The Banker Who Died

by Matthew A Carter

  “They’ve started to do what, now?” asked Stanley.

  “It’s a Russian expression…roll the barrel, digging into my affairs, going after me…that’s always the way, a bunch of committees and audits, all at once, on several different fronts.” Gagarin ground out his cigarette and lit another. “Have you heard anything? Like about the sanctions lists?”

  McKnight thought of telling Gagarin about his call to FINMA and MROS, got out his own pack of cigarettes, and lit one up. It seemed premature to talk about potential problems with the Swiss government.

  “I know a bit,” nodded Stanley. “They haven’t approved the lists yet, but a special commission is putting them together. There are two lists, a full one, with even family members included, and another, which…”

  “That, I know already,” interrupted Gagarin. “I read the papers and watch television as well. Tell me this—what can your Swiss bank do to provide me with evidence that my deposits with you are clean, and to ensure that my assets won’t get frozen if I end up on those lists? Can you get any kind of guarantee from your management?” Gagarin paused. “I know the Swiss are the most cowardly and dishonest when it comes to taking risks of their own.”

  “Those Judases will give us up,” Biryuza added.

  “I think so, yes. A guarantee is possible.” McKnight decided to promise whatever necessary to buy more time. “But where are you getting the intel that you might end up on the sanctions lists?”

  “We have reliable sources,” Biryuza muttered.

  McKnight nodded. He assumed that their reliable source was none other than the adviser to the American president, John Fort, who he had encountered in Spain.

  “So you need to go after the lobbyists working with the Treasury Department and the Justice Department, the lobbyists in Congress,” Stanley suggested. “I can recommend some good lobbyists, the lawyers from Zakin Bump, for example…”

  “That’s all slow and expensive,” sighed Gagarin. “What do I have in your bank? After the latest deposits?”

  “I can’t give you a precise figure offhand, of course,” McKnight replied. “But I’d say the equivalent of $10 billion in cash and securities. The rest has been transferred out to storage in Luxembourg and Singapore as well as Chinese and Korean banks. We’ve already diversified your investment portfolio, transitioning completely from the US dollar to other currencies and gold. As you requested.”

  “We have another request for you.” Biryuza rose and went over to the chair next to the desk, facing Stanley. “We need to open an account in Mila’s name, in your bank. And transfer about five billion to it. Then split it into accounts in the same Chinese and Korean banks, leaving about five billion in your bank.”

  “That’s easy enough to do, but why, if I may ask?”

  “Why split the accounts?”

  “That part I understand. Why open an account in Mila’s name?”

  “Viktor has just filed for divorce ahead of his potential difficulties,” Biryuza explained with a sigh. “This amount will be officially registered as a divorce settlement.”

  Stanley barely held back a smirk. He had really screwed up by not accepting her offer of marriage! A rich bride like that, she’d have no end of potential suitors.

  “And another billion should go to your bank’s Dubai branch, and everything else—to private bank UBO in Argentina and Chile.”

  “UBO? I’ve never heard of this bank.”

  “So listen harder, McKnight! Get to work—find that bank and set up the transaction.” Biryuza hadn’t used that tone of voice with Stanley in some time. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed, it is,” said McKnight with a nod. “I’ll get to work and take care of things.”

  “Don’t take offense, Stanley,” Gagarin said, smoking again and checking his watch. “We’re just on edge. And I promised myself I wouldn’t drink before noon, and it’s still seven minutes away, goddamn it. I’m dying over here, Stanley!”

  “I’m not offended, Viktor, I understand perfectly. But as far as I know, you have new legislation on capital amnesty. Russians can now bring their money back into the country without fines or other problems. Why not consider that option?”

  Gagarin and Biryuza broke into nearly hysterical laughter, Biryuza squealing, Gagarin letting out loud guffaws that turned into hacking coughs.

  “Stanley, my friend,” Gagarin began, wiping away his tears, “why would I bring money back to my homeland? I have plenty of money in Russia as it is. So much, that I don’t know what to do with it. It’s of no great value here in Russia.”

  “All the benefits of money lie in the possibility of using it,” said Biryuza, raising his finger pedantically.

  “That’s right, Biryuza. Your time at MGIMO University wasn’t wasted!” said Gagarin as he laughed. “What would I spend it on? Gorge on black caviar? The doctor says it’s bad for me. Buy another house in Crimea? And get on another sanctions list? Money’s only valuable to us when it’s completely clean and deposited in reputable European banks. That’s it. Anyone who believes in the government amnesty is either an idiot or trying to use it to move up in the government. I’m not an idiot, and the path to power is too heavily populated for me.”

  “Ah, I see now,” Stanley said, arranging his face into an amused expression.

  “But now your American government is going to ruin everything,” sighed Gagarin. “You hear me, McKnight? You are going to ruin everything. America…goddamned America! The whole country is one big mistake.”

  There was a knock at the door. Gagarin looked at his watch, which showed twelve o’clock on the dot, and nodded with satisfaction. He shouted an invitation, and a pretty brunette in a very short skirt walked in, her long, tanned legs gleaming, carrying a tray with bottles and glasses. She smiled as she set the tray down on the table, and walked out with a fluid grace, as if floating out of the room. Gagarin followed her with his eyes and then poured them all vodkas with a shaking hand.

  “To the success of your transactions, McKnight!” Gagarin toasted.

  “I’ll need a couple of days to put together all the necessary authorizations and do the transfers for such large sums leaving the bank,” Stanley said, raising his glass.

  “So get to work, my dear Yankee!”

  He didn’t have any trouble with accreditation at the economic forum. The administration had already been informed that Stanley McKnight would be representing Laville & Cie in place of Pierre Lagrange, and Stanley got his red badge right away. They asked whether he would be giving his own presentation during Lagrange’s slot in the agenda, or would he just be participating in the roundtable conversation?

  Stanley assured them that he would only take part in the general discussion, and proceeded into the main hall with Biryuza. Gagarin was already there, standing to welcome the next presenter along with all the business bigwigs, politicians, and bankers.

  “Why is he getting so much applause?” Stanley asked Biryuza.

  “Are you for real, McKnight?” said Biryuza with a laugh. “That’s the Russian president! Follow me. I see two free seats.”

  They sat in the third row, with Biryuza on the end. On Stanley’s other side sat a short man with fine features and curly hair.

  The president was already speaking, but the curly-haired man continued to carry on a whispered video call. McKnight glanced sideways at his screen and saw a girl in a bathrobe sitting in a kitchen.

  The president was giving the audience some heartening news: “Automobile sales are up as well as mortgages issued. Economists see those indicators as key signs of economic recovery and rising consumer demand.”

  “Did you hear that?” Stanley’s neighbor asked the girl on his screen. “Now there’s some news!”

  “Investment rose 2.3 percent in the first quarter. I want to emphasize that we have a situation today where investment is incr
easing faster than the GDP. That’s yet another indicator of what I’ve said already. The economy is entering another growth phase and laying the foundations for future development.”

  Optimism continued to flow from the stage: “I’m calling on all the leaders of the Russian regions—it’s necessary to continually increase our efforts, provide business with new opportunities for successful, unimpeded action.”

  The curly-haired man yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. The president continued: “It is of utmost, essential importance for entrepreneurs, and for all citizens, that we have effective protection of their rights, business, and property. Private capital should be a source of additional investment, but the high levels of risk is holding investors back. Thus, we must establish clear, stable regulations protecting the interests of investors…”

  “Will you be investing money in the Russian economy?” Stanley’s neighbor asked him in a whisper, glancing down at his badge. “You’re a respectable bank, I think; you financed a yacht for me a couple of years ago.”

  “We prefer to receive the investments of others,” McKnight whispered back. “But I won’t be advising my clients to invest in Russia.”

  “And right you are…how do you speak such good Russian? Did you study it in college? Or are you a CIA agent?”

  “My family is Russian. Just maintaining the tradition.”

  “Tradition—that’s what we’re lacking, and that’s the root of all our troubles.”

  Several people in the row ahead of them turned around and shushed them. The president, meanwhile, had finished his speech, and was answering questions. To a question about income inequality in Russia, he replied: “We can’t just go around throwing money out of a helicopter to everyone who wants some. The point is, our economy needs to generate more growth; people will then see their own incomes rise. The only way to make that happen is by investing in new technologies, including digital technologies.”

  “And now are you going to advise your clients to invest in Russia?” Stanley’s neighbor whispered again.

  Stanley laughed. “Especially not now.”

  “I’d like to talk with you some more,” the other man said and handed Stanley his card.

  Stanley saw that it read Obik Investments, and his new friend was named Leonid. He passed along his own card.

  “Till next time, Mr. McKnight,” said Leonid, and started to rise.

  Biryuza also stood up, offering the curly-haired man an obsequious greeting.

  “There won’t be anything else before the break, Stanley,” he said. “Let’s go have a drink and a bump! I got some high-quality coke from Argentina.”

  “No, I can’t,” Stanley replied. “I need to go back to the hotel—my wife is supposed to be arriving this morning, and I want to meet her there.”

  “Your wife’s coming? Excellent, I’ve been wanting to meet her. Oh, and we’ve moved you to the Four Seasons, just around the corner from where you were last night. It’s just a bit more suited to your and Viktor’s status. Viktor can’t have his banker staying at some second-rate hotel, you understand.”

  “Naturally.”

  They left the hall.

  “There’s a reception at the Hermitage this evening,” Biryuza went on. “Gala’s going to come pick you up. She’s at your service during your stay– call her if you need a ride, and she’ll pick you up now. Excuse me, I have to go find Gagarin.”

  “No problem, Anton. By the way, who was that sitting next to me?”

  “A major businessman. Independent player. He doesn’t bend to the whims of the government, and thumbs his nose at their bans and prohibitions.”

  “I see.”

  “Until tonight, McKnight! Bring your wife. Robbie Williams and Elton John are going to be at the party.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Not to mention the purest cocaine on the whole goddamned planet.”

  “Okay, see you then!”

  Chapter 43

  The Four Seasons was almost directly across from the hotel Stanley had spent the previous night.

  Almost as soon as he walked into his new room, the phone by the bed rang.

  “Yes?” he answered.

  “Everything okay, Stan?” a male voice asked.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Frank. Everything okay?”

  “How did you…? Okay, never mind. Yes, everything’s fine. Why do you ask? Where are you?”

  “I’m going to be close to you from now on, McKnight. Maybe not geographically, but we are nearby. My colleague and I. We’ve invested too much in you, and have too much riding on you. So we’re going to watch out for you. And here’s a tip—not everything is ok right now. Do you know why you were moved to a different hotel?”

  “It was a matter of prestige for Gagarin. Although the other hotel was fine.”

  “Bullshit. Gagarin and his head of security simply hadn’t managed to bug your room in the other hotel. But they have everything set up at the Four Seasons. Every time you sneeze, every word you say—they’re listening. So be on your toes. Keep your mouth shut about anything important! And warn your wife, although—not to be sexist—women are responsible for most of our failures. You get me?”

  “About women?”

  “Don’t joke around, Stanley! This is serious. They’ll stop at nothing. You need to keep quiet. It sounds silly, but if you need to tell your wife something important, either whisper in her ear or write notes. Come up with a way to communicate—turn the music up loud, for example.”

  “But why have they decided to start bugging me? Do they suspect something?”

  “Nothing concrete for now, but after this business with sanctions, the real estate problem in London, and accounts investigation in Switzerland, the people behind Gagarin are getting anxious. They think someone is leaking information. Someone of theirs, or working for the people who work for them. You fall under suspicion automatically.”

  “I see. Where are you, anyway? Outside? In a car?”

  “In the car of that lesbian Gala? You know she can hit a half-dollar coin with a Glock from fifty meters? Keep that in mind, just in case. And her car is packed with listening devices, of course. Ones that can catch a conversation outside from 150 meters away. You won’t even notice the person eavesdropping on you. Russians have made good progress in the surveillance field.”

  “I see. Listen, Frank, I have to go. My wife should be here any minute; I just got a message that she’s on her way.”

  “Okay, okay, just remember what I said.”

  “Another thing, Frank. Will you come if I need you?”

  “How do you picture that, Stanley? Even if we were close, right nearby, what would we do? Beat up the bad guys and shoot a bunch of Russians on their own territory? Come on, McKnight! You’ll have to depend on yourself. Or, mostly…”

  McKnight heard a sound from the bathroom, and realized Christine was already in the room—she’d been in the shower.

  “Is that you, Stan?” she shouted over the sound of the water when McKnight walked into the enormous bathroom.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” Stanley said, starting to undress.

  He got into the shower with Christine and put his arms around her.

  “Watch it, you!” She laughed, pressing against him. “Let me at least rinse out the shampoo first!”

  “I like you better this way!” he said, pulling her closer.

  Christine slid her hand down his body.

  “Oh, what do we have here?” she said, gripping the root of his member and stroking upward. “What could this be?”

  “That is my good friend, who missed you very much.”

  “Let’s take care of him, then.”

  “Wait, I have to whisper something in your ear first!”

  McKnight recounted the main poi
nts of his conversation with Frank, told her what precautionary measures they had to take, and to be careful not to discuss any matters of importance out loud.

  Christine listened, nodding, her hand continuing its rhythmic motion, but when Stanley advised her not to come with him to the Hermitage reception, she squeezed him tightly in her fist, and Stanley moaned, out of pain and pleasure at the same time.

  Stanley didn’t want Christine at the reception—not out of concern for her safety, but because he knew that Mila would be there. There was no telling how a meeting between the two of them would end.

  “Oh no,” Christine replied. “What do you expect me to do, wait for you in the hotel room? I’ve never been to this city or the Hermitage, and even if I do come some other time, I’ll never have the chance to go to another party like this. You better take me with you, or else.”

  “Or else?”

  “Or else I’ll leave you in this condition, and you’ll have to finish what I started. Is that what you want, baby?”

  “No, no, anything but that.”

  Two hours later, Stanley and Christine approached the doors of the Hermitage, flanked by two enormous atlantes holding up the portico.

  “It’s beautiful!” whispered Christine.

  Stanley laughed. “You can use your regular voice here. We’re not in the room or the car.”

  “How beautiful!” Christine repeated louder. “By the way, about the car, who was that in the car, a guy or a girl? And why did they give you a thumbs-up?”

  “That was Gala, a driver and guard who works for Gagarin. She was letting me know she approved of you.”

  “Well, well, well! She approves, does she?” Christine said irritably, and the doors swung open to admit them.

  The footmen were wearing eighteenth-century livery and powdered wigs, and accompanied each guest down the stairs, where the host of the ball hit the marble floor with his staff and loudly announced their names.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McKnight,” the host proclaimed. Stanley and Christine picked up flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and proceeded further into the room.