*
Tarasov resurfaced in Dingle on the West Coast of Ireland, much to the relief of the harbour master who feared Tarasov’s super yacht, the Cleopatra, had been abandoned by its a crew. The truth was they had been on forced leave out of fear of an attack similar to the one that had cost Fitzwilliams his life.
The luxurious sixty metre yacht, which could accommodate more than twelve guests in staterooms on its four decks with a standing crew of eleven, represented a potential threat, a security hazard, and its Bermudan registered owners had not returned calls or mails.
Tarasov’s disappearance had raised numerous questions. Neither he nor his family had been seen at their home in London for weeks. Rumours were rife, some said he had been kidnapped or murdered by FSB agents, others said he had been spotted in South America.
Sergei spent his first full day back in public in Paris, meeting friends at the discrete and exclusive Bristol, from where he could see the forecourt of the Elysée Palace. That evening he dined with Steve Howard, John Francis and Arnaud Diebold in his suite.
The French establishment’s intellectual haunt was not for Tarasov: the iconic but pretentious Brasserie Lipp, which had served Khodorkovsky, neither did he chose vodka, herrings and potatoes. As for establishment intellectuals like Bernard Henri Levy and George Gluckmann who had present to celebrate the freedom of Khodorkovsky, a fellow member of the diaspora, in a misplaced cause célèbre.
The international business world saw Tarasov as a victim of the Kremlin’s machinations and many reputed international asset management firms had invested in Tarasov’s Russian real estate projects only to see their funds blocked, be it temporarily, after his bank was seized by the Russian authorities following the oligarchs refusal to invest in the Kremlin’s Patriotic Fund.
As partner in the Diebold development, an important project in the French capital, Tarasov had been accorded the tacit approval of the French authorities locked in an uncomfortable position with the Russia after the cancellation of two French built warships, as the result of Western sanctions against Moscow.
The Bristol Hotel in Paris
The atmosphere at the Bristol was that of a gathering of old friends to celebrate an occasion and occasion it was: the French billionaire, Arnaud Diebold, friend of the politically powerful, had accepted Tarasov’s proposal to invest in the construction of a vast property development on the east side of Paris.
Steve Howard, a long time friend of Diebold, had brokered the deal and the news was to be announced the following day at a press conference in the billionaire’s offices at La Défense, the business district of Paris. Tarasov’s New York investment firm, Millenium Capital Management, would head the pool to finance the development.
BARTON
Tom Barton reasons for quitting were more profound than the accumulated pressures of the City. It was more due to the deep malaise he felt when betting against humanity. The funds he had managed since 2010, had made considerable profits: taking short or long positions against the euro, dollar, yen, rouble and yuan; gold, oil, Greece, Russia, the EU, property and a pile of other assets. The misery of others filled his pockets and those of his investors.
As a mortgage broker he had witnessed the speculative folly of ordinary men and women, how they moved with the crowd, their stampede to get in and then out, and the naivete of the common investor. In the years leading up to the subprime crisis he had learnt a lot about human nature.
Towards the end of 2007, anticipating the crisis, he had decided to pull the plug and cash in, and dropping everything he embarked on his first fugue.
In 2009, he shorted oil, on the advice from Steve Howard and Sergei Tarasov, then after his return to the City he bet on the European sovereign-debt crisis. Initially with his own money, then through investment funds he speculated with the money of others, specialising mainly in property, commodities and forex.
Wars, disasters, terrorist attacks, political crises and their effects on Europe, Japan, and the US, were seen as profit making opportunities for astucious investors, and being one he took positions on commodities and forex.
He bet on cupidity, the lust for power, and the decisions of squirming of politicians, all of which provided him with endless opportunities to make money, but as time passed the morality of his methods began to take their toll.
Political ambitions always ended badly, it was an historical fact. Leaders like Putin rarely got it right over the long term, they were gamblers, who either forgot or were ignorant of the basic rule: the bank always wins, anything else was for Hollywood. Winning streaks always ended in disaster, because inveterate gamblers always craved for one more roll of the dice.
But Barton was not a gambler, he watched and waited, like a hunter stalking his prey. He had learnt patience, timing and swift action, and if his prey ran faster he promptly abandonned the chase, awaiting another opportunity.
His life had taken a turn for the better since he had met Lola. The birth of their son had not only brought an unexpected sense of fulfilment to Barton, but an immense joy of her grandparents. Don Pedro Herida was assured of the continuity of the family line. The marriage had taken place at the Hacienda del Independencia, where it was officiated, in the family tradition without great pomp, by Monseñor Arturo Fuentes, Vicario del Iglisia de la inmaculada Concepción de Barichara in the presence of Lola’s family and close friends.
As the last days of 2015 approached Tom Barton looked on the world from afar. As a good father he had reduced his risks. His future now lay with Lola and their son Pedro Tomas Felipe Alfonso. What happened in the world outside was far away, however he knew that what happened outside had a way of intruding into even the most distant corner of the planet. By definition Black swans had the habit of popping up when they were least expected.
A JEWEL IN THE CROWN
Galle, a former colonial town, lay about one hundred kilometres from Colombo in Sri Lanka. It was a place Europeans had used as a trading outpost for more than four centuries until independence in 1968. During Sri Lanka’s last years as the jewel in the crown, the coast to the south of Colombo had become the home to a number of writers including Arthur C Clark and on occasions Paul Bowles, the American composer and writer, who lived in Weligama a dozen kilometres to the south of Galle on a private island.
John Francis had bought a home just outside of Unawatuna in the mid-seventies, a run down plantation facing the sea that had once been owned by a British family. It took a couple or more years to restore the colonial style home that he named The Plantation, which became his retreat between semesters at Trinity.
It was an ideal place to not only write his academic works, but also his best-selling books that treated the non-academic and more colourful aspects of economics through the ages, all which earned him a solid reputation amongst popular and specialised readers.
Sri Lanka - Buddhists praying
The Plantation was far from the crowds and off the beaten tourist track, his own paradise, a haven of peace, and last but not least a relief from the often depressingly dull weather of the Emerald Isle. It was his secret hideaway, the existence of which was shrouded in near secrecy, reserved for friends including Pat Connelly who was a regular at the Galle Literary Festival.
The economist’s greatest fear was that of attracting his backpacking students and cumbersome friends, though the curious amongst them were often intrigued by his regular tan.
Tragedy struck in 2004 when the island was hit by the terrible tsunami. By good fortune The Plantation escaped relatively unscathed, protected by a headland that took the full force of the waves.
Times changed and in 2015, Unawatuna had recovered, a small tourist centre, still light-years from the transformation that had taken place in Phuket and other previously little know beaches, though for a moment the town had attracted a number of Russian tourists, but that was before the collapse of the rouble.
Since their holiday in Province, Francis realised he needed Ekaterina, the question was h
ow to convince her to leave Russia.
“I’d like you to come to Dublin,” he had told her.
“I’d like that, but …,” she had replied.
The idea of living in Dublin phased her, the rainy city had little to offer apart from rain instead of snow.
Francis then concocted the idea of asking her spend Christmas at The Plantation. At first she was hesitant, she was reluctant to leave, Alina, her daughter behind. Francis then played his trump card: inviting her parents join them together with Alina and to his delight she jumped at the suggestion.
He had already accepted the idea that if he intended to spend his life with Ekaterina her family would have to be part of it. It was normal, but for a hitherto confirmed bachelor it was a big step, inviting a Russian family into his life.
Prior to their arrival The Plantation as was usual spruced up with special attention being given to the pool and beachside. However, his faithful long-standing housekeeper was a little puzzled when he asked for a little special attention to be given to his bedroom with its king-sized bed and that an adjacent room be prepared for a child. There nothing unusual in him inviting guests guests or loaning the villa to friends, but this time his housekeeper understood it was something special.
The villa was composed of several rooms facing the gardens and the sea beyond, all of which had been converted into spacious suites where his guests could enjoy their privacy with their meals served on the pillared verandas that opened onto the gardens, or when they all got together around an immense ancient table set out for the occasion on the well trimmed lawns beneath the shade of the palm trees.
Amongst those who stayed at The Plantation were Pat Kennedy and Lili, who had honeymooned on the island. Their sojourn had a side effect, at least on Kennedy, and was to shape his future. He had been captivated by their visit to the ruins of Sri Lanka’s ancient civilization and its two capitals, Anuradhapura and Polonnaruwa, to the north of the Island, exciting a life long fascination with mysterious civilizations so recently re-awakened by a visit to Xi’an and his discovery of China’s long and fascinating history.
The Plantation with its gardens overlooking the sea had in fact been the planters home. Tall coconut palms provided shade from the sun and the garden’s borders were planted with colourful flowering shrubs. To the rear of the house ran the coast road separating it from the spice plantation, which continued produced a variety of quality spices and coconuts, providing Francis with sufficient income to maintain the property and pay a plethora of staff: a housekeeper, cook, chambermaids, gardeners and a driver, not counting the manager who like the others doubled as employees in the spice plantation, all of which allowed Francis to live like a modest member of the latter day Raj.
The sea frontage was more than one hundred metres long, though the sandy beach was narrow, meaning the pool and trimmed grassy spaces under the palms were where Francis spent his relaxed moments reflecting on the state of the world and its destiny, or inviting his long time expatriate friends from Galle and its surroundings, amongst whom had been Arthur C. Clarke and Paul Bowles passing many memorable evenings in earlier times.
Ekaterina was overcome with pleasure when she discovered the villa. She had never imagined such colonial splendour, an extravagant description, though from the heavy snow and subzero conditions in Moscow it was not an exaggeration. Alina, in spite of the fatigue from the long journey, was raring to go one she set her eyes on the pool and the sea.
BREXIT
As Brexit threatened the future of the EU and Britain, the negotiations on a transatlantic free-trade agreement painfully marked time. The anti-everythings cried foul voicing anti-American and eurosceptic sentiments.
The idea of a group of eight hundred million consumers as a counterbalance to Asia was cast to one side as the threat of a Brexit rumbled on in the background.
Francis feared a decline or even worse the slow disintegration of the European Union if the UK voted ‘Out’. The trouble was Britain’s anti-European sentiment went back a long way, a very long way, to the Napoleonic Wars when London chose the world rather than Europe.
Winston Churchill had once said ‘If Britain must choose between Europe and the open sea, she must always choose the open sea’. It was a contradiction in terms considering the great leader had called for ‘a kind of United States of Europe’.
Put in perspective Britain’s position in the world was far from that when Churchill led Britain into war against Hitler. On the eve of war in 1939, London was the centre of a great Empire, when China and Russia were inexistant in geopolitical terms, and the Empire of India British. In 2016, a post-Brexit Britain would be small and weak, the black sheep of Europe, unable to dictate terms in the new and necessary trade agreements.
Those who favour a Brexit share the stubborn belief that their small island could stand alone like in the nineteenth century when Britain’s industrial and commercial expansion took place in a less developed world, where its colonists, financiers, engineers, explorers, seamen, insurers and administrators held a competitive advantage. The same could not be said in 2016.
The possession of a great empire created ideas among Britain’s elite that still persisted in its system of education and public schools, in its military establishment, its media, from the popular to the quality press, literature and cinema and even sport.
Men like Barton were frequently asked how it was over there, implying it was certainly not as good as here, at home.
The rejection of Europe and its values was strange, Britons rejected its immigrant workers, while they accepted the transformation of London boroughs like Newham, within walking distance of the Gould Tower, where its population of East Enders had been replaced by one made up of over seventy percent non-grassroots immigrants, speaking a multitude of languages with a large Muslim minority, and where classes in certain schools counted just three non-immigrant children.
The question was not one of nationality, colour, race or religion, but why fellow Christian Europeans were rejected by a significantly large percentage of Britons, some of whom treated the EU as a Nazi or Soviet organisation.
Putin must have grinned with pleasure as Cameron’s absurd gamble seemed to backfire. A weakened EU was all that he could have hoped for: a weakened institution with less power to counter his threats to Europe’s borders. And the leader of the Brexit faction, Boris Johnson, worked for him by declaring Europe was partly to blame for Russia’s invasion of the Ukraine.
For all its limitations, the EU was far better that the fractious state of Europe of the past, but divide and conquer was what the Kremlin wanted and anything that went in that sense could only go to please Putin.
BEIJING
Four years after a high-speed Ferrari crash in Beijing, in which his son was killed, Ling Jihua, a top level adviser to the former Chinese president Hu Jintao, was about to be tried on accusations of taking ‘massive’ bribes and illegally obtaining state secrets.
Ling Gu was killed in a horrific and scandalous road accident in the early hours of the morning when the black Ferrari 458 Spider, smashed into a wall on Beijing’s fourth ring road instantly killing the twenty three year old.
The New York Times reported when Ling Jihua visited the Beijing mortuary where his son’s corpse was being held he ‘coldly denied that it was his son’. But the tragedy did not end there, the death of Ling Jihua’s son exposed to the world to the vast wealth of China’s political elite.
Ling was one of the highest profile targets of the anti-corruption campaign launched by President Xi, who demanded the children of super rich be taught the value of money and sent to a ‘social responsibility’ retreat, where, risibly, the fine for turning up late was equivalent to mere one hundred dollars or so.
The 富二代fùèrdài, or children of super rich Chinese, openly boasted of their wealth on Instagram, flying around in private jets, holidaying on luxury yachts and driving super cars. They thought nothing of spending hundreds of thousands in a single ni
ght on Dom Perignon Champagne in Macao or sex and drug fueled parties in Sanya, showing off their designer clothes and jewellery: Burberry, Kenzo, Agent Provocateur and Dior, Louboutin shoes, Chopard and Cartier.
Ling Gu’s death created a huge scandal when it was revealed his passengers, three young women, were seriously injured, in the crash, two of whom were found naked and the other partially undressed.
Ferrari crash in Beijing
Lamborghinis and Ferraris were a far cry from the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution that took place fifty years earlier during one of the bloodiest eras in modern Chinese history, when as many as two million people died in a decade-long period of political and social chaos when Mao Zedong fomented turmoil, bloodshed, hunger and stagnation, in a bid to use the Chinese masses to reassert his control over the Communist party.
It was an attempt by the aging dictator, whose authority had been undermined by the Great Famine of the 1950s, to reassert control over the party by destroying his real or imagined enemies.
In June 1966, after the party urged the masses to ‘clear away the evil habits of the old society’ by launching an all-out assault on ‘monsters and demons’. Heeding the call of the party, Chinese students sprung into action, setting up Red Guard divisions in schools and universities across the country and by August destruction raged as the Red Guards were urged to destroy the ‘four olds’: old ideas, old customs, old habits and old culture. Churches, temples, libraries, shops and homes were ransacked or destroyed as gangs of youths wearing red armbands and military fatigues roamed the streets attacking the bourgeois officials, teachers and intellectuals.
The victims were publicly humiliated, beaten and even murdered. In Beijing nearly two thousand people lost their lives in August and September of that year, as the student led red terror spread and China was plunged into a state of civil war, as rival factions fought in towns and cities across the country.
It was two years before Mao realised his revolution had got out of control and to rein in the violence millions of young men and women were sent to the countryside for re-education and the army sent in to restore order. The violence finally ended 1971 after a huge loss of life and the destruction of cultural monuments. In all as many as two million Chinese died, many of them when the army moved in to restore order.
Even Deng Xiaoping was publicly humiliated, and Xi Zhongxun, the father of China’s incumbent president, Xi Jinping, was beaten and sent into exile.
With Mao’s death in September 1976, the Cultural Revolution finally came end and his widow, Jiang Qing, part of the Gang of Four, was publicly tried for masterminding the chaos and sentenced to death, though this was later reduced to life in prison.
CROWNING GLORY
All of a sudden Pat found himself being courted by Downing Street. It all started with a call from a secretary at the British Embassy in Hong Kong with an invitation to lunch from the Ambassador.
Peter Devillier was a nice enough fellow whom Pat had shaken hands with and even exchanged small talk on a number of occasions: cocktail parties and the like, at different do’s and events like the Queens birthday, when expats and local dignitaries were the ambassador’s guests.
Pat had made the front pages of the local press during the year, the most remarkable being that in the South China Post with the sensationally front page headline: ‘Hong Kong banker missing in jungle’.
Pat’s fortunes had dramatically improved since the failed grab by City & Colonial of INI Bank Hong Kong, an event that had consolidated of his position. His victory was transformed into a triumphant reversal of roles with the transfer of INI London’s City headquarters to the former colony following the acquisition of City & Colonial’s holding by the Wu family holding.
Fate had put Kennedy on a conveyor that had elevated him to a high, but mostly symbolic position as the head of INI, after Michael Fitzwilliams, part of the establishment’s traditional elite, had lost control in an increasingly unpredictably and complex world, where globalisation and growing variables dictated events.
As Pat was shown into the official reception room he surprised by the presence of the Irish Ambassador, Sean Reilly, and immediately suspected some kind of a plot. However, his fear was transformed into curiosity when Devillier beating about the bush, spoke of the planned state visit to London of the Chinese president, vaguely hinting at the Wu family’s links to Xi Jinping’s extended family.
Irritated by his counterpart’s dithering Reilly cut in, suggesting Kennedy could help Irish interests by assisting the ambassador.
Pat, realizing what was on Devillier’s mind, had difficulty in retaining his amusement in the face of such extraordinary chutzpah, however he was quick to realise it was a wonderful opportunity to advance his own interests.
“A spy?” said Pat.
“No, no, Pat,” spluttered Reilly.
Devillier smiled and lifted his hand, “Of course not. We’re not looking for intelligence. We’re trying to cement relations with Beijing, nothing more. But Her Majesty’s government would be very generous if you could help Mr Kennedy.”
Pat smiled, it was ridiculous to think a man of his wealth could be bought.
“A knighthood?” he ventured.
“That would be a little premature,” replied Devillier with a sad condescending smile. Then brightening up added: “On the other hand we could arrange an invitation to the Guildhall luncheon in honour of President Xi Jinping.”
“The Guildhall? I’ve been there more times than I can remember,” Pat announced inferring interest providing the conditions were sufficiently attractive.
Devillier frowned, “I see.”
“What about meeting the Queen,” said Pat amused at the idea of bring received at Buckingham Palace.
“The state dinner?”
“Yes.
“That might be a little difficult.”
“My father-in-law knew Xi’s father. I believe there are even some business links with his family,” Pat said treading carefully.
“Yes, of course,” said Devillier well aware of those facts … and more.
The ambassador was an old China hand and knew better than any London spin doctor the workings of guanxi, where the family members of the powerful were known to be potential tools of influence, and used in the hope of reaching the seat of power.
“I’ll see what we can do Pat,” he replied slipping into first name terms and holding out his hand to Kennedy.
Royal Banquet with Chinese President Xi Jinping
Pat accepted Devillier’s hand to the evident relief of Reilly, who thanks to the ambassador was piggybacking into hi-tech electronics in nearby Shenzhen.
In effect the Wu’s had long established links with the Chinese leader’s extended family’s discrete business interests in Hong Kong in sectors as varied as rare earths, real estate and telecommunications.
The government in London was seeking to expand UK trade with China by forging links with its powerful ruling families, something that was easier said than done given the Chinese government’s crackdown on corruption and graft.
Pat found himself in a rare position with his Chinese family’s links to Red Royalty, the children and grandchildren of revolutionaries who had marched with Mao Zedong on his long road to power: princelings, the progeniture of the top families that swayed influence in politics and business.
Reilly spoke of a British businessman married to Xi’s niece who had been of considerable use in building contacts, but since Xi had become President of the People’s Republic. He had been an excellent promoter of Anglo-Chinese relations, his influence could be measured after he had obtained the use of The Great Hall of the People in Tiananmen Square to host a private dinner for Chinese and Western businessmen.
But they could not overplay their hand and compromise their man, which is where Pat came in.
Though Pat’s connections were not of the same order they were more enduring and more effective since the niece’s husband had been distanced from ext
ernal contacts when Xi came to power for reasons of state. China could not afford a scandal that would embarrass its president.
Pat was a banker and as such navigated his way through the world of business with a privileged network of contacts, including those of the Wu family, which included Xi’s brother-in-law, also Wu, part of Lili’s enlarged family.
The brother-in-law, Wu Xiao Long, had extensive interests in telecommunications technology as well as business links to China’s state owned telecoms company, the world’s biggest.
Lili’s grandfather had known Xi’s, who had been instrumental in persuading Deng Xiaoping create China’s first SAR in Shenzhen, launching China on its astonishing flight to modernity when he declared: ‘Let a part of the population get rich first’ and ‘To get rich is glorious’.
The Chinese president’s sister made her first investment in Hong Kong twenty five years earlier: an appartment, the cost of which was the equivalent to one thousand years the average Chinese salary at that time. She established Hong Kong residency and with her husband went on to build a vast business and property fortune in the colony and Shenzhen.
Since ancient times it had been a Chinese tradition for members of the ruling elite to transform political power into personal wealth and they continued to do so, providing family members with a leg up into banking, finance and industry. It confirmed the Chinese saying that went back to a certain Xu Xun, a Taoist priest who lived in the third century AD: (when a man gets to high places) his whole family, including even their chickens and dogs, ascended to heaven together with him.
Amongst those who heeded Deng’s words was Lili’s family, investing initially in textiles and then electronics in the SAR, and as always in such families they distributed the roles, certain making their careers in politics and government, as had Lili’s father in Canton, and others in business like her paternal uncle.
A week later Pat was summoned to the Embassy where he received from the hands of the ambassador a Royal convocation for he and his wife to attend the state banquet to be held at Buckingham Palace in honour of the Chinese president. Pat could scarcely conceal his joy. His mother would have swooned at the idea: her son, a simple lad from Limerick was being given the extraordinary honour of being invited to a state banquet given for Xi Jinping the President of the People’s Republic of China by the Queen of England.
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