By the time they finished and headed to a local Georgian restaurant for dinner, they agreed to focus on three key properties to negotiate the best space and terms for their use.
They were seated at a table in a small room with high ceilings and ancient wooden beams. After they ordered, Peter asked, “Andrei, are the owners of these three properties all honest and reliable?”
“For the most part, yes. Two are joint ventures between local Russians and Western partners. We’ve put tenants in all of them with good success.”
“What about bribes? Obviously we can’t be involved with any bribes.”
Andrei smiled. “Despite what you hear, they’re rare, at least at this level.” He noticed the skeptical look on David’s face. “Oh, I’m sure that to get the building built, utilities connected, permits issued, that sort of thing, some special considerations were asked and given. The Russian partner usually takes care of that, but these days it’s pretty small stuff.”
“You’d think from the press that nothing gets done here without a bribe.”
“And you’d think from the press that every child in an American school is in danger of being shot by a sniper or schoolmate.”
David nodded. “Yes, I guess the media does tend to pigeon-hole all of us with ten-second summaries.”
Peter spoke up. “The reality is that some things certainly are done or expedited here with bribes, which sadly is true in most of the world, not just in Russia. But it’s more like an old boy network, where people over time develop relationships by doing favors for each other. It came right out of the Soviet system. Since there were no prices back then for anything, the only way anything ever got done was through personal relationships, keeping score of who owed you and whom you owed.”
“I hadn’t realized that.”
Andrei added, “But now the market has encroached, and decisions are made by a combination of price and relationships.”
David reflected for a moment. “A little like the States, really.”
“I couldn’t be sure, since I’ve only worked here. But probably you’re right.”
When David returned to his room that night there were two messages from Elizabeth on the hotel voicemail, urging him to call home. He fixed a drink at the mini-bar, sat on the bed, dialed their home number, and listened to his wife talk almost without interruption for three minutes. As she spoke about their son, he closed his eyes and grimaced several times, then made notes on the pad by his bed.
They spoke for a few more minutes, and he asked her to put Rob on the line. She put the phone down, and he could hear her walk upstairs, with music playing in the background. Then it stopped, and a minute later he heard noise near the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Rob. Hey, how are you?”
“Uh. Fine.”
“I’d like to bring you over here someday. It’s a lot different than most people think.”
“Mm.”
“Rob, Mom tells me that you were up ‘til three this morning—or even later. On the internet, playing those games.”
“Mm.”
“Son, listen. We told you that we’re going to have to make changes if you don’t get off that stuff—have a more regular life. And I’m asking you to stop doing those games. There’s more to life than—.”
“Dad, I know that. But I like these games. I’ve got friends out there. Better friends than at school. I can’t just cut them off. It’s not right.”
“But, Rob, you need balance. And real friends. Not just friends on the internet.”
“These are real friends. Real people. They’re just not here. But they are real.”
“Rob, you only play internet games with them, wherever they are and whoever they are. You don’t talk, do homework, go to movies, listen to music.”
“So what? We’re close. Like in combat, I guess.”
David could feel his anger rising, but he tried to hold it down. “Rob, you’re fifteen. I’m your father. I’m telling you that there’s more to life than internet games, no matter how real they are. You’ve got to break away from this—this—addiction. It’s wrong. And get your head back into school, friends, girls.”
“Hey, Dad, I could be ‘addicted’ to a lot worse things than the internet.”
David was silent for a moment and took a deep breath. “I know. And I’m thankful, Rob, that you’re not. But any addiction is not good. It limits you… changes you.”
“Well, I think you’re wrong about these games.”
They talked for five minutes, and finally Rob agreed to only an hour of games a day until David came home. Then Elizabeth came back on the line.
“He’s gone upstairs.”
“He agreed to one hour until I get home and we can all talk together.”
“He needs to do none, David.”
“Elizabeth, I know. But for now, this is OK. Please watch him and be sure that he does as we’ve agreed.”
A long pause. “David, I’ll try, but sometimes I’m not home…”
“Do the best you can. He promised, so we’ll have to trust him.”
“We’ll see.”
“Elizabeth, I love you, and I’m sorry that this is happening while I’m away.”
“I love you, too, but I’m just very worried about our son. And the daughter that we’ve cut off.”
“She chose to cut herself off.”
“Let’s not talk about that again until you get home. Sleep well and travel safe, dear.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
David hung up the phone, stood up, and walked again to the mini-bar, where he poured himself another drink. Swallowing half of it in one gulp, he thought, What’s happened to Rob? And to Callie, for God’s sake? They were just kids a couple of years ago. Rob still is. We’ve done everything for them.
He refilled his glass and sat in a gold armchair in the corner of his hotel room. What was it Andrei asked? “How do they know what’s right from what’s wrong?” How can they not know? We haven’t pushed the Qur’an or the Bible on them. But we’ve tried to be good people ourselves, and we’ve taught them to be tolerant and to respect others. Surely they can figure out right and wrong. Callie and Rob are bright. They should know.
Only a few kilometers from David’s hotel, Simon North and Yevgany Beleborodov were finishing their late night planning at the dinner table in the general’s apartment. His wife was visiting their son and his family in Novgorod.
“So I think all of the pieces are in place to move this week,” North summarized, looking at the papers in front of him. “I like the sound of your Captain Rusnak.”
“Yes, he’s a good man. A true patriot. Not afraid to do whatever needs to be done for the motherland. And, quite happily, stationed only twenty kilometers from Arzamus-23.”
“It appears that it is time to call Mr. Sivyakov.”
“Agreed. He will either be in his apartment, or in the warehouse with his friends.” Beleborodov dialed the cell phone number which North had brought with him in the packet from London. After a few rings the phone answered with what sounded like an annoyed response to a wrong number.
The general spoke in Russian. “Mr. Sivyakov, good evening. No, this is not a wrong number. I want to talk with you for a moment. Do you have time? Are you in your apartment, or at the warehouse?”
“Who is this?”
“Never mind. That’s not important. The point is that we know about your special product, and we would like to buy it. How much will you sell it for?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do. And I can hear the work going on now in the background, perfecting the exterior of the carrier.”
There was silence, and a moment later the noises stopped. “Why should I stay on the line with you?”
“Because I’m going to save you from a terrible fate. The people to whom you think you are selling your product are actually with the police, and when you meet in ten days, as you have planned, they wil
l either arrest you or kill you.”
More silence.
“But the good news is that we are not the police, and we will match their offer in cash and take the product off your hands in a few days, giving you the means and the time for you and your friends to leave the country. With your families.”
More silence.
“I tell you what. You and your team talk about it for ten minutes, and I’ll call you back. We hope that you will take us up on the lifeline that we are offering you. The alternative for you is bleak. I will call you back.” Then Belebordov hung up.
13
MONDAY, MAY 2ND
That Monday morning, while David was in Moscow, Kristen stopped by Todd’s office. The door was open, and she took a step inside. He had a spreadsheet open on his computer, which sat at the far corner of the credenza behind his desk. He swiveled around on his chair when she entered.
She smiled and spoke. “Hey. I guess you heard the voicemail from David at the airport on Friday asking me to review the analysis of Brookglen versus Overlook.”
Todd opened both hands towards her and returned her smile. “A great idea, I guess, but I accepted Brookglen’s proposal that afternoon.”
Kristen frowned. “David was here early Friday morning. Did you run it past him?”
“No, actually I didn’t. He put me in charge of the project, so I assumed that meant I could make the decision.”
“Well, yes, one of us is always the leader, but we usually check our work with each other, and certainly with David, before making a big commitment.”
Todd looked down at the papers spread in front of him and clenched his fists on the desktop. “Brookglen was the clear choice. It’s the better project. End of discussion.” He looked up at her.
In a calm voice Kristen said, “I recall you saying two weeks ago that the Brookglen rent started out at only thirty-two dollars per square foot but increased fairly quickly in the third through seventh years. Did the present value come out better than Overlook’s almost flat rent of thirty-four dollars over the entire term?”
Todd pursed his lips and said, “Yes, of course.”
“What discount rate did you use?”
He stood. “I don’t remember exactly. And it doesn’t matter. Brookglen is better: the floor plates are larger and there’s more parking.”
“But Overlook’s parking is in an enclosed deck, isn’t it? That will be important in Minneapolis, I would think.”
“Look—I told you, I’ve already made the decision and accepted Brookglen’s proposal. I’m sorry that I’m not perfect, remembering always to check with everyone and praying for the best rental rates. I did what I thought was best.”
She shook her head, and her auburn hair moved just a bit. “Todd, there’s no reason to say that. Do you think that I think I’m perfect?”
He took a deep breath. “No, Kristen, I don’t. I’m sorry. But I don’t like being second-guessed when I’ve been put in charge of a project.”
“Call it teamwork, not second guessing.” She smiled. “It sounds better and works better.”
“OK. Well, next time. But this time, it’s Brookglen.”
She turned and walked to his door. “All right. But you’d better send David an email and let him know. And let me know if I can help on anything, and maybe after lunch you can check over my assumptions and conclusions on Singapore.”
He sat down. “Glad to.” Then he turned back to his spreadsheet.
Bill Porter was at his desk when the phone rang. “Mr. Porter?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. My name is Taylor Martin. You’ve been involved in some land developments in the north part of the state, haven’t you?”
“Yes. River Mill is the most recent. Almost two hundred homes around a lake.”
“It’s a wonderful development. Very environmentally sound. I’m calling because my family owns several hundred acres right at the edge of the national forest about sixty miles north, not far from the river.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful property. Old forest. Rolling topo. And we’ve just learned that the county is going to run a sewer line right through our property early next year. We think it’s time to involve someone like you to help us figure out what to do, and so we thought we’d call.”
“Well, I’d be glad to meet with you and take a look.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course. When would you like to get together?”
“Hmm…What about later this week? We could, say, meet you at the River Inn, show you the property, then have lunch. We’ve got plats and a letter from the county about the sewer.”
“Sounds good. What day works for you? I’m free on Wednesday and Thursday.”
“How about Wednesday? We can meet in the parking lot. Say about eleven-thirty?”
“That’ll be fine. I’ll dress for walking the property.”
“Yes. By all means. And we’ll bring the plats. We’ll meet in the parking lot, go look at the property, and then come back for lunch. My brother, cousin and I will meet you on Wednesday.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Oh, and Mr. Porter. We don’t want anyone else to know what’s going on with this property. So we’d appreciate if you didn’t mention it to anyone else, And can we meet just with you?”
“Of course. I’ll come alone.”
“Great. We’ll see you then. Thank you.”
At four-thirty that same Monday afternoon in Moscow, David, Andrei and Peter Goncharov were about to visit the third of the properties that their initial analysis had indicated could be suitable for the USNet software group. As they drove up to a decorative wrought-iron gate at the entrance to a red brick, two story structure, Andrei pointed out the property’s distinguishing features.
“This is the Polyanka complex. The Metro station is just over there. We’re a little south of the Kremlin, across the river.”
“So it’s a good central location?”
“Our employees would certainly like it,” Peter said.
“Exactly,” added Andrei. “This was an old Soviet factory site. The developer first built underground parking and then these office buildings. The one we’re going to look at over on the left has both a new two-story office portion and an adjoining old factory building. It should be ideal for the light assembly work you envision as the Russian versions of your software go into production.”
A security guard opened the gate, and they drove into a courtyard that had been freshly paved with asphalt. Workers were painting the wood trim around what appeared to be new windows on the office portion.
They left Andrei’s car and were greeted by a heavyset man in his forties and a slightly taller woman who seemed a bit younger. Andrei introduced David and Peter to the Russian developer and his female American partner who represented the U.S. investors in the enterprise.
David was immediately impressed with the quality of the workmanship and with the thought that had gone into the design.
Andrei had prepared a good summary of the project, and the tour went well. As they were walking back to Andrei’s car, David said to their hosts, “Thank you again for seeing us on the holiday. We appreciate it. If we were interested in this section, how soon could it be ready?”
The Russian replied, with his partner interpreting,” As you can see, we’re nearly finished with the base building and the first tenant’s office space. If you give us your interior specifications quickly, we can be finished in two months.”
“Good. Well, Andrei, Peter and I will talk, and we’ll get back to you. If we decide to go forward, will you be available tomorrow?”
“Certainly. Despite the May holidays, we’re all here this week. Andrei knows our lease terms. We look forward to hearing from you.”
David and Andrei were shortly back on the avenue, heading north to David’s hotel near the Kremlin.
“I like that space,” David said, looking down at the floor plans in his
lap. “At dinner let’s review what we’ve seen today.”
Ten minutes later David checked with the hotel reception desk; he had no messages. He called home and said a brief hello to Elizabeth. It was too early there to have any news on Rob’s behavior. And it was too early to call the office. So he checked his email and made a chart on his laptop with the major positive and negative attributes of the properties they had seen.
A little after seven Andrei and David walked up to an unmarked door near the Bolshoi Theater and knocked. A tall young woman welcomed them into what, a hundred years earlier, had been the living room of a merchant’s elegant townhouse. The décor reflected that earlier era; some of the furniture was ordinary, but a few of the pieces were magnificent. There were only six tables, four already filled, and their hostess directed them to the far corner.
As they were seated, Andrei said, “This is a wonderful restaurant. One family runs it and prepares all the dishes. This is the daughter. The son and mother do the cooking. I think you’ll like it.”
David smiled. “I’m sure I will.”
Andrei suggested that he order, and David readily agreed.
Andrei reached for some bread. “David, I have to tell you what happened this afternoon. When I got back to the office, there was a message to call the Polyanka developer. I did, and he wanted me to know that he would pay me a fee if we could do a deal at his project.”
“You mean a bribe to push us there?”
“In a way, yes. This is one of those cultural things. He knows that you are paying our firm a fee and that we are representing you. He suggested that he also pay our firm a fee on a successful transaction.”
“Without telling us?”
Andrei smiled. “I’m sure in his mind that would be the case—a little extra undisclosed ‘incentive’ for the broker to steer the client toward his project.”
“Well, that would be a bribe in my book.”
Andrei raised his hand. “David, don’t worry. The guys who taught me this business—now my partners—explained early on that you can’t serve two masters. We accept fees only from the party for whom we’re working. So I told him ‘No thanks’. I actually think he was surprised--pleasantly surprised, by the way.”
Enemy In the Room Page 14