by Tim Heath
It all started to make some sense.
Alex minimised the web pages and locked his desktop, turning the screen off, ready for the following morning. They had a lot of work to do, and it was looking like being a fascinating few weeks ahead of them.
32
A gentle rain fell on the streets of London as Maggie Thompson entered North Court House, a stone’s throw from Westminster Abbey and in earshot of Big Ben, which had just struck nine that morning. She worked for one of the world’s most prominent asset management groups, her firm one of eighteen that set the London Interbank Offered Rate––LIBOR––rates in the UK, as well as many similar rates around the world.
While most loans in the industry were short-term––some daily, some overnight, always with unique terms––longer-term agreements were also set up. Maggie had been involved in the loan to the four largest banks in the Union that Dmitry Kaminski was heading up, her employer the one to have come in and secured them, a multi-billion dollar loan––over $100 billion in fact––to help them keep afloat. Repayments were being made slowly, though there was still a significant way to go.
Maggie had got the job through a personal recommendation from Matvey Filipov, and his word was enough to get her in front of the recruitment team––and ultimately then in front of all the other one hundred and twenty able applicants––to land the very prestigious role. And she’d done well, the only potential blip on her record at the company had been an affair that had taken place, though few knew about it. Her work attitude pushed people hard, but results over the medium-term proved she had what it took. The firm knew they’d made the right decision, and gave her more responsibility.
Five years into her role––her mistake behind her––she was flying. Always the first to arrive in the open-plan office, she was alone therefore when her desk phone rang, a number few people knew, even fewer called––in the age of instant contact mobile phones.
“Maggie, it’s Matvey. How are you?” It had been years since they’d spoken. She almost didn’t know how to react. “You there?”
“Yes, sorry, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you…again.”
“So, how are you?” Matvey had never called to see how she was doing before, always instead calling with the next thing he demanded she do for him. He’d opened up so much opportunity for her, and she was grateful; however, it seemed as if he thought he owned her. She’d always resented that.
“I’m doing well, thank you.” She didn’t care how he was doing and wasn’t going to ask. Him calling her out of the blue was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.
“Look,” he said, reading her hostility through the thousands of miles that separated them at that moment, “I don’t need to remind you how I opened up that job for you, made them give you a chance. And I must say you’ve done me proud. You must be delighted with how things have gone for you?” So he had been watching her, keeping an eye on the girl he’d called his adopted daughter some years back, only to then play the role of absent father once too often.
When she’d been in pieces following the break up of her affair, when she’d needed him there for her, but all she got was silence. That was her past. She’d turned the corner within her role at the company where she was now a senior executive, the only woman on the board.
“What do you want?” Short, and to the point. Matvey closed his eyes for a moment, aware of the pain he must have caused her, not wanting to add to it now but needing her to play the part for which he’d put her there. And this was her moment to step up to the plate––to really deliver––to repay that trust and faith he’d placed on her young shoulders all that time ago.
“Meridian Capital Union,” his first three words, sending a shudder down her spine, the name of the very Union they’d financed massively, the banking Union headed by Dmitry Kaminski which they had propped up with a huge loan.
“What about them? How do you even know we are connected to this Union?”
“Maggie, darling, you should know by now my influence extends way beyond the boardrooms of even the biggest institutions around. It’s my job to know these things.”
“You didn’t answer my question––what about Meridian Capital?”
“I’ll need to ask you for a favour next year. I’ll be in touch nearer the time, but I’ll need you to repay the faith I’ve placed in you.”
“What favour?”
“I need you to call in the loan.” He could hear the intake of breath.
“Impossible.”
“Maggie, we both know that’s not the case.”
“I gave them my word.”
“And times change, we all know that.”
“It’ll destroy them. They will be completely exposed without that money, and we both know it. I can’t––no––I won’t do it. I don’t care what you say.”
“Maggie, I’m not asking you to do anything at the moment, but I’ll be in touch.”
“No, you won’t. I’m not your slave, and I don’t work for you anymore, I don’t owe you anything!”
“Ms Thompson,” Matvey said, anger clear in his tone, “you seem to have a very short memory when it comes to our shared history. It’s entirely because of me that you are even in that privileged position today. Don’t get any delusions of grandeur that you somehow earned that role. They didn’t even know you existed. They had more than enough applicants for your position at the time, and without my efforts to not only get you in for an interview but to push you to the front of the line and make sure the door closed for all the others, you wouldn’t be half the woman you are today! So none of this talk that you don’t owe me anything––you owe me everything! And I’ve never asked you to do anything within your position until now. So I’ll repeat it, I will be in touch with you next year, and you will call in that loan.”
“I can’t do that, you must know the chaos it would create. I’m sorry, Matvey, you’ll have to find another way.”
“Another way?” he repeated. Maybe there was another way––or more to the point, another man who she would listen to, a man she’d been prepared to settle down with until she found out he was married, a man whose departure from her life had broken her heart, leaving her depressed for months. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about. I can’t do it.” He would see how that might change once he’d put her back in touch with the one ghost from her past that might shock her into action.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, the phone going dead as Maggie shouted back, “No, don’t be in touch, I don’t want to hear from you…” but it was clear the line was dead. She sobbed quietly at her desk, before drying her eyes. Maggie had been getting on with her life, and she’d done well to bury her past behind her––to move on from it all––from him especially. She’d almost forgotten about Matvey Filipov altogether, yet suddenly he’d appeared back in her life––unwelcome and unannounced––and now he wanted payback.
The kids were entering another ride at Disneyland when Phelan’s phone rang. His wife was with the boys, both sets of their parents had decided against another day at another amusement park, opting for something quieter instead. Phelan pulled the phone from his pocket, and a recognisable mobile number displayed on his screen.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again,” the Irishman said.
“How are you all doing? Are you living the good life yet?” Matvey said.
“Something like that. Look, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Why the call? Last time we spoke, you said I wouldn’t hear from you again, that we would be left to live our own lives now, to enjoy all that we have…”
“All that I gave you,” Matvey cut in, the tone of their conversation set.
“What do you want?”
“I need to ask you to do one more thing for me.” Phelan’s head sank, phone still to his ear but his demeanour changed in an instant, defeat setting in. It wasn’t over after all.
“What?”
&nb
sp; “Maggie Thompson,” her name ringing in his ears like an omen, a stupid situation he’d allowed himself to get entangled in, one of many actions he greatly regretted, one of the many secrets he’d kept from his faithful, unsuspecting wife. “I need you to get back in touch with her. I need you to talk her into doing something I’ve asked her about, but it has to seem natural. You have to encourage her to do it, to support her. Only she can do this, and the last time I spoke with her, she wasn’t in the best frame of mind to want to do it for me, if you understand what I am saying.”
He understood only too well, and that’s what bothered him the most.
“When does it need to be done?”
“We have a few months before Maggie needs to do what I’ve asked her to do. I would suggest you get back in touch with her soon, though. I need to know she’s in place and ready to act when the time is right. Timing is crucial for this one.”
“Then I’ll never hear from you again? Then we’ll be done?”
“Then we’ll be done, Phelan,” he said, sounding as sincere as he could. They were never done––people he’d made––people to whom he’d given a fresh start. They would always be on his mind if there were ever anything he needed them to do for him. “Do this one last thing, Phelan, and we’ll be square.”
Phelan looked up, his kids coming running towards him from the ride they’d been on, smiles beaming across their faces, Phelan lowering the phone to his side.
“Dad, that was brilliant. You have to come and try it,” the oldest boy said, pulling him towards the entrance, his wife meeting them, looking less excited, though with a small smile on her face, as if to say now it was his turn to experience what she’d endured.
He ended the call, no further words worth saying, as he followed his three sons to the back of what was a relatively short queue, caressing the hair of his youngest, as the three boys chatted excitedly amongst themselves, occasionally telling him how much he was going to enjoy it.
How he was going to loathe the next few months was the primary concern on his mind as the ride pulled away once again, his sons already screaming as two of them sat in front, one beside him. He couldn’t risk losing everything he had. He loved his wife and his kids dearly. Maggie Thompson had been a very confused chapter in his life, and he’d ended it when he saw how in love she was with him, devastated when she found out he had a family––begging him to leave them for her, for what they had together. That paled into insignificance compared with what he had now––regardless of the millions they owned––his family meant the world to him.
He’d been able to put those troubles behind him, able to build a stronger marriage, spending more time with his wife and kids. He’d moved jobs because of the affair, wanting, needing, a fresh start at the time.
Now Matvey threatened all that once more, at a time when Phelan thought the shadows had left them for good when they were already planning out their next adventures, free from the constant fear that someone was coming for them, that someone intended them harm. Now the harm would come from Matvey Filipov, he was sure, if he didn’t do what he was being asked––commanded really––to do.
He felt sick, and that had nothing to do with being flung upside down or flipped from side to side, as the ride continued its relentless journey around the tracks at high speed.
The ride came to a standstill, the bars lifted, his boys jumping up and down declaring to each other––and anyone else in earshot––how amazing that was. Phelan seemed mute, his mood deflated, but he put on a smile as soon as he saw his wife, whose own colour had come back a little from the last time he’d seen her. He kissed her on the lips. Phelan wouldn’t let Matvey get between them. She had no idea what he’d done for the money they had but had trusted and loved him enough to travel away with him, their children and parents in tow.
“Matvey called me again earlier,” he whispered into her ear. “He needs me to do one more thing for him, and then it’s over.”
She looked into Phelan’s eyes––blue eyes that seemed deeply troubled––and knew not to dig at that moment. She kissed him back.
“Okay, we’ll be here for you when you get back.”
The pounding in his heart was almost overwhelming at that moment, and they walked arm in arm, the kids running towards some of the costumed characters that had appeared in the distance, their parents in no great hurry, following behind.
33
As November pressed on, Alex and Anissa were spending more time digging into the background of the Meridian Capital Union. The day after Price had given them the task, Alex had taken time to share with Anissa what he’d found, particularly concerning Dmitry Kaminski’s involvement. That shed new light on why this was even a case that MI6 was investigating.
Looking at the value of the group of banks, what had immediately struck them both was that it didn’t fit the usual pattern of T10 events. The size of the Union, if it was the target of these Russians, was off the scale. The fact it involved Kaminski’s bank––even though he was not a part of the T10––suggested these oligarchs couldn’t have made this Union a target.
Still, here they were.
Two weeks into the investigation Alex and Anissa had a clearer understanding of how the Union worked. They’d mapped out rough values, ranking the institutions in order by net assets, drawing from this the banks that were––to the untrained eye––most vulnerable, purely based on them being the smallest of the eleven.
Using business connections carefully fostered over the years, Alex and Anissa could find no word on any such move being made, or even remotely in the cards. That was strange. These things were never common knowledge, of course, until they were common knowledge, but still, rumours nearly always preceded these type of things––like tremors before an earthquake. Someone must know something, if Kaminski himself had picked up on a suggestion, prompting him to turn to Price at MI6.
No one they were talking to seemed to know anything. That put the ball firmly back in the court of the Russians; that this was, in fact, linked to the T10, but why something off the scale, and why target Kaminski himself? He was one of them, albeit in the next group down.
“Kaminski has political ambitions, right?” Alex said something they both knew. When they had followed Price to a hotel and listened in on his call, he had said exactly that, that Kaminski would run for President at the next elections in Russia happening the following year. “Over the last eighteen months, what have we seen within the T20? Nothing but a deliberate attempt to oust the two money men behind Putin, and presumably behind his upcoming re-election campaign. Stanislav Krupin dropped out of the top twenty––his place taken by another––therefore he is a man out of touch with those he would most want to influence.
“And Sokoloff––the bigger of the two by far––is in the ground already. Both men shoved out of the way. You would think that played into the hands of Kaminski––and therefore be what Price, and presumably, other senior UK officials want––and yet he comes running here, having been tipped off somehow that his banking Union is in imminent danger.
“However, we haven’t heard any rumours to support this, nor found anything that could validate such a claim. Unless Kaminski is the real target, from within his exclusive group?”
“By someone else who is making a move for President?”
“It’s not wholly out of the question, is it?” Alex had a point, and she could see that.
“Then it’s obvious,” Anissa said, understanding suddenly lighting up her face like sunlight filling a shaded valley. “It’s either Matvey Filipov or Foma Polzin.”
Alex stood there pondering for a moment. Anissa continued, “Andre Philips, or Filipov as we now know he is, feeds us information. He’s your inside man who’s been working his way in for months, passing you info, which in time put us onto what the Russians were doing.
“But we were always at best mere spectators, watching from a distance. We’ve never had a real inside track. Andre fed us names, dates,
even including his father in the list he gave us for the T10. We knew there was a new member of that group, which is what moved Foma Polzin into the T20 and in turn, dropped Stanislav out of proceedings for good. My hunch is that its Matvey who was new. He agrees to join the top group, has Polzin in the second––we know they work closely with each other following that photo from the Filipov yacht with the three of them together. Polzin gets Andre a place in the second group, keeping out Stanislav once more following the death of Sokoloff. You would have felt it would have made some sense to allow the previous member back in. With his father in the top group, he’s somehow able to influence the targets. We don’t know how that works, but let’s say he’s using the whole organisation to focus their efforts on his would-be political targets.”
“Giving better odds to his own push for President.” Alex could see what she was suggesting.
“That would mean two Russian oligarchs want a go at Putin. Our government knew about one of them and had secretly endorsed him. The other no one knows about besides the few men closest to him. And yet these key supporters of Putin keep dropping. If the alleged attack on the Union of banks is genuine––and we have no proof of it––we have to assume it’s an attempt to directly take out Kaminski, destroying his wealth base as well as his image, both in the UK and in Russia itself. His chances of running for President would be over.”
“So what’s Matvey’s agenda, assuming this line of thinking has any foundation to it?”
“I’m not sure. We know very little of the man, besides the contact we’ve had with his son, and we can’t help but see that information as a little tainted, especially if it was shared with us for their own ends, using us to expose certain people while keeping their own activities firmly under wraps.”
“Any chance of getting in touch with Andre?”
“He’s always the one who’s called me. His number cannot be traced.”
