Did Saddam get Russian GPS jammers? The answer is at a Moscow strip club.

If Saddam did get Russian GPS jammers it was rusty rubbish. For the modern stuff, look at Moscow casinos, strip clubs and brothels.

April 1, 2003

“Honey, I never knew you were that fond of classical music,“ the voice of my girlfriend woke me up in my hotel room in Moscow, “I wouldn’t expect you to go listen to Shostakovich Sixth Symphony on Friday night. Did you enjoy it?”

“uh-hu… err… How did you know where I was last night?”

“Easy, darling. Remember, when you arrived in Moscow and rented your mobile phone you subscribed for a people finder service. If something happens to you, well, kidnapped or in trouble, I would know where you are and would direct police or security guys to your rescue. Well, yesterday I felt uneasy and decided to check the web site of the mobile operator. It showed that you were at Bolshaya Nikitskaya 13, and that was Bolshoi Conservatory Hall.”

“Oh, well, it really works … amazing… now I really feel protected. And you would no longer worry about me. Great.”

What the hell is going on, I asked myself. Conservatory Hall? Shostakovich Sixth Symphony? Damn, I was at Hungry Duck, the dirtiest hole in Moscow! Drunk Russian girls dancing on the table, completely naked. Hookers and stuff… vodka by the glasses…

I rushed to the mobile operator’s web site. Yes, indeed, the log showed that on Friday night I was at Bolshoi Conservatory Hall! It was worth an investigation.

Calls to the Conservatory Hall and BeeLine, the mobile operator, lead to nowhere. Folks at Hungry Duck also refused to tell me anything over the phone but hinted that I may find out something if I’d drop by in person and talk to their security.

“You should thank us, fellow. We probably saved your marriage. Or was it your girlfriend? You don’t care? Whatever,” the security guy laughed loudly, after he drank, in one gulp, a double shot of Stoli I bought him. “You, studs, tell your wives that you are at Bolshoi and come here to screw around. It takes them only one visit to BeeLine’s web site to find out that you’re cheating on them. Patrons do not like it. It’s bad for business.”

“Well, luckily, we found a solution. One Russian company, formerly a top-secret defense contractor, makes great boxes. You hang one by the ceiling, and it jams the GPS satellite receiver in your mobile phone. You know, the old stuff like that would just make the GPS receiver inoperable. The stuff we got is smarter. It fools the receiver. The signal is so strong that it completely overwrites the faint signal from the satellite. I would enter any longitude / latitude in the box and your GPS receiver would obligingly report it back to the mobile operator.”

“Wait a minute,” a dark thought crossed my mind, “A GPS jammer? A Russian defense contractor? One that was accused of selling GPS jammers to Saddam Hussein? What did they call it? Aviaconversia?”

“Err…, no, buddy, I didn’t tell you that,” the security dude replied, quickly glancing around. “But I tell you one thing. If Saddam gets the box that hangs by my ceiling, you Americans are in deep trouble. Your Cruise missiles would fly back home. Funny, isn’t that?” – he chuckled. “Or they would hit unexpected targets, whatever Saddam enters into the jammer. And, you know, the guy is wicked, he gassed his own people with Sarin. He could direct your missile on his folks again, to rally your greenie and leftie fools against the war, and Bush government.”

“But, you now, friend,” the security guy continued. Three empty glasses were now lined up in front of him on the counter. “The old comrades, from the organization, you know, those comrades who build these smart boxes, I don’t think they sold any of this stuff to Saddam lately. We have our own problems with Muslims. Chechnya and stuff, you know. Well, honestly, Osama or not, the guys would probably sell their mothers if you paid them enough cash. But this stuff is expensive, I tell you. Saddam doesn’t seem to have enough dough to pay for many boxes.”

“The old comrades are now good capitalists. They go wherever the market is. And the market is here. Nightclubs, casinos, whorehouses. There is even an inexpensive short-range model that covers like 30 meters. People say some classy call girls carry them in their purses.”

“Well, enough said. I have some business to attend. And look at this beauty in the corner. She’s been glancing at you for the last quarter hour. Go talk to her. She likes American students.”

“Don’t worry, your girlfriend in Vermont – what? sorry – Wisconsin would never know. You are at Le Club tonight, listening to Alexei Kozlov’s Arsenal jazz quartet.”