When the Soviet Union announced the destruction of the pirates in the Baltic Sea, the Finnish government was the first to jump out, vehemently protesting and accusing the Soviets of shooting Finnish crew members aboard the ship. The Soviet Union swiftly retaliated, claiming that the Finnish crew were the first to fire on the Soviet helicopter. They even produced evidence showing the ship captain's account had mysteriously ballooned by hundreds of thousands of dollars, accusing Finland of ignoring this suspicious funding while rushing to blame the Soviets.
"What's the point of your condemnation? If you're so unhappy, declare war," came the blunt, domineering Soviet response. "If your crew had read our laws, they'd know that foreigners sneaking into our waters risk six months in prison—or immediate execution if armed. This is why there are far fewer scum in the Soviet Union than in your country."
The Finnish Foreign Minister exploded in anger. "It's madness. Even if those people were our crew, if they were really shot, we deserve a proper explanation—not your arrogant attitude."
The Finnish president remained silent for a moment before sighing, "When they shot down the South Korean passenger plane, we said nothing. We must be patient for now."
The Foreign Minister's face fell but he pressed on, "Patience? Mr. President, how do we explain this to our people? Our government looks weak, unable to protect our own overseas."
"Do you want war with the Soviet Union?" President Koivisto asked sharply, disliking the minister's fiery tone. "Honestly, the Soviets hold the key evidence. We have no proof the captain wasn't the first to fire. Arguing when we're at fault won't help. Emotionally I can't accept it either, but rationally, we must."
"But—"
"No buts," Koivisto cut him off. "We'll remember this. One day, we will get back at the Soviets. Those barbaric Russians."
Meanwhile, the most pitiful figure was CIA Director Gates. His carefully crafted plan had been shattered by the Soviets, and worse, he now faced imminent dismissal. Not only had the CIA lost its Polish base and the riot scheme was exposed, but he had no leverage to challenge Moscow over the dead agents.
Standing in the Oval Office, facing the president's icy glare, Gates knew his tenure was over.
"Is this the promise you made me?" President Mario thundered. "You guaranteed chaos in the Baltics, a serious blow to Soviet arrogance, and a restored U.S. advantage. What have you done instead?"
Mario slammed the desk, fingers drumming. "We failed. CIA agents died, Poland rejected our safe house plans. Director Gates, with all respect, are you a Soviet spy within the CIA? Your operations have been a disaster."
Gates broke into a cold sweat. "No, Mr. President. I'm American, not Soviet."
Mario waved it off. "Just saying. You should resign quietly. Leave with some dignity."
Understanding the message, Gates pulled a resignation letter from his pocket and placed it on the desk. "Effective immediately, I resign all my posts."
As he turned to leave, Mario whispered, "Take care, Gates. There's a better role waiting."
Gates paused, smiled weakly, and replied, "Thank you, President Mario."
The CIA's leadership vacuum was soon filled by James Woolsey, whose infamous "dragon and snake" theory shaped U.S. strategy. At Senate hearings, Woolsey declared the Soviet Union the red dragon, now dying, while the jungle around it swarmed with poisonous snakes—America's other enemies. The U.S. must kill the snakes, arm the friendly ones as minions against the dragon, and ultimately finish off the red dragon itself.
President Mario applauded this approach, believing containment of the Soviet Union—recovering from its 1980s economic crisis—was the priority before economic discussions. Woolsey assured Congress that the red dragon was close to death and urged increased CIA funding to subvert it. Maintaining strong alliances would let the CIA handle the rest.
And so, the wolf and hyena formed their uneasy alliance.