So, the President’s guards came from that experience and were brutal. Yet, they may have some Mongol blood. They spoke the language, well, some of it and knew some of the customs. But, they were loyal as they had to be. They could easily fit in, and no one had to know where they really came from. What difference did it make in the end? Finding the local Mongols with good useful military or, law enforcement experience was hard. And, the intelligence or secret service community did not exist at all. So, like many other things, these things had to come from the former Soviet Union or China. Thus, jobs were posted, and funds allocated. There was no shortage of “professionals” applying for those jobs and claiming the pay.
A good job was a luxury when your skills were on the limited side, and Mongolia was just fine. Where else would they go if they just came from there and there was nothing? How do you make a living if you have so little to sell, but they could sell the brutality that was in demand in some corners of the world? For them, Mongolia was better than Africa or the Middle East. It was safer, that’s for sure, and close to home. In short, it was more civilized. No matter what the others said, it was not too bad to have some Mongol blood. It paid.
“Doctor is on his way, Sir. He should be here very soon. Are you hurt? I am a trained medic. What can I do for you? Mr. President?” Announced the second security man talking to the microphone attached to his wristwatch while the third man was searching the bathroom and the closet. That one looked somewhat jumpy. They all looked like brothers, twins or even triplets and maybe they were. That did not matter, but they were good, and that mattered.
“There was something in the bed. Under the covers.” Cried out the President holding his ass with one hand and pointing at the bed with another. His face was as white as the bed sheets, totally drawn off blood and showing the deep agitation. He was terrified and full of pain. Actually, there was a little blood on his hand. Was it a snake? Was it poisonous? It was something with sharp teeth. Did someone put it in there? Was it a conspiracy to kill him, to attack the government? To overthrow the government… Was it a signal for an uprising? Who was that strong in opposition? Was it Chinese, the Russians? Americans? Why would Americans get involved that deep with such a small country in the middle of nowhere? Why, he was a good President, possibly the best. He did not do anything to anyone who did not deserve it. Well, he did not really do anything to anyone. He was corrupt to the gills, and that’s it. That was the accomplishment. This President did not get involved much with anything government, just standing aside, and the country was doing better and better.
“What the hell was it?” He screamed again. “Find it now. It could be a snake.”
“What snake, Mr. President?” The agent in charge was full of attention. “We do not have snakes in the capital. In the palace… Do we? Here? Hey, people!” He looked around the room and at the agents and the staff piling in the room. “Do you know anything about the snakes in the capital? Who does? Get that guy in. The Academy of science across the square. Call them now, and I mean now. I want a herpetologist or whatever they call it here and now. Who is not afraid of snakes? Step forward. You will handle it until the herpetologist gets in.”
“You, idiot!” Screamed the President Arban Vagabundi. “Someone, the opposition, the enemies of the state, may want to kill me using a snake. Could that be a foreign agent? A poisonous snake would be easy and convenient. Too convenient… It bites, poison and I am dead. The President is dead. In my own bedroom. The snake escapes or gets killed. Who cares. Untraceable. How could you miss it? Where were you all this time? Where is the doctor? Get the vaccine. Any of you could bring it in and put it in my bed. Do I really know any of you? Check the bed. Search the room. Search the entire house. Investigate everyone working in this building. My opposition. There are few smart asses there. It could be even my wife for all I know.” He was hysterical but still holding his ass tight. It was hurting. His ego was in pain, and that was clear. In his own bedroom.
“Your wife is not here, Sir.” Said the maid loudly sobbing in the corner. “She left a day ago. She could not have brought a snake. She was not here for a day already.” The poor girl was beside herself. Only a few hours ago (during the lunch), she was making love to the President and in that bed. If there was a snake, the snake could have bitten her as well. What kind of a career in the government would that be? She was distressed beyond the comprehension. She was distressed beyond the distress. That was so close, so upsetting. She was taking chances. Would that pay off? Anytime soon? She wanted to succeed. She had to succeed. She could not go back to the steppes just like that. No, who said that the career in government was easy? She may have to fight for it. Well, he promised, and she may get that position in the Ministry of Education. She liked the kids and had a University degree. The pay would be good and the social status — to die for. She could’ve died today if the snake bit her. No, no, that was too much, but what could she do. She just worked there, and he wanted sex. He was always horny and they, the servants, had to oblige. It was not her job “per se,” but how could she argue. Was it even possible? To argue… With the President… In Mongolia… What if he gets angry?
“My wife is a snake.” Slowly pronouncing every word said the President. “If she bites anyone, there is no antidote. The result is guaranteed. I’ve seen it. She is too mean for anyone to survive. And, the mother-in-law… She could poison a snake. Who else is absent from the palace? Is it only my wife? Who went over there with her? Guards… Driver… Maids… Who else?” The agents stopped doing whatever they were doing at the moment and looked at the President. Was he serious? Was there a conspiracy they could’ve missed?
“Don’t look at me, idiots. Check the bed. Lift the covers. Under the pillow. There, there. Use the swords from the wall. Do not get bitten yourselves. Under the bed. Check every centimeter of the room.”
Two agents cautiously lifted the bed covers using the swords from the wall display while the third one, the one in charge, aimed the gun at the center of the bed. He was ready to fire at whatever was hiding in there and threatening lives of the President and whoever was with him at the time. Anyone could be there with the President, and that was dangerous. There was silence full of the most profound tension.
“Guff. Guff, guff…” It was loud and too unexpected. Everyone, including the Secret Service Agents, jumped back and assumed the fighting stances. Oh, they were ready to fight. All of them working in the palace had training in martial arts. Some were good at it, and some were not that hot. Still, all knew how to use it. No matter what you did in the palace, the job description included fighting if needed.
“Guff, guff, guff.” That was coming from under the pillow now. The pillow moved, and the head emerged. The pillow moved more and the little Chihuahua — Batu Khan, jumped out bearing the small but very sharp saw-like teeth.
“Guff, guff, guff…” All present suddenly became still and quiet and looking in the same direction. That was the most important direction, the direction of the President’s ass. That was the first ass of the nation. They could see the newspaper headlines: “In the fight for supremacy, President Vagabundi lost to the Chihuahua dog Batu Khan. The dog bit the President in the ass, drawing blood. Heil to the dog!” Should they take the dog out and shoot? Should they torture it first? Would there be a hearing? Hearing of what? Hearing whom? The dog was guilty or was he. What was higher, the first dog or the first ass? Ass took the precedence. Could there be doubt there?