The Devil's Handshake (10 page)

“
Three years?” Mikhail had
replied confused.

“
Before he comes to take
back Russia’s rights!” Thomas had grimly answered.

The exit strategy Thomas planned was simple
in design and required the diversification of the group’s assets
quickly, the taking on debt to fund it, whilst spreading his wings
in the process, so absolutely sure in his assessment that someday
the Mayor would come “calling.”

In the early days of 2003, the Mayor did just
that. By that time the international influence of TLH had grown to
make him one of largest privately owned natural resources companies
in the world, its power extended well beyond that of owning yachts
or the football clubs like some of his contemporaries. Knighted in
his own right by the Queen for his business acumen, Thomas had
become a man who influenced the political elite of the World.

However, he stilled faced one problem: the
lifeblood of the company depended on the cash flow from the oil and
gas revenues of the assets of its Russian companies.

Sensing the changing mood correctly with the
way the state oligarchs were “toeing the line,” Thomas decided that
when he received an approach from the ‘fixer’ representing the
Sheikh of Dubai (flush with money by selling the sand of his
Emirate and then mortgaging it) offering to buy his forty-nine
percent stake in his Oil Company for US$30 billion he concluded the
time was right to leave Russia forever.

With the deal all but signed and just as he
was about to get on the plane to head for the United Arab Emirates
Thomas’s private mobile went off with the screen flashing
“Mayor.”

The oligarch took a deep breath and answered
on the second ring. The conversation was curt and in English.

“
Thomas, I want you to join
me in Sochi tonight.” No greeting or small talk after three years
of silence, just an order to be obeyed.

“
Yes, Mr. President,”
Thomas’s reply was equally short.

“
Mayor?” Mikhail asked,
already knowing the answer.

“
Better tell the Captain we
are going to Sochi!” Thomas ordered. The expression on his face
said it all.

The flight took nearly four hours. Thomas
didn’t speak once as he sat opposite his trusted aide and bodyguard
lost in his thoughts, something Mikhail later remarked had worried
him immensely for he was never like that.

Once the plane landed they were met by the
President’s protection team and with only Mikhail allowed to travel
with him, but not before he had to with great reluctance his hand
over his weapon, they were driven to the Mayor’s summer
residence.

Arriving at the grand villa on Bocharov
Ruchey, Thomas was shown directly into the President’s office while
Mikhail was asked to wait outside.

The sight of the Mayor standing behind his
desk, as was his way, signing papers with two aides at his side
greeted Thomas as he entered the room. Motioning for him to sit in
a chair in front of the desk Thomas did so in silence for five
minutes. It was pure theatre by the Mayor designed to impress upon
Thomas his position and power.

Finished and dismissing the aides, The Mayor
opened the discussion.

“
Thomas,” he said, taking a
pause as his signal to answer reflecting his position over Thomas
and it was his turn to answer. The Oligarch did just
that.

“
Mr. President,” he replied,
dominance established.

“
How are Miss
Gurbanammedowova and Victoria?” The Mayor asked, providing him a
signal that he always kept tabs on him.

“
They are extremely well,
Sir,” Thomas offered in reply that earned a single nod back in
return.

The “Presidential style” small talk over, the
President of Russia got up then requested that they go out on to
the terrace.

Having sat down at a cast iron table in the
sun, the Mayor picked up the silver tea set and poured Thomas a cup
of black tea and then one for him.

“
Why are you selling to the
Sheikh?” the President asked as he stirred the glass to release the
flavor.

“
His offer is a good one,
Sir,” Thomas responded, leaving his tea untouched.

“
Not for Russia my friend!”
the President answered referring to the fact a foreign state not
even a country but a mere city state within an OPEC nation
potentially owning a Russian Oil Company thereby affecting its
Energy Security position was not an acceptable
situation.

Sensing that the conversation was now not a
negotiation, but that of a directive, Thomas knew instantly that
his deal with the Sheikh was dead.

“
Do you have a preferred
buyer, Sir?” Thomas asked, for being a wise man, he knew now was a
time when to bow down at the throne.

“
Niet.”

“
This is going to be
extremely difficult!” Thomas thought as he took a sip of his black
tea trying desperately hard not to show his nerves.

“
Then what would you
suggest, Sir, as I am sure now that my business does not comply
with your National Champions Policy,” Thomas stated, knowing that
if the man nationalized his business the cash-flow loss on his
entire business would almost certainly break him.

The Mayor smiled at him. “The solution is
simple, you either keep it or give it back!” There it was, in pure
terms, no escape.

As if sensing his discomfort, the President
then continued. “The price for giving it back is six billion U.S.
dollars in cash from us.”

“
Twenty-four billion under
the deal I agreed with the Sheikh’s people,” Thomas thought knowing
full well that such a deal would be difficult if not impossible as
it would affect the entire debt structures of the group he had put
into place upon the sale of his stake in New York, London, and Hong
Kong.

“
However, I would prefer
that you kept it, as your blood belongs to Mother Russia,” The
President said as he picked up his tea. “You have an obligation to
our country that has given you everything,” he continued, referring
to and using his daughter’s heritage of Soviet Russia by the use of
the term “Mother Russia” to justify his expectation that despite
his offer Thomas never had the option of taking it and walking
away.

Inwardly despite being relieved as only
moments before he assumed his core business was about to be
nationalized by State, Thomas knew it was only temporary because
whatever happened from this point on the lives of his and Nara’s
family was entirely tied to the will of Russia.

Reluctantly, Thomas gave the answer he was
expected to give.

“
I understand,
Sir.”

“
Good,” the President
answered with a wry smile.

The rest of the discussion then reverted to
what he would like to see happen on various projects in Russia and
of course with it a request veiled as an invitation from him to
invest, thereby dragging Thomas back into Russia to never escape
completely.

Forty-five minutes later, the President ended
the meeting by placing his hand inside his blazer jacket and
removing a pair of new Russian Passports that he promptly gave to
Thomas. Opening them, Russia’s latest “National Champion” found his
and Victoria’s details respectively in each of them.

“
We must do this again,
Fama,” he said, using the Russian form of his Christian name to
reflect his new citizenship.

On the plane back, a truly relieved Mikhail,
having been briefed by Thomas on what had happened got up, took a
bottle of The Macallan 1965 from the drinks cabinet for them to
share, then slumped sat back down in his seat. As he offered him a
glass with large measure Mikhail smiled at him, then said in
English, “Next Year in Jerusalem,” a typical Jewish response of the
Israeli Special Forces members used to describe a classic
‘Catch-22’ situation.

As the plane returned back across the African
landscapes to Europe, Thomas told himself, “No little warlord is
going to change the rules!”

Looking towards Mikhail and the rest of his
protection team and seeing they were all asleep, as they hadn’t
slept the whole time they were in-country for longer than a couple
of hours each day, he asked the pretty air hostess to serve him a
light supper of a Blue Stilton, Pear and Walnut Salad, with a very
good chilled Puligny-Montrachet.

Once finished, Thomas picked up the phone and
dialed Steve Krivets.

Steve Krivets was born into the world of
filmmaking in Hollywood in the 1960s. Tall, thin set, short blonde
hair with piercing blue eyes inherited from his Belorussian roots,
and like most Americans a full set of brilliant white teeth, he was
the CEO of Media News Group known as MNG. He had assumed the role
the same day Thomas had backed his three-and-a-half billion U.S.
dollars management buyout bid of MNG to ensure THL’s public
interest and media profile always had a counterpoint. The group was
described as “Titan,” with only Murdoch’s News International group
being larger, certainly did that for Thomas.

With this latest deal signed and sealed, and
fallout that what would come with it, was almost certainly going to
create waves and Thomas knew he needed to make sure the “Media
Management” was carefully deployed to his organization’s
advantage.

Steve was asleep in bed with his latest
conquest, a young starlet of just eighteen, when the phone went
off.

“
What the fuck!” he moaned
before wearily reaching across for the phone. Seeing it was Thomas,
he pressed ‘to accept the call’ request immediately.

“
Steve, sorry to bother you.
A quick question,” Thomas asked without ceremony before he could
answer otherwise.

“
No problem, Thomas,” Steve
answered having decided that telling one of your significant
shareholders, not to mention debt holders, to “fuck off” even if he
was calling you at three o’clock in the morning would not be a good
idea.

Listening carefully although still half-awake
Steve thought to himself, “Oh fuck!” as he processed what his
English friend was telling him, he said, “No problem, I have just
the person.” He sensed it was a request to be followed without
question once the briefing was over.

“
Excellent, meet me in
London next week.”

“
Who was that, babe?” asked
his teenage companion, now fully awake.

“
Nobody… Go back to sleep,
honey,” Steve ordered before finding the number of his contact at
the State Department figuring that this could not wait, and because
he didn’t want to forget anything while it was clear in his
mind.

The number Steve dialed was that of Joseph
McGiven, who unlike himself, as the time in Washington D.C. was six
o’clock in the morning, was already up drinking his first coffee of
the day. A tough political operator of thirty-nine, he was
Counselor and Chief of Staff to the Secretary of State.

As Counselor, his role was to serve as
special advisor on major foreign policy challenges. As Chief of
Staff, he managed the Department’s staff that provided the support
to the Secretary in administering operations of the Department. He
did both jobs with ruthless efficiency and for one goal only: the
enrichment of the “Interests of the United States of America.”

Seeing it was Steve Krivets, one of the most
famous media barons in the country, he picked it up quickly.

“
Steve this is a pleasant
surprise,” he answered in his Bostonian accent that, despite his
years in Washington, he accentuated.

“
Hi Joe, I know it’s early
but have you got a moment?” the mogul asked.

By the time, Steve had finished his briefing
he had earned a promise to do lunch plus round of golf with the
Secretary of State next time he was in L.A. in exchange for being a
good American.

“
HOLY FUCK!” the Chief of
Staff said out loud once the telephone call was disconnected,
grasping what he had just been told by Steve.

One hour later having reached and entered his
office, McGiven switched on his desktop computer then entered the
secure cryptonym software that generates code words across all the
National Security Platforms of the United States of America.

He generated a code word and then emailed his
and the Secretary of State’s executive assistants to get them to
request and organize a meeting with the President, the National
Security Advisor, and Director of CIA, all present with the subject
line stating Project GOLDEN WOLF [RESTRICTED CONTENT].

7

Ashgabat 1998

Sitting across from a very pleased Oleg over
the Gas pipeline construction deal he had just made on behalf of
the President and drunk on a potent mixture of champagne, cognac
and fresh sushi, sat a very bored Thomas.

His mood quickly bounced back though, the
second he caught sight of the absolutely stunningly beautiful young
creature he met in Oleg’s office as she walked into the club
together with several other women and even more so when he saw they
were making their way over to their table.

“
Oh yes, much better!”
Thomas thought enjoying her arrival at the table, the visual feast
of her exotic features, her long jet black hair in a ponytail over
her shoulder, clothed in sexy black silk trouser suit as one might
find on a concubine in a harem and with her belly button showing
off what he assumed was a crystal stud.

“
My God, she’s ravishing!”
he mused.

Getting up quickly, something he noted Oleg
hadn’t bothered to do, Thomas smiled at her just as he did earlier
in the day, only this time he shook her hand as her mother was not
present, then her companions one after another before motioning for
them to take up position opposite him in the booth.