by Tim Heath
“We need to time this one perfectly. Let’s set things up so that it looks like we are watching the banks, which is what our fellow T10 members, our competitors now, would expect. They’ll be watching us for sure. I’m certain they’ll assume we’ll be going about the takeover as they will be with the other union––having a go at the smaller banks.”
“Should we be worried about them being able to pull off their takeover?” Mark said.
“No, and I thought that would come up sooner or later. There is no chance they’ll succeed with these banks. The same backdoor option we are using isn’t possible with them––it’s why I picked them. They are expecting a frontal attack imminently, after my tip-off. They’ll close ranks around each member of the union the moment the first attempt is made.”
“Well done Matvey,” Mark Orlov said, standing up, walking over to pour himself a coffee from the counter at the side of the room. Matvey joined him, only the two of them in earshot of each other. “I can’t work out what’s in it all for you. Haven’t yet figured that bit out.”
“Oh, you will see soon I imagine, Mark. You’ve figured things out well enough so far,” and he left the Russian standing there, mouth slightly open. Of course, he had an angle, and it was apparent to Mark now. There was something Matvey was working on behind their backs. Mark would have to observe him, make sure he didn’t end up stabbing them all in the back somehow. Matvey had openly admitted there was something else going on that he wasn’t telling the rest of them, something that might well have had a bearing on their willingness to walk into it. Mark didn’t like it but knew now was not the time to raise it. He would see the play coming before it would be too late, Mark was sure. Right now, they had the campaign to plan and then get underway.
“Let’s each take one of the companies that we need to target,” Matvey said, Mark moving back to join the others, Matvey avoiding eye contact with him for the time being. He continued; “We’ll draw up plans and coordinate our efforts. I suggest we use the New Year gathering as a focal point to work towards. That gives us a little over five months to get things into place. Do you think that gives each of you enough time?” No one was going to be the man to say it wasn’t enough. The room remained silent, Matvey looking at each man, in turn, ending with Mark––holding his gaze for a few seconds––clear his fellow oligarch was aware that something else was going on.
“Good, it’s settled then,” Matvey said, the first to break eye contact with Mark. “We’ll each build a plan of attack against the company we get assigned. I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you each a company based on your levels of connection. I hope you don’t mind or think that was too forward of me, but I think you’ll agree the matchups make sense.” And they did, each man given a company to target that he already had excellent connections within his own business empire. As well as providing them with a way to get at the Union, they each stood to gain substantially from this.
Mark wondered if that was what Matvey was working towards.
It certainly seemed everything was aligning nicely––almost too smoothly––the setup too perfect for them to bring it all down just like that? A lot of effort, planning and resources had clearly gone into this––to what end? What did Matvey have to gain? Only the months ahead would reveal that.
They left the Caribbean over the next few days, some staying in the properties they owned on various local islands, others leaving straight away. They had five months to build up a plan of attack, details entrusted to each of the men that included what contacts Matvey had put in place within the target companies, all highly confidential information––dangerous if it ever landed in the wrong hands.
It was a display of trust from Matvey that would win him favour in the group, all of whom, bar Mark, were oblivious to the fact there might be something else at stake. The other three seemed content with being given a sure fire winner.
Come New Year––when they were all to join Svetlana in St Petersburg at her invitation––they were to have everything in place, ready to strike simultaneously, without warning, a united blow against these five unsuspecting companies.
With their downfall, it was an easy process of pulling off the most unlikely of takeovers ever––as hostile as it would be quick––the Union cut open before they knew what had hit it.
31
The autumn season of shows at the Kremlin Theatre in Moscow was always a highlight of the celebrity calendar. It brought the great and the good from Russian public life to the heart of their capital for a series of shows by the leading ballet companies in the country, including Moscow’s legendary Bolshoi and St Petersburg’s world famous Mariinsky.
Sergej and Svetlana Volkov had been attending the event since before they were even a couple. They had had their first conversation, and resulting date, at such an event some years before, so it held a special place for each of them as they returned year after year. The nation’s press, not to mention a growing group of international media outlets, covered the event in detail.
The Volkovs had their own box, as did many people in their position, the tickets for the event by invitation only. It was a celebration of everything that made Russia great, and everyone who was anyone needed to be there.
During the second interval, as Sergej was opening another bottle of champagne, Putin himself came through the door of their second-floor box, taking the spare seat to the left of the surprised couple. The security personnel at the entrance to their box were meant to keep out intruders––clearly their President hadn’t counted. Pleasant greetings were exchanged––they weren’t the closest of friends as they moved in different circles, Svetlana especially––but they obviously knew of each other. Svetlana was one of the country’s leading lights when it came to world cinema, featuring increasingly in many of the latest Hollywood blockbusters. A Russian actress who was in the most significant American films. It was a PR victory for all concerned. Putin was a keen fan.
“I’m concerned with some of the friends you might be keeping,” Putin said finally, the first hint that there had in fact been an agenda to his unexpected appearance. “There are rumours––murmurings if you will––that suggest a change in the political set up is on the cards.”
“I’m not sure I follow, sir,” Sergej said, this being one of only a few encounters he’d had with his country’s President. Putin addressed them both, but when he spoke, his gaze was very much on Svetlana, watching for her reaction.
“I’ve heard the rumours of certain wealthy men gathering together for a common cause; certain power games played to allow them to flex their financial––and often influential––muscles in front of each other. Weightlifting for the super rich, if you get my meaning.”
Sergej showed no sign of understanding on his face, though Svetlana’s eyes gave away a hint of recognition. Putin continued; “I’ve seen my two key financiers’ positions significantly weakened over the last year.”
“You cut off Sokoloff yourself, sir,” Sergej added, with no real sense of what the President was getting at, but with a growing inkling that there was something his wife might know to what Putin was referring.
“That I did, but he was by then already beyond salvation. I would hate to find out that someone within my country’s wealthy elite was working against me. That type of person has no place here––no matter how important, how popular they might be,” his eyes darting back to Svetlana at that last comment. “With your business influence, Sergej, I was wondering what you might have heard?”
Sergej glanced again at his wife briefly, but he had nothing to say. “I’ve not heard anything along those lines, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground. If anything comes up, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“I would appreciate that Sergej, I really would,” Putin said, before pausing then glancing at Svetlana. “And enjoy the rest of the show, Svetlana––what’s left of it. I know you are one for drama.” With that Putin left, his security on either side of him once more, as the music start
ed to play again in the orchestra pit down below and the dancers began to reappear on stage.
“What was that about, Svetchik?” he said, his wife leaning forward to watch the show.
“I have no idea. It sounded more like business to me, which is your domain, not mine,” she said, dismissing his concerns, as the second half of the show began.
Svetlana sat there going over what Putin had said. It was clear he knew of––or suspected––her involvement in it all somehow. Maybe Sokoloff had said something in his attempt to salvage his own free-fall? Perhaps someone else was talking? There had been an implied threat. Something more significant was going on. Maybe the actions of Matvey Filipov had something to do with it all? Perhaps it was something else, something unrelated?
Distracted, she sat through the final section lost in thought, concerned for the first time for a long time about her own position in Russia. She needed to understand what the threat to the President was, and then she could work out what to do about it.
A few Hallowe’en lanterns could be seen in some of the high up windows on the buildings that lined the street, but there was very little else to suggest it was the end of October as the DDG walked the short distance to reach Duke’s club. The UK never entirely went as crazy as the Yanks did at that time of year.
The two men on the door let Price through with barely a hesitation. He had been known to them for years, as were the other few hundred who got to call that private establishment their office away from the office.
Dmitry Kaminski was already waiting for him this time––a rare occurrence––and that caused Price’s pace to quicken a little as he crossed the carpeted floor and sat down in his usual seat at their usual booth. Some things never changed. The barman brought over the menu, but they both ordered from memory, the man returning to his station to prepare their drinks.
“I got a call from a friend the other week,” Kaminski started, his voice low, eyes watchful, demeanour edgy. “Told me they were coming for my Union.” Price was fully aware of the bank Kaminski owned in the UK, and the Union it was a part of, making it stronger––more protected––as well as more streamlined.
“And it was reliable information?” Always worth checking.
“Yes, no doubt at all.”
The DDG sat quietly, contemplating a little. The Union was made up of almost entirely British based previously independent small banking institutions, who’d grown closer with others, the eleven forming their own Union based on models seen in other regions, especially Russia. Kaminski had been the one to put the idea on the table, a model he’d seen working in his homeland and something he felt his experience could bring to the UK.
“You’re prepared for something like this though, aren’t you? It’s why you are part of such a Union in the first place––the whole is much stronger than any one part.”
“Yes, we are, it’s just never been tried before, and that’s what worries me.”
“What’s not been tried before?” Price wasn’t following, and he knew the union idea had been around for a long time.
“A direct attempt to take over the Union.”
“And that is what’s happening?”
“Not yet––but it’s what will be attempted.”
“So head it off. Do your thing. Surely the most dangerous situation is an unforeseen attempt? You, though, have a clear warning it’s coming, doesn’t that put you in the driving seat?”
“Look, Thomas, this type of thing has never happened before for one excellent reason––it isn’t possible. The moment one attempt is made, the other banks close rank, effectively shutting the doors to all other parts of the Union.”
“So why are you so concerned?” It was a justified question, based on what Dmitry had said, his body language communicating a very different story, sweat starting to appear across his forehead, which had nothing to do with the heating––the club had always been a little on the cold side.
“It’s the fact that despite all this, they’re targeting us regardless.”
“Oh, you think there is something else at play? You think it’s personal, that they’re coming for you?”
“No…well, maybe. I don’t like being in the dark. Isn’t there something you can do at Six?” And there it was, their man asking the British Security Service for another hand, though they, in turn, were expecting a lot from him, too, so maybe it was only fair.
“What would you have me do?”
“Your job. Here I am, a respected businessman who’s invested a lot in your country. I employ a lot of people and run some of the country’s biggest companies. And I’m reporting that one of these companies, a bank within your own FTSE100, is a target for foreign persons.” Until that point in the conversation, he had not mentioned it was an attempt being made from overseas, thereby justifying the involvement of MI6.
“I get you, Dmitry. I’ll put a team on to it, see what they can find.”
“Thank you,” he said, a slight lowering of the tension expressed through his eyes, though not much.
“Is there anything you aren’t telling me, Dmitry?” There was a lot he wasn’t telling the man from MI6, but that was the least of his worries.
“Look,” he said, handing across some brochures. “These are the seven smaller firms within the Union. Any attempt to gain control of the votes, and therefore the entire Union, is most likely to start with these.” He wasn’t going to let on the fact that the four most significant banks––including his––had two votes each, making attacking the seven futile. The fewer people who knew about that, the better, even if he was now speaking to someone he’d shared so much with before.
Price picked up the brochures––standard bank blurb about how good they were, how their culture made for better business––and after a brief glance through, laid them on the table to analyse later. He still couldn’t read the uncertainty––fear possibly––in Kaminski’s eyes, the first time he’d felt there was more he wasn’t being told than was otherwise being said.
They each ordered another drink––something a little stronger to put some heat in the throat, ready for the walk home––and said their goodbyes.
Price walked three blocks before jumping into a black cab, which took him the mile back to the office.
He paid the driver, and got out, taking the stairs up from the pavement to the entrance two at a time. He moved in through the front doors, cleared security and three minutes later was entering his office on the top floor. He dropped the brochures on the edge of his desk––someone, tomorrow at the earliest because of the time, could look through them––he would focus on some other things, though he remembered his promise to Kaminski about putting a team onto the project. He called his secretary on his desk phone.
“Can you see if Alex and Anissa are still in the office and if so, have them come up to me now, otherwise I would like to see them first thing tomorrow.”
Three minutes later, Anissa––who’d been preparing to leave for home––appeared with Alex beside her, and Price motioned them both into his spacious office.
“Please, take a seat.” There was only one seat in front of the desk, both agents wondering who the invitation had been for, but Alex insisted Anissa took the chair. He stood behind her. “I’ve got a little assignment for you. I’ve had intelligence that suggests an international operation is underway to try and destabilise one of the country’s only banking unions. Their intentions are hostile.” It hardly sounded, however, anything into which employees of MI6 needed to look.
“Why is this coming our way? Hardly MI6 remit?”
“I would disagree with that––and besides––it’s a direct order from a senior member of the Security Service you are sworn to serve, so be a good boy, Alex, and do what you’re bloody told for once. Okay?” The sudden anger was a little surprising, though both agents didn’t let it show. They had as much respect for the DDG as he apparently had for them. It was a strained working relationship at the best of times.
&nb
sp; “Very well, what do you have for us,” Anissa said, holding out her hands, barely looking Price in the eyes. He handed her the brochures.
“Initiators as yet unknown, certainly foreign. If this Union were to be breached, it would cause waves across the financial world, not only in London but wider still. Many good people would lose their jobs. Many friends of the UK would have their fingers burnt.”
This last phrase set alarm bells ringing in both agents minds. Price was trying to protect someone, which suddenly made it all the more interesting.
“We’ll be right on it, sir,” Alex said, trying to be as sincere as possible. They were dismissed and descended in the lift back to their floor, dropping the brochures into their office, Anissa aware how late she was, heading out and home without another word.
Alex, with no one waiting for him at home––only darkness and leftovers from last night’s takeaway––decided to stay, picking up the top brochure, which listed the name of the bank, as well as the name of the Union of which it was a part.
The inside cover said there were eleven members of the Union. Alex glanced back at the small pile of brochures, counting them––seven. Why did they have only seven? Little things like that always bugged Alex, especially with the task itself coming from someone as slippery as their own Deputy Director General.
Alex opened a web page and searched for the Union in question. It listed all eleven member banks, and he noted down the four that they didn’t have information on, clicking through one by one from the main webpage, entering the websites of each of the other four banks. On the third site, he found a name he recognised––Dmitry Kaminski. Owner and heavy investor and backer of the whole Union. A man they knew Price had been meeting with for some time. They knew about Price’s––and they assumed Six’s and therefore probably the Government’s––agenda to get Kaminski elected at the next Russian Presidential vote, a man Britain and the West could get behind. Their man.