One such opportunist was a forty-five-year-old former pirate named Wasir Osman Hassan.
By using the money he had earned from the payment of ransoms in the lawless days of 1990s, Hassan had bought himself the post of the Interior Minister and staffed the Ministry with those loyal to his tribe to ensure he kept everybody in place with a “rod of iron” in the process.
It was this man who had given Thomas the most problems because the President, although a good and honest person, certainly wasn’t a wolf despite the traditional role of his tribe to be so in the region. This meant Thomas needed to ensure that the Minister was kept happy as he controlled the capital’s security. That meant money and lots of it was needed to change hands.
He was not new to this, as ever since he had arrived in Russia, twenty-seven years old, flush with money from U.S. Private equity and fresh from the hairiest experience of his life in Iraq in 1991, Thomas had carved his own way free and away from his father’s influence, doing deals including a couple involving the use of the gun. It was because this unique business experience and having had done his fair share of deals with the devil that Thomas understood the problem the young President was facing.
One such a deal for Thomas was in 1996 and involved a meeting with the ‘Mayor’ of St Petersburg otherwise known as Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin.
At the time, the future President of Russia was foolishly considered by some as a mere bag carrier for Yeltsin and as such was dismissed by the new oligarchs “carpet-bagging” the country being fuelled with U.S. finance as being of limited importance in Russian politics.
However when Thomas met him he immediately grasped that sitting across him was a man of the principle who only cared about one thing, Russia, and was determined to do this through his newly promoted “National Champions” political concept.
This ideology was born out of Putin’s education and experience from the ashes of communism, his idea, was simple in design—the largest corporations in strategic sectors of Russia’s economy are expected to not only to seek profit, but also to “advance the interests of the nation.”
Yet for all of Thomas’s initial skepticism his basic instinct told him that he would be foolish to attempt to discredit him, or worse, ignore him at his peril, so instead Thomas offered the hand of friendship and support for Putin’s ideas.
It was a move that would bind Thomas to his fate forever.
At the time, The ‘Mayor’ suspiciously had taken his hand and money with a mere nod then a sip of his black tea without a flicker of emotion.
Over the four years that followed as both of their mutual fortunes rose, Thomas had watched the Mayor rise first to the top of the FSB, Russia’s replacement for the KGB and then to Deputy Prime Minister before finally taking the Presidency from his mentor six months later on the 31st December 1999 and in one night ruthlessly take out those who stood in the way of his vision of a new Russia for the twenty-first century.
“We have three years,” Thomas had said to Mikhail at the time as they watched the Mayor’s handover speech whilst celebrating the New Year in Haifa over a traditional Jewish feast with Nara and Hanna, his wife.
“Three years?” Mikhail had replied confused.
“Before he comes to take back Russia’s rights!” Thomas had grimly answered.
The exit strategy Thomas planned was simple in design and required the diversification of the group’s assets quickly, the taking on debt to fund it, whilst spreading his wings in the process, so absolutely sure in his assessment that someday the Mayor would come “calling.”
In the early days of 2003, the Mayor did just that. By that time the international influence of TLH had grown to make him one of largest privately owned natural resources companies in the world, its power extended well beyond that of owning yachts or the football clubs like some of his contemporaries. Knighted in his own right by the Queen for his business acumen, Thomas had become a man who influenced the political elite of the World.
However, he stilled faced one problem: the lifeblood of the company depended on the cash flow from the oil and gas revenues of the assets of its Russian companies.
Sensing the changing mood correctly with the way the state oligarchs were “toeing the line,” Thomas decided that when he received an approach from the ‘fixer’ representing the Sheikh of Dubai (flush with money by selling the sand of his Emirate and then mortgaging it) offering to buy his forty-nine percent stake in his Oil Company for US$30 billion he concluded the time was right to leave Russia forever.
With the deal all but signed and just as he was about to get on the plane to head for the United Arab Emirates Thomas’s private mobile went off with the screen flashing “Mayor.”
The oligarch took a deep breath and answered on the second ring. The conversation was curt and in English.
“Thomas, I want you to join me in Sochi tonight.” No greeting or small talk after three years of silence, just an order to be obeyed.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Thomas’s reply was equally short.
“Mayor?” Mikhail asked, already knowing the answer.
“Better tell the Captain we are going to Sochi!” Thomas ordered. The expression on his face said it all.
The flight took nearly four hours. Thomas didn’t speak once as he sat opposite his trusted aide and bodyguard lost in his thoughts, something Mikhail later remarked had worried him immensely for he was never like that.
Once the plane landed they were met by the President’s protection team and with only Mikhail allowed to travel with him, but not before he had to with great reluctance his hand over his weapon, they were driven to the Mayor’s summer residence.
Arriving at the grand villa on Bocharov Ruchey, Thomas was shown directly into the President’s office while Mikhail was asked to wait outside.
The sight of the Mayor standing behind his desk, as was his way, signing papers with two aides at his side greeted Thomas as he entered the room. Motioning for him to sit in a chair in front of the desk Thomas did so in silence for five minutes. It was pure theatre by the Mayor designed to impress upon Thomas his position and power.
Finished and dismissing the aides, The Mayor opened the discussion.
“Thomas,” he said, taking a pause as his signal to answer reflecting his position over Thomas and it was his turn to answer. The Oligarch did just that.
“Mr. President,” he replied, dominance established.
“How are Miss Gurbanammedowova and Victoria?” The Mayor asked, providing him a signal that he always kept tabs on him.
“They are extremely well, Sir,” Thomas offered in reply that earned a single nod back in return.
The “Presidential style” small talk over, the President of Russia got up then requested that they go out on to the terrace.
Having sat down at a cast iron table in the sun, the Mayor picked up the silver tea set and poured Thomas a cup of black tea and then one for him.
“Why are you selling to the Sheikh?” the President asked as he stirred the glass to release the flavor.
“His offer is a good one, Sir,” Thomas responded, leaving his tea untouched.
“Not for Russia my friend!” the President answered referring to the fact a foreign state not even a country but a mere city state within an OPEC nation potentially owning a Russian Oil Company thereby affecting its Energy Security position was not an acceptable situation.
Sensing that the conversation was now not a negotiation, but that of a directive, Thomas knew instantly that his deal with the Sheikh was dead.
“Do you have a preferred buyer, Sir?” Thomas asked, for being a wise man, he knew now was a time when to bow down at the throne.