war and peace

Vladimir Putin lowered his copy of the Daily Mail.
His knuckles were white.
Around him, smooth suited Soviet apparatchiks quaked.
"First Heelers starts joking openly about our spies in the West," he grated. "Now everyone's doing it. The Daily Mail. I ask you. These, these... intellectually redundant... morally otiose... scumskis. Look at this. 'An exclusive expose of Russia's sexy new breed of seductive super spies.' Heelers has made us the laughing stock of Europe. Can these people not think of their own ideas for news stories? Is all Europe trawling through the Heelers Diaries for feature ideas? I wouldn't mind only Heelers is sketchy at best on his facts. He says I killed that dissident in London with Polonium 90. You cloth eared goon Heelers. It was Polonium 293 for crying out loud. I'm not surprised the Leinster Leader fired him."
The desk intercom buzzed.
The voice of Lyudmila his sexually repressed sexily bespectacled sexy secretary filled the room.
"The Archbishop of Dublin is on Line Two, Mr President."
Putin waved his apparatchiks from the room and lifted the receiver.
"Archie," he purred.
Outside the skies of Moscow were a tableau of low flying cloud and numinous rain drops.
Above Dzerzhinsky Street, a single cormorant said: "Caw (blimey)."