The Banker Who Died

by Matthew A Carter

  “What are you talking about, Robert?” Gagarin said gloomily, as if rousing from sleep.

  “Draculas—cars that you can only drive from sunset to sunrise and on the weekends. Certificates for them are cheaper, and they’re sold outside of auctions.”

  “That wouldn’t be possible in Russia,” Biryuza said, shaking his head.

  “Nothing’s impossible in Russia,” replied Gagarin. “All you can do in Russia is make money, and not everyone can…sorry, I interrupted you, Robert.”

  “No, no, that’s fine, Viktor. It wasn’t important.”

  The limousine stopped suddenly. The driver rolled down the window separating their compartments.

  “Sir,” he said to Gagarin, “there’s an accident ahead, and the road is closed. Okay to choose a different route?”

  “Talk to Shamil. If he says yes, we’ll go around. And don’t bother us again!” Gagarin closed the window.

  “And these are the roads and traffic system you were praising!” said Gagarin. “Everything works, but if it starts raining, everything falls apart.”

  “But this happens all over the world,” replied Durand.

  “There are always accidents in Russia. It’s the exception when the roads are functioning normally,” snorted Biryuza. “Why do you think they’ve managed to figure it out in Singapore and not in Russia, Robert?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  “Okay, look—Singapore has an authoritarian regime; Russia has an authoritarian regime. Singapore’s leaders remain in power; Russia’s leaders remain in power. Outsiders call what is happening in both places ‘authoritarian modernization,’ while inside Russia they only talk about modernization, but nothing changes, even though we’ve got more authoritarianism than you can shake a stick at. How should we understand that?”

  “Probably because the population here is Chinese, Malaysian, and Indian, and Russia has Russians. Different kinds of brains.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Biryuza looked at Durand, surprised. “You don’t like Russians? Think they’re incompetent? Unskilled? You think everything depends on race and nationality?”

  “Not completely, but it does have an impact. The Chinese are good at things that the French, say, can’t do. Everyone knows that, right? Singapore moved from the third world into the first mostly because of their particular mentality.”

  “And what do you think?” Biryuza asked Stanley.

  Judging by the fact that they weren’t taking a detour, Shamil must not have approved any shortcuts. The limousine did start moving slowly forward, though. A traffic policeman was waving the driver around the jam.

  “I think that cultural mentality may have an impact, but it’s not the main factor,” said Stanley.

  “Well, well! So what’s the main factor, then?”

  “The most important thing is motive. The leader here fought for his country and the welfare of its citizens. But in Russia, the nation isn’t their main focus, let alone its inhabitants…”

  “This is interesting,” Gagarin broke in, looking up from his text-message correspondence. “So what’s most important to the leaders in Russia?”

  “Power. Only power. It’s a means to an end in the rest of the world, but in Russia, it is the end. I just realized that recently, and I’ve seen a lot of evidence to support my theory since then,” said Stanley. He immediately regretted his words when he saw Gagarin’s expression grow harsh and angry.

  But then his frown disappeared, and he slapped Stanley’s knee.

  “You’re right, my friend. You’re so right!”

  Everyone laughed, relieved. McKnight laughed the loudest, and Gagarin picked up his phone to make a call after getting another text.

  “Yes, Stewart, keep going up. Up, I said.”

  He ended the call, but kept his eyes on his phone; he seemed to be on a video call. He nodded approvingly from time to time.

  “I’m buying something at Sotheby’s in Hong Kong,” said Gagarin, sensing his companions’ curiosity. “Chinese porcelain, a bowl, over a thousand years old, from the Song dynasty. Do you like porcelain, McKnight?”

  “I’m a practical man,” replied Stanley. “If I can’t use something in my everyday life, I’m not that interested in it.”

  “That’s a soulless American for you!” laughed Gagarin. “You don’t understand the sublime. But I love things for their beauty. I like to think about the long history of an object. Recently—”

  A phone call interrupted his rumination.

  “I said go up! It doesn’t matter, Stewart. I want that bowl, and it’s going to be mine! Yes, fine!”

  Gagarin turned off his phone and flopped back onto the seat, looking pleased.

  “I recently bought a vase by the same craftsman for ten million. Ten million dollars, Stanley. Exquisite! It’s in my room. Quite a heavy vase.”

  McKnight watched Gagarin carefully. He didn’t believe this talk about his love of beauty; he knew that money was all Gagarin cared about, and how to better invest it. And money was the only interest he had in Chinese porcelain, regardless of its age or the dynasty in which the bowl or vase or anything else was made. Only money, always money. Moreover, Stanley suddenly realized that this vase was what Mila had hit him with, and that she had intentionally grabbed that valuable vase. With one blow, she struck out at the lover who was trying to leave her and the husband she despised.

  McKnight slipped his hand in his pocket, touching the shard of the vase. He struggled against the temptation to hold it up and ask, “Is this your million-dollar vase, then?”

  “Yes!” Gagarin pumped his fist in the air. “It’s mine! My agent knows what he’s doing, held on till the end. The vase is mine! Biryuza, get in touch with him, and have him send it here, to that—what do you call it? Where we’re headed.”

  “To Freeport,” Biryuza prompted his boss.

  Chapter 36

  At the Freeport storage facility, situated next to the Changi Airport, they were met by two senior employees of the company. When Stanley heard them speaking French, he realized Gagarin had brought Durand as his interpreter. Although Biryuza boasted of his excellent French skills, he, too, soon grew tired of deciphering their rapid speech and asked Durand for assistance as well.

  What Stanley couldn’t understand was the purpose behind his own presence there. But he chose not to fight it. Gagarin was clearly trying to draw him in closer, strengthen the ties binding him, and one of those ropes was this visit to the storage facility.

  The two employees played their parts like actors on the stage—the first, tall and bony, would begin, and the second, short and plump, would finish for him. And if the first man walked ahead, the second would bring up the rear, letting the guests walk in front of him. Then they would switch positions, as if rehearsed ahead of time.

  “Le Freeport Singapore provides the safe storage of precious metals, antiques, works of art, vintage automobiles, rare wines and cigars, diamonds, and jewelry,” began the first.

  The second waited for Durand to translate, then continued, “Wealthy clients of Freeport also have the opportunity to buy and sell valuables without paying duties or taxes.”

  They passed through several guard posts and took the elevator down to the vault.

  “Le Freeport offers direct access to the airport terminal, twenty-four-hour security, temperature and humidity control, restoration services, and has fully equipped offices and showrooms for select guests wishing to hold private auctions, as well as providing full logistical support,” said the second.

  “Our clients include well-known companies like Christie’s Fine Art Storage Services, Fine Art Logistics, Malca-Amit Singapore, and Stamford Cellars, who use our services for the transport, storage, and sale of valuable objects,” the first man went on.

  “The activity at Le Freepor
t is monitored by the Monetary Authority of Singapore, the Ministry of Home Affairs, and the Ministry of Finance, in order to prevent money laundering and financial terrorism,” said the plump employee, looking meaningfully at Gagarin.

  “What’s that all about?” Gagarin asked suspiciously.

  “Everything has already been settled!” Durand said. “Don’t worry, Viktor. We won’t have any problems.”

  “I’m not worried. It’s your job to worry.”

  “We have the strictest possible security policies, including the electronic monitoring of our staff, clients, and stored items, and armed guards patrol the grounds. The temperature and humidity of our storage area is carefully controlled to protect the items kept there. Any damage or spoilage of valuables as a result of improper temperature and humidity or other errors is grounds for the termination of a contract, and for compensation from the operator, logistics company, or other organization working at Le Freeport,” the thin man said, his explanation accompanied by theatrical gestures.

  Another employee was waiting for them at the door to Gagarin’s personal vault. He entered a code into a remote and then tactfully stepped to the side as Gagarin entered his own passcode. The door opened, and the guests went inside.

  “And what if you need to get in when I’m not here?” asked Gagarin.

  “A good question, monsieur!” the employees exclaimed in unison. “In that case, we have the option of entering a particular combination of our own passcodes, together with several other employees, including the head of the security service on duty. That combination alone will open the door of your vault in your absence.”

  “This is necessary, because the customs service has the right to visit all sections of the Freeport to carry out inspections and investigations at any time,” the shorter man said.

  “You see, license holders operating at Le Freeport must comply with the laws of Singapore regarding money laundering and financial terrorism as well as legislation to combat corruption, narcotics, and other serious crimes. And those laws give them the right to conduct any manner of inspection,” concluded the tall man.

  “Can I ask a question?” Stanley interjected, raising his hand like a student at a lecture.

  “Of course, sir!”

  “What about confidentiality?”

  “We maintain the strictest confidentiality regarding client information, and do not disclose details on client agreements to third parties,” the tall man answered with a smile.

  “Hey, McKnight,” Gagarin called, “Look over here!”

  Gagarin’s paintings hung on the walls of his vault. A video camera was pointed at each one.

  “I have monitors in frames hanging on the walls of my house in Moscow,” Gagarin proclaimed, “that show the video feed of the originals from the Freeport. That way I can enjoy the paintings all the time at home. High-quality video! You can see every brush stroke. Three-fucking-D! Not bad, eh?”

  “Not bad, Viktor,” said Stanley, and nodded, rubbing his finger along the fragment of the ten-million-dollar vase in his pocket. “Not bad at all!”

  Gagarin sang praises to the Freeport all the way back to the hotel. He said that he was sick of Europe, and he was going to transfer all of his assets to Singapore, including his valuables from Laville’s storage, as soon as possible. He cast sneaking glances at Stanley throughout his rant, but the latter only shrugged and nodded.

  There’s not a single bank in Singapore that would take a client like Gagarin, Stanley thought. You’ve got too bad a reputation for that, buddy; compliance would turn you away at the door.

  Gagarin obviously wanted Stanley to object, to defend the benefits of Swiss banks, but Stanley chose not to. Instead, he said that times were changing, that players shifted on the field, but that Swiss banks in general, and Laville in particular, would survive, even if serious clients like Gagarin left them.

  Gagarin was clearly unhappy to hear this. Something nasty flashed in his expression, but he just grimaced and huffed contemptuously. He didn’t say anything the rest of the ride.

  When they arrived, McKnight immediately set off for his room, declining Biryuza’s offer of another mint julep or two. He hung the Do Not Disturb sign on his door, locked it, and secured the chain for good measure, before taking a shower.

  For a long time afterward, he sat naked in an armchair, staring off into space. Then he stood abruptly, took out his wallet, and found Frank Dillon’s business card in a secret compartment.

  He felt like the card was burning his fingers. He stroked the edges, aware that he would be taking an irreversible step by making that call. He keyed in the numbers on his cell phone.

  A young woman replied, her tone flat and professional. She asked whom he was calling.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Dillon,” said Stanley. “I thought this was his personal number.”

  “It is. Mostly,” the woman said, seemingly fatigued by the performance of her duties. “Mr. Dillon will return your call shortly.”

  In two minutes, the hotel phone rang.

  “Good afternoon, Stanley McKnight. I’m happy that you called,” said Dillon. “It’s better that we avoid cell phone calls, since your Russian friends can listen to all your conversations.”

  “Is that so?” said Stanley. “What about this number?”

  “We have equipment that can be hooked up to fixed-line phones. It will make our conversation unintelligible for anyone listening in. All they’ll hear is some gurgling noises.”

  “Then they’ll realize right away that we’re trying to hide something.”

  “Maybe they will, and maybe they won’t. There’s always a risk. You want a 100 percent guarantee? That doesn’t exist. But I take it you didn’t call just to chat, am I right?”

  “Right. I’m ready to talk about working together.”

  “Excellent, McKnight, excellent! You’re in Singapore, I hear. You’re just back from Freeport Singapore, having a rest…ok, come on back to the US. You’re from California? I’ll be there, as it happens, maybe even by tomorrow. Go see your wife, and I’ll be in touch. You don’t need to worry about getting in touch with me. And remember: you’re being watched.”

  “Your people?”

  “That would be great, but unfortunately, not just mine. Don’t do anything stupid, and try not to attract Shamil’s attention—that’s the name of Gagarin’s head of security, right? And please, act natural. Calm. If they invite you to have a drink, next time, don’t say no.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I don’t know anything, McKnight. I just guess.” Dillon chuckled into the receiver and added in Russian, “Do svidaniya!”

  McKnight had planned to have room service deliver his dinner and spend the rest of the evening in his room. But after the conversation with Dillon, he realized that would arouse unnecessary suspicion.

  McKnight cleaned himself up a little and went down to the lobby, where he ran into Biryuza. The other man was delighted to see him, and invited him to come along to the Geylang district. When Stanley asked what there was to do in Geylang, Biryuza just laughed and told him he’d find out.

  Twenty minutes later, they were walking along narrow streets toward the Parkway Parade shopping center. Soon, they were practically surrounded by girls offering to spend some time with them, but Biryuza, clearly not a first-time visitor to the neighborhood, pulled Stanley through the crowd behind him.

  Finally, they reached a small karaoke restaurant. They sat down, and were soon joined by an extraordinarily beautiful girl with bronze skin, sky-blue eyes tilted upward at the corners, and fabulous breasts. After a couple minutes, Stanley came to the conclusion that she had started out life as a man.

  “This is Sili,” Biryuza said, “Where are your girlfriends, Sili?”

  “Busy, always busy,” Sili replied in English with a heavy Chinese accent. “But I can
still find them.

  “But make sure they’re girls!” put in McKnight, just in case.

  Sili gave Stanley a disdainful look and turned away. The girl who she gestured over was just as beautiful, but her eyes were green.

  “Where are you beautiful girls from?” asked Stanley.

  “The Philippines,” giggled the girls.

  When Stanley came down for breakfast the next morning, he found the whole group sitting at the same table. Biryuza greeted him warmly, Mila had a twisted smile on her face, and Durand and Shamil nodded; Gagarin alone showed no reaction to his appearance.

  McKnight sat down next to Biryuza, across from Mila and Gagarin.

  “Where did you disappear yesterday?” asked Biryuza in a whisper.

  “I left. You should have warned me! I didn’t expect her to have a dick!” Stanley replied in the same stage whisper. “I specifically checked—no Adam’s apple, so I figured…”

  “There’s a special surgery to remove the Adam’s apple, and anyway, women have them too, they’re just less pronounced. But forget that: tell me how it went!”

  McKnight laughed. Sili’s friend had been affectionate and sweet, but he still decided not to stay. He left her payment anyway, for the services that she hadn’t had a chance to perform.

  “Everything went great,” he said. “Thanks for a pleasant evening.”

  “What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” Gagarin asked loudly. “What’s the secret?”

  “They’re homos,” Mila said, her voice hoarse. “They’ve recently become lovers. You didn’t know, Viktor? The Singapore vice squad caught them last night.”

  “I’d shut up if I were you, the girl who was about to do a line of cocaine in public,” Gagarin said.

  “So?” he glared at Biryuza. “I’m waiting?”

  “We visited some prostitutes in Geylang last night,” Biryuza replied calmly. “Had some Filipino food for dinner…”