the United States, the nations of Europe and the Soviet Union can all live in peace and prosperity together."
"
Yerunda,"
said Sofiya. "You aren't here to make friends in the basement of a prison camp. If you're going to try to finish what the Catholics started, you won't succeed. I'm wise to your Christian tricks."
The handsome man looked offended.
"As you well know, the American nation has the utmost respect for freedom of religion. It's enshrined in the first amendment of our perfect and unchanging constitution. And Freedom of religion also means freedom
from
religion. Though I do not approve of your godless ways, I will make no efforts to persuade you to believe in our lord and saviour Jesus. No, today we're here to do business."
Sofiya laughed.
"You speak with honeyed words, but if you think you're going to convince me to betray my country with bribery, then you're wrong."
Jack Smith began gesticulating wildly with his hands.
"I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I don't want you to betray anyone. We're Americans, but we aren't here to represent America. When I said we're here to do business, I meant it. We work for a branch of the United Nations which you may have heard of - the International Monetary Fund. Our business is the business of business itself."
Sofiya gasped.
"The IMF?
Here
?"
"We've been invited by the new government of Poland. We - that is, our whole organisation, not just Billy-Bob and myself - are here to help advise them on their transition from a planned economy to a new, free market."
The words "free market" sent a chill up her spine. She'd already seen the early effects of the transition. These once prosperous lands had been laid to waste, with all power accumulating in the hands of a small group of international bankers and merchants. They had even removed the "People" from the name of this once beautiful and fraternal nation.
"I find that hard to believe, based on what I've seen here," she said.
"Can I start the show yet, son?" said Billy-Bob.
Jack rolled his eyes.
"Go ahead," he said, then took a seat opposite Sofiya.
Billy-Bob stuck his hands in his mouth and produced an ear piercing whistle. A group of the women ran off, then returned moments later, wheeling in some kind of shop-display. It was positively stuffed with goods. The two women in the lead smiling in that sickly American way out front reminded her of a Western game show she'd studied - "Correct Price", or something like that. There were eggs and bacon, hamburgers, fruit juices, small machines for turning fruit into fruit juices, sodas, wine and beer, bourgeois cheeses, svelte little portable radios, myriad electronic gizmos and gadgets, finely crafted shoes and all manner of totally unnecessary clothing accessories.
She had to confess there was something a little bit awe inspiring about the display, as grotesque a concentration of wealth as it represented. The smell of food awakened her stomach, which let out a cartoonishly loud rumble.
"Think about it, girlie," said the Cowboy. "These here tides uh history, they're only movin' in one direction, and it ain't a red tide. The boys in Chyna, they've abandoned you. The Yuropeans have all decided to liberalise them there economies. The Vee-ettnamese, how long do you think they'll last down there isolated like that?"
She stared hungrily at the hamburgers. They were still steaming hot, and the smell of the beef was dominating her thoughts.
"Ohh," Billy-Bob continued. "I see you're interested in some of this fine produce from McDowell's. One of America's greatest exports. You know they've just opened up here in Poland a few months back. Never thought I'd see the day, yet here we all are." He picked up the plastic tray and brought it over to her. "By all means, help yourself. Smells a lot better than the prison food, dudn't it?"
