Chapter 6
Drinks, Anyone?
February 24, 2000
Moscow, The Kremlin
10:15 hours, local time
Destro strode through the halls of the Presidential Complex, the building attached to the original Kremlin which housed not only Vladimir Putin's functional offices, but also those of the key senior ministers of the Politburo. He was right behind a Russian Army Major, who was conveying his party to the President's prepared conference room, where they were holding the summit meeting.
The arms dealer and sometime Cobra major-domo had in tow a pair of Viper bodyguards, dressed smartly in Ukrainian Army uniforms but carrying their trademark combat gear and Viper-issue assault rifles, essentially an AK-74 and BG-1 grenade launcher combination with some cosmetic modifications.
Ambassador Kudusov also walked with the Vipers, along with a translator (a Tele-Viper linguist) and a female administrative assistant. While the heavily armed escort drew some suspicious glances from the sprinkling of MVD security troops, their standing orders (against Duke's recommendation) were to allow the small bodyguard to pass unchallenged.
The double doors to the Presidential conference room, flanked by Spetsnaz commandos who had relieved the Interior Ministry guards, were opened by the Russian Major. The staff officer announced the arrival of Destro and party in a very official manner.
President Putin, with Duke to one side and Arkady Ivanovich Yurievich, Putin's personal assistant, to the other side, stood to greet the delegation. The other occupants of the room, a Russian Army translator and two pool secretaries selected to take notes, also stood with respect.
"Greetings, Mister President," Destro began, extending his hand across the table to shake Putin's, and then sweeping it around to gesture at Kudusov. "I am James McCullen Destro, the twenty-seventh, but Destro will do for short. This is the chief of mission assigned to the Ukrainian embassy in Moscow, Ambassador Valentin Kudusov."
Destro paused before continuing. "I wish to convey the Ukrainian government's hopes that this meeting will lead to understanding and détente between our nations, despite what you may have heard about the transition of power in Kiev. I regret that President Yelchichev could not attend this meeting as he had hoped during your previous conversations with the capital. I'm afraid domestic matters are demanding his full attention right now. We respectfully ask that you renew Ambassador Kudusov's credentials as the voice of the Ukrainian people and government."
President Putin spoke. "I give sincere greetings from the Russian people to you, Destro. I know Mister Kudusov well, and will gladly renew his credentials as your ambassador."
The president nodded slightly in Kudusov's direction, which was returned in an equally aloof manner. "Please sit," Putin said. He motioned to the plush chairs arranged facing his own and sat down to study Destro's shiny steel mask while the rest of the delegation found their places.
Destro and his party took their seats, with the arms dealer directly facing the Russian President across the breadth of their meeting table. "I never believed the rumors about you until now. Why do you wear that mask?"
"It is a tradition among the heads of my family over the years," Destro replied. "The story is quite complicated to explain."
President Putin motioned to a naval Cook's Assistant, who had appeared at the doors with a tray. "Please let me offer you some vodka or tea. It is a local tradition among us to drink together prior to conducting business."
Some people drink more than others … Duke mused with an inward smile. No wonder this place ran so backward all those years…
"I am partial to tea myself," Destro answered, waving away a vodka glass but allowing the steward to pour him a glass of black, Russian tea. "Thank you, Mister President. I am honored to drink with you to a successful meeting."
President Putin selected a small glass of pepper vodka, for him just a temporary taste. Like many Russians of hardy peasant stock, the man practically grew up on the alcoholic beverage. "To a successful meeting, then," the Russian said.
Both ranking leaders took a swig together, before everyone else with a glass joined in. Duke observed without expression. It was too surreal for the career infantryman to stomach. He had curtly refused to be served anything to drink.
Destro continued after setting his ornate tea glass down on the conference table. "As you know, Mister President," the international arms dealer said. "The people of the Ukraine have freely elected Olexander Yelchichev as the head of state. While that alone would seem a normal affair, he has allied his nation with Cobra, in the effort to solidify his nation economically and militarily, a feat that the administration under his predecessor was unable to accomplish. Cobra has dedicated itself to aiding President Yelchichev in making the venture bear fruit.
"My mission is twofold. Firstly, I am here quite simply on a fact-finding mission. I wish to evaluate what kinds of cross-border initiatives we can share in order to mutually benefit both governments going forward. Secondly, I wish to present our association and intentions to you, and to make you and the Russian people the assurance that your national integrity is not being threatened.
"Cobra, as an organization," Destro added, cocking his head in Duke's direction. "Well, it has had quite a colorful past, as Duke, your American visitor over there, would surely attest to."
Destro's acknowledgment of Duke's presence drew a nasty glare from the G. I. Joe top kick. Yet, Destro was unfazed. "But times change, and so all organizations must change to adapt to the new ways of things."
Duke shook his head in disbelief, but kept his mouth shut as the Viper bodyguards traded sarcastic snickers.
President Putin responded in an even tone. "I welcome your honesty, Destro. I am sure we can discuss many initiatives that could benefit both our nations, as you say."
Destro nodded slightly, the corners of his lips turning to a bemused smile over the fact that his approach was working. "You may not be aware," he continued, "that I am the chief executive of a firm called MARS, the Military Armaments Research Syndicate. My organization is a purveyor of high-technology armaments and military hardware.
"The Americans would have you believe that MARS is a group of simple, gun running criminals; but in fact, we are steeped in history, having provided arms to kings and countries for hundreds of years. Weapons are my traditional family business; always have been, and always shall be.
"Cobra's alliance and internal associations with the Ukrainian government have made available to me numerous industrial facilities. Many of them were constructed in the days of the Soviet Union, as you well know, for the purposes of providing the means to ensure national security. If we could normalize relations, part of the deal could include preferential treatment over all other nations in regards to contracts for armaments, tanks, or ships. You could have your pick of anything the Ukrainian heavy industrial base can produce."
President Putin understood the Ukrainian industrial base well, as it had been one of the largest concentrations of military building capability in the old USSR. During his time as a member of the Supreme Soviet and Politburo governing bodies, he was part of the political mechanism that fed billions of rubles' worth of investment into the Ukraine to keep the masses of Soviet weapons flowing out.
The breakup of the old Soviet Union gave the Ukraine one of the Iron Curtain's finest shipyards, designed during the Cold War. It had been used to construct the nuclear aircraft carrier Tbilisi, among other strategically useful projects.
Aircraft production facilities, including large infrastructures owned by the Ilyushin and Mikoyan-Gurevich (MiG) design bureaus, were entirely in the Ukraine. Those facilities had been used for the latest generation of high-performance combat aircraft and airlift planes serving the Russian Air Force. The major Ukrainian segment of the Sukhoi MAPO was already turning profits on an offering of advanced SU-27 series Flanker fighters to Asia.
And that was only the tip of the iceberg. The government of the new Russia had been envying the Ukraine's prime facilities since the breakup, and had been endeavoring to get inexpensive access to them by negotiating with the industrialists that had come to take them over and made them profitable. Putin had been under pressure for some time to conclude a deal to replace the post-breakup cooperation treaty that had expired a day before Yelchichev's installation as the Ukrainian chief of state.
"Aside from my own MARS," Destro continued, "another Cobra supporter is a company called Extensive Enterprises. It specializes in international investment and finances, and makes its services available to us. They often provide consultations on economic growth strategies, and can offer prime terms for industrial or military purchase loans. Again, you shall be the first offered these benefits in exchange for recognition of the new Ukrainian regime, and open relations."
President Putin shifted in his chair and thought some more about the discussion. Destro seemed to be playing all of the right cards for him. Russia was cash-deprived, and needed a lot of things that Destro was offering.
The Russian Federation could trade for hard currency, as the West had quite generously offered in some cases. But Vladimir Putin was a proud Russian. He had a hard time with the thought that he would have to succumb to the inevitably restrictive commerce rules from the West to keep his nation going. He knew, as many Communist hard-liners did, that open trade with the West could pose an awful price, now that Russia no longer loomed over Europe as a superpower.
"Those offers sound legitimate and workable," Putin replied to Destro, trying to keep a poker face.
Diplomats never showed the true extent of their desire, always choosing to downplay their opinion so they did not show greed, need or desperation. It was a sales game. Bluffing and counter-bluffing was the norm, since neither side knew how much information the other had.
Three more hours passed, with Destro and President Putin exchanging ideas and trading general information about Russia's current government, the structure of the Politburo and Presidential Cabinet, trade status, and other aspects of statecraft. During the entire exchange, Duke did as he had been ordered, keeping quiet and containing his outrage and hatred for Destro. His stone-faced silence had to have been something, Duke was sure, that chagrined Destro to no end.
Destro concluded his first round of discussion with, "I thank you for all of your input and ideas, Mister President, and I appreciate all that we have shared with each other concerning the government here. If it pleases you, we could retire for a meal, and then get back in an hour, so that I may explain the relationship between the Ukraine and Cobra. And then I shall take my leave of you, to allow you to consider our proposals and offers."
President Putin's stomach was growling too. "I agree, Destro," he said. "Shall we go to the executive dining hall, here in the complex? The staff cooks are very creative with our native dishes. Perhaps I can interest you in some borscht or smoked ham? The eatery also offers some Western variations, if our food does not yet satisfy your taste."
Destro nodded in agreement, and the group left the meeting room.
Duke stayed behind, trying his very best to keep from throwing up. I'd prefer a PB&J in Central Park, rather than lunch with these bozos, he thought. Then he retired to the security room to spend his lunch break with Scarlett, Snakes and Stalker. At least they were good company.
The Crimea
1200 hours, local time
Shipwreck stretched lazily. He opened one eye and didn't immediately recognize the surroundings. He found that rather alarming and sat up quickly, which caused him to smack his head on the very low ceiling. The pain temporarily cleared his mind, and he remembered crashing at one of the Ukrainian boathouses the night before. He was so drunk he barely made it back here, never mind trying to get across town to the motel he was staying at.
The owner of the boathouse entered the room. "Sleep well?" the man asked.
"I did until I hit my head on the damn ceiling," Shipwreck replied, and hopped off the couch. He looked at the man, and desperately tried to remember his name. Flashes of a dream he had right before waking up interrupted his thought process. It involved, of all people, the Dreadnoks. As he began to sip the coffee that his friend brought him, he began to think about the Dreadnoks. Something was nagging him about it, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He sat at the small kitchen table, and the man joined him.
Anatoly!
Shipwreck finally remembered his name. Now if he could just figure out why the damn Dreadnoks were bugging him. He hadn't seen them in years. Why would he suddenly be dreaming about them? Suddenly, it hit him. The two Australians at the bar with them last night! How could he be so stupid?
He jumped up out of his chair and for the second time banged his head against the ceiling. "Son of a royal bitch!" He began to rub the spot on his head that had now hit the ceiling twice, "I need a phone!"
Kirovohrod
12:10 hours, local time
Dial-Tone was trying his best to remain an impartial observer. However, as Flint continued his tirade he was finding it harder to remain silent. Dial-Tone knew Flint was hurting, but he should not be taking his frustrations out on of the men they had recruited for their impromptu guerilla training session. They were hoping to train enough locals so they would have back-up support when the Joes decided to make their move. Finding the men had proved easy. The night before Flint and Dial-Tone had went around to a couple of the local bars talking up the resistance movement. A surprising number of men had been willing to join them and Flint told them all to come by in the morning for training.
The lack of covertness made Dial-Tone uneasy. He woke up this morning, expecting an ambush, but none came. Instead they were greeted to the sight of nearly two-dozen men standing in their front yard, ready to work. Flint started right away with the training session. It had gone on all morning without a break. Flint had been merciless with the men and already seven had quit. That had only fueled Flint's anger. He was currently shouting at one of the men that had taken quite a bit of abuse all morning. Dial-Tone finally had enough and walked over to him. "Flint, calm down. It's only the first day."
"I don't care, we don't know how much time we have, and I need to know what kind of squad I have here. If he can't handle it, he can leave," Flint barked at Dial-Tone without taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. "Like the other cowards earlier."
"Flint, he's only a civilian. None of these guys had much formal military training, give them a break." Flint wheeled around, and Dial-Tone prepared himself for the onslaught.
However, the ringing of the phone inside stopped Flint. Dial-tone saw his chance to escape and ran inside the house to answer it. He picked up the phone and was met with a very agitated Shipwreck on the other end.
"DT! You are never going to believe who I was hanging out, I mean, ran into last night."
Before Dial-Tone even had a chance to answer the question, Shipwreck hurried on. "Buzzer, and Torch. It took me a minute to recognize them, but they were definitely trailing me. I think Zarana was with them, but I wasn't sure because you know how good she is at disguises. Anyway, they're here, and I know it could only mean trouble so I'm going to try and make myself scarce for the next few days. I just wanted to let you know this development, and to tell you to keep an eye out, because if they know where I am, they must know where you are. Well, gotta go!" With that he hung up.
Dial-Tone stared at the phone blankly. He never had a chance to put one word in. Flint came into the house and barked, "Who was that?"
"Shipwreck. He's got Zarana, Buzzer and Torch on his tail."
"You see, this is exactly why I have to get these assholes into shape," Flint said before returning outside to continue browbeating the Ukrainians. Dial-Tone watched him go, and hesitated a minute before following him outside. This is going to be a long mission.
"What the hell is up his butt? Did someone piss in his Wheaties this morning?" one of the Ukrainians asked the man that had suffered Flint's abuse this morning. Flint had returned outside and given them a five-minute rest/lunch break.
"Haven't you heard? His beloved was killed in a car accident a couple of nights ago," the man replied while trying to suppress a grin.
The first man matched his grin and said, "He shouldn't be too upset, he will be joining her shortly. Are we all squared away with Monkeywrench and Thrasher?"
"Yes, they're a go. We set up the diversion for about 9:30 tonight and we'll lead him and Dial-Tone into the trap they have set up. Finally, after all of these years, I can take down Flint." Zartan said with a triumphant smile. He then grinned again at his brother and rose to take more punishment from Flint. Browbeat me all you want today, asshole, for tonight I will have my revenge.
Security Monitoring Room
Moscow, The Kremlin
1330 hours, local time
"Hot Damn!" was Stalker's first utterance, when Duke walked into the sprawling security control room. The outburst from the normally reserved Army Ranger had drawn a few glances from the FSB and Spetznaz security specialists that were watching the complex's vast network of surveillance systems.
Scarlett had excused herself about thirty minutes earlier to pay a visit to the Moscow McDonald's, which was mercifully close to the complex. She returned just as Duke was entering, arms loaded down with paper sacks filled with McDonald's food for the team.
"Stalker," Duke said, exasperated. "He was right there, mere feet from me. I had my Beretta, locked and loaded, in my shoulder holster. I could have rid this world of the son-of-a-bitch at any time. God knows I wanted to just stand up and open fire until I had pumped a whole clip into him. But I didn't. Hawk would certainly not approve of me starting an international incident between Russia and the Ukraine, let alone committing murder of a 'diplomat' in a foreign country."
"That's why we're the good guys, Duke," Scarlett said, allowing Snake Eyes to relieve her of some of the McDonald's food sacks.
Stalker's face twisted into a disgusted look. "You mean that bastard is being given the red carpet treatment?"
"Sure enough, buddy," Duke replied. "The way Destro was sweet-talking Mister Vladimir, you'd think his mask wasn't the only thing that was silver. He's trying to legitimize Cobra. And he knows that Russia's bureaucracy has been politically weakened since the breakup of the old USSR. It's a perfect inroad, and it fuckin' sucks that they're taking full advantage of it."
Scarlett chimed in again. "You mean to say President Putin is actually eating Destro's malarchy up?"
Duke turned to face his wife, taking a lunch bag from her hands. "Hook, line and fucking sinker, babe. He needed to kiss ass with America and the rest of the Free World when his own country was going down the shitter. But now that Destro is selling him the cornucopia for a dime, he doesn't seem to need us at all. This guy changes positions like I change my boot socks!"
Scarlett sighed. "Honey, such is the ebb and flow of diplomatic relations. It is nothing that we ground-pounders can explain. Ultimately we end up with the bullshit, and the politicians end up smelling like roses." She kissed Duke on the cheek and tenderly caressed his neck to soothe him. "So long as we keep doing our job here, we can find a way to pull through."
Duke returned her kiss. Stalker and Snakes turned away to give them some semblance of privacy. "We'll do our best, babe. I'm glad you're here to help me with all this stuff."
Stalker interrupted the couple. "Well, Top, it ain't over yet. Better grab a mouthful of these here burgers before Snakes devours them all." Stalker's quip was answered by a jab in the ribs from Snake-Eyes, who flashed Duke a supportive smile of his own.
Moscow, The Kremlin
15:30 hours, local time
The lunch period ended up taking nearly two hours, and the meeting reconvened at precisely three-thirty in the afternoon. After all the participants were seated - including Duke, who had been summoned back from the security control room - Destro began to address the assembly again.
"Mister President," Destro said, returning to his seat. "I thank you for the fine meal your chefs had prepared for us. And now, I would like to provide you some information regarding Cobra's affiliation with the Ukrainian government."
"Mister President, Cobra had quietly supported the ascendancy of President Yelchichev to his current position in the Ukrainian government. It was an agreement made about two years ago. Cobra's leadership had decided to no longer get involved in the purely political, and 'revolutionary' line of activities we were once known to enact."
"Cobra's legitimate businesses, MARS and Extensive Enterprises, play on the world market, but as entities, both corporations have no homeland."
Well, duh, Duke hissed in his thoughts. What freedom-loving nation or people would want your ugly faces around?
"President Yelchichev was a rising star in the Ukrainian political scene, but his resources were limited," Destro continued. "So, we backed his campaign financially, and in exchange, when he became the President, he not only offered our legitimate businesses a home in which to do business, but he also offered lucrative contracts to provide key infrastructure support."
"We were granted projects that would bring technology in, that the Ukraine had no access to before. Yelchichev also appointed Cobra Commander and myself to be senior members of his Cabinet, in order to draw directly from our expertise and guidance in various trade, finance and military matters."
Duke almost choked. He would have to tell General Hawk how well entrenched in the government Cobra really was. If Cobra Commander was a senior Cabinet minister in title, then he was probably already running the whole country, with Yelchichev as his puppet figurehead.
Cobra Commander and Destro would be quite content with being silent partners in their control of the Ukraine. Not to mention, they could easily back away from the spotlight should Cobra (in the name of the Ukraine) embark on some military adventurism against its immediate neighbors.
But President Putin seemed enamored of Destro. It was like every word that the arms dealer spoke stroked Vladimir's ego even more.
Destro let Putin take a few moments to make orders in Russian to his aides, and then returned to the discourse. "You are a new President yourself, yes? I am sure your military advisors, this fine American included, have raised the alarm that the Ukraine poses a threat not unlike a terrorist nation-state."
Duke glared at Destro again. Although the features of Destro's mask didn't change, a slight but perceptible smile crossed the man's lips. President Putin simply nodded.
"Well, I am here to assure you, Mister President, that neither Cobra nor the freely elected leadership of the Ukraine harbors any intentions of crossing the border into Russia with hostile desires."
"If you wish, while I am visiting with the Embassy staff here, and providing Mister Kudusov with his consular instructions, we could get in front of the people. You and I can go on national television together, and assure the people of Russia and all of Eastern Europe that the Ukraine has merely changed for her own economic growth and stability."
"Your spearheading the press conference would surely bring you attention in the eyes of the other nations. It's quite likely that much of your Politburo, including the hard-liners, will agree that if you keep matters of trade and reconstruction close to home, that you would be doing your people a great service. This is not bad for your political standing, eh?"
President Putin agreed, his mind spinning with thoughts of political prestige, which was something he needed badly, despite being the leader of one of the world's greatest national superpowers over the last fifty-plus years. The reputation of the past was not reflecting well on Russia's future, and it was high time that Putin took the issue in hand. Destro had him fully believing that the Ukraine's course could be the right one after all.
Destro smiled inwardly, secure in the knowledge that he had all the cards to play in the meeting, and that he had G. I. Joe stymied to boot.
Kiev
17:00 Hours, local time
"Remember, love, these things are dreadfully boring affairs. It is nothing but a big get-together to let everyone brownnose in an acceptable arena," Brant said.
"Thanks for the tip, love, but I think I can handle myself just fine in there," Samantha replied rather curtly.
"Now, now, is that any way for a loving wife to speak to her husband?" Brant whispered as they walked in the embassy.
Samantha didn't have time to respond because as soon as they were in the reception area, they were swarmed by a group of dignitaries. Brant did his best introducing Samantha to the crowd, but before she could speak to any of them she was swept away by two women.
"Samantha, darling, I was so happy to hear that you came out here after all! This city is so dreadfully boring! Brant told us so much about you! We just have to get together for a round of Bridge!" The older of the two said.
"Yes, that sounds delightful," Samantha replied with mock cheerfulness. She wanted to stay with Brant and meet the other VIP's, not exchange pleasantries with the wives. She tried to scan the room while engaged in the mindless chatter. Brant was right, there seemed to be nothing important going on. In one corner, she saw Albert Gorman surrounded by a group of men. They were all laughing heartily like they didn't have a care in the world.
"Has Brant had time to show you the city?" the younger woman asked forcing Samantha to once again focus on the conversation at hand.
"No, he's been awfully busy," she replied.
"You poor thing. You must be going mad stuck in that dreadful apartment all day long. I'm going to take you on a personally guided tour. We'll do lunch. This city is quite beautiful, although dreadfully cold."
Samantha thought if she heard the word dreadfully one more time she would rip her hair out. Instead she smiled, "That sounds wonderful. It is too kind of you."
The women starting prattling on about the sights of the city, but were soon interrupted by the clinking of glasses. The three turned to look and within moments Cobra Commander entered the room. She watched as a few of the diplomats began vying for a spot next to the Commander.
The older woman leaned over to whisper in Samantha's ear. "Do you really believe all the rumors about him? The mask he wears makes him mysterious, but I can't believe he's responsible for all those terrorist acts that people are claiming."
Samantha could not believe what she just heard. How fickle the general public can be. He was the most feared man a few years ago and now everyone looks at him in awe. She was about to debate the point with the woman when Brant rushed over and grabbed her arm. "Come, love, Ambassador Wainwright would like to speak with you again."
The ambassador was refilling his glass at the bar. He turned and saw the Rodgers heading towards him "Brant! Samantha!" He shouted out. "Let me bring you some of these fine refreshments!"
Samantha was aware that almost every eye was now focused on her and Brant. Her cheeks were red which could be mistaken for embarrassment. Instead she was furious. The last thing she wanted to do was call this much attention to her.
Ambassador Wainwright was true to his word and brought them each a glass of white wine. "Drink up my British angel, they have the good stuff out today. I can't imagine this cheap bastard treating you to anything nearly as expensive."
Samantha repressed a laugh as she watched Brant struggle to keep his poise. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cobra Commander shake the hand of a diplomat and then turn to leave.
Samantha waited a few moments and then turned to Brant. "Dear, I need to use the restrooms. Will you excuse me?"
"Certainly, my love," he replied and gave her a squeeze. "But do hurry back."
Samantha had no idea where the restrooms were, but exited through the same door Cobra Commander used a few minutes earlier. She casually roamed the halls and stopped when she could hear voices around a bend. Using the excuse of adjusting her shoes she crouched down and strained to hear the whispered conversation.
"So you don't suspect foul play? Destro thinks…" Cobra Commander's voice trailed off to a near whisper.
Foul play? Who is he talking to and what happened?
A second voice answered the commander, "I am fairly confident it was legitimate. No one…Mrs. Rodgers isn't it?"
Samantha had been too engaged in the eavesdropping to notice that the two had turned the corner and were now directly in front of her. The second voice belonged to Albert Gorman. "Yes, it is. I think my heel is loose," she answered and made a show of rising unsteadily to her feet. "I was trying to find a ladies room, and I got myself hopefully lost."
"It's not a problem, I'll show you where they are." Gorman answered then turned his attention back to Cobra Commander, "It's a terrible tragedy, but these things happen."
"How true," Cobra Commander replied. "Thank you for reassuring me, Mr. Gorman, and I must get back to my office now." He turned and walked the opposite way down the hall.
When he was out of earshot, Samantha turned to Gorman, "Aren't you Brant's counterpart for the American embassy?" Gorman nodded and she continued to speak. "With you talking to Cobra Commander, isn't that like conversing with the enemy?"
Gorman laughed, "Oh, no. At the moment Cobra Commander isn't seen as a threat. He had heard about a fiery crash that happened a few nights ago, and was concerned it might have involved embassy workers. He just wants to make sure his Allies are safe and sound in his country." He pointed to one of the two doors in front of them. "And here are the restrooms."
"Thank you for the escort," she smiled and walked into the room. A few minutes later she went back into the reception area and found Brant.
"I was starting to worry about you!" he said when she joined his side. "We need to be leaving soon, I just found out we have plans tonight. I am taking you to a hockey game."
Samantha was glad to hear the news. Not only could they now leave this horrid affair, but also she might actually have some fun tonight.