This was going to be Navjot’s first meeting with Martin.
“Mr. Singh good to see you, Sir,” said the former RSM as he got up to shake his hand.
“Good to see you Tony,” replied Navjot with a smile.
“May I introduce my former Commanding Officer Lt. Colonel Andrew Martin,” the ex-RSM said almost barking his name as though he would do on parade.
“Absolute pleasure, Mr. Singh,” offered the former guardsman in a crisp public schooled accent in comparison to Tony’s East London one.
“Likewise Colonel,” Navjot replied, knowing British Army Officers loved their titles.
“The Major here was telling me all about your little project you have got going on in Adwalland. I must it all sounds rather good!” Andrew said taking over the meeting instantly. As he did so, Navjot chuckled at the use of Tony’s faux rank from his days in the United Arab Emirates armed forces.
“Well, let’s hope so! This is the first time we moved out of diamond mining!” Navjot replied as he sat down.
The next five minutes consisted of ordering of breakfasts, but as the menus were handed back to the waiter, Navjot got right down to business.
“We are pretty new in the country but we have an excellent relationship with the Interior Minister who will provide members of his Clan to undertake the day to day security of the teams, but he has,” he paused, taking a sip of his English Breakfast tea for effect, “requested that we assist him with equipment, technical support, and training,” he continued with a smile as he put the napkin to his lips. It wasn’t true of course, as Navjot hadn’t even got to that point with Wasir.
The second the Indian had finished his statement Martin’s mind began working overtime.
When his secretary had let him know he had a Mr. Wilson on the phone he had thought he was going to be in for one of those typical begging calls that he received from time to time from his former employees or NCOs asking whether he had any work.
Unfortunately, the truth was he was almost broke himself as the shareholdings he had in all his companies he had previously invested in and earned fees from providing his security teams to had virtually dried up as the world media had recently made its mission to hold them accountable as part of the “Twitter revolutions” in the world dictatorships.
In the old days when media had meant walking around with heavy cameras it had been far easier to manage the floor, but with every phone in the world now loaded with a camera and worst still Internet ready, it had become much harder to control. As a result he had suffered badly because he hadn’t won any of the larger contracts that were handed out as part of the Iraq Mission. Yes, he had done well in the early years earning some high fees, but that train had long left the station.
He couldn’t believe it when Wilson actually rang him up to offer him a job!
“How the bloody hell did Wilson get that job!” he thought as the RSM asked him to meet with his employer.
Discreet enquiries made with some of friends in the security services told him that, despite his high profile retail business that was worth about a billion U.S. dollars according to The Times’ Rich List, the man was also suspected of doing questionable deals with Taliban agents along the way via the purchase of conflict diamonds from the Congo. That didn’t bother Martin one bit. He just saw the much needed dollar signs.
“That sort of help does not come cheap Mr. Singh. Any idea what kind of equipment he has indicated he wants?” Andrew asked.
“Tony has the list,” Navjot said pretending not to understand the ins and outs of the business.
It was the exact opposite, in fact, as Clara, Pete, and he had sat down and worked out what was needed having assessed Wasir’s capabilities during their visit and then in turn gave the list to Wilson on behalf of the Minister.
“I just want to know how much?” Navjot continued as Tony pulled out his list from his file on the table and gave it to his former Colonel.
As Andrew scanned through the list, he knew instantly it wasn’t going to be used for technical assistance.
The Mil-17 Helicopter with counterinsurgency weaponry alone was going to cost in the region of five million U.S. dollars. He could see a nice commission on that item only for himself alone. He was hooked and went straight for the jugular so to speak.
“Well, looking at this, old boy, the equipment alone going to cost at least ten million with my twenty per cent handling fee on top to do it as it’s sensitive, to say the least,” the former Colonel answered without emotion.
“Men for the technical support would also cost about a million in salaries and bonuses,” he continued calculating the commission as he went.
Navjot listened carefully and pretended to nod.
“What’s the rest of your fee, Colonel?” he asked while he stroked his beard.
“Two million upfront and another two on conclusion of the contract plus a three percent non-diluted shareholding in any natural resources companies that are established or floated from Adwalland,” Martin answered without hesitation.
Although greed always disappointed him, Navjot wasn’t surprised.
“Let Tony know your account details,” Navjot said offering his hand to the Mercenary, who as he took it was thinking he that he would use the money to sort out that damp on his current family’s mansion that he lived in.
29
Los Angeles
Steve Krivets was at his home watching one of his former conquests on Television. A tall sexy blonde, blue-eyed thirty year-old anchor of his news network was about to cross-examine Thomas.
“She might make a suitable partner for me at some point,” Steve said out loud as he made a mental note to check to see if she was married or had any hidden skeletons since the last time she had last shared his bed as he was already thinking about the run he intended to make for the Governorship of California.
Over the last month the management of MNG, as agreed between Steve and Thomas, cascaded down to the news desks, and the various newspapers of the group the desire of the board to see positive news stories about the new breed of African states in an effort to support their agenda. A task made considerably easy by the fact that over the last two years, the media management teams of TLH given them the material to work with.
Examples ranged from bylines called “Adwalland puts the pirates to the sword,” to special four-page business reports, the establishment of a new professional website with direct links to the Mining Ministry, and finally start the promotion of the country as the next tourist destination with a positioning of “exciting untouched, unexplored land,” followed by lots of features in the travel sections of the “weekend” editions of the New York Times and the Washington Post.
The Pièce de résistance though was going to be Thomas’s first ever interview on the business channel which ensured that the entire business community plus a few political hawks would be watching with great interest.
Steve though was watching for a different reason; he wanted to see how his ally handled himself in what he knew was going to be a difficult interview.
His mind pondered on the exchange that he had with McGiven just three days before.
“Steve, I have to say I am disappointed over the amount of puff pieces your guys are fucking doing on Adwalland and TLH!” the Chief of Staff had said to him. “I mean I know he is a fucking major investor in your business, but fuck it! You don’t need to keep up with the goddamn blowjobs. You know the fucking value of what sits behind all this!” McGiven had ranted on with his diatribe by making direct inference to the fact that Steve was the one who had called him with his concerns in the first place.
“I don’t tell my news or features teams what to report or write, Joe,” Steve had defensively replied pushing back even though that was the case.