Update your settings

DLNews Trump-Putin summit:

Nuclear Baggage Check: Trump and Putin’s Briefcase Bonanza in Anchorage

Picture this: Anchorage, Alaska, population 300,000, suddenly the epicenter of global intrigue, where the air is crisp, the salmon are jumpy, and the world’s two most infamous briefcases are sharing the same zip code. Yes, folks, the Nuclear Football and its Russian cousin, the Cheget, have landed in the Last Frontier for a Trump-Putin summit that’s got more security than a Kardashian wedding and twice the drama. These aren’t your average briefcases, mind you—no pens, papers, or stale sandwiches here. These bad boys are the portable panic buttons for the planet’s largest nuclear arsenals, and they’re chilling just a few feet from their respective owners, Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, as they powwow in a military base so locked down it makes Fort Knox look like a lemonade stand.

The stage is Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson, a sprawling fortress where 32,000 soldiers are probably wondering how their quiet Alaskan gig turned into a geopolitical circus. Trump, 79, fresh off dodging two assassination attempts like he’s in a Jason Bourne flick, struts in with his Secret Service entourage, the Nuclear Football never far from his side. This isn’t just a fancy leather satchel; it’s the ultimate power accessory, packed with codes and plans that could make the Pentagon’s war room light up like a Christmas tree. Across the table, Putin, 72, cool as a Siberian winter, has his Cheget—named after a Russian mountain, because apparently even nuclear briefcases need a touch of poetic flair. This thing’s been at the ready for every Russian leader since the Soviet days, and it’s probably seen more Kremlin intrigue than a spy novel.

Why Anchorage, you ask? Well, when Trump tweeted about hosting Putin “in the great state of Alaska,” his team had a mere week to find a spot that could handle the security equivalent of herding cats in a hurricane. The Elmendorf-Richardson base, with its F-22 Raptor jets ready to swat Russian planes like pesky mosquitoes, was the only place with enough muscle. Plus, it’s got that Cold War vibe—right across the Bering Strait from Russia, where the two nations are so close they could practically wave at each other. Irony, anyone?

The base is sealed tighter than a reality show contestant’s NDA. Soldiers are checking IDs like they’re auditioning for a bouncer gig, electronic jammers are buzzing, and the media’s been shoved so far back they’re practically in Canada. David Nahom, former base commander, spilled to Defense One that espionage and cyberattacks are the big worries—because nothing says “summit” like the threat of hackers crashing the party. Even Putin’s plane needed special clearance to land, which probably involved more paperwork than a tax audit. The White House, Pentagon, and base officials? They’re zipping their lips tighter than a submarine hatch.

So here we are, with Trump and Putin, two guys with enough charisma to fill a stadium and enough firepower to end civilization, sitting down with their nuclear briefcases like it’s just another Tuesday. Anchorage, usually a blip on the map, is now the world’s stage, and those briefcases are the ultimate plus-ones. One wrong move, and this summit could go from diplomatic photo-op to a plot twist nobody wants. Stay tuned, because when the Football and the Cheget are in the same room, the stakes are higher than an Alaskan mountain peak.