* * *
DON’T DRINK THE WATER. Richard Barnsley stared at the little plastic card that had been placed on the basin in his bathroom. It was not the kind of warning you expect to find when you are staying in a five-star hotel. Unless, of course, you are in St Petersburg. By the side of the notice stood two bottles of Evian water.
When Richard (known as Dick) strolled back into his large bedroom, he found two more bottles had been placed on each side of the double bed, and another two on a table by the window. The management were not taking any chances.
Dick had flown into St Petersburg to close a deal with the Russians. His company had been chosen to build a pipeline that would stretch from the Urals to the Red Sea. It was a project that several other, more established, companies had wanted. Dick’s firm had been awarded the contract, against great odds. But those odds had shortened once he promised Anatol Chenkov (the Minister for Energy and close personal friend of the President) two million dollars a year for the rest of his life. The only currencies the Russians trade in are dollars and death – especially when the money is going to be deposited in a numbered account.
Before Dick had started up his own company, Barnsley Construction, he had learnt his trade working in Nigeria, in Brazil and in Saudi Arabia for large corporations. Along the way he had picked up a trick or two about bribery. Most international companies treat bribery as just another form of tax, and make the provision for it whenever they present their offer to carry out work. The secret is always to know how much to offer the minister, and how little to dispose of among his workers.
Anatol Chenkov (who had been appointed by the Russian President, Putin) was a tough negotiator, but then under an earlier regime he had been a major in the KGB. However, when it came to setting up a bank account in Switzerland, the minister was clearly a beginner. Dick took full advantage of this as Chenkov had never travelled beyond the Russian border before he had been appointed to the Politburo.
Dick flew Chenkov to Geneva for the weekend, while he was on an official visit to London for trade talks. He opened a numbered account for him and deposited $100,000 – so-called ‘seed money’ – but more than Chenkov had ever been paid in his lifetime. This sweetener was to ensure that their bond would last for the necessary nine months until the contract was signed. It was a contract that would allow Dick to retire – on far more than two million a year.
* * *
Dick returned to the hotel that morning after his final meeting with the minister. He had seen him every day for the past week – sometimes publicly, more often privately. It was no different when Chenkov visited London. Neither man trusted the other, but then Dick never felt at ease with anyone who was willing to take a bribe because there was always someone else happy to offer him more. However, Dick felt more confident this time, as both of them seemed to have signed up for the same retirement policy.
Dick also helped to cement the relationship with a few added extras that Chenkov quickly became used to. A Rolls-Royce would always pick him up at Heathrow and drive him to The Savoy hotel. When Chenkov arrived, he would be shown to his usual riverside suite. Women then appeared every evening, as regularly as the morning papers. He preferred two of both – one broadsheet, one tabloid.
Now, back in St Petersburg, when Dick checked out of the hotel, the minister’s BMW was parked outside the front door waiting to take him to the airport. As he climbed into the back seat, he was surprised to find Chenkov waiting for him. They had parted after their morning meeting just an hour before.
‘Is there a problem, Anatol?’ he asked with concern.
‘On the contrary,’ said Chenkov. ‘I have just had a call from the Kremlin which I didn’t feel we should discuss over the phone, or even in my office. The President will be visiting St Petersburg on the sixteenth of May and has made it clear that he wishes to be present at the signing ceremony.’
‘But that gives us less than three weeks to complete the contract,’ said Dick.
‘You told me at our meeting this morning,’ Chenkov reminded him, ‘that there were only a few is to dot and ts to cross (an expression I’d not come across before), before you’d be able to finish the contract.’
The minister paused and lit his first cigar of the day, before adding, ‘With that in mind, my dear friend, I look forward to seeing you back in St Petersburg in three weeks’ time.’ Chenkov’s statement sounded casual. But, in truth, it had taken almost three years for the two men to reach this stage, and now it would only be another three weeks before the deal was finally sealed.
Dick didn’t respond as he was already thinking about what needed to be done the moment his plane touched down at Heathrow.
‘What’s the first thing you will do after the deal has been signed?’ asked Chenkov, breaking into his thoughts.
‘Put in a bid for the water supply contract in this city, because whoever gets it would surely make an even larger fortune.’
The minister looked round sharply. ‘Never raise that subject in public,’ he said gravely. ‘It’s a very sensitive issue.’
Dick remained silent.
‘And take my advice – don’t drink the water. Last year we lost countless numbers of our citizens who got sick with . . .’ the minister stopped, not wanting to add belief to a story that had been splashed across the front pages of every Western paper.
‘How many is countless?’ enquired Dick.
‘None,’ replied the minister. ‘Or at least that’s the official statistic released by the Ministry of Tourism,’ he added, as the car came to a halt on a double red line outside the entrance of Pulkovo II airport. He leant forward. ‘Karl, take Mr Barnsley’s bags to check-in, while I wait here.’
Dick leant across and shook hands with the minister for the second time that morning. ‘Thank you, Anatol, for everything,’ he said. ‘See you in three weeks’ time.’
‘Long life and happiness, my friend,’ said Chenkov as Dick stepped out of the car. Dick checked in at the departure desk an hour before boarding began for his flight to London.
‘This is the last call for Flight 902 to London Heathrow,’ a voice came crackling over the tannoy.
‘Is there another flight going to London right now?’ asked Dick.
‘Yes,’ replied the man behind the check-in desk. ‘Flight 902 has been delayed, but they are just about to close the gate.’
‘Can you get me on it?’ asked Dick, as he slid a thousand-rouble note across the counter.