The engines were working calmly, Vova and Tim, with a clear conscience, were taking a nap in their places when the stewardess gently woke them up and said that a captain wanted to tell them something.
"The fuel is run out soon," the captain said sadly showing them the displays.
"And what's that?" Vova asked, pointing to the plane in the distance.
"That's the American military fuel tanker aircraft."
Vova grabbed the radio.
"Hey you there! You must refuel us!" He said into the transmitter.
"Fuck off! We are waiting for the presidential plane, this is the fuel for it," they retorted back.
"You will dance in the counterintelligence, clever boy!" roared Vova. "We're on a top secret mission here!"
"Very strange, on the civilian plane?"
"Yes, it is, you are stupid idiot!"
"Hmm, but OK."
"Danke schön! Over," Vova turned off the radio.
...
That same evening a presidential plane crashed into the ocean. The President was not suffered. He was hungover, in his country house.