Big Money

by James Hudson

  I wanted to ask Abdullah, “Who brought you up, man? Did your mother also have malicious eyes? Who taught you to hate everyone around you?” In a broad sense, their ideology is based on hatred.”

  “Do you think these guys are more dangerous than North Korea authorities?”

  “Yeah. These guys want to spread their ideology. North Korea has a nuclear weapon. But the authorities are not gonna spread communism all over the world – this would be ridiculous. North Korean leader wants to enjoy life to the fullest. Houthis have nothing to lose. They are ready to die at any moment.”

  “How could you convince them to team up?” Emma Robinson asked.

  “I tried to persuade them I was a guerilla who waged a struggle against the United States, sitting in the skyscraper in London. Then I announced plans of Saudi Arabia and the USA to ruin the oil market. I told Abdullah, looking into his sparkling eyes, that I was going to ruin their plans. When I told him I was gonna initiate an attack against the Saudi Arabian Oil Company, Abdullah was delighted. He called his chief of security into the office and told him my idea.

  Then Abdullah spread out a detailed map and started drawing arrows with a red pencil. Looking at the chief of security and Abdullah, I thought these guys were real at the moment, without masks. They looked like naughty children playing war.”

  “Wow!” Emma exclaimed. “So, they are big children, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe,” George Hartley said thoughtfully. “They had enough weapons to mount an attack on the oil plant. They just needed to pay their arrears to the weapons dealers. I cleared their debts. The transaction was anonymous. I bought Bitcoins and sent them to the wallets of the arms dealers. They received it and exchanged Bitcoins to USD. Very convenient.”

  “What kind of weapons did you decide to use?” Emma asked.

  “Unmanned aerial vehicles – UAVs. Little cute drones, about 15 feet long. They are controlled remotely, widely used by intelligence services. They are able to fly at lower altitudes and take pictures of the territory. Also, they can be equipped with little missiles. Of course, they could inflict significant damages to Saudi oil facilities.”

  “How much did they want to make?”

  “Houthis were entirely consumed by the operation against Saudi Arabia. They were not interested in money. But I promised to buy more weapons when we completed the mission.”

  “And they did it! So, now with your weapons, they can kill even more than they planned?” Emma asked scornfully.

  “I don’t think about it,” George Hartley replied. “You know that we actually didn’t kill anybody. We planned to attack on Saturday when the financial markets were closed. By the way, the drones weren’t expensive. Each of them cost about 20 grand. As far as I know, the drones were Chinese. Ha, ha! The Chinese produce everything in the world!

  So, the main targets were Saudi oil facilities. They were located not far from the headquarters where I’d been earlier.”

  “And everything went brilliant?” Emma grinned.

  “Yes!” George Hartley exclaimed. “Right before the attack on Friday, I’d bought oil futures contracts. On Monday, after the attack, the oil prices spiked over 15%! That was awesome. I sold the oil.

  What I also liked about all this, the international community didn’t have any idea who had actually set the ball rolling! Saudi Arabia accused Yemen. Most European countries did the same. The USA suspected Iran… as usual.

  As for me, I don’t care. I made a lot of money. Houthis are delighted that they ‘finally found a friend in the Western world.’ They are my allies now.

  We have nothing to worry about, Emma. Nobody died. The drones did some damage to the oil infrastructure. But this was just a big game. Traders were shocked when the markets opened on Monday. Nobody could predict that. The Saudi Arabians had to tell the world that oil production had stopped for a while. The shortfall of oil production meant a jump in prices.”

  “You’re a highly talented criminal, George,” Emma sighed. “What if one day people find out the truth?”

  “I’m not afraid to live, Emma. I don’t spend my life in fear, pondering over ‘ifs.’”

  “Why aren’t you a politician, George?”

  “Too much publicity. I wouldn’t feel free walking in the streets.”

  “But you never walk outside, George!” Emma exclaimed. “You’re afraid of people. If you were a politician, you’d have to be close to ordinary people, meet your electorate. You have to hide because your money is dirty.”

  George remained silent for a minute and then said, “You’re the only woman in the world who can tell me all this.”

  “But you still don’t love me, George, despite the fact that I’m single, I’m the only woman who’s not afraid of you.”

  George Hartley chuckled.

  “I made you one of the richest women in London. And I don’t mean only financial results. What can be more exciting, even arousing, than a feeling that you screwed the entire world?”

  “You’re not a woman, George. You’ll never understand me. You’ve always tried to think globally. But you’re blind to the feelings of others.”

  “Global thinking is what women never understand,” George Hartley said thoughtfully. “Yes, Emma, you’re right. I never think of how to wash the dishes after dinner. I think it’s an inexcusable waste of time. Life is too short to think about dirty dishes.”

  18. Secret meeting with a Russian oligarch (Part 1)

  Having listened to the audio recording, we were amazed by how George Hartley trusted Emma Robinson more than anyone else. They were equal partners. He told her probably everything. Unlike the system administrator Jason, who just envied George Hartley, Emma Robinson had an uneasy relationship with him. Some part of her loved him. At the same time, we knew she hated him. For what? We still don’t know. Emma didn’t even take our money for this audio recording. She told us she would be pleased to see George Hartley dying. This shocked us. Emma agreed to provide us with more interesting information. And soon we got it.

  It happened somewhere in the center of London. George Hartley said Emma Robinson that he was going to have an important meeting. He left the skyscraper. But nobody knew where he was going. Emma had no chance to eavesdrop her boss. But she managed to find out whom Mr. Hartley was going to talk with. It was a Russian oligarch Oleg Korolev. Mr. Korolev arrived in London in his private jet. He was surrounded by dozens of security guards. Being rude and arrogant, he passed through passport control and entered the main airport terminal. His security guards were ready to tear everyone to shreds. They were very, very suspicious guys. People jumped aside, shocked, and scared.

  Oleg Korolev made a terrible mistake when he decided to send one of his security guys to buy a local SIM-card. Every shop-assistant in the airport had been bribed by Emma Robinson. All of them had an aversion to rich Russian criminals. One of the shop-assistants easily persuaded the security guy to purchase a cheap Chinese cell phone with a local prepaid SIM-card. The shop-assistant had already installed and launched the application in hidden mode. The app was a voice recorder. The recorded audio files were sent every five minutes to a special server. When Mr. Korolev was ready to throw the cell phone away, all the recordings would already be received by Emma Robinson.

  Everything went perfectly.

  The Russians rented three vans and one luxury sedan. They set off at 1 p.m. to the appointed place. Five minutes later, Oleg Korolev called George Hartley.

  “Mr. Hartley, my pleasure! I’m terribly sorry, but I’m a bit late.”

  “It’s OK, Mr. Korolev. I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t worry!”

  “I thought the streets would be closed for me. I got used to the green light in Moscow.”

  “Green light everywhere?” George Hartley asked in surprise.

  “Of course! Citizens wait. But they are not against it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll see you in half an hour, Mr. Hartley.” He hung up the phone.

&n
bsp; Oleg Korolev was CEO of the largest aluminum-producing company. The manufacturing facilities were located in Russia. The company exported aluminum to Europe, North America, and Asia. The shares were traded in Moscow and Hong Kong. The aluminum prices are determined by markets every day. Supply and demand, as usual. As is the case with oil and politically unstable Middle East, instability in Russia could easily cause aluminum price fluctuations.

  Lately, Oleg Korolev started looking for new investors. The financial results of his company had been deteriorating quarter after quarter. Of course, all the consumers couldn’t stop importing at once. But assessing the political instability of Russia, all his partners started looking for diversification of imports. Nobody wanted to depend on the freakish behavior of Russian authorities.

  Oleg Korolev met with George Hartley at 2 p.m. We could hear it was a restaurant. When a waiter brought the menu, Mr. Korolev suddenly suggested to change the table, minimizing the risk of eavesdropping. George Hartley was cool with that. He’d gotten used to the weirdness of his partners. When the waiter brought coffee, Oleg Korolev began speaking.

  “Mr. Hartley, as you know, the relations between Russia and the United Kingdom have never been great. A lot of Russian politicians truly believe that the UK is the enemy number one, that you send spies to Russia all the time. No one deems it possible to start enhancing relations between the two countries. Even the Russian-American relations are not so bad. But Britain and Russia are on the brink of war—”

  “Oh, come on, Mr. Korolev! Don’t exaggerate!” George Hartley chuckled.

  “But what about all this anti-Russian sentiment that spread out all over the world?” Oleg Korolev exclaimed.

  George Hartley grinned.

  “This hysteria is totally under control, Mr. Korolev. I mean, politicians often imitate the deterioration of the situation. When British and Russian politicians meet, they don’t throw knives at each other. They eat, drink, laugh, talk business—”

  “And make love!” Oleg Korolev grinned.

  “Exactly! The war exists in the newspapers, TV, and Internet forums. It exists just to control the minds of ordinary people, to make them believe that there is an external enemy.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Oleg Korolev agreed. “Russian TV is flooded with state propaganda!”

  “That’s why I always try to stay away from the mass media.” George Hartley said. “I hate to bribe the reporters. You can’t buy every news reporter. And also, there is always a risk of conflict with the state-run media. I don’t need scandals. I create developments myself, Mr. Korolev. This is much wiser than to communicate with… dozens of nervous, blatant people.”

  Oleg Korolev laughed.

  We heard that the waiter brought something.

  “Wow! Thanks! Looks delicious!” George Hartley said.

  “What is it?” Oleg Korolev asked, displeased.

  “White truffles, sir!”

  “Smells like shit!”

  “Sorry, sir. It’s a delicacy!”

  “Throw it away!”

  “Whoa, whoa!” George Hartley cried out. “Don’t you dare! I’ll take it!”

  “No!” Oleg Korolev barked. “He wants to poison us!”

  “Come on, Mr. Korolev! No reason to be paranoid!” George Hartley grinned.

  But the Russian oligarch shouted, “Guards!”

  “What?” the waiter – a young man – stared at him, frightened.

  The security guards jumped to the young man. Then we heard strikes, and screams followed. They must’ve beaten the waiter.

  “I just don’t like this guy,” Oleg Korolev said calmly.

  Then someone ran up to them. Most likely, the restaurant security guards.

  “What happened, gentlemen?”

  “He insulted me!” Oleg Korolev exclaimed.

  “No, I didn’t! He didn’t like the truffles!”

  “All right, gentlemen! Please, calm down… Stop beating him, for Christ’s sake! Or I’m calling the police!” the restaurant security guards ordered.

  The waiter was moaning.

  “No more aggression!”

  “They’re right, Mr. Korolev!” George Hartley suddenly barged in on the conversation. “I’ll pay for these wonderful white truffles, gentlemen. Please, apologize to the waiter for your behavior.”

  “What?” Oleg Korolev gasped with surprise. “You order me to apologize to—”

  “Yes! And we’ll get back to business,” George Hartley said dryly.

  “What the fuck!” Oleg Korolev roared.

  “Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave our place,” the waiter suddenly said.

  “Fuck you, morons!” The horrendous thunder followed. The Russian oligarch must’ve tipped over the table. “Hold them, guys!” he ordered. A second later, we heard the sounds of struggle.

  “Stop it, idiot!” George Hartley cried. “Security cameras are recording your actions! You’ll be sued!”

  “What?” the oligarch was dumbfounded. “How dare they record our private conversation?”

  “Recording without sound!” the restaurant security guards remarked.

  “Nobody must’ve seen us!”

  “It was hard to find common ground, Mr. Korolev,” George Hartley said coldly. “Goodbye!”

  “No… wait… I’m sorry!” Oleg Korolev exclaimed. His tone was apologetic.

  “Say it to the waiter!”

  “No… no, I can’t… I really can’t,” the oligarch stammered out.

  “Police! Everybody stay where you are!”

  “Oh, shit!” Oleg Korolev hissed.

  “Here we are!” George Hartley muttered disappointedly.

  19. Secret meeting with a Russian oligarch (Part 2)

  “Mr. Hartley! Nice to meet you, sir!” the policeman exclaimed.

  “Long time no see, officer!” George Hartley greeted him. “Nothing serious, officer. My partner has just expressed his emotions. The stock market, you know… Failures take place sometimes. We apologize and promise it’ll never happen again.”

  “I see, Mr. Hartley,” the policeman said calmly. “But a fight was reported—”

  George Hartley laughed.

  “No, officer, everything is fine! We were just sitting and talking—”

  “How much?” Oleg Korolev suddenly asked.

  “What?” the policeman was surprised.

  “How much do you usually take?” the oligarch asked irritatedly.

  “Officer, my colleague is a foreigner,” George Hartley said quickly. “He meant how much it would be enough to pay for the damage?”

  “Oh, it’s up to the restaurant,” the officer said.

  “I meant you,” Oleg Korolev said grimly.

  “Mr. Korolev… will you excuse me for a moment?” George Hartley stood up. “Officer, let me tell something—”

  We couldn’t hear what the police officer and George Hartley were talking about. But George Hartley returned without the police. A waitress came up to them and asked politely whether they wanted something else.

  “Believe me or not, but they could’ve sent you to jail,” George Hartley said. “I see you’re ready to settle problems very quickly. But try to imagine, Mr. Korolev, that not everything is sold here. You can’t buy dignity. And you can’t break the laws in the UK. You can evade some laws if you’re smart enough. I’m sure you live a gilded life in Russia. I realize that ordinary Russian people hate you because you don’t even imitate justice. You can make a call, tell who you are, pay, and your problem is solved, right?”

  “Well, I got used to this comfortable life. I’m sorry, Mr. Hartley, for what happened. Can you guarantee the privacy of our conversation?”

  “Yes, I can. I’ve been here a couple of times. The place is great. Just relax! You won’t be poisoned by the waiter, suffocated in the lavatory, or eavesdropped by the head of security. I’m surprised how uncomfortable you’re feeling here in London. The rule of law, feeling of safety—”

  “I’m just tired,”
Oleg Korolev bubbled. “Jet lag!”

  “Oh, yeah,” George Hartley grinned. “So, why did you want to see me?”

  “Mr. Hartley, my company produces aluminum, as you know. Almost a 6% share of global aluminum production. But lately, the situation started deteriorating. The economic sanctions have been imposed against Russia. I can feel the lack of stability, Mr. Hartley. The investors and loyal customers turn up their noses at Russia. I can’t imagine if the European politicians-Russia-haters restrict or even prohibit my export—”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Mr. Korolev!” George Hartley interrupted him. “As I know, the sanctions related to military purpose products.

  “Mr. Hartley, I know what European and American politicians actually think about Russian foreign policy, Crimea, and our President.”

  “Come, on, Mr. Korolev, if you’re talking about the mass media, just forget about it. The news is created in order to frighten people. Startled people would do everything they’re told. Don’t tell me you believe in war between Russia and Britain or between Russia and America.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” the oligarch said quickly. “My point is to do something before everything happens by itself. I mean, we shouldn’t just wait for the further deterioration of the situation. The European Union and the United States hate Russia more and more every day. Right now, the prohibition of the export of my aluminum is hardly probable. But when the United States Congress imposes a new set of sanctions, it’ll be too late to search for a solution. There’s no use crying over spilled milk.”

  “I see,” George Hartley said thoughtfully. “So, if you think that negotiations between Russia and both Europe and the USA are futile, that the new sanctions are inevitable, we should really think now.”