Читать книгу Moscow Blue - Philip Kurland - Страница 17

The meeting was taking place in a second-floor suite of the old Sovietskaya Hotel on Leningradsky Avenue as it veered to the northwest and out of Moscow. The airless room smelled overpoweringly of dust and deodorising spray. Crocker was seated next to Mark Weinberg on a wide, pale-blue sofa directly opposite General Igor Chernov, who had taken a matching armchair to one side of the heavily curtained windows. To Crocker, Chernov looked in every respect the consummate Russian general: in his early seventies, five feet seven in his shoes and immoderately fat. A ragged scar running over his left eye added character to a fixed, friendly expression, and his thick full lips gave the impression of a permanent pout. His lower face, underpinned by folds of a loosely hanging chin, hid a tightly buttoned collar, and across his chest flowed a sea of military decoration. To Chernov’s left, two more army personnel occupied a second sofa, and to his right Slava Nikiforov balanced himself on an elegant wooden chair.

General Chernov stood, with one hand on the back of his chair; proud and erect in his dress uniform, his head nodding continuously like a toy dog in the rear window of a car. ‘We thought you would feel more comfortable here, rather than in our more democratic government offices,’ he said in his thick, guttural accent.

‘Thank you, General,’ replied Mark Weinberg. ‘This is excellent.’

‘Excellent,’ echoed Crocker, who loved the old opulent furnishings and the spacious walls of delicate faded pink, with wide landscape paintings enhancing the overall effect.

With his golden epaulettes reflecting the lights above, Chernov was standing in front of a life-size portrait of soldiers marching side by side, pressed together, tight as sardines. ‘Since help from the state was stopped,’ said the general, stroking the fraying fabric along the top of his chair, ‘things here are now very expensive for us people. But there are still a few privileges our President has left for us old soldiers. Please, excuse my English, but I have brought with me today, Captain David Uskov, who will help me in this matter.’ Chernov pointed at the younger of the two other military men as he settled himself back in his chair. Uskov dropped his head momentarily to affirm his identity. ‘Next to him,’ continued Chernov, ‘is another of my colleagues, General Vladimir Bashirev, who unfortunately speaks very little English.’ The second general recognised his name and nodded in acknowledgement. He too was overweight for a man in his early seventies. His decorations were less extravagant than Chernov’s, but he sat proudly in his uniform, arms folded across his full chest, his wide-brimmed hat on his lap. ‘And Nikiforov you already know, of course.’ Slava nodded at Crocker in recognition but did not speak. ‘Now captain,’ concluded Chernov, ‘please go ahead.’

A long, low wooden coffee table had been placed between them in the middle of the room. On it stood six bottles of mineral water, six glasses, a ceramic bowl holding a pyramid of sweets wrapped in gold paper, a bottle-opener and two large ashtrays.

Tall and athletic, Captain Uskov cleared his throat and slid forward on his seat, taking a blue folder from his case. He opened it on the table in front of him, selected a bottle from the table, flicked off the metal cap and half filled a glass, watching bubbles rise for a few seconds. This attracted everyone’s attention. Crocker thought the captain’s face was typical of the young military: pale, blue-eyed, proud and clearly apprehensive of what might befall him should he fail to perform in the presence of his superiors.

Crocker could feel some tension building inside the room. He fiddled with his pen, then began doodling on the pad resting on his lap.

‘Gentlemen,’ Uskov began, addressing the two Americans in a voice carefully unemotional, low-pitched and flat. ‘General Chernov and General Bashirev have advised me of what this meeting concerns, and have asked me to speak to you on their behalf. I graduated with honours in English from our State University here in Moscow. General Chernov speaks good English but does not feel competent to speak in a foreign language for any period of time, especially on such a complicated matter. General Bashirev, as General Chernov has said, speaks almost no English.’ Uskov ignored the silent Slava.

‘General Chernov and General Bashirev are here on behalf of themselves and a few others, who at present have come to control the commodity we are here to discuss. If you don’t mind, I shall translate for General Bashirev as we proceed.’

Bashirev sat smiling as he listened, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his bemedalled chest. Uskov translated rapidly into Russian a summary of what he had said so far, before resuming in his precise and impressively fluent English.

‘I will now give you the background of the situation. It is normal for all production of the isotope osmium 187 from the metal, which is destined for export, to have government approval. All aspects of the transactions must be approved, including the issuing of export licences, et cetera, et cetera. However, from time to time, the four main chemical plants that produce this isotope carry out this process for other countries, mainly China and South Africa, who ship in the base metal. It sometimes occurs that paperwork is not what it should be, you understand, and the isotope, for all intents and purposes, becomes lost in the system.’

Uskov glanced briefly from Crocker to Weinberg, as if to assure himself they had followed his explanation. Crocker kept his eyes fixed on Uskov. Satisfied they had understood, the captain turned to Bashirev and translated. Bashirev nodded and then responded briefly in Russian, which Uskov did not translate.

‘I cannot go into this aspect any further,’ said Uskov, returning to the Americans, ‘other than to say that the military had the opportunity to acquire, or rather, I should say, to become the owners of, this lost consignment; and using channels open only to them, the metal could find its way out of the country. Officially, the government accounting shows that this parcel of metal does not exist, and the generals would not like to change this situation, for obvious reasons. Also, the government itself could not be seen to be involved in negotiating its sale to outsiders. Does that make the situation clear?’

Crocker leant forward. ‘But what about the real owners of the original material?’

Uskov ignored the question and they all waited while he translated into Russian.

‘What do they have to say about the fact that their property has just … disappeared?’ Crocker continued, his tidy mind beginning to worry.

General Chernov smiled an avuncular smile, held up his hand to interrupt, and replied cynically, ‘Have you ever tried to take Russia to court, Mr Crocker?’ There was silence as he waited for an answer he knew would never come.

Crocker and Weinberg both nodded in unison, a hint of a smile perceptibly spreading across their lips as they began to fully comprehend the very Russian situation.

‘But let me just say this,’ the general continued, his eyes fixed on Crocker. ‘An opportunity like this does not come along very often, not in these quantities, which is why this offer is rather special. General Bashirev mentioned to me earlier that the resale price should give a margin of at least eight thousand dollars per gramme, or a hundred and sixty million minimum overall. He has been doing his homework as you can see.’ Smiling once more, he raised his bushy eyebrows, inviting further questions.

‘Okay,’ said Crocker. ‘I think I understand what has just been said, and thank you, Captain, for your background information. I think we have enough to take this matter further. Do you agree, Mark?’

Weinberg gave a minimal nod.

‘Now, what about the terms and conditions of the purchase?’ asked Crocker, watching the two generals, who seemed to be in telepathic communication.

Captain Uskov stood and walked towards the window. The snow had been cleared from the road below, leaving a wet surface reflecting the midday sun into his eyes.

‘For reasons we do not have to discuss further,’ he said, turning back to face the assembled company, ‘and which you must understand already, I am sure, the proceeds of this proposed sale are to be kept out of this country. The osmium 187 will be supplied in one-, two- and five-gramme ampoules, and it will cost us a significant amount, what with insurance, et cetera et cetera, to get such a consignment to a location convenient for you. We would prefer continental Europe, please, and we favour the modified Swiss method of settlement.’

Weinberg quickly turned his head and looked at Crocker with a puzzled expression, hoping for an explanation. Crocker raised a finger, urging his colleague to wait for the answer.

Uskov paused, to give his guests an opportunity to indicate their dislike of his preferred method of trading, and took a further sip of water. ‘We shall give you details of banks and accounts where various deposits are to be made,’ he continued, ‘and we shall require you to deposit initially one percent as a gesture of goodwill. This will be returnable, of course, should the metal not arrive on schedule. But this is most unlikely, I promise you. This deposit will cover our initial costs only. Then we shall require either a prime Bank guarantee for the balance, calculated at sixty thousand dollars per gramme, or cash deposited with your bank, which will receive at the same time your irrevocable instructions that once your laboratory has confirmed to them that the purity of the 187 isotope samples is acceptable, et cetera, et cetera, these funds will be held irrevocably by them to our order. On confirmation that such a financial commitment has been made, the metal will be delivered to your laboratory, or wherever you stipulate. The rest is between the laboratory and the banks. I understand this procedure is referred to by some as the modified Swiss method.’

He continued for some while with the specifics, concluding, ‘These are the standard procedures for such a transaction, but they are not carved in granite, as I believe you would say; and we would be willing to consider alternative proposals if they would make you more comfortable. Mr Weinberg? Mr Crocker?’

He waited for their comments. Weinberg had been making notes of what had been said. So had Slava.

‘Okay, Captain Uskov,’ said Weinberg, flicking through his notes. ‘I’ve got all that.’

‘Just one point,’ interjected Uskov after a brief conversation with Bashirev. ‘We would like your deposit to be held by your bankers in Moscow, not Geneva or Hamburg. I know we said that we wanted payment to be outside Russia, but we have our reasons, and as it is only a small part of a large transaction, we would be happier to have the first tranche here for us to control quickly. No doubt you appreciate that there is a currency exchange situation here at the moment and this would be very helpful for us. And of course it makes very little difference to you. The full amount will be as we have requested.’

‘That should be no problem, Captain Uskov,’ said Crocker, turning his head sideways at Weinberg, looking for an indication that his colleague wished to add something. ‘I’m sure we can arrange the details later.’

Uskov translated for both generals, and received a nod from each.

‘Now tell me about the soft currencies you have on deposit abroad,’ said Crocker.

The captain translated, drank some more water and waited for the generals to give their response. It was a little while before Chernov lifted his broad hands from his knees. ‘My dear Mr Crocker, we must approach these transactions slowly, and one at a time. You now know the essentials of this first part of the deal. So, please, Mr Crocker, let me have your response when you are ready.’ He stood to signal the meeting was terminated.

Weinberg glanced quickly at Crocker, but Lee knew this was the usual Russian way of bringing a business discussion to an end. He had discovered from previous negotiations, one would never know whether Russians were upset or not with something that had been said, because they always seemed happy at the conclusion. They would smile at their guests out of politeness until the allotted time ran out.

‘By the way,’ started Uskov. ‘General Bashirev has just reminded me. This offer is not to be passed on to anyone else. The offer is to you specifically and it would be very awkward if any third parties were to get wind of the deal. Is that clearly understood, gentlemen? This is a very serious point that must be observed.’

Both Crocker and Weinberg nodded their understanding of the point being made.

‘General Chernov,’ Crocker said, doing up his jacket buttons, ‘there is one thing I should make clear at this point in time. You must appreciate that I don’t yet have the authority of any official organisation to make any firm decision at present, and I’m at a very early stage in understanding what I’m looking at. You must appreciate that. We shall have to put the proposition to others in our group, and these are the only others who will know of what we intend to do. And because others will be involved, we can’t confirm or otherwise at this moment whether or not the deal is definitely on.’ Crocker was feeling at home in his role as negotiator.

Uskov began to translate into Russian, but the general, already nodding his understanding of what had been said, held up his hand to stop him. Crocker had to wait for a moment while Chernov stared at the floor. The American reckoned they were doing business with a man who was not only a tough negotiator but also a first class poker player, obviously accustomed to dealing in large numbers, and someone who could assess quickly whether or not his time was being wasted. The general suddenly lifted his head.

‘I do understand that, Mr Crocker,’ he said. ‘I do understand that, and I did not expect you to give me an answer today. But I am certain you will maintain a close watch on who you involve as part of your group. In fact, I am glad you cannot give me an answer today, because if you were able, I would have had serious doubts about you. We are not in such a hurry here, as time does not have the same importance in Russia as it does in the West. But, Mr Crocker, we are all getting older, and would like to enjoy life soon, shall we say?’

‘Understood,’ confirmed Crocker, grinning.

The general placed his hand on Crocker’s arm and said in a confidential tone, ‘In Russia, Mr Crocker, we have a saying: that when we start to make pancakes, it is not unusual to burn the first few. So I expect some little problems at the beginning, yes? But please, let us not burn too many pancakes.’ He chuckled, held out his hand and concluded, ‘As you are in Moscow often, Mr Crocker, you must come over to my home for dinner one evening. I will contact you. I do look forward to meeting you again very soon.. And you too, Mr Weinberg.’

‘That would be great, General,’ said Crocker. ‘I look forward to that. You have my number.’

‘I am glad I am not negotiating with North Koreans with my poor English,’ said Chernov, smiling broadly.

He shook hands with both Americans in turn and gave a guarded wave as they made their way out into the hallway, escorted by Uskov.

‘What was all that about wanting the deposit in Moscow?’ asked Weinberg as they settled back in their taxi.

Crocker shrugged. ‘They probably felt like seeing the first tranche of cash move physically themselves, just to make sure it goes to the right person, and into the right pocket. They’ll be able to stop at any point if things seem wrong. Not that they don’t trust banks. It’s always the foreign paperwork they worry about. But they also have this raging inflation since the country started to crack up. Their so-called economists haven’t the faintest idea what they’re doing.’

Crocker could see Weinberg the bureaucrat was unaccustomed to these odd commercial considerations.

‘I understand,’ smiled Weinberg, not fully appreciating the explanation. ‘I guess they probably need some readily available petty cash.’