Splashdown Ch. 10

Two left, this and the climax. I think this is one of the stronger chapters but I'm far better at writing in some venues than others. I believe this one plays better to my comfort zone. Hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who's taken the ride.

Splashdown Chapter Ten

The activities of the previous night brought a welcome reprieve from oppressive thoughts. I felt energized and much more clear thinking. I didn't feel completely and helplessly stuck in quicksand, and it opened a few possible doors. I wanted and needed some choices.

I knew I'd be checking out each of those doors anxious to find more. I hadn't put myself back together yet, but I was definitely on my way.

A couple months later I learned there would be an airshow in Germany. Interestingly cosmonauts would be in attendance. I got the information in a very interesting way, by reading the paper. It seems the Russians were trying to sell their aerospace technology to their new NATO buddies. They were even having their most recently returned cosmonaut on hand to meet and greet potential buyers as a reminder that Russia was still a major player in space.

I got an idea and I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it again. After thinking about it all day I made a phone call to Mike, one of my old work buddies. He was a hell of a buddy; he'd been one of the operators on the misadventure I told Kathy about. We were thick as the thieves we became together. We caught up and I told him my plan.

"Wow. Simple. Direct. I like it," my friend told me.

"Yep, and there's no cover up, no spin, it makes it all look like what it is: a wife taken advantage of and a very pissed off husband. It's so simple it would drive the black bag boys crazy trying to find non-existent layers. I really think it could work. We just need access through the crowd and security."

My friend, Mike, laughed, "That's the easiest part of all. No, I'm wrong; laughing our asses off at the end will be."

Later I came downstairs travel bag in hand, "Baby, I have to take a trip." Peg's expression said she was overjoyed I had called her baby.

"Where to ... Honey," she tested the waters.

We were getting along much better though most of the energy had gone into repairing our friendship. Peg was devoted and doting as hell. It hadn't gotten annoying yet. Then again, I was judging from a scale that had started with ten months of misery, a couple months of solid attention hadn't righted the scales yet. Despite the easy terms of endearment, the easy confidence of lovers hadn't taken set. Far from viewing that as trouble, I think we were both thrilled at the progress we'd made. It was fun earning it from each other again.

"I'm off to an airshow in Germany."

Peg sloshed her coffee, "A-Airshow ... Germany? What's going on?" Peg's head was reeling from my simple straight forward and completely unexpected answer.

"After I say this ask no further questions. I'm going to defend your honor, get at least one of my balls back, use up my last company perk, and pay off some stock I had on margin. Don't worry Peggy, all of that will make sense in a few days."

Peg knew better than to say anything. Her now very large eyes teared up, but I was happy, so she smiled. Peg asked tentatively, "Are you coming home afterwards?"

I nodded, "Yes, unless I'm in jail. Don't worry there's no "walk in the park scenario" here."

Peg smiled more brightly. Although whatever I was doing was about her, and my being slighted by her, she didn't seem to be in any trouble with me; I wasn't backsliding on our progress. She was a smart cookie and came to a good conclusion.

"Have a nice trip!"

"See you soon," I said as I opened the door to leave.

Peg smiled back, "I love you, Gary," adding an old euphemism associated with an agency different from mine, but I liked it. "Good hunting."

Mike and I enjoyed a nice flight over. We were met by a friend of his at the airport and driven to the air show. His friend accompanied us inside where we met up with two more friends already inside the show. One produced the credentials that would gain the five of us the access we needed.

First, we set about having a light lunch, staking out positions, mapping ingress and egress, and trying to figure out who the plain clothes security folks might be.

About an hour before he was scheduled to appear on the show's agenda, we made Alexi. We watched his entourage and quickly figured out who the head of his security was. It was very standard stuff; Alexi didn't seem to rate as much importance from his own countrymen as they were trying to sell to the attendees of the air show.

I was walked right through security by my friend, this was probably a perk for him too. Mike's a giant. I'm a bit larger than average, but I'm in great shape. Almost a year of non-existent desk duty left me a lot of time for working out to burn off frustration and nervousness, hone reflexes, and make muscles stronger. Maybe now it would serve a better purpose. Also, although I get mad as anything, I keep my head, and I know what to do. That's actually a really good combination.

So shortly I was in the European VIP section. There were all sorts of folks there to see and be seen, make deals, get their pictures in the news, and be a better class of asshole. The VIP area was the assholes on steroids zone, and who better than recently back from orbit Alexi to press the flesh for Russian aerospace; meaning cheap obsolete boosters to launch satellites. Hey, if you can get the payload insurance, why not?

Alexi was putting on a little dog and pony show for the crowd in a few minutes in an adjacent auditorium. Most of the people in the VIP section would flow in there joining the hoi palloi for Alexi's presentation. We took up position so we could get behind his temporary stage. Mike deftly dispatched the security team comprised of two bored looking guys.

I waited until Alexi started his slide show. I was stunned at the Russian technology. Wow, an aerospace titan using PowerPoint? Then I stepped on stage behind him. Mike came out on one side of the stage, covering our eventual escape route, one of his friends on the other, thus isolating Alexi and me on stage. I wouldn't have much time. I didn't need much time.

I walked right up beside Alexi during his presentation. I stood there letting my bulk and at least five-inch height differential sink in.

The microphone picked up my voice too, "Hi Alexi. You are quite small, aren't you?" The crowd murmured, but I used my sotto voce not only to add emphasis, but to demonstrate this was indeed a presentation.

Alexi didn't like that and was taken aback by my walking into the limelight with him. Giving him a malevolent grin, I addressed the audience.

"Don't worry folks, no one but Alexi's going to get hurt. You see Alexi is a Cosmonaut, the cream of the crop. He met my wife a short time ago and I've come to say, "hello". I'm just an average American husband, nothing spectacular. But, wow, did you realize how small Alexi is without an ordinary man like me beside him? I must out weight him by at least fifty pounds. Wow, cosmonaut or jockey, eh Alexi?"

I glanced up to see my buddy talking to Alexi's date, a pretty girl obviously paid to be on his arm, probably not the worst assignment the poor lady had ever had. I soon found out she was actually a Russian porn star, I guess the military spared no expense for this sales opportunity.

Alexi tried to push me away and found himself held still by a straight arm and a fist full of his shirt. Unable to outreach my arm or dislodge my fist, Alexi was basically immobilized. I whispered "Peggy" to him. We had a very quick private exchange which made him go pale, and even more so at my next words which I directed to the audience.

"What you did to my wife. I'm about to do to you."

He was built like a lot of race car drivers. In shape but small, wiry. I'm not small. He was looking up into my chin. Hell, my wife was closer to his size than he was to mine. He bargained telling me I could have his date. She was gorgeous, he explained she was very good, and had made a thousand films. Yech! I looked them up later, I could find no-where near that many, not even a hundred. Still yech.

As the young ... lady ... overheard his offer she wasn't happy to be traded like chattel.

I turned to her, "If you want to defect, you can make a lot more money in the States."

In a fabulous accent right out of Boris and Natasha she rejoined, "Are you sure? Our black market is very lucrative." She smiled back more than game for verbal by-play. And probably to put Alexi in his place for offering to trade her.

"Why not try it? You're allowed to leave the States if you want. Did they offer you that deal?" I nodded to Alexi as a symbol of his country.

"No, I am being watched right now."

"Well, they can watch you leave with me." She gave me a delighted smile not knowing if I was serious or not. I don't think she feared any secret police, she was enjoying the unexpected direction her day had taken turning phrases instead of tricks.

Alexi of all people started to object. That was like reminding the shark he hadn't eaten you yet. Ding Ding: the main event was here.

To the murmurs of the crowd I gave him one shot to face to disorient him, and because I really wanted to punch his face. Then two to the stomach to set up what I wanted. It was fast and professional. Then I sank to one knee, pulling Alexi across my bended knee into the classic position normally associated with the discipline of a child. I pulled my one arm way back to make a show while the other held him in place by the scruff of his neck.

SMACK! The spanking started. I spanked him like a petulant little boy. Except much, much, harder. These were real stingers!

I started repeating loudly while I spanked the helpless hapless cosmonaut, "Real men don't try to force themselves on women!" I said it three times slowly, so even the press could get the quote.

I then pushed the worthless piece of flotsam off my knee and looked down on him disgusted but not angry; I was sending a message. With Alexi vanquished via humiliation I cracked the line, "My work here is done." I stood and started towards the exit. The click of cameras was like an overture.

The press closed in around me asking questions. As I made my way for the exit, I told the press and anyone who wanted to listen the tale. I stated I was an average American husband and Alexi had cornered my wife in a vulnerable position and tried to force himself on her. I explained my wife was at work and couldn't abandon her post and that she had a terrible time fending him off. Her employer granted her relief and pulled her out of that terrible situation: a good move by her employer for which I was very grateful. Still, it had continued to weigh on me. I wanted my wife to know she was safe, and this sort of thing would be handled. So, I'd just handled it, and hoped I'd sent all concerned the proper message.

I was halfway to the exit with VIPs and the press trying to keep up. My entourage now caught up and folded in beside me ready to block if need be. Realizing the show was over, the group melted away, and we were out the door of the auditorium and into the grand show space. We hugged the walls until we reached our chosen exit taking us outside. Done and Done!

Beyond our hopes there were videos and hundreds of pictures of the "event". It would make the evening news in Germany as well as the big leagues: TMZ. At the time we only knew having created a disturbance we had to keep walking through the crowd to reach the exit and escape. Only then did I realize Mike still had the Russian girl! She added delightfully to the story and was real eye candy for the pictures and press. She really was gorgeous. I think TMZ wanted to run her life story. Who wouldn't?

So, what was the mastery of spy-craft behind our little hit and run for democracy and Me Too? Credit cards and some cash. My old friend, Mike, from my former job had, unbeknownst to me, also paid the Russian actress to do her thing and boy did she! No, stop that, put your dirty mind away. She was there as Alexi's escort; my buddy heard my exchange with her on stage. Mike told her we could get her to a consulate and asylum, and he could pull some strings. He got her to get close to me as we were being interviewed on our hasty retreat. She did and promptly palmed my crotch! Then she exclaimed something in Russian and said to everyone in English that I was, well, a bigger man than Alexi. Even though my buddy paid her to do that, it was a nice touch. Both ways.

When she "glad handed" me our eyes met and we exchanged a fun flirtatious smile, the press caught that too. My buddies at my former job sent that picture to me later: framed and suitable for wall hanging. My wife hated it, but also loved it. I'd defended Peg's honor as well as presenting a false narrative that sanitized her back story with Alexi, making her future life decisions a lot easier, especially for any future broadcast or public work.

Peggy knew I knew the truth and had still gone out of my way to do that for her. She found it ... "touching", adding yet another layer to the mystique of my picture with the Russian porn star. So, the picture of the Russian "toucher" stayed on the wall. Peg was actually proud of my little mission.

Most missions are successful at two thirds of the expected payoff. This was a complete success. Even the assault, which no one, even the Russians seemed to mind. It wasn't done by a man employed by an intelligence agency, but by a private citizen with an obvious understandable grievance. It was done publicly with nothing to cover up, no hidden trail to find, and nothing to bury. It was the perfect undercover-in-broad-daylight public relations operation. It was very satisfying.

No congressionally mandated funds were used that now needed defending to senators taking kickbacks from Russian aerospace. I'd been paid for my "time off" with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I'd banked most of the money I was paid until my dismissal, and I was doing well with my day trading. Hell, I could have done it all just by loading up a credit card. Actually that's exactly how I did it. Time payment espionage.

Mike "dispatched" Alexis's "top-flight" security guards by giving them lunch and beer money to "take a break". Mike's three friends, all still in the army, were given tickets to the airshow; they wanted to see the show and thought this little mission would be a hoot. They all had the day off and spent it with us. After we escaped, er, left, the three of them cruised the show and drank, it was a good day off for them.

And the magic "cards" that got us through the main air show security were merely VIP passes, available on-line when you bought your tickets for an additional fee. We flew over on our own, riding a commercial airline. This was no secret mission: we really were just a few guys out to have a nice day ... and create an international incident.

It had been expensive for me, though not as much as you might think, and well worth every penny. I'd created a positive international incident that outweighed the one being spoken of in hushed circles: my wife the American Astronaut in a fuck fest with a Russian Cosmonaut work buddy.

As I didn't seem too ballistic during my time on stage and used the word "try" before "force yourself" in my spanking message to Alexi, it now looked like my wife had successfully rebuffed his advances. The Russians could release the audio tapes of Peggy and it would merely seem a sour grapes mockup: any woman could be on those audio tapes. Whatever agency sponsored the conquest of my wife would now disown the plot as it would only serve to remind the world of how embarrassing the whole thing turned out for them: they weren't going to release those tapes.

In full disclosure, they did find a way to send them to me. They sent an email of my wife's voice tapes from their embassy directly to me personally. There was no need for subterfuge between open combatants. The "spank-down" however, was on video worldwide, and sight trumps sound. The "average American husband" taking out the soviet superman without breaking a sweat was playing very well, at least in the States.

Now imagine the intelligence agency on the other side, as well as the space agency, parsing that tight little message to within an inch of its life to uncover what further revelations such a detailed autopsy might reveal. It was actually a simple straight forward message, exactly the sort of thing they were completely unequipped to deal with. If they added anything to that, other than how easy their cloak and dagger lives could be made sport of, they were wrong. There was a ninety-nine percent probability they would be wrong; what a hoot!

In the end Alexi was only the stooge of Russian intelligence, but he was also the man who interacted with my wife. I had no sympathy that he was humiliated and beaten. In fact, I enjoyed doing it. In fact, I would have loved killing him, so he had no room to complain.

The bad guys were made to look like fools instead of the good guys. The good guys were relieved of trying to save face and wasting the millions they surely would have spent on planning and execution to counter the bad guys' operation. They got to save their cute cherubic little faces, leaving their budgets intact. It was a nice tidy operation: well planned and executed.

Except I was way too far in the light now. So no, this would not save my career; I only considered doing it because my career was already toast. It would however rehabilitate the perception of me with the folks in those agencies I cared about, or that had to examine and discuss the shitty situation with my wife. It was just one last mission to clean the deck from the mess surrounding me, as well as putting us a rung-up when we had fallen down one. It was very popular with my former boss, and what do you know, I received a bonus paycheck that largely covered my airline, air show, and VIP pass expenses. That was a nice pat on the back: as my ass got kicked out the door.

NASA came to me out of the blue, or perhaps wild blue yonder as it were, offering a settlement. Mike, my friend at my former agency, had let it "leak" to particular people that I was close to signing a book deal that would detail my astronaut wife's plundering due to their mismanagement, letting one of their doctors be paid by a foreign power to slip my wife the wrong pharmas. Apparently, the fabricated story intimated that having lost my government job, the book deal would be my nest egg after my divorce. None of it was true, but they didn't know that, and they had absolutely no idea how to negotiate. I added a few corollaries that would help Peggy and took the settlement in lieu of publishing the book which never existed. Talk about elegant negotiables.

My old agency also took delight in following up on who switched my wife's pharmaceuticals. They made sure the house was cleaned. And as a lovely parting gift assured me through the proper channels, a phone call from my buddy, that those concerned would be prosecuted or their lives made miserable. Considering who would be inflicting the misery, if you were the bad guy, you definitely wanted the jail sentence.

Thank goodness I had the discipline to turn off and destroy the audio tapes of Peggy as soon as I realized what they were. And thank goodness Peggy had told me about them. I guess those painful conversations really did pay off.

* * * * *

Peggy wasn't sure what to make of me when I got back from Europe. She opened the door and we seemed to live a scene from "Gone with the Wind". It was very dramatic. It was late, almost ten, Peggy hadn't expected to see me for days longer. She feared my return could go either way, good or bad, happy, or sad. Peggy had no idea what to think so she stood there, sort of trembling, scared to speak, yet forced herself.