by Leslie Wolfe
One day it was over, one cold November day in 1991. Communism was done and over with, the KGB was falling apart, and Vitaliy was free again. He left the dissolving KGB without giving any notice, just scribbling a one-line resignation letter to get his papers released from Personnel. He exited the Lubyanka edifice without looking back and started building his fortune.
With the USSR falling apart and all the former Soviet Republics seeking their independence from Russia, there was chaos in the streets. Many of his Russian friends and contacts were in Russia, including the majority of his former KGB contacts, who had decided to return home instead of immigrating or seeking asylum in the West. Russia was also not a communist economy anymore. It was the dawn of Russian capitalism through a painful passage from communist, state-owned structures to the capitalist free market economy, a period one could call transitionism.
However, no one knew how to be a capitalist, how to think like one. Being citizens of a communist country for generations, never traveling outside the USSR, having mandatory but guaranteed jobs, and having lived in a system that made owning any kind of property or wealth a capital offense, no one knew how to become a capitalist overnight. No one except Vitaliy and other Foreign Intelligence officers who had stashed their cash outside of the country, had contacts in the real capitalist world, and the knowledge of what capitalism was, how it worked, and how it can make the right people rich.
Vitaliy Myatlev wasted no time. Within months of his departure from the KGB, he had opened several companies in Russia with foreign capital he’d been able to raise rapidly. He brought into the country luxury household items like ice-free refrigerators, washing machines, dryers, convection ovens, and microwave ovens. He knew not many Russians had money to buy these at first, but he would hold the stake in the appliance market, and once all the known brands had been deployed through his companies, no one else would be able to grab that distribution market from him. Moreover, all the KGB officers and Party officials who were loaded but had decided to keep their accumulated savings in Russia, had heaps of rapidly devaluing Russian Rubles to spend. Myatlev’s prices were ridiculously high, but his merchandise moved fast nevertheless. From Whirlpool to Kenmore to KitchenAid, he brought them all to Mother Russia, for a substantial profit.
He moved on to bringing wireless cellular services into a country that had almost no telecommunication infrastructure outside of the major cities and where citizens were forced to wait months for a new landline, despite the copious bribes they were willing to pay. The mobile phones addressed that need, and within a few years, almost eliminated residential landlines.
He still didn’t stop. Next, he built a few banks. He finally held the capital reserves needed to attract partner names like Credit Suisse and AIG, and to issue a credit card product of his own. After all, the Russians needed a financial institution to lend them money at predatory interest rates to pay for the highly expensive appliances and overpriced cell phones. Once the foundations of his financial empire had been laid, he proceeded to acquire vast amounts of real estate at ridiculous prices, knowing those prices would soon rise. He was able to foresee the inflation that soon took over Russia and moved his liquidities to hard currencies and gold.
He had already made the list of the top 100 richest people in the world, and that was before he started his oil and gas endeavors. He wasn’t going to stop; it was never going to be enough. His lust for power was tireless, and the thrill of the hunt was too exciting for him to give up.
Vitaliy Myatlev had moved to Kiev a few years before, when his wealth had grown to be large enough to cause him sleepless nights. Some of his old KGB friends had climbed the ranks of political power, achieving interestingly strategic and useful roles in the Russian government. One had just become President; the other had been the Minister of Defense for a while, holding that seat for a few years now. Their influence, kept motivated by large cash payouts, luxury cars, and custom-built villas, had proven very advantageous over the years. But Myatlev was not stupid. He knew their favor could turn into scorn overnight, and he couldn’t trust any of them. Therefore, Myatlev acquired the Ukrainian citizenship in addition to the Russian and Iranian citizenships he had gained at birth, bestowed upon him in a hurry and without due process by the Ukrainian Minister of the Interior. Of course, now the Minister had a new Mercedes S65 AMG, Lunar Blue Metallic, but there was a rumor spreading that a dying aunt from Germany had willed him the exquisite vehicle.
Myatlev opened the door to his suite as soon as Ivan swiped the access card and entered the imposing living room to find his guest reading a magazine, installed comfortably on the plush sofa. Fuck… he thought, remembering he was wearing only a white spa bathrobe.
His guest rose and extended his hand with a slight nod. Myatlev shook the man’s hand vigorously.
“Welcome, Mr. Zaidi,” he said in his most dignified tone of voice, trying to compensate for his inappropriate attire.
His guest, dressed to the nines, smiled and responded, “Or maybe I should say welcome, yes?”
“Yes, indeed, indeed. My deepest apologies for keeping you waiting and for having you endure through seeing me dressed like this,” Myatlev responded, making a hand gesture to apologize for his improper appearance.
His guest, Samir Jamal Zaidi, an Iraqi national of considerable wealth, was rumored to be well-connected to both sides of the political battlefield in his country. Welcomed in the high circles of American political power and equally honored in Iraq by various political factions otherwise at war with each other, Zaidi was highly influential and a great partner to have for any endeavor. In his late forties, Zaidi had an appearance of determination and calculated calm, never showing any of his thoughts or feelings. His face, covered with the typical beard Iraqi nationals liked to wear, was impenetrable and seemed entirely immobile and expressionless. He wore sunglasses at all times, even indoors, hiding his eyes behind dark lenses. He was a hard man to read.
Minutes later, after Myatlev had dressed appropriately for the occasion, they took their seats at a dining table brought up by the hotel staff, set to perfection with white brocade linens, silver accouterments, and Bohemia Crystal glasses. Myatlev’s bodyguards had taken positions, guarding them as they ate, from a polite distance.
“I have a proposition for you, Mr. Zaidi,” Myatlev said, immediately after his guest had finished the soup.
Zaidi made an inviting gesture with his hand.
“I am assembling a small group of very influential, very wealthy individuals,” Myatlev continued, “whose global interests are aligned. Several countries are represented in our Council, and yours is one of the countries that should hold a seat in this association of common goals.” Myatlev paused, gauging his guest’s interest level. Zaidi’s eyes flickered for a split second, barely visible behind his tinted lenses, but he remained silent.
“There are many things we can do for each other,” Myatlev continued, “and even more things we can do together. United.” He stopped and focused on the schnitzel in front of him, savoring a piece of it with his eyes half closed in delight.
Finally, Zaidi spoke. “Which countries are represented on your council?”
“So far, Iran, Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, and of course, Russia.”
“How many representatives are you inviting from each of these countries?”
“Only one,” Myatlev said gravely.
They ate silently for a few seconds.
“And what is the mandate?”
“Over the past few decades we have observed how America has turned into the world’s most arrogant bully, fortifying their super-power position in the world and stopping at nothing to maintain that power and increase its wealth. The American domineering way to meddle in other countries’ internal affairs has reached an unprecedented level of insolence, causing significant concern for several countries.”
“Oh… So your mandate is anti-American?” Zaidi asked abruptly.
“Our mandate is to establish a new
world order, where we don’t have the high-and-mighty Americans dictating how we conduct our internal political and economic affairs. Our mandate is to fix the balance of power in the world and restore other nations’ rights to decide for themselves.”
Myatlev took another bite of schnitzel, allowing Zaidi time to consider his proposal.
“How are you planning to pursue this goal? Politically? Engaging in violence?”
“That would be for the Council to decide, depending on what actions we decide to take.”
“I see,” Zaidi said and then promptly touched his mouth with the white napkin, marking the end of his meal. “I am very honored by your consideration, but this is not something that I am inclined to be a part of. I would also like to wish you all success with this initiative.”
“Would you like some dessert?” Myatlev asked, unperturbed. His eyes encouraged Zaidi to accept his offer, then shifted slightly to catch Ivan’s gaze. Myatlev nodded almost imperceptibly, and his bodyguard nodded in response.
“No, I have to decline, I’m afraid. It has been a very satisfying meal; thank you for your hospitality,” Zaidi said.
Ivan approached Zaidi from behind and grabbed his head with his right arm, immobilizing it as he placed a napkin soaked in chloroform over his nose. Zaidi struggled for a few seconds and then fell inert. The two bodyguards grabbed Zaidi quietly and took him to the other room. At some point in the very near future, they would get him out of the hotel in a suitcase, shoot him in the head somewhere, and throw his body in the Danube.
You can’t win every time, Myatlev thought bitterly and took a sip of wine. He had to be more careful next time.
~~~End Preview~~~
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Executive
Leslie Wolfe
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