Rosie stopped typing. The letter on the typewriter didn't seem authentic enough to her, but it would be enough for a grieving mother. She knew it sounded heartless, but what else can she say?
At least Achmed's mom would be adequately supported for life. She had signed her up for the Queen Cruz Fund, which provides monetary assistance to the families of the recipients of the Order of Queen Cruz, the highest civilian and military award in Costa Luna.
Rosie removed the letter from the typewriter and affixed Queen Rosalinda's signature. Forging Her Majesty's signature was easy, because, technically, it was her signature she was signing. Rosie then inserted the letter in an official-looking envelope with a typewritten address on the back.
The medal came next. The Order of Queen Cruz award was based on the old Order of Lenin award, down to the medal's components and its ribbon. The profile of Queen Cruz was stamped on a platinum circle surrounded by a ring of gold with the words Reina Cruz on top. Its ribbon was made of only the finest cloth, and the red and yellow stripes from two very rare dyes found only in Costa Luna. This went into a carrying case of scarlet felt.
Rosie took a small box and placed both the letter and the medal inside. After the customary wrapping with brown paper, she then went for the post office, mailing the parcel. With that done, she had done a good job.
Achmed would now be remembered in the annals of Costa Luna history.
"I am faced with a problem, Vanya," said Kulyuchev. "I have two tickets to Hamburg, but I cannot decide on who to send."
"Why not the Americans?" replied Romanenko. "They seem to be a little restless. Maybe the change in scenery would be useful."
"Why, that's a good idea, Vanya!" said the colonel excitedly. "Once again, you've proven your skill with the solving of problems. Call the ladies, and then maybe we will see if this country is the investment capital of Asia."
"No, Colonel, that would be the Philippines," Romanenko corrected his superior. "But Afghanistan is a fast-growing market." The two then laughed about Kulyuchev's intentional mistake.
"Mr. Timofeyenko," said the hotel concierge, "there is someone here asking for you. His name is—"
"Send him up."
The man arrived a minute later, escorted by the concierge, who had the card key duplicates to every room in the hotel. He opened the door for the visitor and then left in a flourish.
"You called for me, Mr. Timofeyenko?" asked the visitor.
"Yes. You've been watching the news, I believe?"
"Yes, sir. The Afghan Trade Ministry and high-ranking members of Air Afghanistan are going to Hamburg to celebrate the opening the airline's new hub there. Then, after that, German investors will be coming with them on the flight home to secure about nine-hundred seventy-five million dollars' worth of investments. That amount could single-handedly rebuild the economy after the years of civil war and stagnation."
"Which is why it must not proceed," said Timofeyenko. "Our employer wants this country at its weakest when he takes over. Frankly, it's almost impossible to do with the American troops watching over the Afghans' backs, but he as plans for those capitalist pigs."
"Is that so, sir?"
"Yes. Operation Nerushimy is designed to inflict a crippling blow on the Afghan economy. In fact, its real purpose is to make the people lose their trust in the capitalist system. Hopefully, this will force the people to overthrow their government, leaving behind a massive void that our employer will fill."
"An excellent plan, Mr. Timofeyenko."
"But, you must understand this. Operation Nerushimy must begin with a sacrifice, and it is you who has been chosen to make the ultimate sacrifice."
"I am ready to give my life for communism."
"Exactly what I wanted to hear. Operation Nerushimy begins right now. I am pleased to know that you are dedicated to the cause."
As the visitor headed for the door, Timofeyenko called him back. "You do know that if the operation fails, you must still make the sacrifice. What we have just talked about in here is high treason. Everything about Nerushimy must remain in this room and go to our graves. I hope you understand this."
"As you say, Mr. Timofeyenko." The man stepped out of Timofeyenko's room and into the street. Already, he was planning for the ghastly deed known only as Operation Nerushimy.