My final consultation on Friday wasn’t in my office, it was at the Rwandan Embassy on New Hampshire Avenue. After two and a half hours discussing strategies for dealing with Congolese coltan smugglers, I had worked up a decent cocktail hour thirst, so I decided to stroll over to Lilies Bar in the Carlyle Hotel across the street. It was there I spied one of my regular, if not too frequent clients, Draczycca Pizda Zasraniec, Assistant Deputy for Economic Affairs at the Embassy of Belarus, which itself is only two blocks from the Carlyle. He was just about totally snockered on vodka shots.
“How’re you doing, Draczycca,” I inquired with a mildly concerned tone as I sat down next to him, “is everything okay?”
“No, no, my friend Tom,” he muttered sullenly, “everything is decidedly not okay with me today.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I consoled. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” Zasraniec confided, “is [expletive] Swedish teddy bears.”
“What,” I wondered, “is your government planning on imposing import duties on them or something?”
“I only wish,” Zasraniec grumbled, “it was that simple. But have you not heard about the parachute attack on Belarus by Swedish teddy bears?”
Generally, I try to keep abreast of current events – knowing about them is an important part of my job, after all. But I must admit, that particular item had slipped by me somehow, nevertheless. And besides, Zasraniec was righteously drunk, no doubt about that, so I wasn’t exactly sure I’d heard him correctly.
“Excuse me,” I pleaded, “but did you say, ‘…parachute attack on Belarus by teddy bears’ just now?”
“Dy,” he nodded, “is prauda. On July 4, Swedish aircraft loaded with eight hundred teddy bears tied to parachutes took off from Lithuania and violated Belarusian airspace. Teddy bears have signs in English and Belarusian languages, saying, ‘We support the Belarusian struggle for free speech.’ Swedish hooligans fly around for an hour and a half, dropping teddy bears on parachutes all over Minsk.”
“Swedish aircraft?” I responded, gobsmacked. “How many were there?”
“Oh, right,” Zasraniec mumbled, “I forget to use definite article when speaking English. Should have said, ‘a Swedish aircraft.’ Only one. Pilots wore teddy bear masks. Belarusian air traffic control radioed the airplane, telling them to leave, but the Swedes couldn’t understand Belarusian.”
“So,” I presumed, “you shot them down, just like you did with those two Americans piloting a hot air balloon which drifted into Belarusian airspace back in 1995?”
“Unfortunately,” he ruefully confessed, “aircraft escaped. Not shot down. President Lukashenko was furious. First he ordered big cover-up – anyone with pictures of teddy bear invasion got arrested, anybody who talked about it, they got arrested, too. Also anybody caught with teddy bear.”
“What people like President Lukashenko are finding out these days,” I observed, “is that covering things like that up is nowhere near as easy as it used to be. Did his tactics work?”
“Complete failure,” Zasraniec miserably declared. “Inside two days – pffft! Videos of teddy bear parachute drop all over Internet. Get huge hits on YouTube. The more Lukashenko pretend nothing happened, the more foolish he looks. Soon, Belarus is big Birkenstock all over Europe.”
“A Birkenstock,” I pointed out, “is a kind of shoe.”
“Oh, oh, right,” he slurred, “I mean other word… what is it? Ah, yes… laughing stock. Lukashenko, Belarus military, Belarus government, all big laughing stock. Because of [expletive] teddy bears on [expletive] parachutes. So then Lukashenko goes [expletive] crazy. He fires general in charge of border service. He fires general in charge of Belarus Air Force. Then this week, Lukashenko kicks out Swedish ambassador, Stefan Eriksson.”
“Eriksson?” I gasped. “He’s been in Minsk for years, hasn’t he?”
“Since 2008,” Zasraniec acknowledged. “Nice guy, they say.”
“What reason did Lukashenko give for expelling him?” I wondered.
“Nothing,” Zasraniec shrugged. “But the Foreign Ministry in Minsk issued statement which said, ‘…his activities were aimed not at the strengthening of Belarusian-Swedish relations, but at their destruction.’”
“Is that all?” I pressed.
“With direct relation to Swedish ambassador expulsion, yes,” Zasraniec confirmed. “About the teddy bears on parachutes, Lukashenko announced, ‘There should be no violations of border breaching. All of them must be prevented with all available measures, including arms, no matter what.’ But Belarusian television, it ran a story on Eriksson, claiming he had been seen giving money to Belarusian extremists planning to overthrow Lukashenko government.”
“It’s rather hard to imagine,” I mused, “a Swedish ambassador giving money to extremists of any kind. Come to think of it, it’s hard to imagine a Swede giving away money, period. Does Lukashenko actually expect anybody other than him is going to believe a tall tale like that?”
“Only thing that matters in Belarus,” Zasraniec groaned, “is what Lukashenko believes.”
“Well,” I continued, “this is all certainly an exceptional farce, but why is it bothering you so much?
“Because,” Zasraniec fretted, “when teddy bears got onto YouTube, Lukashenko fired two generals. Now, when European Union backs up Sweden, and Lukashenko looks even more foolish, I am afraid he will start firing colonels, majors, maybe even… captains.”
“And why should you care about that?” I asked.
“Because,” he explained, “my brother-in-law is officer in the Air Defense, right under general who was fired. Is captain. Was on duty supervising air traffic when teddy bears attacked. Is wife’s baby brother, very favorite with her. If Lukashenko throws him out of Air Force, he will have no job in Belarus, and wife will tell him to come live with us here in Washington.”
“And,” I surmised, “you would much prefer he not?”
“Oh, [expletive]!” Zasraniec spat. “You bet your [expletive] [expletive], I don’t! Can hardly stand him when he has job in air traffic control with Belarus Air Force, but unemployed? With no job, he will be like big, fat dog lying around house all day, eating like pig, smelling like goat, always begging wife for money, going out at night with money she gives him and dragging home American girls to [expletive] in guest bedroom while I am trying to sleep!”
“Hmmm,” I pondered. “You know, if the worst happens, and Lukashenko kicks your brother-in-law out of the Belarus Air Force, before he can move to Washington DC and live with his big sister, he will have to get a visa to enter the United States, now won’t he?”
“Correct,” Zasraniec concurred as he quickly downed another shot of chilled vodka. “So what?”
“So,” I noted, “the EU already has a list of over two hundred Belarus government and military personnel whom it has identified as human rights violators, and its adding more all the time.”
“Yes,” Zasraniec replied, “I understand. And?”
“And suppose your brother-in-law ends up on that list,” I suggested. “Would that break your heart?”
“Absolutely not!” Zasraniec yelped, pounding his shot glass on the bar.
“Would it break your wife’s heart?” I inquired.
“My wife?” Zasraniec gasped. “[Expletive] her! Can you do this? Can you get him put on list?”
“In exchange,” I finagled, “for… let’s say… seven additional consultations in excess of your established schedule, spread over the next twelve months?”
“[Expletive], Tom,” Zasraniec complained, “at your rates, that is [expletive] fortune. I will have to do plenty of fast talking with the ambassador to get that kind of money. How about three?”
“Five,” I offered, “with a money-back guarantee if you brother-in-law gets into the United States.”
Zasraniec stared down at the bar in silence for a long moment. “Ah, [expletive],” he finally growled with an air of resignation, extending his hand, “why [expletive] not? Is deal.”