Doing Lunch

by Doing Lunch Free(Lit)

  “But what about the hotels?” asked Brian.

  “The architects in London already have the specifications in terms of what we want. They are drawing up the plans. They promised us they’d have what we need in two months. If they satisfactorily meet the deadline, they get a bonus.”

  “All these workers Russian?” inquired Brian, who was amazed at the game plan he sensed Mikhail and Allison had drawn up.

  “Can’t, not enough skilled labor,” Allison disclosed, her words revealing more about the intent of the plan.

  “Just how many hotels do you plan to have in this town? Is it going to be just the two?” asked Tim, the questions flowing in such an order that it was almost like the two ad men were trying to do a jigsaw puzzle. But then these two needed to know the entire picture since they were the ones that were going to have to use the picture to attract customers.

  “At least two to start with. We hope to have it up to eight within three years.”

  “Mikhail, if you’re going to build that many, won’t the construction noise from the new ones bother the customers at the two original ones?” asked Tim.

  “We figured that out already. We’re planning on making this a large town from the start. Build two at one end, then two to the east until we circle the clock,” disclosed Allison. “We figured that when we’re ready to build in the middle, the construction would be on a smaller scale, mini-malls, gas stations, that sort of thing.”

  Brian sensed that these two had a definite game plan now that he had heard their ideas. He now knew that the ball was in his court to draw vacationers there, make things happen for the city. He liked the challenge and knowing Tim for as long as he had, he was certain that his partner would want to immerse himself in the project.

  “You said you actually plan to have this city constructed in six months?” asked Brian, wanting to make certain that he had his facts straight.

  “That’s right. Already made a deal with a company in Houston, Texas that produces fiber optic. We’re going to trade them natural gas at sixty percent of its market value until we pay the debt off. Did the same thing with the company that is furnishing us with the latest high-pressure equipment to extract it. Should start getting it next week.”

  “You move fast,” acknowledged Tim.

  “Talk to Allison here, she’s the one that’s been on the phone all week with these people.”

  “Then we have six months to come up with an ad campaign?”

  “You have three months,” advised Allison, her voice firm. "When a new hotel is about to open in Las Vegas, they don’t wait until they open to advertise, they do it before hand to get people in.”

  “I guess it’s just that we never advertised a new city before and to have to do it in so many languages,” commented Tim somewhat sheepishly, almost apologizing for the company’s lazy thinking.

  “Up to it?”

  “We’ll have it ready.” Allison was impressed with Tim’s rapid-fire answer to her question. Had she seen any hesitation in their answering, she might have had second thoughts about hiring these people.

  “Now we have to talk about the money,” advised Brian.

  “I thought that was settled?” questioned Allison, in the belief that there had been a turn in events. Had something happened that she was not aware of?

  “He’s not talking about their contract with us, Allison, he’s talking about the ruble.” Mikhail’s sentence had cleared things up for her. When they talked the first time in a conference call, Tim and Brian had expressed a desire to change the name of the ruble to something else. The word ruble, to begin with, carried a bad connotation coming from such a bleak period of Russia’s past, which was a thought that Mikhail had already expressed to Allison. During their conference call it had also been mentioned that the ruble also carried a bad connotation in terms of what people thought it was worth. Even if Russia found and mined gold from today until tomorrow, the people of the world would still value it at yesterday’s prices. That would not be real good for tourism, which was exactly what Allison and Mikhail wanted to be a significant part of Russia’s development.

  “That’s right. You were right about just the way the word sounded, ruble. It did sound like something somebody would roll around on the ground like a marble.”

  “Have you given it any thought yet?”

  “We haven’t, Tim, but we all know it has to sound Russian so that the people who live here believe in it.”

  “How about the Cheveckny?” asked Mikhail, which brought confused expressions to the faces of his colleagues.

  “What the hell is a Cheveckny?” demanded Allison in response to an off the wall word.

  “How should I know, I just made it up. It sounded good, it sounds Russian and what’s so wrong about coining a new word for our new money?”

  “That’s great! That’s it right there, that’s the whole ad campaign, a new country with a new city with new money. Come spend the new Cheveckny in...so on and so on and so on. We’ll just add the name of the new city when we decide what you were going to call it,” spouted out Brian, his excitement with his idea being felt by those around him with every word he spoke.

  “See Allison, this starting a new country isn’t that hard. I’m sure we could have shown Christopher Columbus a thing or two.”

  “I think we’ve done quite a bit, let’s grab something to eat,” suggested Allison, whose hidden agenda for the suggestion was between her and Mikhail. Having glanced at her watch, she and Mikhail would have to be in Stockholm, Sweden in three hours. They were scheduled to meet with a consortium of European investors who were interested in buying lumber from Russia’s great Siberian forest. Mikhail had made it known that he would not leave any natural resource untouched if the price was right.

  Russia’s environment was a major concern for Allison. She had gotten Mikhail to promise that every possible precaution would be taken to care for the land while still bringing the natural resources to market. The new economic executive was pleased with part of his situation. Compared to other countries, he would have the benefit of their errors, experiences and increased knowledge in technology. That knowledge would help him maximize his efforts. He was also glad that there were no spotted owls in Russia.

  Completing the negotiations in Sweden left the young couple exhausted. They had been up all night ironing out a deal and came away with a pretty good one as far as they were concerned. They had agreed to furnish lumber to this consortium at the rate of seventy-five percent of market value until the advance was paid. Mikhail’s standard had become sixty percent so getting seventy-five percent meant that Russia would be able to pay off this deal quicker. However, they were getting a twenty billion-dollar advance for the lumber so it would still take awhile. Good thing Siberia was a big place, a very big place.

  All set to retire for some good sleep, the phone rang. If he were not in Moscow, Mikhail would have sworn it was a telemarketer. They always seemed to know when he was going to sleep or eating. It did not matter if he were going to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon; if he were in Los Angeles, a telemarketer would call. Trying to set up an economy, Mikhail knew the call was probably very important; that he probably should answer it.

  “Hello, Mikhail.” While exhausted, Mikhail immediately recognized the voice of Tim Russo, his friend at U.S. News and World Report.

  “Tim, hi. I haven’t gotten that article yet. Did you fax it?”

  “I have it right here in my hands, Mikhail.”

  “So you’re calling me to tell me you’re about to fax it?”

  “I’m calling you from the lobby to tell you to let me in through this security gate.” Although his head had not hit a pillow in almost thirty-six hours, the word lobby struck a cord. Tim Russo was in the building and wanting to see him. That now meant more hours awake which was something he did not want. Mikhail knew he could not just make an excuse up to get rid of Tim because he would not be able to sleep anyway. He knew he would spend hours tossin
g just thinking about why Tim had to bring the article himself across the Atlantic.

  “No problem, Tim. Hang loose.” Putting the receiver back down, he went over and hit the buzzer that would release the security gate downstairs. There had been a security guard downstairs but he was not paid in so long, he left. Walking over to the refrigerator, Mikhail poured himself a glass of fresh orange juice, wanting to get himself straightened up to face Tim. Putting the plastic bottle back in, it finally dawned on him that it came from Florida. The orange juice was being imported for his sake and he had never given it a second thought. When the doorbell finally rang to alert Mikhail to his friend’s arrival, he was ready.

  “Tim, come in.” Entering, Tim looked around at the penthouse and made a mental note.

  “I know, it’s not like my place in Maui, but it’ll due. So what are you doing here in Moscow?”

  “Trying to find out what you’re doing here in Moscow. And why did you need this article?” Tim handed the article over to his host.

  “I’m trying to build an economy, or as we say in America, take this place private.”

  “Like private enterprise?”

  “That’s the goal.”

  “There’s a story here, Mikhail.”

  “Yeah, and it’s yours if you can hold off for a while.”

  “What’s awhile?”

  “Two months, three months. Hold off and you might have a real big story, promise?”

  “Promise. At least now I have a better idea about why you wanted that article. From what I got from Henry Green, the reporter on the story, he thought if you needed a Russian businessman who knew the ropes, he says Berrenstyishav Czar may be your best bet. The article says he knows more about how business operates in Russia than anyone else.”

  “Thanks, Tim. Going back to the states?”

  “Probably in two or three days. I’m dead tired from this jet lag.” Leaving the penthouse to seek rest, Tim did not realize that his jet lag was helping Mikhail cure his.

  CHAPTER 7

  FINDING OUT WHAT’S WHAT

  WITHOUT THE KGB

  It had been a busy first two months with more accomplished by Alexi’s new regime than had been completed in the three years before his arrival. The construction on the roads leading into the new city had started. Several deals with foreign companies, mostly multinational conglomerates, had been struck. Russia could look forward within the next few weeks of having over one hundred billion dollars added to its coffers. Mikhail had not lost sight of the fact that the money was merely an advance against future products, but it was a start.

  The state building was hectic since Mikhail and Allison knew that there would be certain state workers that would be needed to help get their program started. They were some of the first to be paid. The sight of being paid was more than enough to motivate the state workers in the building. Building permits were being issued promptly, visas for foreign executives were being given preferential treatment and coffee breaks were down to ten minutes.

  Arriving late for his meeting with Guska and Boltran in Alexi’s office, Mikhail knew that his uncle would expect this. He had been traveling all over the place, mostly in Europe, trying to strike up deals. Some of the financial deals were advances against future goods to be delivered; sometimes it was a straight barter deal for something Russia already produced. Mikhail was just sorry that he could not export poverty.

  Sitting in Alexi’s office as if they were monarchs of the world, the two spies who would soon turn private investigators, although they were not aware of it at the moment, sipped on Cognac. Chenault of France had sent the French liquor to Mikhail in appreciation of the co-venture that France and Russia had entered.

  “Gentlemen, I’m sorry I’m late. I was detained in Germany.”

  “You should have been detained longer. This is but my first glass of cognac.”

  “Did you get it?” Mikhail watched Boltran’s eyes shift and he began to follow them. When they finally stopped, Mikhail found himself looking at a large computer printout sitting on Alexi’s desk.

  “Everything is in there, land, residences, retreats, personal wealth including jewelry, gold, silver, artwork. You name it and it’s there.” Boltran’s disclosure amazed Mikhail, who had to glance at it immediately to confirm. Thumbing through it, his eyes started to bulge at the sight of what he saw. The bulging was not bad for Mikhail since it helped to resolve the creases that he developed from jet lag.

  “This is amazing, everything is here. These guys must have hoarded billions.”

  “Then you like our work?” asked Guska, anxious for an accolade.

  “Oh yes, this is perfect.”

  “Then could we have three weeks on Maui?”

  “You got it.” Mikhail quickly jotted down the telephone number of his father Mirnov on two pieces of paper, handing one to each. “Call him and he’ll know about you.”

  “How will he know we were the right ones?” questioned Boltran, not wanting to become screwed on the deal.

  “I gave him a code word, it’s SPF 8. Just tell him SPF 8 and you two are on your way to a deeper, darker tan.”

  The delighted two were already delighted with this free enterprise thing. When they were just straight KGB, they either did the work or else. They were never rewarded. They were a happy duo leaving Mikhail to review the fruits of their efforts. Running his eyes over the printout, he was amazed at the wealth that few in Russia had been able to attain.

  “Listen, Alexi, this Serge Sergotoff and his friends knew what they were doing when they set you up to take the fall.”

  “I have already seen it, Mikhail. It is a shame that a few enjoyed life on the backs of others.”

  “Listen, I’m not a scholar on Russian history but I’ve heard of Ivan the Terrible. This Foreign Minister is Serge the Slick. I can’t believe this, gold, silver, jewelry, artwork and land. These two spies really did a great job.”

  “Of course, Mikhail, of course. They knew they had to if they ever wanted to use the condo in Maui again.” Mikhail continued to scan through the pages of the printout, his mind analyzing the material as his eyes reviewed it.

  “You should see the collection of artwork these guys have stashed away. Apparently this Serge Sergotoff was really into post impressionist paintings.”

  “When you head the state the way he did for so long, you could be into any kind of art you liked.”

  “Look at this, Alexi, did you know that the communists had several retreats around the country for their personal enjoyment?”

  “Yes, I was aware.”

  “Let’s see here, they have one for pheasant hunting up in the Urals. The Urals any good for skiing, Alexi?”

  “How would I know, I’m a walker?”

  “Know where the Sea of Azov is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well they have a retreat there too. Big place. We’re going to have to take a look at it. Do they have eminent domain here in Russia?”

  “What is that?”

  “Well it’s obvious you don’t have it. It’s where the state takes land or property because they need it.”

  “They have been doing that here in Russia for a long time.”

  “Yeah Alexi, but I mean where the state pays for it.”

  “We can’t pay salaries, we are going to buy land?”

  “Not in this case we’re not. You’re going to have to help me get a bill for eminent domain passed. Then I’ll show you what we’re going to do. Got to go, have to meet Allison.” As Mikhail flew out the door, Alexi thought to himself that Mikhail always seemed to be in a hurry to get someplace. If his nephew could only get the economy to move as fast as he the crisis would be solved by next month. Such wishful thinking, that was something he did often, had gotten him nowhere.

  The Foreign Minister often held meetings at his estate because it gave him a reason not to pay attention to his wife. He also liked not having to go out into the bitter cold snowy evenings so he always had the others com
e to him. To thwart the resentment that might develop toward him, Sergotoff always made certain that there was plenty of excellent food and drink on hand. Maybe if the other head honchos of the communist party drank enough, they would forget how he treated them.

  Using his downstairs entertaining room, the sight was set for the meeting. As the members arrived, Sergotoff met them at the door to allow them to enter. Always diplomatic, he wanted to make the others feel that he cared about them as if they didn’t know better. In all the years that they held these meetings at the Foreign Minister's home, no one was ever late. It was probably because Medansky, head of the KGB, was always the last to arrive and he would take roll call.

  “Gentlemen, it is time we make our first assessment of Alexi’s progress. Any comments?”

  “Yes,” came a quick response from Yalantov to Sergotoff’s question. “I have been led to believe that they have been able to make deals to get foreign capital in exchange for natural resources later on.”

  “You have been led to believe! You do not know?” snapped Medansky, making certain that his booming voice reverberated throughout the room.

  “No, I do not know.”

  “You are the trade minister.”

  “Yes, but since Alexi’s nephew has been here, they tell me nothing. If you are the KGB, how come you don’t know? Do you not have their offices and homes bugged?”

  “We have tried,” cried Medansky, his frustration showing. “Every microphone that we had planted, Mikhail has found. He might have been a better spy than we gave him credit for.”

  “I am certain that everyone is aware that they are building a city near the Caspian Sea for tourists from Europe.”

  “No?” responded Medansky, being caught completely off guard. Sergotoff was dismayed at Medansky’s response to some information that was relatively easy for him to obtain. Hell, Sergotoff thought to himself, if the United States had these kinds of people running their intelligence operations, it was no wonder that the Walker family was able to spy for twenty years unnoticed.