***
She had a meeting set up with the head of the rat concession at the airport. He was in charge of Vaziani Air Base, also on the outskirts of the capital. There were supposed to be quite a few Israeli aircraft stationed in a far corner of the base. There were also troops for maintenance and training elements of the Georgian army.
His name was Ivan Pavratneli, a huge brown rat and a fervent Russian.
“‘No way I'm going to let those dirty Zionists bomb Iran," he told us. "How could I face my family?"
“It would be to the best interests of your country, Mr. Pavratneli, to avoid a disastero--’ Iyana started.
“What do you Jewish rats know of my country, young lady?"
“I know your family would be proud of you taking, let’s say, 10,000 dollars American, home,’ I told him in rat language. The way Iyana looked at me, I could see they didn’t teach that language in Israel. Diplomacy, hell. Money talks louder.
“Whenever she’d make a point, I’d enhance it by raising my bribe a bit, just a bit. Before long, Ivan agreed with me that his country’s best interests would be served by him moving into a nicer house closer to the base. That a chauffeured auto would give him more energy to make sure terrorist rats didn’t damage those nice shiny Israeli aircraft.
In two days, I promised over a million to rodents around that country. Then came the time to come through with the money.
I met my accountant in a fancy hotel. Me, I’d been sleeping on that fancy couch at Iyana’s that I mentioned earlier. Not trusting me, she locked her bedroom at night.
I’ll tell you, Charlie, that rat girl drove me nuts. Without a knowledge of the town, or official language, I couldn’t even get out to find a hooker. Since Iyana didn’t drink, neither could I.
I could tell someone was sneaking around behind us, trying to subvert our efforts, but never saw them. All too often I’d have to redouble my efforts, and bribes, as though someone was making counter offers. Nobody, though, had the deep pockets of our Uncle Sam.
And that damned human accountant. He was a bastard, and didn’t trust me.
“‘Oscar,’ he told me, “I know all about you steal ... misappropriating that fake Iranian money on your last trip to the area. That’s why I was sent along this time. I want receipts for every cent I give you’.”
Now, I ask you, old buddy, how can a rat work under such constrictions?
I was glad when we were finally driven to the coast of the Caspian Sea to catch a boat to Baku, in neighboring Azerbaijan. At last, I could drink. At the start of the three-day trip down the coast I left Iyana alone in our cabin. While she simmered alone in her fancy suit, I hung out and drank with the crew.
“On the second morning at sea, I staggered into the cabin to find lovely Iyana as drunk as I was. It seems she was a closet drinker. Left alone for all that time, she hit the booze.
“Osscarr. Wheres you been," she said. "I’m lonee, loonly, lonely, Osscarr. Hol me, Oscar."
I guess the old Oscar Rat charm had been working, after all. We tore up that cabin, making wild passionate love for the next day and two nights. Oops! Lost a day in there somewhere, he-he. After that, we got along much better.