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‘Mrs Lowell-Halliday has accepted the bank’s offer of six hundred million dollars for her shares,’ said the company secretary. ‘But I’ll need the board’s approval before I can sign off on it.’

‘But that was when she owned fifty per cent of the bank’s stock,’ said Jake. ‘Thanks to Bob’s brilliant coup, she now only has forty-nine per cent, and we’re in control.’

‘Offer her three hundred million,’ said Alex, ‘and settle for four.’

‘Do you think she’ll agree to that?’ asked Mitch Blake.

‘Without a doubt,’ said Alex. ‘Ackroyd will advise her that she won’t get a better offer anywhere else, and if she agrees, the good news is that the bank will end up not having to pay her a penny.’

‘How come?’ said Alan Gates.

‘Simple really, but perhaps the time has come for Jake to tell the board a little more about the ace that we’ve always had up our sleeve.’

Jake opened a file and turned several pages before he came to the signed agreement. ‘Mrs Lowell-Halliday took out several loans over the years when her brother Lawrence was chairman of the bank. Ackroyd, as CEO, approved the transactions, and in order to give the deal some legitimacy, Evelyn agreed to pay an interest rate of five per cent per annum until the loans were repaid. Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for the bank, she hasn’t returned one red cent, but then, she never intended to.’ Jake turned a page before he continued. ‘The result is that after more than twenty years of debt and accumulated interest, she currently owes the bank just over 451 million dollars.’ Jake closed the file. A long silence was followed by a round of applause.

‘But she will still owe the bank over fifty million,’ said Bob, ‘even if she accepts the offer.’

‘Which we will agree to write off in exchange for her forty-nine per cent shareholding in the bank,’ said Jake.

‘Bravo,’ said Alex, before looking around the boardroom table. ‘However, I still can’t wait to hear the details of how Bob managed to make it all possible?’

The rest of the directors turned their attention to the longest-serving member of the board, who no longer had a shock of white hair.

‘A gentleman should never be indiscreet where a lady is concerned,’ said Bob, ‘but I can report to the board that Mrs Evelyn Lowell-Halliday doesn’t know the difference between being laid and being screwed. By the way, chairman, can I now resign?’

44

Sasha

London, 1999

‘Does the right honourable gentleman plan to visit his other constituency in the near future?’

Sasha smiled, while some laughed at the jibe, but then he had his answer well prepared.

‘I can tell the right honourable member that I have no plans to visit Russia in the near future. But I am looking forward to seeing the opening night of Swan Lake at the Royal Opera House, danced by the Bolshoi Ballet.’ He was about to add, the greatest ballet company on earth, but thought better of it.

‘Mr Kenneth Clarke,’ said the Speaker.

‘When the right honourable gentleman does next visit Moscow, could he point out to President Yeltsin that for a nation now posturing as a democracy, his country’s human rights record leaves much to be desired.’

This time the hear, hears were loud, and not in jest.

Sasha rose again. ‘If the right honourable gentleman would be kind enough to bring to my attention any particular examples he has in mind, be assured I will look into them. However, members of the House may be interested to know that Mr Boris Nemtsov, a former vice premier of Russia, is sitting in the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery, and I’m sure he will have heard the honourable gentleman’s question.’

Sasha glanced up at the gallery and smiled at his friend, who seemed amused by his moment of notoriety.

When questions to the Foreign Secretary came to an end and the Speaker called for the business of the day, Sasha quickly left the chamber and made his way to the Central Lobby, where he had arranged to meet up with Nemtsov.

‘Welcome to Westminster, Boris,’ he said as he shook his guest warmly by the hand.

‘Thank you,’ said Nemtsov. ‘I was delighted to see you more than holding your own against the rabble. Although I have to agree that our record on human rights does not bear close scrutiny, and it will give me a great deal of pleasure to tell my colleagues back home that I heard the subject raised in the British House of Commons.’

‘Do you have time to join me for tea on the terrace?’ asked Sasha, reverting to his native tongue.

‘I’ve been looking forward to it all day,’ said Nemtsov. Sasha led his guest down the green-carpeted staircase and out onto the terrace, where they sat at a table overlooking the Thames.

‘So what brings you to London?’ asked Sasha as a waiter appeared by their side. ‘Just tea for two, thank you.’

‘Officially I’m here to visit the Lord Mayor of London to discuss environmental issues affecting over-populated cities, but my main purpose is to see you, and bring you up to date on what’s happening on the political front back home.’

Sasha sat back and listened attentively.

‘As you know, the presidential election is due to be held in a year’s time.’

‘Not long before the next general election in Britain,’ said Sasha.

The waiter returned and placed a tray of tea and biscuits on the table.

‘Yeltsin has already announced that he won’t be fighting the next election, possibly influenced by his current approval rating which, according to the opinion polls, is languishing around four per cent.’

‘That’s quite difficult to achieve,’ said Sasha, pouring them both a cup of tea.

‘Not if you wake up every morning with a hangover, and are drunk again before lunchtime.’

‘Does Yeltsin have an anointed successor?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. But even if he did, it would be the kiss of death. No, the only name in the field at the moment is Gennady Zyuganov, the Communist Party leader, and most people accept that it would be a disaster if we were to return to the past, although the possibility can’t be dismissed. Frankly, Sasha, you may never get a better chance to become our next president.’

‘But perhaps my approval ratings would also be around four per cent.’

‘I’m glad you raised that,’ said Nemtsov, taking a slip of paper from an inside pocket, ‘because we’ve conducted some private polling, which showed you are currently on fourteen per cent. However, twenty-six per cent didn’t even recognize your name, and thirty-one per cent haven’t made up their minds yet. So we were encouraged. If you were to come to Saint Petersburg and officially announce your intention to stand, I have no doubt those figures would change overnight.’

‘I admit I’m torn,’ said Sasha. ‘Only last week The Times said in a leader that if Labour were to win the next election, which looks highly likely, I could well be the next foreign secretary.’

‘And after hearing your performance in the House this afternoon, and your grasp of so many subjects, frankly I’m not surprised. However, I would suggest that president of Russia is a far bigger prize for someone who was born and raised in Saint Petersburg.’

‘I agree with you,’ whispered Sasha, ‘but I can’t afford to let my colleagues know that. Besides, I’d need to be convinced that I have a realistic chance of success before I’d be willing to give up everything I’ve worked so hard for.’

‘That’s understandable,’ said Nemtsov, ‘but we won’t really be able to evaluate your chances until we know who your main rival is.’

‘But you were the vice premier,’ said Sasha, ‘why don’t you stand?’