Kostov nodded
“I’ll tell you about the most fascinating investment management entity Richard and I have ever encountered.”
He led Kostov to a projection room. A colored bar chart appeared on the wall.
“This is a graphic display of our profits from our managers as a function of the amount of funds under management.”
“Not following.”
“This tells us which manager is doing the best with what he has to work with. The amount of money is not considered.”
“I see.”
“It’s a way for us to see our stars.”
“Stars?”
“Winners.”
“I see.”
“Our twenty-eight managers are shown. Note the date.”
“July first. Two thousand and three.”
Hazlett spoke into a microphone. “Next, please, Geoff.”
One bar was much higher than the others.
“A star?”
“A new manager and a new star. Note the date.”
“January first, two thousand four.”
“Can you make out the name?”
“Larson Interests.”
Hazlett spoke into the microphone again. ”Geoff, pass through next quarterly slides slowly.”
“The star continues to shine.”
“Indeed he does.” Hazlett paused. “A very bright fellow with a great deal of talent.”
“Is he still managing assets for us?”
“Yes.”
“In what does he invest?”
“He’s a day-trader in index options.”
“Day-trader? Index options?”
“I have a proposal. Instead of risking an erroneous presentation, let’s have Sam explain his technique.”
Kostov frowned.
“I’m due to visit him. If you like, you can join me.”
“I would be happy to do so.”
“Have you ever visited Atlanta?”
“Atlanta. Georgia. East of here. No. I would be happy to accompany you.”
“Tomorrow?”
Kostov smiled. “I believe my schedule will allow that.”
“Let’s meet here at ten. We’ll take the Jet Ranger—Atlanta’s too close to use the Falcon.”
June 14
A Mercedes limousine was waiting in the parking lot at McCollum Airport northwest
of the city next morning.
Kostov stared at the automobile. “Norm, is this not—”
“I sent Randall over last evening. Sam’s busy early in the morning and might have
been unable to come for us himself.” He chuckled. “Besides, I think Sam’s a Porsche
driver.”
“Porsche? A small German automobile? Only two seats?”
“Yes.”
The gate at 17 Colonial Point was open. Larson, wearing a tennis shirt and pressed blue jeans, walked toward the limousine. Hazlett looked at Kostov and chuckled. “Sam’s idea of h ow a money manager dresses this time of year is a clean tennis shirt and running shorts. He’s extended himself for us today by wearing long trousers.”
Kostov opened the door before the limousine driver could act.
Larson extended his hand. “I’m Sam Larson.”
Kostov bowed slightly. “Ivan Kostov.” He looked at the building and grounds. “A
palace.”
Larson chuckled. “Hardly.”
“Compared to Moscow housing, it is indeed a palace.”
“It’s pretty close,” Hazlett said. “When I first visited here, I was a little concerned
about how Sam was employing his personal assets, but then he explained how he acquired it.”
“How—”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Larson opened one of the stained glass double doors. “Come in.”
Coffee and pastry were on a cocktail table in the living room.
“Eloise was concerned that you might not have had breakfast.”
“Eloise is Sam’s housekeeper,” Hazlett said. “He lives alone in this monster.”
When the coffee ritual was completed, Larson stood. “Would you like to see the war room?”
“War room?” Kostov said.
“Sam’s trading room.”
Larson led the way to a bedroom-bathroom suite at the far end of the main floor. A swimming pool and a satellite dish were visible outside French doors. The room was furnished with functional office furniture, a fax machine, two personal computers, a UPS, and surge protectors. One of the computers was connected to the dish.
“You manage millions from here? Alone?”
“I have a sales assistant—already gone for the day—but there’s not a great deal to it, Mr. Kostov.”
“Ivan,” Kostov said. “I am being converted to your American carefree manner of address.”
Larson nodded.
“Would you mind telling me how it is done?”
Larson pointed an index finger at his head.
“So—experience?”
“And a great deal of luck.”
“I have seen charts of your performance. I somehow feel luck has a minor role in your successes.”
Hazlett looked from Larson to Kostov. “Any questions, Ivan?”
“Perhaps one.” He paused. “Would you consider managing assets for us?”
“Us?”
“The Russian Federation.”
Larson looked at Hazlett, who nodded.
“We could talk about it, Ivan. In the meantime, it’s little early, but how about lunch? David’s? They’ll take me dressed like this and he has a Cajun crayfish recipe that I’ll bet hasn’t found its way to Russian yet.”
Hazlett nodded.
“That sounds excellent, Sam,” Kostov said. “I have heard a great deal about crayfish since I arrived. I would like to meet one.”
“And I want to hear about life in Russia—and how you’re adjusting to life with the Mannerling folks.”
June 15
At eight the following morning, Kostov’s call found Ushensky just leaving Kudrin’s
office for the day.
“I have just explained to you that I have no idea how he does it,” Kostov said. “He
states that extensive research is the key. I have no evidence to the contrary, but I must
tell you, it does not quite ring true. As I understand it, anyone with enough money can
secure all the research one could want, but no one has a record even close to that of this
man.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“I want Aleksey Leonidevich to have the opportunity to consider having this man
manage some of the Ministry’s money.”
“How much could he manage?”
“He is now managing a quarter of a billion.”
“Not a significant amount compared to the budget of the Federation.” “Maybe not, but I do not propose to allow this circumstance go unreported to Aleksey
Leonidevich. There might be some tactical uses for this capability.”
“Tactical uses?”
“I have written a report regarding these findings. I shall fax it to you for submission
to the Minister.”
“Very well. I shall read it, then decide what I—”
“You have nothing to decide, Ushensky! Receive the fax and send it on.”
The report arrived at Ushensky’s desk a few minutes later. He whistled softly. Half an hour later, he had finished a very short memorandum to Kudrin, ending with:
…..and so I have acceded to Ivan Arkadyevich’s request and brought this matter to your attention.
I conclude the following regarding Kostov’s prophetic investment machine: 1) if the manager were as capable as the report states, he would nevertheless not be able to make a significant change in our short-term investment results;
2) Ivan Arkadyevich may have already spent too much time in America, so that his grasp of circumstances that are Russian in
nature may be slipping; and
3) I cannot recommend that you spend any time whatsoever reviewing his whimsical report.
If you disagree, the report is available for your review. An hour later, Kudrin’s secretary called to tell Ushensky to thank Kostov for bringing the matter to his attention, but the Minister felt his time would be better spent on major Federation issues.
Ushensky called Parenko. “Noon, inside the center door of GUM.” Parenko was leaning against the men’s gloves counter in the huge store when Ushensky arrived.
“Kostov has uncovered a most promising American investment operation that is too small for the Ministry, but could be valuable to us.”
He handed Parenko a copy of Kostov’s report to Kudrin. “Present that to Eugen Yakovich at your earliest opportunity.”
Ushensky called Kostov. “The Minister thanks you for your energy, Ivan Arkadyevich, but he says the amount of money that could be managed is too small for him to consider. He reminds you your primary duty relates to a much larger sum than this American’s investment program would ever produce.”
Kostov grunted. June 16
Larson called Hazlett the following morning. “I called to thank you for the pleasant
visit yesterday.”
“Easy to be pleasant to a manager like you.”
“Kind words. I also wanted to know some more about your Russian. Seemed like a
good guy. And one has to keep track of potential customers. You can never—” “I know you’re keeping track of your sole customer. I don’t think you—” “Norm, Norm,” Larson said. “Just kidding.”
Hazlett echoed the laugh. “Easy to rattle my cage recently. Anyway, about Ivan?” “I thought we hit it off well. He mentioned he had little to do. I guess I have a streak
of the Chamber of Commerce in me. I might like to show him around a little bit.” “Really? You can’t imagine how happy Richard and I would be if you were to spend
some time with him.”
“Good.”
“I’ll broach the subject with him and let you know if he’s interested.” “Okay. In the meantime, tell me about him.”
Hazlett recounted what he knew.
Staranov handed Kostov’s report to Parenko. “Make a copy for my personal file, then write a cover memo to Dreshchensky telling him to reconnoiter. Fax both to him.” Hazlett assured Larson that Kostov was ready for anything. “Other than his trip to Atlanta, it’s been a long and boring week for him, I fear. I’ll transfer.” “Ivan Kostov.”
“Ivan, it’s Sam Larson. We met in Atlanta on Tuesday.”
“Yes. Good morning.”
“I talked to Norm about my showing you around a bit. He thought you might have
some free time. I was wondering what you’re doing this weekend.” Kostov hesitated. “I appreciate the call, but— as Richard always says—I shall have to look at my book. Please wait.” Seconds later, Kostov said, “I see I have a meeting with the money managers from Montrolier et Fils on—”
“Yes?” “On the twenty -first,” he laughed. “Other than that, well—about what were you thinking?”
“Had me going there for a minute. What kind of sports do you like?”
“Hockey. Cross-country skiing. Parachuting, when I have the money. That is most of it.”
“Tennis?”
“No—although I understand that is one of your interests.”
“Golf?”
“I have been on a course once—during a mission to Argentina.”
“Tell you what. How about coming over for the weekend and—you’re single?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I call a couple of friends for the evening?”
“Yes, fine.”
“So, over this afternoon, back to Birmingham Monday morning?”
“I would be delighted. What sort of clothing shall I—”
“We’ll sort everything out here. Ask Norm to have the chopper drop you at McCollum. Tell the pilot to call me when he has a downtime.”
“I shall. Thank you. I look forward to it.”
June 20
It was almost noon the following Monday when Larson parked the Porsche at
McCollum Airport. “Sorry for the late start. My research indicated a probable big day in
the market for me.”
Kostov chuckled. “My schedule allows for the occasional tardy arrival at the office.”
He gathered a small suitcase, golf clubs, a duffel bag full of golf clothing, a swimming
suit, a new summer suit and shoes, and sundry accessories. “You are certain that Norman
told you to charge all of this to the Trust? I can repay the Trust when I can?” “Absolutely. And I think we’ll make a few more adjustments in your wardrobe.
Between the differences in weather here and the differences in style—well, I think we
should spruce you up, a bit.”
“Spruce? A tree? Spruce up?”
“Trust me.”
“I find life here more and more strange.”
“As I would in Moscow.”
Kostov nodded.
“What did you think of Suzanne?”
“Beautiful, but sumasshedshij.”
“If that means what I think, yes, she’s a little bit over the edge. I’ll drop her from the
master list.”
“Master list?”
“Those available.”
“Ah.”
“What about Barbara?”
“Also beautiful, but the absolute opposite from Suzanne. An academician. She knew
more about the transition from Gorbachev to Yeltsin than I.”
“Okay. How about Saturday night dinner?”
“If your television doctors are correct, my cholesterol has jumped two points.” He
hesitated, smiling. “Still—”
“Right.”
Kostov was still smiling. “But you have left an item undiscussed. The golf.” “I won, fair and square.”
“Yes, but the post-match putting championship? Intergalactic Championship, I
believe you called it.”
Larson hung his head. “Right.”
“You will be able to borrow enough money? Or shall I have a mortgage on your
small house?”
“I can raise the money somehow, but it’s the last time I get on a putting green with
you. Been on a course in Argentina, my eye!” Larson handed him a twenty-dollar bill. Kostov smiled.
“What about Sunday? Celia?”
“Ah, there we have one. When I saw her water-ski, I was afraid I was in the presence
of a professional athlete. My experience with those types has not been good.” “But?”
“But she became a thing of calm and warmth.”
“So, you liked her best?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure she’s not just the most recent?”
Kostov laughed. “Perhaps.”
That evening, Dreshchensky knocked on Kostov’s apartment door. Kostov left the security chain in place. “I could not believe my eyes. What business do you imagine you have with me?”
“If I may enter, Ivan Arkadyevich?”
Kostov removed the chain.
“Do not bother to sit. You will not be here that long.”
“Very well.”
“Your business?”
Dreshchensky handed him two sheets of paper.
Kostov scanned the first sheet. “My displeasure at seeing you again has been amplified by finding you with a copy of this document. How did it come to you?”
“Fax.”
Kostov glanced at something over Dreshchensky’s shoulder. When he began to turn, Kostov jabbed his solar plexus. He fell backward onto the floor, gasping.
“Let me have your answer to my question as soon as you can speak.”
Dreshchensky managed a deep breath. “Stolen from the Minister’s office.”
Kostov nodded. “Now, why are you here?”
Dreshchensky began to rise, but Kostov opened a hand. “Stay—and proceed.”
“We want to learn the technique this man employs to achieve such results.”
“There is no technique. Nothing but research and experience.”
Dreshchensky stood and brushed his trousers. “The report indicates that you believe there is something more.”
“You misunderstand.”
“Perhaps, but someone within Galavna-ya Bohl is convinced there is something unusual involved, something worth pursuing.”
Kostov opened the apartment door. “Do you require my aid in making your departure?”
June 21
Kostov telephoned Ushensky the following morning.
“I understand fully, Ivan Arkadyevich, but I do not know how your report could have
been stolen. It was locked in the Minister’s safe. Only he has the combination.” Kostov paused a long moment.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Ushensky, see that my future reports to the Minister are not stolen before they
arrive in his hands.” At the same hour, Dreshchensky was reporting to Parenko. “And furthermore, the next time I see him I shall take revenge for an unpleasant encounter. My chest will be sore for a week.”
“Given Kostov’s talents and temperament, I recommend you suffer your pain and forget vengeance.”
Dreshchensky didn’t reply.
“Having failed with our chief suspect, what will you do next?”
“Tell Eugen Yakovich I am exploring the city, looking for opportunities.”
“Do not convert your visit to a vacation, my friend.”
Dreshchensky’s sole discovery was that The Mannerling Trust was surrounded with secrecy.
He made a final telephone call to Parenko before checking out of the Red Roof Inn. “I have learned all I can here.”
“You are certain?” Parenko said.
“Big mustache not withstanding, Parenko, you are no more than a secretary in trousers. Simply pass the message along.”
“Where do you go next?”
“To Atlanta, where this money manager’s offices are located.”
Later that day, Larson called Kostov. “Ivan, I’m in a big bind! I was wondering if—” “Bind? To tie together. What do you mean?”
“Bind, as in trouble.”
“Bind. Trouble. What?”
“Teddy Buchholz has chartered a Lear for the weekend. We’re going to Cancun to
fish. Six of us, except Buddy McLean can’t make it.” He paused. “We need a replacement.”
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