The Russian minister nodded and the officer turned and walked away. Turning the old-fashioned catch, he took a deep breath and entered the room.
An unexpected blast of intense heat hit him immediately as the door opened. An open fire crackled away, covering the walls with a perverse light show. Standing by the fire, warming their old bones, stood the Ministers of Defence for Belarus and Ukraine, along with the man who had called this unexpected meeting.
“Stanislav, at last,” The Belarusian minister exclaimed. “This weather is disagreeable, don’t you say?”
“It reminds me of Afghanistan. That winter in the Hindu Kush. You remember?”
“You’re just getting old, my friend.”
“As we all are, I’m afraid,” the Puppet Master interjected. “Now we’re all here, let’s get down to business. Please; be seated comrades.”
Everyone took their seat and waited for the Puppet Master to begin.
“Winston Churchill once said that ‘democracy is the worst form of government except all others that have been tried.’ Comrades, I agree with the first half of this sentence. Democracy was perhaps good for the West, but in Eastern Europe people need a fist of steel to rule them. A return to the old ways is necessary if we are to remain strong. Together, our countries are unstoppable. If we remain apart, we’ll disappear, swallowed by the European Union with nothing but photos and history books to remember our glorious past.”
He stopped and looked at each minister in turn to ensure his message was clear.
“Comrades...we’ve accomplished quite a lot and I want to thank each one of you for your assistance and participation. In Russia and Belarus the prospective opposition is busy with trying to weather through an assortment of criminal investigations. Bogdan here,” the Puppet Master nodded at the Belarusian minister, “framed a few of the most fervent anti-Russian leaders for a conspiracy plot against the regime. Very efficient decoy, I must admit. They will spend time in jail, no doubt about it.”
The Puppet Master took a short look at the fire that cracked especially loud and continued. “In Ukraine the situation is still equivocal, but if you look at the list of those who were pushing into the European Union’s direction, you would see that it’s much shorter now. Taras with some help of my men is really cleaning up the Augean stables in his territory. We had to resort to some extreme measures there. Anyhow, stage two of the plan is now in effect. All precautions have been taken, and nothing points or leads back to us.”
The ministers nodded in approval.
“Taras; any developments concerning stage one?” he turned to the Ukrainian minister.
“Nothing at all. I’ve taken care of that episode that we’ve discussed. The target’s people searched all the avenues we expected them to, but there’s nothing that ties their findings to us. Hell, I even told my man in Communications, Pilipchuk, to provide them promptly with a list of cell tower records as they asked, after I’d instructed which numbers to delete.”
“Excellent. What about that judge Zinovyev?”
“Not with us anymore, comrades,” the Ukrainian Defence Minister stated with a broad smile, crossing himself.
33 Disturbing Developments
Geneva, 2013
David and Boris were sat on the balcony of Neplokho’s offices in Geneva, taking in the spectacular view over the lake. Swans were gliding lazily along while people were walking next to it with their children and dogs.
David was staring at nothing in particular. It was hard to believe that no more than ten days ago Misha had been shot in the head. Now he and Boris were sitting in those tranquil surroundings, while inside he felt turmoil and rage.
The next day, the results of the tender in Belarus were scheduled to be published, however they had been informed that the President of Belarus had announced that the results hadn’t been finalised yet and that the publication was going to be delayed. This was the second time this had happened, and Boris and David were starting to doubt that their group would be successful with its bid.
The first delay had occurred a day after the assassination attempt on Misha, when the president’s office informed everyone that they had to discuss the tender’s details with experts from Venezuela. Since Belarus was diplomatically isolated, if not estranged from America and the West in general, there weren’t too many options from where to bring in the experts. Apparently, they knew how to build highways in Venezuela.
“So, did you speak with the Consultant?” David asked Boris. The Consultant was the insider in the tender’s proceedings. “Did he explain why they were postponing publishing the results of the tender again? Does it have anything to do with Misha’s injury?”
“Yes, I’ve spoken with him,” Boris replied. “However, he said that they were postponing the tender’s closure not because of Misha but because of a technical matter. Apparently, the president decided to take half of the members of the tender committee with him on his visit to Kazakhstan.”
“This is very odd. Why would he take them with him?
“I don’t know. It is unusual,” Boris agreed.
“This is a real bullshit,” said David. “How come he decided to postpone everything in such a critical time for us?”
“Are you afraid that the bastard nephew is going to win the tender?” asked Boris.
“Screw the fucking nephew. Something doesn’t smell right here. How come they postpone the tender at the last minute for the second time? Misha even met the Consultant in Zurich and said it was a done deal. I’m concerned that if we aren’t able to bring this deal home we’re finished in Belarus. It’ll be seen as a sign of weakness.”
“I know that,” Boris spat angrily. “I’m doing everything I can to fix this mess.”
“I know,” David said quietly. “I’m not attacking you or blaming you. But people may think that we’re losing control without Misha. Boris, you need to continue pushing our people to get this tender closed asap.”
“You know that I’m doing everything I can,” reiterated Boris. “What can I do if half the fuckers decided to go on a school trip to Kazakhstan? Who takes the fucking tender committee with him? And of all the godforsaken places to go, it’s Kazakhstan! Why don’t you see if you can get this show moving any quicker?”
The stress in all the recent conversations between David and Boris was obvious. Both men knew that the Group was at a junction because of Misha’s condition and the situation in Belarus.
Boris’s mobile phone rang. He looked at the screen and raised his finger to his lips, signalling to David to keep his mouth shut. The entire conversation, or more accurately the monologue, took less than thirty seconds. Boris just listened, and his face, as expected, gave nothing away.
At the end Boris uttered, “Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Well?” David prompted, once Boris had returned the mobile to his inside pocket.
“Perfect fucking timing. The Consultant says that Papa wants to see me tomorrow in Minsk. Nothing to be discussed on the phone.”
Boris paused, thinking for a second. He then continued.
“Papa likely means the president, as definitely neither my father nor the Pope wants to meet me in Minsk.”
On top of the news about the tender, Andrei Topolski, the Group’s chief security officer in Moscow, had reported back with his disturbing news. Andrei hadn’t concluded his investigation into the attempted assassination on Misha, but, as Boris suspected, he had discovered that some signs led in Moscow’s direction.
This was bad news. Dealing with rival competitors from Ukraine, Israel or the West was one thing. That could be handled. However, the Russians were a formidable foe with massive resources behind them. The Russian government and its secret services would do whatever was necessary to support Russia’s business interests. Rarely anything could stop them, even the power of the United States.
It also made sense that the Russians were somehow behind the delays in the tender in Belarus. They didn’t want a Ukrainian company to get i
nvolved in a project between Russia and Belarus as they wanted the business for themselves.
“Someone is delaying the results of the tender on purpose,” David finally said after a long pause. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this has something to do with the assassination attempt on Misha. If the Russians are behind it we may be in deep shit. Perhaps Misha hit a sensitive nerve with them.”
Boris quietly nodded.
“To tell you the truth, I’m even afraid of going to Belarus tomorrow. Given the latest developments and the potential involvement of the Russians, it might all be a set up. I may be walking into a trap. If they took down Misha, why wouldn’t they take me down as well? They wouldn’t think twice.”
“But you can’t just refuse to meet with the Papa.”
“I know. I have a bad feeling and I don’t believe anything they say recently.”
“Crap...what is happening to us? And this on top of what’s going on in Odessa.”
“Odessa?”
“Oh fuck. You don’t know yet?” David said, shaking his head and puffing out his cheeks. “With all this going on I thought you were already informed.”
“What the fuck is going on in Odessa that I don’t know about?”
David poured two drinks and handed a glass to Boris.
“It’s not good, Boris. We are under attack from all sides,” he warned, before explaining the developing problems in the Black Sea.
***
The previous day, David had received a worrying phone call from the manager of Ukraine Metallum which owned a steel factory in Odessa. The subsidiary factory had received a court order against it that decreed that Metallum’s holdings in the factory were to be transferred to a company that had been incorporated only a few days before the court order was served. Someone was initiating a hostile takeover of Neplokho’s assets.
David had immediately tried to find out all the information about who was behind the move, but couldn’t trace the identity because its shareholder was incorporated in the British Virgin Islands. BVI companies were always well shielded from such enquiries.
It was clear that the takeover was cleverly planned, so as to go unnoticed until the court decision came into force. It appeared that all the court summons were sent to a wrong address, so the court decision was given ex parte, without the defendant’s representation or even knowledge that the process had been started. Boris listened closely, his stony face betraying nothing.
“If only Misha was awake,” he finally said. “Just one call to the president of the supreme commercial court and the court decision would be suspended. What is his name? Evgeniy or Dmitriy Zinov? You remember; that’s the guy who awarded some strategic plant to Europeans in their dispute with Russians a few months ago. It was all over the news.”
“I don’t remember,” David answered honestly.
“Yes...it starts with ’Z’ for sure.”
While Boris’s face contorted as he tried to force the name from deep inside his mind, David watched the expression suddenly change to one of consternation.
“Where is that Swiss newspaper in English that you were reading? Give it to me,” Boris demanded.
“It’s inside. You want it?”
“Yes, get it now,” Boris snapped impatiently.
David ignored his friend’s rudeness and headed inside, returning with the newspaper.
“That’s the one. Pass it here.”
Boris started to leaf through its pages. On the newspaper’s eighth page, Boris saw the headline that he was looking for.
“Yes...I thought so. Look at this,” Boris said, folding the paper and passing it back to David.
David took the newspaper and studied the headline.
“The mutilated body of the chairman of the Ukrainian supreme commercial court has been discovered in Mariinskiy Park, in the centre of Kiev.”
“What the fuck!”
“Read on,” Boris prompted.
“The chairman…Dmitriy Zinovyev was reported missing a week ago…by his family…colleagues didn’t know…last seen by his secretary, suspected to be his mistress…was barely recognisable. His death may be attributed to recent scandalous suits processed by the court…etc. etc.”
David looked at Boris.
“This is a disaster!” he said, placing the newspaper in front of him.
“If it’s connected with the attempted assassination on Misha, we’re talking about an extremely serious onslaught. This Dmitriy Zinovyev, is what? Probably in eighth or tenth place of the political hierarchy? Misha told me that in most serious legal cases, he was someone we could count on. They were so close that Misha could pass him a USB flash drive with whatever decision he needed and if the money was right, it was printed out as the official court ruling the next day.”
“Fuck.”
Instead of using force to take the factory, their rivals were using the umbrella of the court, the law and justice departments. They were taking out of the game both the owner and his judicial krysha. Boris and David were silent for a few minutes as the knowledge that unknown enemies were closing in on them made them shiver.
The situation in Odessa required immediate reaction. Boris called the director of Anti-Mafia Limited and briefed him on the situation.
“Be prepared for a physical takeover. I have no doubt that it’s going to follow the court decision,” Boris warned the director.
David called Misha’s connections in Kiev and told them to send a few loyal members of parliament to Odessa to prevent the police from entering the factory. If the police were to intervene on behalf of the anonymous raiders to enforce the court’s decision, they wouldn’t dare inflict physical harm on MPs.
After both finished their phone calls, David said to Boris, “If you’re going to fly to Minsk, I should go to Odessa to manage the crisis locally. I don’t see any other choice. We must show that we control the situation.”
“I agree it may be necessary. Be careful over there, David,” Boris warned him. “I have no doubt that this is going to turn violent. I hope that you’ll be back in one piece from Odessa and I’ll be back in one piece from Minsk. And I don’t mean one piece in a coffin.”
“Let’s drink to safe trips,” David said as he poured another drink. “Na zdorovya, Boris.”
“Na zdorovya, my friend,” Boris answered as they both emptied their glasses. “Take care of yourself.”
A passing cloud obscured the sun and Geneva turned dark for a moment. The darkness reflected well the moods of Boris and David. It felt like the end was coming.
The attempted assassination on Misha, the delay in the tender in Belarus, the slaughtered president of the Supreme Commercial court and the problems in Odessa couldn’t be a pure coincidence. Nothing was random in Ukraine. It seemed that they were slipping downward on a slippery slope on all fronts. Someone powerful was behind everything. Someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes.
34 Hospitable Welcome
Minsk, 2013
“What is it? They don’t even have a proper summer here? This is shit,” cursed Boris as he exited the airport into the cold drizzle that welcomed him to Belarusian soil.
He had hardly slept the night before, with all recent events rattling around in his brain as he struggled to piece together the fragments of information at hand, hoping they would somehow point towards the mystery attackers. Until the small hours he was verifying through a conference call between him, the chief of Kiev’s SBU and his colleague in Minsk, that at least the Belarus secret services hadn’t planned anything offensive for him. Although senior officer’s assurances weren’t to be ignored, they weren’t 100% reliable. If the Chief of Minsk Security Services received an order from his superiors, he would forget everything that was said a few hours earlier and eat Boris alive.
Boris didn’t have a choice but to hope the Belarusians wouldn’t kill him. Even so, he asked Arthur to arrange for him the best bodyguards they had in the area to meet him when he arrived in Minsk.
Kirill,
the Consultant, didn’t come to meet him in the airport’s VIP zone. It was a bad omen. Boris wasn’t important anymore.
Boris called Kirill.
“Kak dela, Kirill? Where are you?”
At least he answered. They scheduled to meet near Minsk at a dacha of a former deputy chairman of the Belarusian communist party, who had introduced them in the first place.
The usual hugs didn’t mean that everything was fine. It was simply the tradition and could well be followed by a gunshot to the head a moment later.
“When do you take me to Papa?” Boris asked Kirill. Straight to business, without excessive pleasantries.
“There will be no Papa,” answered Kirill, making Boris twitch as this coincided with his worst suspicions.
“But don’t worry,” Kirill added with a smile, seeing Boris’s reaction. “I have all the powers from high above to hold this meeting and deliver a message. Sorry for using Papa as a pretext. For anything else I wasn’t sure that you would come right away.”
Boris didn’t believe any of it. As if reading his mind, Kirill continued.
“I know you might not believe me, but the situation is as follows. I don’t know exactly who, but the Russians are leaning very hard upon all of us, especially there,” he said, pointing at the sky in order not to say president aloud.
“They want this tender to be cancelled for whatever reason and for one of the Russian metrostroys to win the successor tender. They don’t offer us anything close to what we agreed with you. It’s a blatant pressure on their part, but you know well that it’s very hard to withstand such force, especially since we’re so dependent on them. Anyhow, we managed to leave it in the air for now, but the Russians argue that we don’t have a deal with anyone, as there’s no Vorotavich anymore. And if there’s no Mikhail, there’s no deal to discuss.”
Boris tried to think how to protest against this logic, but he knew that Kirill had a point. He wasn’t even sure that he and David together could accumulate enough funds to wire the 20% down payment if awarded the tender. Misha’s policy was to keep himself as a single signatory on fat accounts, and Boris and David had only limited powers on some of the corporate accounts. They could manage transferring a few tens of millions. Perhaps even a hundred million. But the down payment was around one billion dollars. That was punching well above their weight. Without Misha, getting the project in place seemed impossible.
Rise of an Oligarch: The Way It Is: Book One Page 26
