“Niet.”
“This is going to be extremely difficult!” Thomas thought as he took a sip of his black tea trying desperately hard not to show his nerves.
“Then what would you suggest, Sir, as I am sure now that my business does not comply with your National Champions Policy,” Thomas stated, knowing that if the man nationalized his business the cash-flow loss on his entire business would almost certainly break him.
The Mayor smiled at him. “The solution is simple, you either keep it or give it back!” There it was, in pure terms, no escape.
As if sensing his discomfort, the President then continued. “The price for giving it back is six billion U.S. dollars in cash from us.”
“Twenty-four billion under the deal I agreed with the Sheikh’s people,” Thomas thought knowing full well that such a deal would be difficult if not impossible as it would affect the entire debt structures of the group he had put into place upon the sale of his stake in New York, London, and Hong Kong.
“However, I would prefer that you kept it, as your blood belongs to Mother Russia,” The President said as he picked up his tea. “You have an obligation to our country that has given you everything,” he continued, referring to and using his daughter’s heritage of Soviet Russia by the use of the term “Mother Russia” to justify his expectation that despite his offer Thomas never had the option of taking it and walking away.
Inwardly despite being relieved as only moments before he assumed his core business was about to be nationalized by State, Thomas knew it was only temporary because whatever happened from this point on the lives of his and Nara’s family was entirely tied to the will of Russia.
Reluctantly, Thomas gave the answer he was expected to give.
“I understand, Sir.”
“Good,” the President answered with a wry smile.
The rest of the discussion then reverted to what he would like to see happen on various projects in Russia and of course with it a request veiled as an invitation from him to invest, thereby dragging Thomas back into Russia to never escape completely.
Forty-five minutes later, the President ended the meeting by placing his hand inside his blazer jacket and removing a pair of new Russian Passports that he promptly gave to Thomas. Opening them, Russia’s latest “National Champion” found his and Victoria’s details respectively in each of them.
“We must do this again, Fama,” he said, using the Russian form of his Christian name to reflect his new citizenship.
On the plane back, a truly relieved Mikhail, having been briefed by Thomas on what had happened got up, took a bottle of The Macallan 1965 from the drinks cabinet for them to share, then slumped sat back down in his seat. As he offered him a glass with large measure Mikhail smiled at him, then said in English, “Next Year in Jerusalem,” a typical Jewish response of the Israeli Special Forces members used to describe a classic ‘Catch-22’ situation.
As the plane returned back across the African landscapes to Europe, Thomas told himself, “No little warlord is going to change the rules!”
Looking towards Mikhail and the rest of his protection team and seeing they were all asleep, as they hadn’t slept the whole time they were in-country for longer than a couple of hours each day, he asked the pretty air hostess to serve him a light supper of a Blue Stilton, Pear and Walnut Salad, with a very good chilled Puligny-Montrachet.
Once finished, Thomas picked up the phone and dialed Steve Krivets.
Steve Krivets was born into the world of filmmaking in Hollywood in the 1960s. Tall, thin set, short blonde hair with piercing blue eyes inherited from his Belorussian roots, and like most Americans a full set of brilliant white teeth, he was the CEO of Media News Group known as MNG. He had assumed the role the same day Thomas had backed his three-and-a-half billion U.S. dollars management buyout bid of MNG to ensure THL’s public interest and media profile always had a counterpoint. The group was described as “Titan,” with only Murdoch’s News International group being larger, certainly did that for Thomas.
With this latest deal signed and sealed, and fallout that what would come with it, was almost certainly going to create waves and Thomas knew he needed to make sure the “Media Management” was carefully deployed to his organization’s advantage.
Steve was asleep in bed with his latest conquest, a young starlet of just eighteen, when the phone went off.
“What the fuck!” he moaned before wearily reaching across for the phone. Seeing it was Thomas, he pressed ‘to accept the call’ request immediately.
“Steve, sorry to bother you. A quick question,” Thomas asked without ceremony before he could answer otherwise.
“No problem, Thomas,” Steve answered having decided that telling one of your significant shareholders, not to mention debt holders, to “fuck off” even if he was calling you at three o’clock in the morning would not be a good idea.
Listening carefully although still half-awake Steve thought to himself, “Oh fuck!” as he processed what his English friend was telling him, he said, “No problem, I have just the person.” He sensed it was a request to be followed without question once the briefing was over.
“Excellent, meet me in London next week.”
“Who was that, babe?” asked his teenage companion, now fully awake.
“Nobody… Go back to sleep, honey,” Steve ordered before finding the number of his contact at the State Department figuring that this could not wait, and because he didn’t want to forget anything while it was clear in his mind.
The number Steve dialed was that of Joseph McGiven, who unlike himself, as the time in Washington D.C. was six o’clock in the morning, was already up drinking his first coffee of the day. A tough political operator of thirty-nine, he was Counselor and Chief of Staff to the Secretary of State.
As Counselor, his role was to serve as special advisor on major foreign policy challenges. As Chief of Staff, he managed the Department’s staff that provided the support to the Secretary in administering operations of the Department. He did both jobs with ruthless efficiency and for one goal only: the enrichment of the “Interests of the United States of America.”
Seeing it was Steve Krivets, one of the most famous media barons in the country, he picked it up quickly.
“Steve this is a pleasant surprise,” he answered in his Bostonian accent that, despite his years in Washington, he accentuated.
“Hi Joe, I know it’s early but have you got a moment?” the mogul asked.
By the time, Steve had finished his briefing he had earned a promise to do lunch plus round of golf with the Secretary of State next time he was in L.A. in exchange for being a good American.
“HOLY FUCK!” the Chief of Staff said out loud once the telephone call was disconnected, grasping what he had just been told by Steve.
One hour later having reached and entered his office, McGiven switched on his desktop computer then entered the secure cryptonym software that generates code words across all the National Security Platforms of the United States of America.
He generated a code word and then emailed his and the Secretary of State’s executive assistants to get them to request and organize a meeting with the President, the National Security Advisor, and Director of CIA, all present with the subject line stating Project GOLDEN WOLF [RESTRICTED CONTENT].
7
Ashgabat, 1998
Sitting across from a very pleased Oleg over the Gas pipeline construction deal he had just made on behalf of the President and drunk on a potent mixture of champagne, cognac and fresh sushi, sat a very bored Thomas.
His mood quickly bounced back though, the second he caught sight of the absolutely stunningly beautiful young creature he met in Oleg’s office as she walked into the club together with several other women and even more so when he saw they were making their way over to their table.