Annotation

“My Russia, my love, how long can we suffer?…” (Alexander Blok) In 1991 the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics collapsed. Revival of the new Russia began with a severe economic crisis, a result of so-called “Perestroika”, initiated by the first president of the USSR Mikhail Gorbachev. Russia’s immense, bottomless natural resources were flowing out of the country. During the reign of the “Yeltsin’s clan” factories, plants, gas and oil fields had been privatized and sold for nothing. New figures appeared on Russia’s political and financial arena: Berezovsky, Abramovich, Potanin, Khodorkovsky, Luzhkov, Sobchak, Gaidar and others. Due to their efforts national natural resources were plundered and ended up in foreign lands. After Yeltsin, Russia entered the next stage – financial. Budget money had been cut to pieces and those who were cutting it received up to 30 % in kickbacks. Russian politicians, businessmen and bankers were moving their capitals to offshore companies in Switzerland, UK, UAE and on the islands. Russia’s primary resources along with the “financial flow” were gradually settling abroad. Many readers would like to find out who and how transfers huge amounts of money from Russia to foreign countries.

- Jossiv Kim

- Presidential Aircraft

- Canada

- Elena

- Tajikistan

- Borodin

- “Mommy”

- Moscow Routine

- Holland

- Great Britain

Jossiv Kim

Bank of Moscow Labyrinths

08:00 09.28.2010 Moscow

“…According to the Kremlin Press Service, earlier today the President of the Russian Federation, Dmitry Medvedev, signed a decree dismissing Moscow mayor Yuri Luzhkov over loss of confidence…”

© Jossiv Kim, 2015

© «Книга по Требованию», 2015

Presidential Aircraft

Friday, April 9, 2010. Amsterdam

A cellphone, left on the back seat of Volvo, played the exuberant mazurka ringtone for a while, and then stopped. Kahn got into the driver’s seat, the musical ringtone resumed, the hands-free system in the car activated and a familiar voice said:

“Hello, Stas! This is Kalinovsky. It’s the second time I’m calling”.

“Hi, Andrzej! Sorry – I had to buy gasoline and left my phone in the car. I did not expect a call from you: yesterday your assistant told me that you were in England – attending reception at Her Majesty’s palace!”

“Well, that was yesterday! But indeed, we were there: we received a missile-carrier. What an impressive piece of machinery! All of the modules are fifth generation! Incidentally, I met Pan Rogozin at the reception, and we talked about you. I wish you were there”.

“Andrzej, I still don’t understand why Polish naval forces need a missile-carrier. Poland’s objective lies within the territorial waters of the Baltic region. You, a battle-hardened admiral, are on the NATO generals’ leash!” – Kahn started the car and headed towards the highway.

“Stas, you are right. But do you remember that in 1992, when you were teaching and I was studying in the Naval Academy in Gdynia, it was you who very actively supported Poland’s joining NATO?”

“Andrzej, let’s not refer to the past. I’m guessing this is not the reason for your call?”

Stas entered a tunnel and his telephone lost signal.

“I am here, I am listening: just lost you in the tunnel.”

“Stas, I am calling about your 3D cameras. My engineers tell me that our drones are equipped with exactly the same cameras.”

“Andrzej, first of all, these camerasare not mine, but Israel’s. Secondly, I have never kept from you that such camerasare in service with the USA and NATO. And thirdly, in accordance with the agreement between my Dutch company and the Americans, I may not sell chips to the third countries, especially to Russians – and I fulfill this obligation.”

“Kahn, I have no problem with it whatsoever: I’m just giving you a heads-up. By the way, I communicated with Israeli Mossad and they confirmed your rank in our army. I will not be available until Tuesday: tomorrow I am flying with President Kaczyński to Katyn on his TU-154. I will call you on Tuesday, after I come back.”

“Andrzej, you are a true friend. I owe you one.”

Kahn changed the gear to “Sport Mode” and his car flew down the highway.

“Fine! Have these cameras for your drones! The main thing is, they won’t fly over the Baltic Sea!” He could hardly hear Kalinovsky’s last words over the sound of his car’s powerful engine.

He drove right to the airplane. It was a Cessna 560XL. A pilot with a military bearing reported to him that the jet and its crew were ready for departure from Schiphol airport. Kahn proceeded to the cabin. The height of the ceiling allowed him to stand up straight. The walls were finished with light plastic panels and Chinese beech. In the center of the cabin there were two wide sofas, upholstered in beige colored leather. The plasma screen of a computer monitor glimmered on a small varnished table at the rear wall: Kahn noticed that Skype was available. A stewardess whose badge read “Marina”, written in Cyrillic letters, brought him a glass of fresh orange juice. The jet was getting ready for take-off, but the atmosphere there was so relaxing and luxurious, that Kahn felt as if he was on board of a lush ocean yacht and not an aircraft. He took his laptop computer out of its case. With a polite smile, Marina offered him the menu of the day with the internet password. Kahn turned on Skype and soon saw Nikita’s face on the screen.

“Hello, Mister Kahn! Please accept my apologies for this unexpected flight. In a couple of hours we will have lunch together aboard my yacht, that’s why I instructed Marina to offer you only a light breakfast.”

“No worries, Nikita: having worked with you all these years, I got used to your surprises. Besides, I am very comfortable here: the atmosphere is almost homely and the crew is very friendly.”

“I am glad to hear that. Have a nice flight. See you soon!”

With these words Nikita disconnected and a broadcasting program replaced his face on the screen.

Two hours later the Cessna landed in Ibiza airport, and soon after that, Nikita’s motor yacht left the harbor. It was a little windy on the upper deck, but Kahn enjoyed his comfortable chair and the sound of the engines slightly throbbing while the boat sailed out to the open sea.

“Nikita, why the rush? I was hoping to spend this weekend with my family.”

“Mister Kahn, did you see the morning news?”

“You know very well that I am not interested in your Russian news; besides, it’s my day off today.”

“Today, April 10, while attempting to land at the Smolensk North Airport, the presidential aircraft of Lech Kaczyński crashed, killing everybody on board. That’s why I asked you to come here, to my yacht.”

Kahn felt his head pounding. “Andrzej! Andrzej was there!” he thought immediately.

“Nikita,” he said in a choked voice. “Could you please arrange for me a secure communication with Poland?”

One of the stewards brought him a satellite phone.

Something clicked on the other end of the line and he heard a voice:

“Polish Navy Headquarters, captain Vozhnyak.”

“Captain, my I.D. number is 8120КS. Please connect me with admiral Kalinovsky’s assistant.”

After a few seconds of anxious waiting Kahn, still in disbelief, heard Andrzej’s assistant speak in a hollow voice:

“Pan General, you must still not know: the Admiral was with the President of Poland on the plane that crashed today in Russia. I am very sorry.”

Kahn heard the disconnect tone. He was sitting, clutching the phone, as if paralyzed by shock. Finally, he said:

“Yesterday in the afternoon I talked with Andrzej, and today he is gone forever. This is not the beginning of the 90s, when I lost so many friends.”

“Mister Kahn, would you like some water?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine. Let us drink to my late friend’s memory.”

The steward poured vodka into shot glasses.

“Please forgive me – but as soon as I found out about it from the news, I ordered my captain to go on-shore and sent my jet to Amsterdam.”

“And I thank you for that. I am alright. Why don’t we get down to business so that I can be back home by nighttime?”

“Do you mind moving to the salon? We are in the open sea now and it’s getting too chilly here.”

In the salon a table laid for two was waiting for them. A grand platter stood in its center: on it, on a bed of crushed ice, there was a spread of claws and tails of Canadian lobsters, king crabs, red shrimps, crawfish and small calamari. Slippery egg-size mussels and mouth-watering oysters topped this splendor. Slices of Spanish lemon, so sour that it brought tears to the eyes, were resting in a small crystal bowl. In front of every plate there were twelve silver instruments – from claw crackers and mussel knives with blunt and rounded blades, to little picks used for extracting meat from the shells. While going through cadet training in the military academy, Stas learned how to use all of these instruments. To the right of every plate he noticed small blue bowls filled with water, with a slice of lemon in each one – and smiled. This smile did not go unnoticed by his host.

“Stas, is something wrong?”

Kahn sat at the table, got comfortable and moved the blue bowl closer:

“On the contrary, everything is great. I just remembered one reception in Halifax, at the Harbor Master’s.”

Canada

It was September of 1980. The 7th Operational Squadron of Warships arrived on a friendly visit to the Canadian Halifax Harbor on the East coast of the Nova Scotia peninsula – the location of the main Canadian naval base and the port of Halifax. An armada of Soviet ships with red flags raised on their masts lined up in the outer harbor of 265 square kilometers. Only the Large Destroyer “Gremyashchy,” with the 7th Squadron executive staff, headed by its Commander, Rear Admiral Barannikov on board, entered an eight-kilometer bay and dropped its anchor at the port pier. The naval base in Halifax houses the main body of the Canadian Navy. The Rear Admiral knew that base territory housed the headquarters of the Canadian Navy in the Atlantic, the united Navy of NATO and the coastal aviation of the Canadian Air Force. Coastal infrastructure also included military equipment repair shops and dry docks for NATO warships.

Halifax, the unfrozen sea gate to Canada. Its beautiful harbor leaves an unforgettable impression as you sail into it at low speed. City of Halifax that years ago used to belong to the Irish, spread out over the picturesque hills; grim fishermen and whale hunters – the toilers of the sea – have lived here for hundreds of years. In the summertime the city is immersed in the sea of its parks’ greenery and its suburbs are filled with the enticing beauty of Nova Scotia.

On the third day of the visit, Admiral Koch Van der Wiel, as the Harbor Master, invited Rear Admiral Barannikov and eight other senior officers to the ceremonial reception where, according to tradition, they were to be treated with Canadian lobster. The air in the officers’ lounge of Destroyer “Gremyashchy” was filled with thick fog of cigarette smoke: for the last two hours, Barannikov’s staff officers had been discussing the oncoming luncheon with the Canadian Admiral.

“Comrade officers, one last question – and you can go to your cabins after that.” Captain 1st Rank Chaliy tried to calm down the staff officers. “As you all know, at the luncheon they will serve Canadian lobster: I offer you this last item on our agenda as a ‘special treat’, so to speak.”

“Alexeyich, they can serve us a ‘liquidator’ with porridge – we will swallow it down without blinking, so this lobster is a piece of cake for us!” spoke for everybody from his seat Captain 1st Rank Litvinov.

“That is exactly the problem, that we are only good in gobbling up axes and sledgehammers! Lobster, however, is a delicate thing: it needs a special approach, like a French mademoiselle.”

After Chaliy’s words, Rear Admiral got out of his chair and headed to the door. All the noise in the lounge ceased immediately; officers, at the command, got up.

“Pavel Alexeyevich,” Rear Admiral addressed Chaliy, “please go on. I have to go to the bridge.”

Going up to the bridge, he could not stop thinking about this damned lobster and how not to lose face while dealing with it in the presence of the Canadians.

“In the lounge, they all would expect me to know the answer, as I am the senior commander. It’s a good thing I had a reason to leave”, he thought on the way.

On the bridge he saw the Destroyer’s captain and the second mate’s watch standers. When the second mate noticed the Rear Admiral going up the stairs, he commanded:

“Comrades officers! Attention on deck!”

Barannikov waved. “As you were! Continue your watch. Commander”, he turned to the captain, “I would like to talk to you: let’s go sit in the chart room.”

The captain followed the Rear Admiral to the chart room, where he immediately closed the massive drapes.

“Look, Mikhalych ” In private, Rear Admiral addressed the Captain 1st Rank informally: they were classmates in the naval academy and spent three years at the same desk. “I can’t stop thinking about this damn Canadian lobster: how do they eat it? Do you remember anything about it from our classes in etiquette in the Naval Academy?”

“You know, I only remember something about diplomatic receptions, and even how to behave in the presence of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, but I do not recall anything about a lobster either. Wait, in combat unit 5 there is this Lieutenant commander – he is from the Polish Naval Academy, on internship under the Warsaw Pact. I think, he may know: the way he bears himself – you would think he is of noble blood.”

“What language do you speak with each other?”

“Ha! He speaks Russian better than you and me! Moreover, he can speak English.”

“Get this Pole over here at once!”

Fifteen minutes later, a stocky, Asian-looking Lieutenant commander entered the chart room.

“Comrade Rear Admiral! Lieutenant commander Kahn reporting as ordered!”

Barannikov was, quite obviously, puzzled.

“I was told that you are a Polish Navy officer, but I see a native of one of the Central Asia republics.”

“Negative, comrade Rear Admiral! I am an officer of the Polish Republic, an intern for the ‘Military Cooperation Program’.”

“As I can see, you are not timid at all. And you really look like someone from Middle Asia. You also look very much like my Korean friend Major General Lee. Anyway, down to business. Captain, have you ever met a Canadian lobster?”

Kahn felt how the tension inside him eased. On the way here he was sure that Rear Admiral called him over yesterday’s insubordination, when in Engine Control Room he corrected Deputy Admiral, Captain 1st Rank Litvinov.

“You mean, in person? Only at the table.”

“Exactly, at the table. So, how was the meeting? I mean, how is it eaten?”

“Comrade Rear Admiral, actually, lobster is eaten with the fingers. But you, probably, would like to know what special instruments can be used for that?”

“Good man, you are sharp! Mikhalych, my commendation to you for your faithful service: he is exactly who we need. Well, go on, captain, shoot away: how shall we deal with this lobster?”

“If a menu includes crustaceans, then twelve to sixteen special instruments are provided to each guest.”

Kahn finally recovered his breath and looked around. He was in the chartroom of the destroyer for the first time during this campaign. Numerous operation maps were hanging on the walls; wide tables were covered with piles of blue charts, pressed down by paper weights, sextants, chronometers, and long navigation rulers. Clocks on the bulkheads showed world time. The spirit of the sea prevailed there, it was the kingdom of Sindbad the Sailor, the control center of a huge ocean colossus, filled with the most advanced weapons and torpedoes – unparalleled anywhere in the West for thirty more years. The eyes and ears of the ship were there, and the lives of its 266 crew members depended on the commands, given from here.

“Come on, Captain, stay focused! Go ahead; give me a report on the instruments for these crustaceans’ dissection. What did you say – up to a hundred sixteen of them needed?” Rear Admiral climbed in a tall navigator’s chair and took the initiative.

“Almost affirmative, comrade Rear Admiral: up to sixteen!”

At that moment Kahn noticed that all the members of the bridge watch were standing behind the door curtains, eavesdropping on his report.

“Don’t yell: just sit down and tell me in plain words what kinds of instruments they are and how one can eat with them.”

“These instruments are used for extracting the lobster’s meat from the shell and eating it right away. Perhaps I should better draw each instrument and explain its purpose?”

At this point the ship’s captain lost it and rushed to the door. The Rear Admiral’s reaction was instant: “Mikhalych, where are you going?!”

“I’ll fetch the staff officers: they should listen, too.”

“Stay put! Do not rush, brother, ahead of your father! Look at him! He thinks he is so smart!” Barannikov grinned cheerfully.

Stas drew all the instruments on a large cardboard sheet and hanged this improvised poster on a bulkhead. Watchmen, as if unintentionally, kept peeping through slightly parted curtains. Rear Admiral noticed that and said, “Mikhalych! This is a staff meeting and not a show. Tell your men to compose themselves and get back to their duties.”

The “staff meeting” continued for about thirty minutes, and after that, the Rear Admiral, looking very pleased, left the chartroom and went downstairs to his quarters. Meanwhile, the Captain was instructing Kahn, “Have you heard what the Rear Admiral said? Not a word to anybody, and be prepared for tomorrow’s reception with the Canadians. You will be the interpreter for our staff officers. Now go and get ready for tomorrow. By the way, Captain, how do you know so much about shell fish?”

“Yes, sir! I will get ready for tomorrow! Answering your question – I am from Gdansk: every kid in our town knows how to catch and eat shell fish.”

“I see. Well, go back to you watch.”

Stas left the chartroom. In the cockpit, the second mate shook his hand and invited him for a game of chess before bedtime. Kahn noticed that all the watch members looked at him with much respect.

In the morning, at 11:00 sharp, all staff officers, with sparkling shoulder boards and with naval dirks attached to their belts, lined up near the accommodation ladder, thoroughly polished for the occasion. Rear Admiral went out on deck and the gold light of sun in the Canadian sky reflected on his parade uniform. Everybody on the deck froze and stood bolt upright, waiting for the command “At ease!” The crew of the Destroyer “Gremyashchy” was greeting its commander. Suddenly, the staff officers noticed that the Rear Admiral was accompanied by a Polish officer. Barannikov approached them and said, “Comrades officers, here is our interpreter, captain-lieutenant Kahn of the Polish Navy. Please make him feel welcome.”

Staff officers had puzzled looks on their faces. Assistant commander Litvinov sneered, “Is he a Polish girl for us to make him feel welcome?”

The peal of Soviet officers’ laughter flew over the morning port and echoed in the navy docks.

“Cut the jokes! This applies especially to you, comrade Litvinov. You may think that atomic reactors are easy to handle – but have you ever tried eating lobsters properly at the reception with the Canadian admiral?”

The laughter stopped instantly and silence fell on the deck: one could even hear the sound of the pressure tank for drinking water downstairs. Sailors on the French destroyer, anchored nearby, were watching with great interest how a Russian Rear Admiral entertained his officers. Now the staff officers looked at their commander with curiosity, and he, meanwhile, continued, “Comrade Kahn will be sitting next to me as my interpreter. However, interpretation will not be his only objective. His main objective will be to make sure that we eat this Canadian lobster properly and with full understanding. Is this clear?”

“So… he – what? Will eat it for us?”

The burst of laughter that followed was so loud that it seemed to shake the destroyer’s masts. Finally the Rear Admiral was able to say, wiping away tears of laughter, “Of course not! Presnyakov, you will eat your lobster yourself. Each of you will be provided with sixteen tools to help you fight the lobster. There is no time for a lecture on their use, besides, our ‘adversary’ is missing from our galley. Therefore, attention! Comrade Officers, when the lobster’s turn comes, we all will look at our comrade Kahn, note the tools he will be using and copy all his movements. Is it clear now?”

“Yes, Sir!” responded the sailors in unison.

Admiral Koch put a lot of effort into the reception arrangements: he wanted Soviet sailors to feel welcome and at home, even far away from their homeland. In his speech in the official part of the reception, he emphasized that from 1943 to 1945, Armed Forces of the USSR and Canada fought together against fascism on the ground, in the air, and at sea. After the official part, Canadian and Soviet sailors exchanged souvenirs and pennants. Russian “Matryoshka” nesting dolls were Canadians’ favorites: they, most certainly, added color and traditional flavor to that gathering in port Halifax. After a thirty minutes smoke break, everybody seemed to find their common “sea language”: both sides easily communicated without interpreters, patting each other’s backs and shaking hands.

Three loud gong strikes in the loudspeakers signaled to everybody present that it was time to proceed to the banquet hall. Soviet officers and their admiral were seated at the table vis-à-vis their Canadian colleagues. The table itself looked very impressive – with a grand dinner set made of German porcelain, crystal tall glasses and elegant silverware. Stewards in naval uniforms brought in the first course – it was asparagus soup. Its taste was absolutely unfamiliar to the Soviet sailors, but they kept eating it, nevertheless, anticipating the “battle with the lobster”. Finally, traditional Canadian lobsters were brought in the room on huge plates. Soundless stewards put to the left of each guest small bowls, filled with water with a slice of lemon in each one. Kahn turned to Barannikov and whispered:

“Comrade Rear Admiral, this is water for rinsing hands.”

Before he could finish the sentence, Captain 1st Rank Litvinov, much to the astonishment of the Canadian side, raised his bowl, gulped some water from it and munched on the lemon. Canadians looked at him in silence, obviously bewildered.

“Kahn, full speed ahead! Face the attack!” Barannikov commanded through clenched teeth.

Kahn rose from the table, holding his bowl of water. Canadian sailors and their admiral with great interest looked at yet another “Ivan the Fool”, apparently expecting another manifestation of ignorance. After a moment of silence, everybody heard Kahn’s voice: he spoke excellent English with an American accent.

“Gentlemen! Allow me, on behalf of Rear Admiral Barannikov, to thank Admiral Koch Van der Wiel and all the hosting party for their hospitality. Let our guns remain covered forever! By tradition, Soviet sailors do not drink alcohol during their campaigns. Therefore I suggest that, instead of wine, we toast with this Canadian spring water, chasing it with a slice of lemon! Hoorah!”

All Canadians, together with their Admiral, got up and drank water from their bowls. And it was this water that “tore down” all barriers: the banquet hall filled with laughter, guests were swapping seats, interacting vividly, and “conquering” lobsters together. The world was tired of the cold war, of confrontation and the arms race. The world needed a new commonwealth formula – one that would open borders, enable joint trips to the Moon, and discover new roads to space. A new generation – a generation of peace and brotherhood – was beginning to rise from behind the curtain, separating countries and nations, and there was no force that could stop it.

Elena

… Stas paced back and forth on the rug in the yacht salon and continued talking to Nikita.

“As I understood from my last conversation with Andrzej, the Commander responded to Mossad regarding my matter. I think that next week I will be able to pay for the cameras and pick them up.”

“This time, please send them through China: things are being reorganized now in Switzerland. I left the information for you at the ‘post office’. Next week, money will be transferred to your account in ABN-Amro bank. The higher-ups are pressing me: the machines are ready for tests, now only cameras are missing.”

“I don’t see any problem here. As soon as we receive them they will be sent out.”

“Excellent. Well, I think this issue has been resolved. Now – a different matter. Mister Kahn, do you remember how in Switzerland, in the Nord Stream office, I introduced you to former Chancellor of Germany, Gerhard Schröder, and the Russian Ambassador to the Netherlands, Kevorkian?”

“Of course I remember. Mister Kevorkian asked me then for assistance in the naturalization in Holland of the family of Missis Elena Volkova – or ‘mommy”’, as all bankers in Russia call her.”

“Exactly. It turns out that behind this family – Volkova and her husband Igor Kravchenko – stand very powerful peoplein Russia: Moscow’s Mayor Yury Luzhkov, his wife Yelena Baturina, and the President of the Bank of Moscow, Andrei Borodin”.

“It can’t be! Nikita, why didn’t you tell me right away? I have no desire to participate in laundering Russian businessmen’s money”.

“Don’t worry, everything is legitimate. Andrei Borodin owns 20.32 % of the Bank of Moscow shares; Elena Volkova – 0.00012 %. And Mr. Luzhkov and Yelena Baturina together own – by the way, officially – the whole Bank of Moscow. 90 % of the money in this bank belongs to Luzhkov’s wife”, continued Nikita, petting the head of a huge Central Asian Shepard, lying at his feet. “Once Yusufov Sr. told me: ‘Why look for a credit? Buy a bank – and all your problems will be solved.’ And now he is the one who is preparing the Bank of Moscow for reacquisition for the ‘Chief’ through Yusufov Jr. This is why I am doing everything I can to assist the current bank’s management in transferring the assets abroad – so that when the time comes, it will be easier to negotiate with Borodin.”

“But you, certainly, know very well: shares or no shares – they are stripping the budget and credit money”.

“Mr. Kahn, you should not worry about the Russian budget: everything will be as clean as a whistle. Our ‘Bureau’ checked into ‘mommy’, her husband and her son, Alexei Volkov: everything there is pretty normal. She, a typical straight-A student from a good Moscow family, met Igor Kravchenko in 1995 and they became close very soon. Igor saw right away all the opportunities she had, working for Borodin – and got his claws into ‘mommy’. Borodin’s bank lends us money for our defense industry projects. Andrei Borodin asked us to naturalize the Volkova-Kravchenko family in Holland. They have been trying to obtain legal status there for years, but to no avail. Finally, by pure luck, they got connected with you”.

“Can you be that blind? These are nothing but preparations to move the money abroad!”

“Our ‘Bureau’ owns all the information. We are very well aware that two of Borodin’s vice presidents – Dmitry Akulinin and Elena Volkova (by the way, this is her maiden name: when she married Kravchenko, her last name was Furmanova – as in the first marriage) – are busy moving finances to offshore accounts. ‘Mommy’ has a personal contact with one of the bankers in the EFG-Bank in Geneva. Several years ago, the Bank of Moscow’s management did him some favor in Russia. And now Volkova and Borodin’s money flow to Switzerland, to an offshore account. Anyways, we have an order from above: ‘Wait for now. We need Andrei Borodin.’”

“All right. But please keep in mind that I don’t want to be a part of your Russian ‘business’. In February, we filed all of the documents for Volkova’s family. I hope they will get their legal status in Holland by May.”

By 9 in the morning, the office would start coming to life. It was located in the old two-story mansion, built in a Dutch style and decorated with traditional tile. The building stood off the road, surrounded by century-old Canadian maples. The interior design of the office was predominantly nautical-themed. A spacious lobby housed a real marine bar with a counter for beer and wine. The bar walls were decorated with ropes tied in intricate boating knots, various navigational instruments, and marine gear. In the center of the bar area, there was a huge wooden table that had seen many meetings and conferences. Kahn’s firm occupied the whole second floor of the building. The offices of its employees were on both sides of a long and wide hallway. In the very end of the hallway was Kahn’s office. Airy and comfortable, it looked like a room in a maritime museum. Its walls were covered with beautiful sea pieces: a sunset over the Pacific Ocean, ships in a faraway northern harbor… Numerous models of ships from different times, beginning with the 11th century, lined up against the walls: they seemed to be ready to plough through the waves of the North Sea. Kahn loved these early mornings in peace and quiet of his “ship”: his best ideas and creative thoughts came to him there. And it seemed to him that he was young again and commanded his fleet, standing on the captain’s bridge. The rain drizzling endlessly outside – a gift from Gulf Stream – was an organic part of the Netherlands, as familiar to its citizens as a bicycle. Wet, leafless maple branches brushed at times against the balcony, as if reminding Kahn about the coming winter and the overcast sky until spring. Despite that, he was full of energy and ready to work – perhaps, due to fresh air or to the special atmosphere of this place.

As usual, his accountant Svetlana was the first to come.

“Mr. Kahn! I did not expect to see you in the office today: weren’t you supposed to be in Dubai?”

She sat on the chair across from Stas.

“I managed to visit Spain and Poland on the weekend. Nikita sent his plane to pick me up.”

“Mr. Kahn, please accept my condolences on the loss of your Polish friend, Admiral Kalinovsky. I learned about it yesterday, from CNN.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Kahn got up, poured himself a glass of water and felt a lump in his throat.

“Do you think you will be called to duty in the Polish Navy again?” Svetlana asked anxiously.

“No, I have fulfilled my duty, although I will be in reserve until the end of my days. I’m making way for the new generation. Svetlana, I will go now to the customs office: I’ll be back after lunch.”

“All right, and I will work on balance sheet. By the way, one million five hundred seventy five thousand US dollars have been just posted to our account. As I understand, it’s the payment for the cameras from Israel.”

Tajikistan

November, 2009. Moscow

Standing early in the morning at the window of his office on the fifth floor, Borodin was looking at Moscow. From the street, he could hear shouts in an unfamiliar language: Tajik janitors, shoveling away piles of melting greyish snow, were discussing something. As he had many times before, Andrei thought how amazingly industrious people from Central Asia were.

Then he remembered how, when they were still college students, he and his classmate Mikhail went on a school break to Dushanbe. Hard to believe, but an air ticket from Moscow to Tajikistan then cost less than a taxi fare today from Kazansky railway terminal to Borodin’s office. In sunny Dushanbe, Borodin for the first time saw how hardworking and hospitable Tajiks were. Their hosts did everything possible to please guests from Moscow, and at every occasion invited them to dastarkhan – to drink aromatic green tea or eat traditional Tajik pilaf with raisins. Their guide in Dushanbe was a local beauty named Aziza – round faced, with a long black braid and very unusual for a Tajik woman bright blue eye. She was a student at the School of Linguistics in Dushanbe University. Both Borodin and Misha fell for Aziza and in friendly rivalry kept trying to win her attention. One day, Aziza invited the Moscow guests to visit her grandfather, who lived in the village of Shorora near Dushanbe. Early in the summer morning, a dingy minibus started out on an arduous road through the mountains to the village. Shorora was located one hour from Dushanbe, at the foot of the mountain on the shores of a wide canal with clear water, running towards the big city. Floating in the sea of greenery and fruit trees, this kishlak looked like paradise on earth. With heavy bags filled with food in both hands, Mikhail and Andrei, pushing each other, hurried after empty-headed Aziza, trying to keep up with the briskly walking girl.

“Aziza, which of these houses is your grandfather’s?”

“That one, on the hill, with the green roof. I used to spend every weekend here. Now it became complicated, because my studies at the university take too much time. Guys, hurry up: my grandfather is over there, waiting for us at the gate!”

Aziza’s grandfather, in a traditional green robe and tubeteika, was standing at the wicket fence, leaning on his elm staff. Upon seeing his granddaughter, he spread his arms wide to give her a hug. Andrei and Mikhail noticed that the old man’s eyes were blue, like Aziza’s. They seemed to radiate joy, sincerity and some very special light, coming from the very depth of his heart. He opened the gate and invited the guests inside. Over a huge backyard, a net was stretched, braided with vines heavy with brunches of black and white grapes, filled with the liquid amber of southern sun. This grape canopy ended at the adobe house. From the ceiling of its terrace, several buckets with water were hanging. Aziza noticed the puzzled look on the young men’s faces and explained:

“It is customary in our kishlaks to hang buckets with water on terraces at night time – to protect the water from crawling insects and to let it cool down. In the morning, drinking this water, you become filled with the power of our mountains and freshness of our gardens.”

Aziza’s grandfather turned to Andrei and Mikhail and smiled.

“Well, my dear granddaughter, introduce me to your friends!”

The old man shook their hands.

“For my baby’s friends I am just ‘Grandfather Karim’. Let me walk you to my garden: the air is cooler there, near the aryk and you can also eat some fresh honey there.”

The garden was laid out right at the foot of the mountain. Apple, pear, and apricot trees grew in neat rows and their branches leaned down, heavy with the weight of amber-gold fruits. Colorful beehives on the crooked elm legs were scattered between the trees: swarms of bees swirled around them and flew away to the wild flowers that covered every inch of ground like a carpet. Moscovites were fascinated by the enchanting beauty of the morning in Gissar Valley. Grandfather Karim invited them to sit on a trestle-bed under the old sycamore tree that grew near the aryk and must have seen several generations of his ancestors. Aziza asked Mikhail to help her cut the roses that her grandfather had grown for her, and they went to the far end of the garden. Meanwhile, the old man treated Andrei to a traditional Tajik green tea, pouring it into blue piyalas with a complex Arabesque pattern. The aroma of this amazing drink floated in the morning air over the garden.

“In the old days, the Two-Horned Iskandar himself and his valiant warriors were conquered by the taste and aroma of our green tea,” said grandfather Karim, sitting on the trestle-bed.

“Grandfather Karim,” said Andrei, “I noticed that people in Central Asia speak of Alexander the Great with great respect, although he was an aggressor who conquered this land.”

Old man poured himself more tea and began his story:

“For many hundreds of years, legends of Iskandar’s victories have been passed down from generation to generation. His army invaded our lands, moving from northern India. It took Alexander’s troops only fifteen days to cross the eternally frozen Hindu Kush range. In the entire history of Mankind, only two military commanders succeeded in such a daring mountain crossing: Iskandar the Great and Alexander Suvorov, who led his troops in across the Alps from Persia. As fate willed, Iskandar’s campaign was stalled for two years here, in the mountains of Bacrtia and Sogdiana. As a memory of those times we have many blue-eyed people.”

Andrei thoroughly enjoyed the old man’s slow paced story. Sitting under the ancient sycamore tree he sipped green tea – the same green tea that Alexander the Great enjoyed centuries ago, breathing in the fresh morning air of rebellious Sogdiana.

He was in Germany in January of 1989 when one early morning he got a phone call from Mikhail.

“Andrew, something bad happened in my wife’s family. Do you remember her grandfather Karim: we visited him in his kishlak?”

“Of course, I do: I will never forget his stories about Iskandar the Two-Horn.”

“Three days ago there was a major earthquake in the Dushanbe area. The mudslide that followed destroyed his house and garden. The old man did not survive. Aziza is in Dushanbe now. Andrei, do you hear me? Andrei?!!”

Somewhere, somebody kept calling him by name, but all he could hear distinctly was old Karim’s voice in his head: “Tea, that was to the liking of Iskandar the Great… the Great…” Andrei came back to his senses and heard short beeps from the telephone receiver in his hand.

These reminiscences from his youth came to Borodin very often – especially when he saw hard-working Tajiks in Moscow.

Borodin

A sudden knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Before he could say, “Come in,” Elena Volkova, ‘mommy’, pushed the door open and stepped into his office, her eyeglasses sparkling from her impressive height.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked right away.

“First sit down.”

Damned bitch – interrupted my thought, Andrei cursed mentally and said out loud, “Yesterday I was at the reception in the Kremlin – they celebrated the coming 2010 year – and talked to our main ‘railroad man’ Yakunin.”

“Andrei, have you really called me just to tell how they party high above?”

“Of course, no! Sit down, relax and listen.”

She finally sat on a chair. Borodin sat opposite her and swiftly ran her eye over her. Look at her, he thought. She is well dressed. In a way, she looks sexy, but something is missing. Perhaps, my wife is right and Elena, indeed, needs a strong man who will satisfy her in bed. Women understand these things much better than men.

“So?” Elena interrupted his thoughts yet again.

“So, this is what I am telling you. Yakunin gave me a ‘friendly hint’, that there will be big changes in our capital city in the coming year.”

“And you believed him right away? Your ‘railroad man’ is blowing everything out of proportion: he just wants you to pay for the next ‘Sapsan’.”

“This poison tongue of yours! I’ve known you since 1993 – and you are still the same: nothing changes, except for your men.”

“Borodin, don’t meddle with my personal life. We can talk business, as much as you want and on any subject, but this – leave it alone.”

“Al right, all right – I won’t touch your precious husband, our ‘electrician/economist’. Back to Yakunin: on Medvedev’s personal order, he brought from Jerusalem the Holy Fire for Putin’s temple. And the ‘Chief’ asked him then, how would he like to sit on the Moscow throne in the coming year”.

“And he agreed?”

“Of course, he did not. He knows too well that Medvedev, with Putin’s tacit approval, is digging a pitfall for Luzhkov. The ‘Chief’ wants to kill two birds with one stone, replacing Luzhkov with Putin’s man.”

“You know, if the throne is really wobbling – then, perhaps, we should bail out,” Volkova said slowly, following with her eyes Borodin’s shoes, as he was pacing back and forth on the rug.

Andrei stopped pacing and turned to her.

“What’s with transfers to offshores?”

“I finished everything last week. If not for Alan’s help, I most likely would not have it done until the next year. His lawyers opened offshore accounts in the Virgin Islands, and the accounts of the Vickers Holding and Viney Overseas S.A. – in their EFG bank. The company is registered in the lawyer’s name, and you and I are beneficiaries on the accounts. Alan is great; he did a lot for us.”

“Lena, don’t you remember how much we did for him last year in Moscow? With our help Sibneft paid him back 18 billion ‘greenbacks’. Compared to that, his last favor to us is nothing.”

“Okay, just as you instructed, I transferred the Premier Estate’s money to the Vickers Holding and Viney Overseas S.L.: as of today, 582 million Swiss francs are on the accounts in the EFG bank.” Elena was sitting at his desk now, tapping her pen against a blue folder in front of her.

“That’s my girl! You are my perfect A-student! Everything is sorted out, organized, in its places. I knew who to put in charge! Thank you for this report. You may go now.”

Already at the door, Elena turned to Borodin.

“Borodin, and what about Dima Akulinin?”

“My Jewish grandfather used to say: ‘Never put all your eggs in one basket’. Let him use his own brain and hide his money.”

“All right, have it your way,” said Elena and thought, Sure: for your offensive operations you need the whole army, but when time comes to run – every man is for himself.

“Lena, here is what I want you to do: fly to Geneva, to Alan, and transfer all ‘greenbacks’ into stocks. This way it will be safer and easier later to pay with securities. Besides, our tax inspectors will never think of looking for dollars in stocks.”

“And I was going to borrow your jet anyway – to fly to Amsterdam with my family: we want to celebrate New Year’s Eve there. Also, while over there, I will sign a work contract with our ‘Dutchman’ – a Deed to the castle.”

“Sure, you may borrow it. Lena, is it true that this castle costs only 9.8 million euro? I checked out your ‘family nest’ online: it looks great! The website says that it also houses a huge collection of paintings from the seventeenth to the twentieth centuries, estimated at several million euros. Some Hermitage museum!”

“Come on, it’s just a tiny house in Holland – a long-time dream of mine.”

“Yeah, sure.” Borodin grinned sarcastically and continued, “Lena, Ambassador Kevorkyan highly recommended the ‘Dutchman’ to Luzhkov: he works with our menfrom the defense industry. You can trust him. Besides, the money will be transferred to him through our bank. When you are in Geneva, you can also visit your son there. How is Alexei, by the way?”

“He is doing fine, only gets lazy sometimes: I have to control him at a distance.”

“They all are like that at this age. And I am so impressed by you! You are raising him by yourself, without Furmanov’s help.”

“Andrei, but I have Igor!” Elena exclaimed.

“Your ‘electrician/economist’ does not care about anybody but Olenka and his parents!” Borodin suddenly got very nervous, to his own surprise.

“Oh, my God! Andrei, what’s gotten into you?” Elena blushed with embarrassment.

“If only your Igoryok found out that Olenka is not his daughter. I would love to look at his rat face then.”

“Borodin, enough: you’ve gone too far. We agreed that this subject is off-limits!”

Angered by his words, Elena stood at the door, clutching the blue folder.

“All right, I am sorry. Your husband just really pisses me off. I’m tired of waiting for him to become a man and get out from under your wing. Look, don’t forget to get travel insurance at the Bank of Moscow’s expense – for two million euros. I will help you cash it out later: it is my Christmas present to your family.”

“Mommy”

Volkova was walking down the labyrinth of hallways to her office, nodding her head in response to the greetings of the bank employees. Her thoughts were still back in Borodin’s office.

This cheapskate counts every penny of his own money. But if it’s the money of the bank – no problem, you can have it! Two million euros as a Christmas present! Two million – when I helped him to move billions to offshore accounts! Well, of course – I did not forget about my own interests then. Wait a minute, what did he say about paying with securities? Paying who, I wonder. All in good time, though: he will tell when it’s necessary.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a telephone vibration in the pocket of her jacket. She answered and heard Igor’s voice:

“Mommy, I’ve been calling you all morning – and you were not answering the phone. Your assistant told me that she did not know where you went.” Her husband sounded suspiciously cheerful.

“You can’t find your wife – and you are so happy?”

Several people were waiting for Elena in the reception area. She motioned to Marina, her assistant, letting her know that she would see everybody a little later, and proceeded to her office.

Meanwhile, Kravchenko continued: “Mommy, I have wonderful news! Kahn from Holland is expecting us this Friday. He has everything prepared. We will sign our work contract!”

“What about the deed?” Volkova interrupted him.

“Of course it is ready, too! I already told my secretary to book the tickets to Amsterdam.”

“Why are you always in such a hurry? How many times have I told you: talk to me before making any decisions,” grumbled ‘mommy’.

“But I was so happy: I did not believe until the very last moment that Stas could do it. This permanent residency in Holland – it was our one and only dream for the last five years!”

“Cancel your booking. I have seen Borodin just now and he is letting us use his personal jet. This way we will be able to bring with us more things for our new house.”

“Are you saying that you will be doing business on this trip? And here our family holidays go down the drain,” Kravchenko said angrily.

“Igoryok, don’t be mad at me. I will explain everything when I get back home. Everything is much better than you think. Besides, Andrei has a Christmas gift for us: two million euros – at the bank’s expense, however. All right, I have to go, there are people waiting for me. I’ll see you in the country house. Bye!”

A Mercedes Gelandewagen, with a roof-mounted blue beacon light, flew down the M7 highway towards Balashikha, exceeding all speed limits. Moscow, with its traffic jams, was left behind.

“Vanya, let’s stop in Balashikha: I completely forgot that Olenka asked me to buy her glue and construction paper,” Volkova, who had been dozing off on the back seat and just woke up, said sleepily.

“Don’t you worry, Elena Nikolayevna, both glue and paper are in the trunk. Olya’s nanny called during lunch and told us what to buy.”

“Ivan, how many times should I tell you that your job is to provide security for me and my daughter? And Vladimir’s job is to drive this car. And yet, you both keep taking care of my household chores,” Elena grumbled, wiping her glasses.

“Elena Nikolayevna, you sometimes don’t even have time for lunch; meanwhile Vladimir and I are always happy to help your family,” Ivan explained apologetically, speaking for himself and the driver.

“Well, since you disobeyed me, we will go directly to the country house.”

Elena leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes again.

February 2010. Amsterdam.

At 10 am sharp, Elena, with her husband and daughter Olenka, showed up in Kahn’s office. Svetlana scurried around the guests.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked, addressing all of them.

“Black tea, please,” Elena answered for all of them.

“I am so sorry that you have to wait, but Mr. Kahn will be here any minute: he is on his way from the airport. Meanwhile, you can have a look at his ‘museum of ships’. It is our boss’s private collection: he started it ten years ago,” Svetlana offered.

“Don’t worry,” said Elena, “the time of our meeting is 10:30, we came early.”

They, indeed, wanted to see the office: they heard a lot about Kahn’s collection.

“Is your boss somehow connected to the sea?” Igor asked, sipping a strong black tea.

“As far as I know, he had something to do with the navy,” Svetlana said evasively.

The guests were admiring the numerous ship models when Stas came into the office, accompanied by his driver – a short, athletic man in his 40s. He greeted his visitors and said, getting comfortable in his chair:

“Please forgive me that I could not welcome you in my office when you came here. I just arrived from Dubai.”

“It’s us who must apologize: we insisted on this meeting today.” Elena was already sitting opposite of Khan and she motioned to her husband to sit next to her.

“Mr. Kahn, would you like some tea?” Svetlana asked from the kitchen.

“Svetlana, get me a glass of water, please. And don’t let anybody in,” said Stas and turned to ‘mommy’.

“So, Elena Nikolayevna, how do you like your new place?”

“Everything is great, thank you very much. We are settling in little by little, but now we need help with some home improvements.”

“Of course: anything you need.”

“We would like to start with our park. There are several century old oak-trees there. Two of them are dead. We want to replace them with identical ones or at least those similar in height and age,” Elena said, smiling.

“But you have to be prepared that such a replacement will be very expensive.” Kahn hoped that the high price of this crazy idea would stop Elena.

“Stas, we are not poor and I always fulfill all of my wife’s wishes,” Igor said, interfering.

Sure, at your wife’s expense you can fulfill all her wishes, thought Kahn and said, “All right then. Vasily, your manager, will take care of this matter and your oak trees will be replaced.”

“Thank you, Stas. Let’s get to the second question, then. As you know, we have two fountains in our park. We want to have the main one, in the very center of the park, reconstructed and surrounded with sculptures.”

“Elena Nikolayevna, I received your file with the drafts of new fountain.” Stas turned his computer’s monitor on.

“These are, indeed, our drafts!” exclaimed Kravchenko, very surprised, “But now they are formatted and look much better!”

“Igor, when I was in Dubai, I gave your drafts to my architects. They worked on them and offered this variant for your park. The sculptures’ casting will be done by Chinese specialists.” Kahn passed ‘mommy’ the estimates, prepared by the Chinese company.

“Stas, this is exactly what we had in mind! Go ahead and place the order!” Elena said with enthusiasm.

“Igor, Elena, no need to hurry: take these documents home, check all the calculations. According to these estimates, the total cost of your order will not be just one or two thousands of US dollars, but – here, you see? 254 thousand US dollars, not including shipment. Meanwhile, every sculpture is two meters tall, and they weigh a lot.”

“You will have to order a special charter flight from China to Amsterdam.” Kahn was trying to cool down their enthusiasm.

“Stas, our mommy really likes your draft for our fountain. Isn’t that so, my darling?”

“Igor is right. I am very much impressed with it and I am even more impressed with your efficiency. Please, start the order. You will have to discuss all payment details with Igor, because I am going back to Moscow in three days: I must be at work. Igor and Olenka will stay in Holland and Alyosha – in Geneva.”

Kahn stepped out of the office to walk his guests to their car. The day was damp and overcast.

Getting into his brand-new Mercedes, Igor asked Kahn:

“Stas, can we meet after Elena Nikolayevna leaves?”

“Igor, you can call me at any time and come to my office without a special invitation. I think that our Justice Department will issue your immigration papers within the next two months. I already ordered the desks to our office – for you and Elena Nikolayevna.”

“Thank you! This is good news. See you soon!”

The Mercedes smoothly pulled out of the parking lot.

Svetlana placed on Kahn’s desk the preliminary 2009 fiscal year balance sheet. He could not hide his surprise.

“Sveta, you are done already? How on Earth do you manage it?”

“It only feels fast for you, because you are always away on your business trips. I want to warn you: this ‘sweet couple’ – Volkova and Kravchenko – will give you a lot of headaches. I know very well that you received a kennismigrant permit for your friends – but now you have to give it to these Russians. You should at least run a background check: what kind of people have so much money?”

“Thank you for your concern, my dear. I understand that you worry about me and our company. But, you see, – very powerful people in the Netherlands asked me to assist this family in settling down here.”

Having said that, Kahn left the office.

Moscow Routine

July, 2010. Moscow

The intercom on the desk came to life:

“Igor Vladimirovich, the Head of Security is here.”

“Let him in.” Kravchenko shook off his drowsiness and adjusted his glasses.

A tall, dark-haired man in his 50s, with a military bearing, came into the office. The collar of his crisp white shirt was starched so stiffly, it seemed to squeak with every move of his balding head. His dark blue suit fitted him like a glove: he looked like a model on Ydashkin’s runway.

“Good morning, Igor Vladimirovich.”

“Good morning – if it is good, indeed,” answered Kravchenko his ‘special agent’s’ greeting. “Come on, Sergei Kondratyevich, sit closer to me. How was your fishing trip?” Igor poured water from a carafe for himself and his visitor.

“It was great! We were at the pounds in Khimki: caught three four-pound breams and four pikes. Overall, it was a good weekend. What about you, Igor? Have you just arrived from Holland? Aren’t you tired of travelling back and forth?”

“Not really: I am getting used to life in Europe. Climate is great. Olenka loves it there. She is always cheerful, eats very well and has a lot of new friends.”

“I am happy for you and your family. Lena also needs a quiet life: she deserves it. Well, I am here with some information on your request.”

Kravchenko impatiently fidgeted in his chair.

“Right, right, let me see what your ‘Bureau’ managed to dig up.”

“That’s the problem: not much at all. I am in reserve, so I don’t have access to all the information. I can only use my old connections.”

“Which is also good: an old friend is better than two new ones.”

“Well, here it is. Mr. Kahn was in the military service in the Polish Navy. He retired in 1999, while teaching in the Naval Academy in Gdynia. Today he is a very successful businessman, with operations both in Europe and Asia. Basically, that’s it.”

“You are right: it’s not much at all. I heard that he is somehow related to our defense industry.” Kravchenko was trying to squeeze at least something else out of his Head of Security.

“It turned out that in 2005, in Germany, he met Yusufov Jr. Since then, they often crossed paths in different parts of the world. They keep in touch through someone from our ‘Bureau’ named Nikita: I am not sure, though, that it’s his real name. Not long ago, Vitaly Yusufov, together with the Russian Federation’s Ministry of Defense, established Osnova Telecom. Borodin lent money to this company – under the pretense of giving to the re-armament program – in the amount of 1.13 billion dollars. However, he never discussed the kickback with the Mayor Luzhkov. This is all the information that I have.” The Head of Security spread his hands apologetically.

“Well, Sergei, this is quite enough. Thank you, now I know at least something about Kahn and feel much better.”

“I am glad to be of help to you. So – are you turning over your duties here?” asked Sergei.

“Yes, we received documents for permanent residency in Holland last week,” Kravchenko answered joyfully.

“How will you work there – without language?” asked Sergei ruefully.

“But I am working already – in a Dutch company. Mr. Kahn took care of everything. Elena will work there too when she finalizes everything in her bank. That’s how business is done in the West, my brother!” Igor laughed and patted Sergei on the back.

* * *

October 2010. Moscow

It was warm and cozy near the fireplace in the living room. Servants moved around soundlessly with glasses of wine on the trays. Elena motioned to Kravchenko, letting him know that she wanted to be alone with Andrei. Igor understood that it was, probably, their last chance to talk without wiretapping. Only inner circle people were invited to Borodin’s country mansion on that autumn evening.

Through the glass of wine in her hand Elena was staring at the flames of fire, waiting for the answer to the question she had asked.

“Lena, you know very well that Luzhkov’s dismissal substantially limited my capabilities.” Borodin was drumming his fingers on the table next to his chair. Over the years of working with him, Volkova learned all his habits: she knew that such “finger drumming” was a sign of acute anxiety.

“Borodin, I am ordered to show up in Zhukovsky Municipal Court in two weeks. I think it is to your best interest that my case is dismissed at the first hearing,” she said calmly, sipping on her glass of red wine.

“I am using all my connections; I even acquired your case number,” Borodin took a small notebook out of his pocket. “Here, look: 33-18939/2010. Go to the court and don’t worry: I will take care of everything.”

“You better do, because if something goes wrong in court, I cannot guarantee anything.” Elena put the half-finished glass on the coffee table.

“Lena, you are my ‘overseas treasurer’: only you know where our offshores money is, and ‘the keys to all the vaults’ are hidden in your cleavage. Do I look like an idiot who wants to cut his own throat?” Saying that, Andrei almost believed his own words. But right away he thought: At the Supervisory Council meeting on February 28 of 2011, I am going to support Andrey Kostin when he proposes to exclude her from the Council. After that, she will resign swiftly. Let her sit overseas and guard the hard-earned money.

“It looks like your ‘railroad man’ was right: the ‘Chief’ has a stranglehold on Luzhkov,” Elena said, “It is very likely that our Bank of Moscow is next in line.”

“Lena, stop predicting disaster: all of this is already sickening as it is. We’ve been in difficult situations before and we always came out clean. We should not lose our heads! So what – there will be yet another court hearing. Don’t you remember how many audits and court hearings we have had through the years?”

“True. But then we had Baturina and Luzhkov watching our backs, and now we have nobody, but we are facing Medvedev himself – so there is big difference.” Elena shrugged nervously, wrapping a white shawl around her shoulders.

“Nothing changes in Mother Russia: everything goes in circles, only with different players. The old tsar gets replaced by the new one, with his own oprichniks, and his one and only goal is to grab as much as possible, to stuff his pockets within the short time in power his fate has given him.”

Borodin took another glass of wine, brought by a soundless servant and continued:

“On Monday I will come back from London. At 11:00 in the morning, be in my office with your lawyers. We will be preparing you for the court hearing.”

* * *

April, 2011 Amsterdam

Svetlana picked up the phone:

“Good morning…Mr. Kahn is in the office, but he is in a meeting with clients right now. I think he will be available in 30 minutes…Of course, I will let him know.”

The caller on the other end of the line disconnected.

At 11:25, Stas dialed Volkova’s number.

“Good morning, Elena Nikolayevna. I am returning your call.”

“Mr. Kahn, could you come to our place: we have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

By the tone of her voice Stas understood that something serious had happened.

“Of course. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

Holland

The living room in Volkova’s castle made one think of a throne room in the Louvre. A huge wrought iron chandelier was hanging from a fifteen-meters-high ceiling. The walls were covered with paintings in gilded frames. Lush furniture was aimed to testify to the castle owners’ wealth. The family already finished renovations and replaced part of the furniture. But the truth of the matter was that these renovations and this furniture testified to one thing only – namely, the Soviet-era tastes of the castle owners. Kahn was mostly astonished by the white slippers he was asked to put on at the entrance. They had the words “Hotel Evropa” embroidered on them. “Let Dunka go to Europe!” – indeed, thought Kahn.

“Stas, let’s have some tea,” Igor said.

“Sure, I would love a cup of black Russian tea with a slice of Spanish lemon.”

“Stas, do you mind that we call you by your first name, informally? And, by the way, why did you say that the tea is Russian and the lemon – Spanish?” asked Elena, sitting at the coffee table with her laptop computer.

“Lena, it was Stas who suggested that we called him by name, omitting ‘Mister’,” Igor answered for Kahn.

“Igor is right, I even prefer to be called just Kahn. And about the tea – when I was here last time, Igor offered me Russia-style tea and I thought then that you brought here some special tea from Russia. As to lemons – they are mostly imported here from Spain. Foreigners think that Holland exports lemons, when in fact it imports them. All the lemons here are Spanish.”

The hosts laughed heartily, and Elena even had tears in her eyes. When she finally stopped laughing, she said:

“Stas, Russians just make tea in a special tea pot and then drink this brew with hot water, while in Europe, people mostly drink bagged tea. That’s what Igor meant when he offered you tea in Russian style. In fact, Ceylon tea is considered the best in Russia. And, indeed, we brought it here with us.”

“Thank you, now I will know the difference between Russian and European teas.”

“Have you been here after the remodeling?”

“No, and I am amazed that within such short time you managed to have it all done and replaced the furniture on top of that. As far as I know, it’s very difficult to buy antique furniture in Holland.”

“All this is because of our mommy,” said Kravchenko with adoration in his voice.

One didn’t need to be a psychic to see through the man of the house very clearly. Behind his degraded groveling, under this mask that he, perhaps took off only when he was alone with his reflection in the mirror, he was hiding fear of his beloved wife. So “beloved” that they even slept in different bedrooms. Poor Igoryok: sycophancy must have been in his blood. Perhaps, he was bullied a lot as a child.

Elena again took the initiative in her own hands:

“Stas, I came here to stay. I quit my job in Moscow, although they did not want to let me go. Now, at last, I can spend time with my family. I agree with you completely when you say that for the next two years Igor and I must learn the Dutch language and invest all of our time into Olenka.”

Kahn knew that they invited him here so urgently not to discuss household issues: one look at the extremely nervous Kravchenko was enough to have no doubts about that.

“Indeed, Elena Nikolayevna, I am absolutely sure that you and Igor must fully immerse yourselves in intensive language studies, and also be registered as my employees, so that you can get you salaries and pension fund deductions. As to all your household matters – they will be taken care of by my people. We discussed it with Igor in all details. Am I right, Igor Vladimirovich?”

“You definitely are. Moreover, Lena, Kahn’s company will pay salaries to our household staff and cover all expenses related to my Mercedes!” Igor was so excited, that the lenses of his glasses seemed to fog up. “Can you believe it, Lena – we don’t need to take cash here from Moscow anymore: and all the procedures we have to go through to do that could give anybody a heart attack! There are no words to express our gratitude, my dear Kahn.”

Elena interrupted her husband’s happy chirping, saying:

“Stas, you understand, of course, that we asked you to come over for a very different reason. The thing is, tomorrow my boss will arrive at the Schiphol airport in his private jet. He will be in Amsterdam for three hours and he wants to see me in our house.”

She is some kind of ‘iron lady’! I can feel that she is more nervous than her husband, but her demeanor is so calm! Stas thought, looking at Elena.

“I don’t see any reasons to worry. If he needs to be here, we’ll arrange everything up to par.”

“You are right, everything must be done up to par. But the problem is in security services: my boss requires security guards, preferably Dutch professionals.” Now Kahn could hear tension in her voice. He was taken aback by her request, but he said very calmly:

“My dear friends, in the country where ministers ride their bikes to the office and only the prime minister uses a car, but without security, it will be very difficult to arrange within twenty four hours security guards for a foreigner, who comes here for a private visit.”

The silence that followed his words was so absolute that it seemed that time stopped. Kahn could hear a telephone, ringing somewhere on the far end of the house. Finally, Elena got up from her chair, came to the window and said:

“Stas, we need to think of something. Aside from everything else, not a living soul knows about my boss’s visit to Amsterdam. There must be some solution in this situation.”

“There is only one solution in this situation,” Kahn said. Igor and Elena sat again across from him, ready to listen.

“Go ahead, tell us.” Igor was very tense, even turning pale in the face.

“I will arrange for you to meet with him in the transit zone: they have a conference room there.”

“Is it safe?” Elena asked.

“I think it is. The transit zone is guarded by police and border patrol, and all the passengers inside the zone are put through several security checks and definitely don’t have any explosives or toxic substances on them.”

“You are just great! I knew that you will find a way out. Thank you, Stas!” There was obvious relief in Volkova’s eyes.

The VIP-area in Schiphol airport was located in the very far end of the airfield. After they followed certain formalities, the airport security let Kahn’s limousine through. In its back seat, Elena was talking with Kravchenko.

“I think he won’t be by himself, but with his family. My gut tells me that this flight to London is a one-way trip for him.”

“Perhaps, it’s in our interests. Try not to give him too much information about Holland: we don’t need his Moscow problems here,” Kravchenko instructed Elena, getting out of the car.

Spring in Amsterdam was in full force. The air was filled with the aroma of Dutch tulips that grew in all the fields near the airport and in the little gardens of toy-like houses. This air was so clean and fresh, that they wanted to take such deep breaths that their lungs became filled with it completely. A flock of swans, wintering in warm Holland, flew low above their heads, calling to one another.

“Igor, do you realize that this is our first spring in Holland as permanent residents!” Elena exclaimed joyfully, “The air is so fresh! I even don’t want to go inside.”

But a steward had been already holding a glass for them, inviting them into the VIP-area.

As soon as they came in, they saw Borodin, who was, as usual, looking flawless in a grey Hugo Boss suit, a shirt of his favorite blue color and a matching tie. One would never say that he just had a three hour flight from Moscow. He warmly greeted Elena and only after that, through his teeth said hello to Kravchenko.

“I was hoping to see your castle, and instead we are sitting in the transit zone of the airport. I see – you are just afraid to show me your purchase,” Andrei said jokingly and turned to Igor. “Kravchenko, you are just shining! Idle life becomes you! I am so jealous of people who can so easily switch into sleep-eat-rest mode.” Andrei’s tone was very sarcastic. He invited everybody to sit down, but immediately leaned close to Igor’s ear and whispered:

“Kravchenko, I would like to discuss our business with Lena one-on-one, without witnesses, all right? I’m sure you must be bored to death with our ‘bank talks’. Besides, you are retired now and should enjoy your well-deserved rest.”

“I am of the same opinion: it was Lena’s idea, she practically dragged me here,” Kravchenko said, blushing, in an attempt to blame this awkward situation on his wife. Luckily for him, Elena was busy at that moment, taking a cup of tea from her server. Borodin walked Igor to the door and patted him on the shoulder:

“I am glad that you understand.”

Andrei returned to the sofa, sat down opposite Elena and took a deep breath. The events of the last few months left him terribly exhausted. Investigation Department, Prosecutor’s Office, FSB – everything piled up around him at once. He understood way too well that now, pushed in the back by the winds of Fate, he was running to the West like a tumbleweed in the desert. And only Fate, this ruthless god, knew on which barchan the tumbleweed might stop. He remembered how in the beginning of the 90s, he visited Germany for the first time. Those were the years of great expectations and a great desire to live and work in the West at any cost, although at that time, he was as poor as a church mouse. And now – he is headed to London, world bank vaults are stuffed with the money he made throughout the years by the sweat of his brow – and thanks to luck, his uncle, his connections in the highest circles of power and, of course, his own analytical brain. I am one of the richest people on the planet, thought Borodin, Why then am I so unhappy about this flight in my own jet to Britain, where I will have everything – except a small backyard in Moscow, where I spent my childhood and youth…except my motherland. Borodin sighed heavily and shook his head, as if getting himself back to reality.

“I hope now you understand, Lena, why you were excluded from the February meeting of the Supervisory Council? This allowed you to leave to abroad ‘squeaky clean’.”

“I won’t lie to you: I was very mad at you at first. But later – when I was already here, in Holland, and over there they started hate campaign against Dima and you – I understood your plan. But anyways, Andrei, you are using me for your own purposes: Kravchenko gives me hard time for it every day.”

Elena felt that she finally could let out all those bitter emotions that were boiling over in her during the last two months. But she immediately noticed how Borodin’s face changed quickly: now she could read pure rage in his dark gray eyes under light eyebrows. In such moments, all those close to him knew that even though he might look calm and listening, it was a deceptive calmness, and that he could burst into flames at any moment. With his eyes glued to her face, he began talking through clenched teeth.

“Have you finished? Now listen to me. You beloved hubby must pray for me in all the churches because thanks to me, he is not only living abroad now, but also owns a castle. If I remember history well, Peter the Great, when visited Holland, lived in a blacksmith’s hovel. As to using you for my own purposes – please don’t forget, dear Elena Nikolayevna, what percentage you received from my billion dollars transfers: tens of millions in greenback currency ended up on your offshore accounts. Through all these years, Akulinin and I kept doing all the dirty work, while you, with your pretty hands clean, kept receiving your interest. From October of 2010 to March of 2011, Dima had been putting his signature on securities transfers to your offshore account, and all that time, you remained standing on the sidelines – and getting your share in full.” Borodin stopped his angry monologue to have a drink of water.

Elena knew how to put a halt to this verbal flow: she had heard a lot of them from Andrei through the years.

“Of course you are right,” she said softly, “but, there was no need to bring everything on the agenda, especially in such a hurry. However, I think you came to the country of tulips not to discuss this.”

Andrei wanted to say more but stopped, as if he tripped on something. His angry thoughts and words seemed to fly away into thin air, and within seconds he was back to his normal self: Andrei Borodin who could keep his cool in any circumstances.

“Lena, I am sorry. It’s just – everybody lately wants a part of my money and it really pisses me off.”

Elena reacted immediately:

“So, sources of mass media don’t lie when they say that you and Alaluev sold your shares in Bank of Moscow to Yusufov Jr.?”

“I think it’s a half-lie,” Andrei said, sipping coffee.

Elena was at a loss. Only a Russian can say ‘he half-lied,’ she thought with a grin. She quickly glanced at her watch and realized with astonishment that a whole hour had passed since Andrei’s arrival.

“I analyzed all the events of the past year, and came to the conclusion that the decision to sell the shares of Bank of Moscow was already reached in the fall of last year. It was made on the highest level – by the duet in which President Dmitry Medvedev plays the leading role. And it was put into action by the Chairman of the VTB bank’s Management Board, Andrey Kostin, and Igor Yusufov. Behind all this was a political decision to confiscate my shares from the Bank of Moscow. This could happen only in Russia – with its political climate, fertile for corruption and insubordination and with a very specific mentality of its people.”

“Andrei, there were times when you, together with Luzhkov and Baturina, used the same methods. And now, on the sidelines, you are outraged and make comments against those in power in your interviews with journalists. Let’s be honest: since 2001, the scheme, developed by Dima Akulinin and myself with the Luzhkov and Baturina’s approval, allowed us to pump several billion dollars in cash and securities over to the offshore accounts. How many times had Dmitry asked you to stop, to move overseas, before it was too late? It’s impossible to take everything with you, and anyway – we have more money than we can spend in our lifetime. We have too much money!”

“There is no such thing as too much money. You better recall December of 2010, when the Investigative Committee carried on a five-hour search in our bank. Three of those hours their general spent in my office, drinking coffee with me. Three hours – that’s all I needed to transfer forty five million bucks to the offshore account, while having a small talk with the general. Of course, I had to shell out a large amount of money for these three hours of coffee drinking. After the search, Kostin and Yusufov showed up in the bank and offered Live Alaluyev and me to sell our shares in the Bank of Moscow. Since we first met, Igor Yusufov repeatedly told me that he acted on the personal instructions of President Dmitry Medvedev. You see, even the president of such a huge empire can run out of dough.”

Elena looked outraged:

“And you believed Mr. Yusufov so easily?”

“At that time, Igor Yusufov was a Special Envoy of the Russian President. He had a mandate from Dmitry Medvedev for the acquisition of the Bank of Moscow’s shares. Kostin confirmed Igor’s authority, vested in him by the President.”

“And you found those arguments convincing enough?” Volkova was not ready to give up.

“Yusufov’s very diverse business activities confirmed his President-given powers. Igor did not even try to hide that Medvedev was getting part of profits and assets and that he was one of the people authorized to take care of the assets the President had interest in. Yusufov was Medvedev’s ‘Royal treasurer’: his role was similar to those that Abramovich and Prokhorov play for Putin. We all remember all those major enterprises, where Yusufov carried out the young president’s will: 4G Mobile Broadcast, Osnova Telekom, Uralkali. The ‘treasurer’ himself once told me how, for a very high fee, he arranges meetings with Dmitry Medvedev for certain people.”

“Andrei, but isn’t Yusufov welcomed in the offices of many high-rank officials, and not only the president?” Volkova asked.

“It’s true, but Igor himself told me on many occasions: ‘We are creating for our “young man” his future financial empire.’ He talked about President Medvedev then.”

Borodin looked at the clock on the wall: it was 11:45.

“We don’t have much time left. I think – and I hope – that this trip of mine is one-way only. Next week, my Moscow lawyer will hand to Yusufov’s son the agreement on selling my shares in the Bank of Moscow. Before I left, I had discussed with Igor Yusufov all terms and prices.”

Elena was surprised:

“Why is Yusufov Jr. buying our bank’s shares?”

From the expression on Andrei’s face, she understood that he did not like answering this question.

“In the fall last year, Vitaly Yusufov approached me through the Ministry of Defense with the request to finance drone project. However, by that time, I already knew from certain people close to the president that Medvedev gave personal instructions to Yusufov Sr. to head the Bank of Moscow temporarily.”

“And it did not bother you that father and son would be on the same team?” Elena asked.

“On the contrary, it’s in my best interests. Igor is a perfect functionary, but first and foremost, he is a talented businessman who has a very clear understanding of the current situation. He introduced Vitaly to Gazprom and later – to Nord Stream, when his son just turned 22. Yusufov Jr. has a vast and successful experience in business. That’s why – for the time being – I want to be on his side of the barricade.”

“Still, you were taking a big risk.”

“My darling, sometimes risks justify hopes. Only, one should take risks with a cold heart and a fierce mind. Vitaly asked for 1.1 billion dollars, but I knew that the major part of that amount will be used to purchase my stocks in the Bank of Moscow. That’s why I made a deal with Yusufov Jr. Before I left to London, we had agreed on the price of my shares.”

“And this deal will be signed by your lawyer, in your absence.”

“Most likely so. For everybody back there, I am in London for medical reasons. But I think that I should not return – at least for a while. After Vitaly transfers the payment for my shares to Switzerland, I will let you know how much to allocate with our system, and where to.” Borodin got up and they said their goodbyes.

Standing at the window, Elena watched Borodin who, accompanied by the airport security, walked to the limousine that would transport him to the jet where his wife Tatiana was waiting for him. Three hours with him felt like three minutes, but in that short time, a huge part of her life flashed before her eyes. It was her life in the Bank of Moscow: she, a “straight-A student,” and Andrei Borodin participated in its foundation and used to have control over it. For the first time ever, Volkova talked like that with her boss: life in Holland made her self-confident. Then and there, in the Schiphol airport, she realized that now she would follow her own path in life – of course, having sent Andrei’s share to his accounts first, as he wanted. Through the Bank of Moscow we milked Russia to the maximum, she thought. And now it’s time to spend what we have milked and live for ourselves! We all have only one way – as far as possible to the west!

* * *

October, 2011. Switzerland

Kahn walked down the Embankment in Montreux. In this time of the year, the water in Lake Geneva was an amazing turquoise color that changed to dark green near the shores. It was a warm and sunny morning and Kahn was enjoying a slight fresh breeze on his face. Elderly couples were strolling along the waterfront, greeting each other politely when they met. Montreux is a comparatively young town. Its history goes back to the 18th century, to a small village with the same name, its population mainly occupied with fishing and wine-making. Within the last ten years, Montreux became one of the most popular resorts in Europe. The climate here differs from the rest of Switzerland: visitors will never see this place covered in snow, because the average winter temperature here is +3 °C. Tall mountains protect Montreux on three sides against cold winds – hence its unique weather. Stas reached Hotel Fairmont Le Montreux Palace. Built in 1906, this hotel was considered to be a jewel of the Belle Époque architectural style. In front of the hotel he saw Nikita’s Pullman limousine and the Mercedes with his security guards. This time, Nikita was a receiving host.

Kahn liked this hotel with its calm, relaxing atmosphere. One year before, in fall, he was invited to the jazz festival in Montreux and he stayed then in this very hotel. Nikita was waiting for him at the door: apparently, his security told him about Kahn’s arrival. From his impressive height, he clumsily stretched out his hand for a handshake.

“Mr. Kahn, I arranged for us to meet in Montreux because I know that you love jazz. I even received information that you often come here for the annual jazz festival.”

Kahn was glad to shake Nikita’s huge hand.

“That would be an exaggeration: last year, I was at this festival for the first time. I have to say, it was something unforgettable. One should be here to feel the mood and the atmosphere of this amazing event. By the way, Nikita, you are a big fan of jazz music as well.”

Nikita looked very surprised.

“How can you possibly know? We never talked about it at our meetings. And, as far as I know, you do not have contacts with my friends.”

“It’s true, but occasionally I fly by your jet and some of our meetings were on board of your yacht. And every time I could hear in the background an excellent mix of jazz compositions. One does not have to be a psychic here to recognize your taste in music. And I would like to point out that all the mixes I have heard so far were really great: tasteful and professional!”

“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Kahn – I am really flattered.”

It was very cozy in the room: a perfect place for a friendly conversation with morning tea.

“Stas, the drones’ testing was a success: the State Committee approved them after the very first demonstration. It’s a huge thing for Institute No.7. All of the specialists there know about your input in this project.”

“Nikita, I am a businessman now and – alas! – do not find my participation in such matters to be of any particular importance. At the very moment, when I took my first step on my ‘Business Path’, I automatically became a volunteer in your Institute No. 7. Unfortunately, I have to admit that a businessman is like an expensive prostitute: his interests are always with the highest bidder.”

“But aren’t you proud that thanks to your participation in this project, Russian drones will be unparalleled in the world in terms of flight range, endurance and self-containment?”

“No, not really. I am only interested in the financial aspect of the matter and in my own peace of mind. I need to be sure that I do not participate in creating weapons that will be used by your country on a global scale.”

“But I warned you that these drones will be used not only in the national economy, but also in the Russian defense system.”

“Yes, Nikita, you are absolutely right. But I also know that the army will be able to use themfor intelligence purposes only. As much as one would like it, they cannot be used in offensive operations. You know very well that very different specifications are required for that. Besides, you already have in service combat drones based on Yakovlev-40.”

“So, that’s why you agreed to help us in development of these drones?” Nikita said, taking a second cup of coffee from a server.

“Yes, I knew that with the engines that I bought for you in the USA, your specialists would be only able to design drones for reconnaissance flights.”

“Well, Mr. Kahn, I agree with you. My objective today is to summarize our standing with drones and to pay you for the last five projects,” Nikita said, turning the conversation back on track. “My management apologizes for the delays in money transfers throughout the last months and is ready to pay late fees. I am sure that nothing of this kind will happen again. We appreciate the fact that you paid for the microchips for the drones with your own money.”

“I had neither time nor choice, so I transferred 3.5 million dollars from Dubai. Otherwise, we would have to pay a penalty. Nikita, we have been working together for at least two years and I have no reasons to doubt your ‘Bureau’s’ credit strength. No worries at all!” In fact, Stas even liked it that Nikita’s “Bureau” now owed him for the last job and for the new credit.

“For this particular reason my management wanted us to meet in Switzerland as soon as possible. Stas, in the beginning of this year our ‘Bureau’, through its representative Vitaly Yusufov, took out a loan for this program from the Bank of Moscow. Andrei Borodin himself provided assistance in getting this loan on the very last day of his ‘reign’ in this bank. Part of the loan money went back to Borodin – for his shares in the Bank of Moscow – and the rest was transferred to Andrei’s offshore account until the ‘right moment’. Recently, ‘Bureau’ Management decided that this moment has come. That’s why we asked you to come here from Jakarta so urgently.”

“Nikita, I really don’t need this money right now. I will say it again: I have no reasons to doubt your ‘Bureau’s’ credit strength. You could just send me this money in the next transfer, when you pay for the ‘space mirrors’. And there would be no need for me to interrupt my trip to Indonesia.”

To his surprise, Kahn noticed that Nikita was very tense: it had never happened with him before.

“By the way, speaking of ‘space mirrors’,” Nikita said. “Do you know that in the 80s, there was a professor Lanskoy in the Moscow University who worked on this particular project? However, the Soviet scientific community underestimated the importance of his work, or, perhaps, some ‘dinosaur’ among the academicians just put this project on the shelf out of pure jealousy. In the beginning of the 90s, Lanskoy, angry with all Soviet scientists, left to the Netherlands, to work in Delft University. The Dutch acknowledged right away the importance of mirrors moving in space for world science. They made Lanskoy a professor, put him at the head of the University’s department, allocated enormous funds for his research, and – had the mirrors patented in Holland. And now we, Russians, have to buy these mirrors, invented by one of our scientists, for our satellites. Russia generates brains for the West to acquire. One mistake, made by a stupid academician, costs our country millions of dollars and such things always happened and always will happen in our Mother-Russia!”

Stas was listening to Nikita with attention: he always enjoyed their conversations. I wonder what his rank is? he thought suddenly. I bet not less than a Major General.

“Nikita, this is really very interesting, but let’s gets down to business. You are an army man, so don’t sugarcoat anything. I am ready to listen.”

“You are right, down to business. Regarding the mirrors: finally this project’s funding was approved for your company.”

“This is great! But, Nikita, why do you sound so morose?” Kahn said.

“I came here by the request of Vitaly Yusufov to pick up from Borodin the money that he is holding for your projects. They are pressuring us from above, perhaps because of the political situation near the Arab lands: the arms race is starting again. Today, Russia is one of the leaders in arms sales in the world.”

“But Nikita, you must be proud for your Motherland! Here, in the West, we do not have analogues to your ‘Topol-M’ and ‘Satan’, we won’t have airplanes of the 5th generation for 15 or 20 more years, and our armed vehicles are at least ten years behind yours. Only Russia has all this today,” Kahn said with a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Yes, but I keep trying to soothe my conscience, to convince myself that we are being forced by the West, with USA at the head, to participate in this arms race, to allocate enormous budgets for the defense industry…Please forgive me for, perhaps, being too sentimental today. Back to business! On October 10, the Money Laundering Reporting Office of Switzerland, MROS, carried out an operation that allowed them to find and arrest 420 million francs. This money was deposited to offshore accounts in several local banks. Money transfers were made by Mr. Borodin’s ‘shadow treasurer’ Elena Volkova. The Swiss Attorney General's office has begun criminal proceedings against the former President of the Bank of Moscow. This information appeared in mass media, and in my opinion, it is nothing but a spoof story with the purpose of making Borodin nervous so that he will disclose his banks in Switzerland. This method was widely used in Stalin’s times: that’s how they made Trotsky disclose the locations of his safe houses.”

“I think that each person has an idea, which of the ‘boomerangs’ he throws may come back years later. If the script is written by God, we have no other choice but to play it. So, if I understood you correctly, Nikita, you are disappointed with the actions of your General Prosecutor’s office?”

“Not exactly. I am much more disappointed with the actions of Vitaly Yusufov, who trusted Andrei Borodin with the money allocated for defense projects – money that is now here, in Switzerland,” Nikita explained. “Yesterday, I was supposed to have a meeting with Mr. Borodin, but he sent his lawyer Mikhail Dolomanov instead. Mr. Dolomanov brought instructions from Borodin, according to which the financing will be done using plan ‘B’. Volkova and Kravchenko will contact you about it very soon.” Nikita asked the server to bring him the third cup of coffee. “By the way, how are they doing? Do they bother you too much with their problems?”

“Not really, everything is going according to the plan. They got their immigration papers, both are registered as my employees. My company covers some of their expenses: Alexei’s school tuition in Switzerland, private jet for flights to and from Moscow and in Europe, health care services in Munich.”

“But, Mr. Kahn – when I talked to Ambassador Kevorkian in Moscow, he assured me that Igor received credit for 3.5 million US dollars for your company in Holland!”

“Perhaps, there is some misunderstanding here: as of today, I’ve only heard from Volkova and Kravchenko promises about the credit. And you know, I don’t even take these promises seriously.”

Great Britain

The telephone had been ringing for quite a while.

“Igor, is it so hard for you to bring the phone up here?!” Elena yelled from the bedroom. Her husband did not answer her, meanwhile the phone on the concert piano in the hall continued to make a lot of noise. Finally, Elena hastily walked down the stairs, tying the belt of her robe on the way, and picked it up.

“Andrei! I did not expect your call so early!” She sounded so loud and irritated that Igor could hear every word even from the bathroom on the third floor, where he was sitting.

“Lena, you might have already heard about our problems in Switzerland. I want you to be in London tomorrow.”

It sounded like an order. First thing that came to her mind was: Go to hell with your orders! Your time is over: sit still and stay put. But instead, Elena said:

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Borodin disconnected.

Igor finally came to the hall as well. Elena was sitting on a round piano stool with an absent-minded expression on her face, staring blankly at the tapestry on the wall.

“Lena, are you alright? Who was that on the phone?” Igor inquired. “Here, here, let’s get up and go to the bathroom.”

Kravchenko tried to lift his wife from the chair. Her robe fell open showing her long legs and thighs.

These legs used to make me want her. Now they are just pleasing to the eye, he thought. You are getting old, Kravchenko. A year or two and she will treat you as a piece of bedroom furniture.

Elena woke from her stupor, got up by herself and turned to him.

“Igor, call Kahn. Tell him to have a jet ready: tomorrow I must meet with Andrei in London.”

“Am I coming with you?”

“Of course not! You will stay here with Olya. Besides, Alexei is arriving today from Geneva.”

“Will he stay here long? And why am I the last one to find out about his visit?” Kravchenko grumbled petulantly.

Elena said, with the same lost look on her face:

“You never loved my son. You only care about your parents and Olenka. Thank God you still care about Olenka…I asked you to call Kahn.”

“Will do in a moment, honey,” Kravchenko said in a soft voice. “I am begging you: don’t worry so much. You remember what your doctor said? ‘You can’t stress out: it’s bad for your health.’”

What he thought at that moment was: This damned bitch is getting on my nerves all morning! She just poisoned my day. Well, as soon as she transfers the money from Vickers to my offshore account, I will show her who the Master of the house is.

Igor took the phone and dialed Kahn’s number.

“Hello, Mr. Kahn, this is Igor Kravchenko. Can we meet? It’s urgent. All right, I will be in your office in five minutes. See you soon.”

Igor grabbed the car keys off the side table and rushed outside.

Vasily saw him leaving the house and immediately opened the garage door.

He is sharp, Kravchenko thought, chuckling to himself. What is his military rank, I wonder? I believe, it was Svetlana Alliluyeva, who wrote in her memoire: ‘All the help in our household held military ranks. Even my nanny was a First Sergeant.’

Stas was in his office. When his secretary let Igor and Vasily in, he got up from his chair and shook hands with both of them.

“Please, have a seat.” Kahn pointed at the comfortable chairs around an enormous conference-table. “Would you like something to drink?”

Igor declined and got to business right away.

“Stas, Yelena Nikolayevna needs to be in London tomorrow in the morning. Can you make arrangements for her trip?”

“When is she planning to return? Are you flying with her?” Kahn pressed the intercom button.

“This time I was not invited.” Kravchenko could not hide his resentment. “And she will be returning the following morning.”

Svetlana opened the door and came in.

“Mr. Kahn, did you call me?”

“Svetlana, please call Schiphol-VIP and book a jet to London for tomorrow with a return flight on the following day. Only Mrs. Volkova will be travelling this time.”

“Consider it done.”

Meanwhile, Kravchenko and Vasily were admiring a beautiful model of a French frigate. Stas joined them.

“How do you like my new frigate?”

Igor was very impressed. He said excitedly:

“Vasily told me that you had bought a new frigate and it is an exact replica of the original. But I did not expect this level of craftsmanship. As a child, I was very much into aircraft modeling, so I can appreciate works like this one.”

“I ordered this model in Dubai, but it was made on a shipyard in Italy. I had only one requirement: the model must copy the original in all details. For the more precise replica I was ready to pay more. And, as you can see, Italian masters did a great job.”

“You are right, their work is superb!” Kravchenko said with enthusiasm. “I wonder, how much did you pay for this masterpiece?”

It turned out that Vasily was well informed and he answered for Kahn:

“When I came to the shipyard to pick it up, their client from Singapore was there. He offered for this frigate 85 thousand dollars in cash.”

At this point Stas interrupted him.

“A very famous master, Jose Govaldi, worked on this model but never finished it: his apprentices did it for him. Govaldi was killed in a plane crash on June 1 of 2009. His flight from Rio to Paris crashed over the Atlantic Ocean. All 228 passengers and crew members died. To commemorate their great teacher, Govaldi’s students offered to mark his last model as ‘Limited Edition’ and register it under the number 01/01. So, you decide what the price of this model is.”

“Wow! What a story! Once in Geneva, a gentleman named Nikita told me about your ‘museum’ and its collection. But I did not expect that this collection includes such unique items.” Igor spoke very sincerely.

“Igor, all this is nothing compared to the value of the paintings in your castle. Theancestors of its previous owner, Mr. Van Damm, must have had good taste, and even better connections if they managed to build up such a grand collection.”

Svetlana came in again and said, “Mr. Kahn, the jet will be ready at 9:00 sharp tomorrow morning. The limousine will arrive to Aenderhout to pick up Elena Nikolayevna at 8:30.”

“Igor, here is Svetlana’s itinerary. The day after tomorrow the same jet will fly her back to Amsterdam.”

“Stas, thank you very much! Now, what about the payment?”

“In the beginning of this month we signed the agreement with the airport Schiphol-VIP in relation to your family’s flights and made a 248 thousand euros prepayment. You don’t need to worry.”

October, 2011. London. The Arts Club.

The Cessna 560 made a smooth landing in Heathrow-VIP, and soon after that a flight attendant opened the door. Elena felt the cool breeze of the London morning on her face. She suddenly remembered lines from a poem by Alexander Dolsky

“…And again quick miles keep hurrying by.

And I see Albion, glistering in the morning sun.

With its London, where limping lord was stigmatized,

With the ocean surrounding it on ninety sides.”

A black Jaguar was waiting for her near the jet. A tall brunette in her twenties, dressed in an elegant Dior suit, stepped out of it. She stretched out a hand with long, well-manicured fingers.

“Hello, Elena Nikolayevna. My name is Tatiana and I will accompany you on this trip on Mr. Borodin’s orders. If you don’t mind, of course.”

Sliding onto the back seat of the car, Elena could not help chuckling. Tatiana, apparently, noticed it. She said:

“Elena Nikolayevna, please forgive me if I did something wrong. It’s my first month working for Andrei Fridrikhovich.”

“No worries, everything is great,” Volkova said aloud, but she thought, When it comes to female names, your boss has no imagination whatsoever. He is surrounded by Tatianas. Perhaps, this name is some special weakness of his.

Their car drove into a prestigious Mayfair area in the vicinity of a legendary Ritz hotel and stopped in front of the old building: the sign on its main entrance read “The Arts Club”. A doorman in a Royal Guard uniform opened the door for them and bowed his bearskin-clad head, greeting the ladies.

Tatiana asked Elena to wait and came into one of the club’s salons. It was furnished in a retro style, with sofas and armchairs upholstered in Indian tapestry fabric in gold and beige colors. A glass coffee table on gilded legs blended in perfectly. A fireplace made of Italian marble and an Afghan rug on the floor completed the décor of the room. Clubs of tobacco smoke were floating in the air, although there was only one person smoking – a tall, athletic looking man. Apparently, he had been smoking in this room for quite a while.

“Andrei Fridrikhovich, Elena Nikolayevna is here.” Tatiana quickly glanced at the guest. “Should I tell her to wait a little?”

“No way! Are you going to keep her in the lobby? Let her in at once! And open the windows: Nikita has been ‘fumigating’ here since early morning.”

“Guilty as charged,” the guest said smiling. “But, Andrei, we got into this habit of smoking early in the morning in the army, when you and I were in the Border Guard Service in Vyborg.”

Elena came into the room and for a second she looked confused: she certainly did not expect to see somebody else there with Borodin.

Borodin was dressed in casual cashmere pants and a Luis Vuitton polo shirt. When he saw Volkova, he got up, took her by the hand, and led her to one of the chairs near the fireplace. He was tanned and looked very energetic, as if the events of the last eight months – interactions with Interpol and hearings in London regarding political asylum for him and his family – had never happened.

“Lena, meet my army buddy, Nikita!” Andrei introduced her to a tall blond man who had a classic Greek profile and looked like some superhero from a Hollywood movie.

“Nikita and I are now – sort of – partners in one defense project, but his role is ‘to beg’ and mine – ‘to give reluctantly’.”

Tatiana came into the room, holding a tray with a coffee pot and cups, and everybody kept silent for a short time. She poured coffee for everyone and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Volkova looked at Borodin inquiringly. He understood her concern.

“Lena, you have nothing to worry about. Nikita is here to help us in this difficult time. You probably know already that my accounts in three Swiss banks have been arrested as per request of the Russian Prosecutor General’s office. This information appeared in Russian media. Nikita and my attorney, Mikhail Dolomanov, had meetings regarding this matter with these banks’ executives in Geneva and Zurich.”

Suddenly, Andrei burst out laughing. Volkova was mortified. She exclaimed:

“Andrei, this is not a laughing matter! We must do something!”

“I am sorry: I guess I am just releasing the stress of the last six months. Anyhow, this is why I asked you to come here, my dear Elena Nikolayevna.”

Nikita decided it was time to intervene:

“From our conversations with Swiss bankers, Mikhail and I understood that all leading banks in Switzerland, and even some private banks, received a memorandum from their Attorney General’s office with the order to freeze the bank accounts of a Russian businessman, Andrei Borodin, who was put on the international wanted list in May of this year.”

Elena interrupted him impatiently:

“So what did they do, these bankers? Did they freeze the accounts?”

Andrei answered for Nikita:

“Of course they didn’t, darling! This is Switzerland and its banks!” Borodin was beaming, his gray eyes sparkling. Last time she saw him this happy in February of 2009, when his stock in the Bank of Moscow was increased.

“They suggested that we urgently, within five bank days, withdraw all capital from their banks, close our accounts and liquidate offshore accounts opened in Switzerland.”

Elena was outraged:

“To transfer more than 2.2 billion dollars to other offshore accounts within 5 days and to close twelve offshore accounts – it’s not possible!”

“Why not possible? Don’t you remember December of 2010 and the search in our bank? We managed then to transfer all money to offshore accounts within three hours!”

“Well, that was in Russia, with its very specific banking system. Over here, everything is different: they have been working like this for hundreds of years,” Elena said, sipping coffee. But Nikita was on Andrei’s side:

“More than half of the money is on the way to England. Keep in mind that the bankers are also interested in closing Andrei’s accounts as soon as possible. Too much money is accumulated in his Swiss accounts and bankers know very well that any of Andrei’s problems will reflect upon them.”

“By the way, Lena, what is going on with your accounts? I have never had a chance to find out,” Borodin said.

“But you know very well: I transferred your and my money and securities to two offshores: Vickers Holding and Vincy Overeas S.A.; and accounts are in the Swiss bank EFG.

* * *

Geneva. EFG bank

Standing near the window, Igor looked at the floating restaurant anchored at the embankment across the bank. Its stern door opened and a chef came out onto the deck carrying a big slop bucket in his hand. He leaned over the railing and poured its contents overboard.

So much for Switzerland: lazy slobs are everywhere, Kravchenko thought.

His deep thoughts were interrupted by the bank executive manager Alan Bien’s assistant, who let him in Mr. Bien’s office.

“Good morning, Mr. Kravchenko! Please, sit down,” Alan said in Russian with a thick accent. “Forgive me, but I expected to see Mrs. Volkova.”

“Good morning, Mr. Bien. You see, when your assistant called us about this meeting, Elena Nikolayevna was on a business trip to London – therefore I am here to substitute for her.”

Deep inside Igor was hurt by Alan’s words. This old fart! he thought. I am not good enough for him! As if he doesn’t know that I take care of all business, while Lena is just a “ceremonial bystander”. Something serious must have happened if he wanted to see “mommy”. Come on, spill it out!

“My Russian is very limited. If you don’t mind, I will ask your account manager, Mr. Yakovlev, to join us.”

“I will be delighted,” Igor said and thought to himself: Finally! With your Russian and my English we would sit here until tomorrow morning. Why haven’t I ever studied English, as my old man kept telling me to when I was a kid?

In a minute, Roman Yakovlev, a bank employee, entered the room. He greeted Igor and said, “Mr. Kravchenko, our bank executive manager would like you to have a look at these articles.”

Yakovlev handed to Igor a pile of Swiss newspapers. Andrei Borodin’s smiling face was looking at him from all their front pages. Kravchenko swallowed hard and said, “I won’t be able to read them anyway. Roman, kindly explain to me what these articles are about.”

“It’s in the headlines of all the newspapers and magazines: Mr. Borodin placed part of his capital here, in Switzerland. As per official request of the Russian Persecutor General’s Office, Swiss Interpol is looking into this matter.”

“I don’t understand – how are we connected to this?” Kravchenko said, perplexed.

The bank executive said calmingly, “Please, don’t you worry. We are sure, of course, that Mrs. Volkova has no relation to this matter.”

“In this case, why did you ask me to come here so urgently?”

Alan turned to Roman and said in a calm voice in French, “Don’t translate this. Apparently, he takes us for idiots: when I was in Moscow, Mr. Borodin and his wife repeatedly provided me with assistance. At that time all European financial elite knew that Andrew and Helen are on the same team. And how I hate his manners! Who in the right mind would come to one of the biggest European banks in jeans and old sneakers! This is beyond me.” The bank executive sighed and continued in English:

“Currently Interpol is looking for Mr. Borodin’s deposits in public banks, but very soon they will start digging in private banks, like ours. Therefore I am asking you to convey my request to Mrs. Volkova: within one week kindly withdraw all your deposits from our bank and close all your accounts. I apologize for not being able to give you more time, but this is the best I can do.”

With these words Alan made it clear that the conversation was over. Kravchenko thanked him for his time and left the office, followed by Roman.

In the hallway Roman said, “Igor, let’s go to my office now: I will give you all the paperwork you may need for transferring your money to another bank.”

Kravchenko could not hide how dumbfounded he was by the bank executive’s words.

“Yes, of course, let’s go,” he said, still very shaken, and then stopped in his tracks. “Roman, I just need a minute to call my wife. I will come to your office right after that.”

* * *

Fall of 2011. London

For the second time within one minute Elena heard her cell phone vibrating in the handbag and thought: Only Kravchenko can be so persistent – and only if something serious happened. He would not bother me for nothing: he knows I am in a meeting with Borodin. She picked up the phone.

“Yes, Igor, what happened? I asked you not to bother me now…All right, I understood. We’ll discuss it when I come back home.”

Elena dropped the phone into her huge handbag. Since the first year at the University, she got into the habit of carrying handbags of such a size that they would fit everything – from a makeup bag to a student thesis. And when she became a “big boss” in Moscow, she did not give up her “shopping bags”, as she called them.

“Lena, is everything all right?” Andrei sounded worried.

“It was Kravchenko. He has just had a meeting with Alan Bien in the bank. Alan wants us to close within one week all accounts and Vickers Holding.”

“I know about it. I was told by Roman Yakovlev, his employee. In the early 90s, Roman and I worked together in Dresdner Bank in Berlin. He introduced Alan to me when Mr. Bien had problems in Russia. You know, everything happens for a reason. How much money do you have on your accounts in Alan’s bank? And in whose name were the offshores opened?”

For the second time during this meeting in the club, Volkova felt very uncomfortable. The thought flashed through her head, Damn! All these years I have been lying to him about interest on Swiss accounts, and now it turns out that he has his own inside informer in the bank, who – what a coincidence! – is my accounts manager. I am certainly glad I haven’t spilled anything about the current account balances: I was thinking before about deducting two last fees – for about 750 thousand dollars.

“Hey, Lena, are you with us?” Borodin’s question made her come back to reality.

“I am sorry – Igor’s call really threw me off. So, on the accounts: 834 million Swiss francs, 62 million dollars in securities, 185 million dollars in cash and 28 million euros.”

“What about bonuses?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot: bonuses are on other accounts. About 1.3 million dollars came within the last year. I will be able to give you the exact figure when these accounts are closed. Offshore Vickers was opened in the name of some Allen Bienda, and I am a beneficiary of the accounts.”

“And what if they figure out your Mr. Bienda? We are busted then?” There was a disgusting smile on Borodin’s face – as if he did not understand the seriousness of the situation or just wanted to get on her nerves.

Elena shrugged her shoulders.

“Those offshores were opened by Alan’s Swiss attorneys. As far as I know, this Mr. Bienda is a fisherman on a Greek island – if such person exists at all.”

Andrei turned to his guest:

“Nikita, how much, you said, we must transfer to your Dutch client?”

“Within the last month Mr. Kahn paid 3.5 million US dollars out of his pocket to cover our bills. And we owe him 3.7 million dollars on top of that.”

“And how much do you need for the ‘Space Mirrors’ project?” Borodin interrupted.

“At the first stage – 12 million ‘greenbacks’.”

“Alright. Elena, transfer 7.2 million dollars in bills of credit to Mr. Kahn. It’s his own money refund plus his payment. And transfer 12 million dollars to the accounts per Nikita’s instructions.”

Tatiana came in again.

“Andrei Fridrikhovich, a suite for Elena Nikolayevna is ready.”

“Thank you. Lena, go ahead, relax, have some rest. It’s a five-star hotel upstairs. After dinner we’ll talk some more.”

Elena turned to Nikita and stretched her hand for a handshake.

“It was very nice to meet you. I think, we’ll keep in touch through Andrei.”

Nikita gallantly kissed her hand.

“I was very glad to meet you, too. I have heard a lot about you and I am grateful to Andrei for finally introducing us. I hope to see you soon.”

Elena and Tatiana left. Finally Nikita could have a smoke. He sat in a chair near the fireplace and took a long drag on his cigarette.

“Nikita, are you sure that your Yusufov will not set me up?” Borodin said.

“You know the character of my work: I cannot vouch even for myself. All I can say is that when I saw Yusufov the last time, he asked me to tell you that he will transfer the money for your shares in the Bank of Moscow to your offshore accounts. I think he will keep his promise. At this time he is asking you to give money for the defense project.”

“I will send as much as is needed – for the project and to your Dutchman: you heard me when I gave Volkova instructions. But keep in mind that if Yusufov does not keep his promises, I will find the way to get everything back – you know me.”

“Andrei, I understand. Well, I think I completed my mission in Switzerland and got my credits from you, so now it’s time for me to say good-bye. My jet’s crew has been waiting for me for too long.”

Borodin hugged Nikita: he really enjoyed the meeting with his former comrade-in-arms.

“Be safe! Take care, Nikita!”

“You, too! By the way, when I was in Switzerland, I checked some information pertaining to your Elena. It turns out that she is hiding bonuses from you. And her Kravchenko is even worse: he steals from her and transfers the stolen money to his accounts and to his Dutch mistress. What a horrible family!”

“I am aware of Volkova’s financial operations. In this case, I have to agree with Peter the Great who used to say that threatened folk live long. But you really surprised me with the information about our ‘electrician/economist’ Kravchenko. Since late 90s, everybody in Moscow elite has known that he is totally under Lena’s thumb. Now it turns out that he is not that simple after all. Okay, Nikita, send Yusufov in the right direction and I will figure out what to do with the Dutchmen here. How about introducing me to your Kahn? Dima Akulinin met him in Switzerland and said that he is worth five Swiss banks.”

“Borodin, don’t get into that. Kahn’s connections and resources are being used at the highest level and you need my boss’s authorization in order to contact him. You have a lot on your plate, better take care of your problems first.”

Andrei was outraged:

“So, when you need someone to finance your projects or your Kahn, you remember about Borodin, but when I need help, your answer is ‘don’t get into it’. How is this fair?”

“Andrei, this conversation has no point. Take care, my friend.”

* * *

December of 2011. Sumo Sushi & Grill Restaurant in Haarlem

The guests at Kravchenko’s birthday party had been sitting at the table for half an hour already, toasting the man of the hour. Kahn was late, as always. His driver Tom was speeding up, moving to the very center of Haarlem, officially closed for motor vehicles.

“Boss, it’s your responsibility: they did not teach us this in the driving school,” Tom said through gritted teeth, gripping the steering wheel.

“Tom, you better focus on the road: you could rip off that girl’s heel! Don’t worry: you break the rules, I take responsibility. Stop! Here is ‘Sumo’. Be at the office at 11 pm sharp. I will get there by taxi.”

The restaurant buzzed like a beehive: its patrons were enjoying delicacies of Japanese cuisine, the servers were darting back and forth, traditional music was playing on the background. A hostess greeted Kahn with a polite smile.

“Mr. Kahn?”

“The one and only! Where to?” Stas left his coat and gloves with a cloak-room attendant and followed the hostess.

The feast was in full swing: servers kept bringing orders, guests kept placing new ones, checking them out on special cards.

“Sumo” is a restraint chain where service is based on the all you can eat concept. The first eateries of this kind appeared in Europe and America in the 18th century, when witty Japanese entrepreneurs figured out how to take advantage of the abundance and diversity of their traditional cuisine that had everything – from salads and sushi to various delicacies cooked with meat and seafood. Instead of regular menus, guests here receive cards which list every item on the menu and where they would mark the numbers of the dishes of their choice. Portions aren’t big: for two or three “bites”. Every person can order at most five items per round, and there are five rounds available. All together it makes twenty five dishes – for a comparatively low price. Usually everybody is full after three rounds.

Kahn joined Igor’s guests when they were on the second round of orders. Everybody greeted him with friendly shouts, raising tiny cups with sake. Kravchenko motioned to Stas, showing him a chair across the table and said, “Well, Kahn, now by Russian tradition, you must drink a penalty shot – for being late.”

Igor poured sake for Kahn and for himself, stood up and said in a loud voice, addressing his guests, “Attention, please! I would like to toast our special guest, Mr. Kahn. Thanks to him my family can live now in Holland. To Kahn, ladies and gentlemen!”

Elena joined Kravchenko:

“For the last five years we spent all our vacations in Holland, looking at the same time for opportunities to acquire a permanent resident status here – but unsuccessfully. But there is a God, and He sent us Stas, who within one month managed to solve all our immigration problems. Dear guests, friends, let’s drink to people like our Kahn! I wish him success in all his endeavors!”

One hour later, when the servers brought the fourth round of orders, it was obvious that most of the guest were ready to give up and stop the “gluttony”. Igor sat closer to Stas so that they could talk.

“Stas, you travel for business all the time, but I still can’t understand where you live: in Dubai, in the Netherlands or in the Maldives? I know that your family is in Holland, so, apparently, your main residence is in Holland. Am I right?”

“Yes, Igor, you are. You know, my father used to say: you can have business anywhere on the planet, but you must always come back home to your family. And I do have businesses, offices, real estate properties in many countries – except Russia, of course – but I try to spend as much time as possible here, with my family.”

Kravchenko suggested that they should go outside for some fresh air and continue their conversation there.

“Stas, you have financial interests both in the West and in the Eastern region: I would like to discuss something with you pertaining to this matter. To be exact, it’s Elena Nikolayevna who would like us to have this discussion.”

“Igor, I was asked to provide your family with full support in all immigration and legalization matters here in Holland. Of course it includes financial matters as well, so you have my full attention.”

It was chilly outside. Kahn felt how his tipsiness evaporated, as if drawn away by the cool wind. Kravchenko looked obviously depressed. The lenses of his glasses were fogged and Stas could not see his eyes. He decided to help him.

“Igor, I am a military man and don’t need any preambles. Tell me everything – bring it on. My grandmother used to say: ‘Share the weight on your soul with your friend: it will be easier for two to carry it’.”

“Your granny was very wise. All right, let’s start again. Yelena Nikolayevna had a meeting in London with Mr. Borodin, who gave her instructions on paying you money. I believe, you received your instructions as well?”

“You are right, I did – several days ago. But why are you so concerned about it? It’s a standard procedure: you send the money, I receive it.”

“According to the instructions she received, Lena must transfer to you 7.2 million dollars in bills of credit from an account in a Swiss bank. But there are some things here, which I must discuss with you.”

Kravchenko looked very uncomfortable: as if he tried to make some choice and was weighing all pros and cons. Stas understood that Igor cannot decide whether he could trust him or not. He knew that in situations like that it’s very important to keep eye contact with the person in doubt so that he feels as a rabbit hypnotized by a boa constrictor. Apparently, his tactics worked, because Kravchenko finally made up his mind.

“Bank EFG put us in a very difficult position. Within three hours after these bills of credit are transferred to another bank, we will have to close our checking account and the firm.”

“Forgive my asking, but as far as I know, Russian businessmen keep their money on offshore accounts. Are you saying that you have a company in Switzerland?”

“Our offshore is registered in the Virgin Islands, but our accounts are in Switzerland. It is physically impossible to close the offshore within three hours, especially with the amount of money that we have on the account. And we have nowhere to transfer it to – except for your money, of course.”

“What amounts are we talking about?”

“We have to agree first that this conversation is strictly confidential and not to be disclosed to a third party.”

“Naturally. I do not see any third parties between us.”

Kahn’s response seemed to calm Kravchenko down. With much more confidence in his voice he said, “Stas, it’s getting too chilly here. Let’s go back to the restaurant and sit there in the lounge.”

“I am all for it: it will be much warmer there, for sure.”

There was only one young couple in the lounge – and they only saw each other. Stas picked a table behind a column; they sat and ordered some red wine. Igor continued:

“We have been instructed to transfer to your account 7.2 million dollars – in bills of credit for some reason – therefore I need your bank details to do it tomorrow.” After a short pause Igor said very quickly, “If it is possible, we would like to transfer to your account our small savings as well.” Kravchenko’s shifty eyes behind the glasses had a begging expression.

“Could you tell me what ‘small savings’ are we talking about? And, if possible, explain their source.”

“No reasons to worry, my dear Kahn: this is honest money that Elena Nikolayevna has been earning since 1995, working hard in Russia. And the savings amount is, indeed, not that big: just 18.6 million US dollars in cash and 9.5 million dollars in securities.”

“Igor, I understand that for you it may be a small amount. As to getting all this, as they say in Russia, dough for hard and honest work – I have no comments here. Oh well, the only thing that matters to me is that this money was not made on drug trafficking. So, you are saying that the 7.2 million dollars is mine and the 28.1 million dollars you want me to transfer for you through my accounts, right?”

“Mr. Kahn, I knew you would understand me! But why aren’t you asking me about your kickback?”

“Currently you and Elena work in my Dutch office and I don’t make profit at my employees’ expense. Besides, I promised Nikita that I will take care of you in Holland. You will only pay bank fees.”

“Mommy and I could not imagine anything like this in our wildest dreams! But please keep in mind that after the money is withdrawn from the Swiss account, it will be closed immediately. And our offshore will be closed several days later.”

Kahn already got used to Kravchenko’s habit of going in circles and repeating the same things endlessly.

“I got it. But whose name is on the account? As I understand, the offshore company was opened under some person’s name?”

“The firm was registered under some Mr. Bienda, and Elena is a beneficiary on the account. I have all the codes for account management, and all contacts with the bank representative are made through me.”

“What if, after your accounts are zeroed out, and your offshore company is closed, a question will arise pertaining to the documents of this company? What will you do then?”

“We have an agreement with the bank. Our offshore company was opened for us by the bank, that’s why after the liquidation of Viscers Holding, the bank will give us all constituent documents.”

“Excellent. How about your seal?”

“The seal will be destroyed – that’s what they told us. But you don’t have to worry about it: I will order a seal in Switzerland. We have a firm ‘Truden’ there: they forge seals and forms perfectly well. By the way, keep it in mind – in case you need such services in the future.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kravchenko, but I prefer to work with original seals and documents.”

Suddenly Kahn felt a powerful surge of resentment towards these Moscovites, but he managed to keep a smile on his face and said calmly, “Tomorrow morning you will receive information about my banks in Dubai and Singapore.”

Stas got up and stretched his hand for a handshake.

“Igor, I have to go. Please tell your quests I apologize: but I have a horrible headache.”

Only in the car Kahn began to relax a little. He remembered Svetlana’s words about this family and thought, Indeed, it looks like they will give me a lot of headaches – and, most likely, on the highest level.

Table of Contents

Jossiv Kim Bank of Moscow Labyrinths

Presidential Aircraft

Canada

Elena

Tajikistan

Borodin

“Mommy”

Moscow Routine

Holland

Great Britain