The Deal (24 page)

At this point in time, and somewhat unexpectedly, their relationship began to go wrong. In fact, it began to go very wrong. She wondered later whether it was her fault for having too high a level of expectation.

Amanda was starting to wonder whether she should go to bed with him. For some reason, he chose this moment to tell her about his discussions with Sara over the possible composer of the piece of music he was trying to identify.

As an exercise in romantic tactics, it was a disaster.

“I hope you didn’t talk to her about us,” Amanda snapped.

“No, no,” he spluttered. “Anyway, what’s your problem with her? Her report on City Fiction really helped you out at our end...”

“You’re the head of corporate finance. Why did you need some immature, scruffy girl to make the decision?”

“She’s not immature. In fact, she’s pretty together for her age. She’s just uncomplicated. She speaks her mind.”

“So I’ve experienced,” said Amanda. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about her. When are you going to speak with Alistair?”

He was flustered by her question and tried to disguise it by going back into the kitchen to fetch the bottle of wine. He returned and refilled their glasses. He then took a deep breath and told Amanda about Dimitri Petraffus and his coal mines. She wanted to know everything. She realised the threat to City Fiction almost instantly.

Oliver sensed the growing tension. He therefore sat back, picked up his glass of wine, and took her through the various issues.

“Amanda, Sara is just a researcher working for the corporate finance team,” he said. “I like her and I enjoy her company. She took an interest in trying to help me identify the piece of music I’m seeking. But that is all and there is no need to discuss her any further.”

He looked at Amanda but she was not showing any facial expression. She spoke suddenly.

“Let’s get this right, Oliver. Ian Bridges, your key salesman, has walked out. Duncan and the other bloke are going to raise ten million pounds for some Russian who has walked in off the street. Abbi is now concentrating on the investor side instead of coming to us – and Sara is texting you in the middle of the night about the source of some piece of music. When are you going to make progress on raising the money for City Fiction?” Her face was stony cold.

“And,” she continued. “What the hell is going on with us?”

“I won’t let it fail,” blustered Oliver. “I won’t let you down, Amanda.”

She put her glass down hard on the table top.

“I need to talk to Alistair,” she said.

When she returned to her flat, two hours later, the chicken was slightly over-cooked.

On Monday morning, Dimitri and Jody met for breakfast at Simpsons-in-the-Strand. Jody had spent a great deal of the weekend trying to analyse the accounting information Dimitri’s team had delivered to her.

The Russian was in an ebullient mood and ordered a full English breakfast. She selected the bowl of fruits. He talked non-stop and, somehow, the key issues that she wanted to discuss passed them by.

Dimitri suddenly announced that he had a meeting at Coutts. He would walk west along the Strand and the chauffeur was therefore available to drive her to the Harriman Agnew Capital offices.

As they stood outside the restaurant, Dimitri opened the passenger door and took out a small bouquet of flowers, which he handed to Jody. He kissed her lightly on her cheek.

“Remember, Jody. I always thank the people who help me.”

When she arrived at the office and entered the conference room she realised that the meeting was just starting. She sat down next to Andrew.

Gavin banged the table and distributed several small piles of papers.

“OK, people. Much to do.”

“Where’s Duncan?” asked Andrew.

“On a plane,” replied Gavin. “Let’s go through my progress report. It starts...”

“So you’re chairing this meeting?” asked Oliver “I thought that would be my job. Seeing as I’m head of corporate finance.”

“You are, yes. But this is my deal. You stick to City Fiction. The draft document is taking shape. Thank you, Martin. Melanie, you are still finalising ‘know your customer’ and money laundering checks.”

“They’re certainly supplying what we want, Gavin. There are five directors and we have a file on each. The only problem is that much of what we have been given is photocopied material. I’ll stretch a point but on passports I must see the originals.”

“I took that up with Dimitri when I met with him on Saturday morning,” said Gavin. “He’s arranging for copies to be certified by the lawyers. So that’s one thing sorted out.”

“You met Dimitri on Saturday?” queried Oliver.

“I’m more than willing to coach you on customer relationships, Oliver,” Gavin replied.

“Lawyers who are in Russia?” said Melanie.

“Bloody lawyers, Melanie. Look them up on the website. They’re a big firm. If you’re going to keep on bloody asking for things, we’ll lose Dimitri as a client.”

“Actually, I’m having the same difficulty with the accounts, Gavin,” said Jody.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” cried Gavin. “Martin. The draft document?”

“Is in great shape, Gavin. They’ve supplied some marvellous sections, including photographs of the Donetskii Basin, geophysical reports, drilling surveys – just what we need.”

“Ok. Abbi. How is the investor presentation shaping up?”

“Well, Gavin,” she replied, without any warmth, “they’ll come across strongly. Dimitri will want to dominate but, as he’s the key strength, we’ll let him have his lead.”

“Where’s Duncan?” Andrew asked again.

“He’s on a plane to Russia, Andrew. The seven mines are south of Moscow. If you look at page fifteen of the presentation you’ll see the various locations.”

“What will he do while he’s there?”

“It’s really down to me, Andrew,” said Jody. “I told Gavin that I was struggling with the accounts and he asked what would bring me the most comfort. I replied that if I could substantiate the amount of coal which the reports suggest is present I would feel much happier. If the coal is there, the strength of the balance sheet is effectively underwritten.”

“Ok, thanks, Jody. Sara – are you doing anything useful?”

“What do you mean?” responded Sara.

“I mean – are you playing a fucking part in this deal? Bring some of your brilliant research ability to help Martin with the document.”

Sara looked towards Abbi and then back to Gavin.

“Make up your mind,” she said. “You said you didn’t want it.”

Gavin looked at the table and then at Martin.

“Martin,” he ordered “I want a draft of the document by lunchtime on Friday. You have five days. We can then all work on it over the weekend and we’ll call in the lawyers to comment on it next Monday.”

“You’re sure you know who you’re dealing with?” asked Sara.

Gavin exploded and told Sara, in between the expletives, to mind her own business.

“Just asking,” she said, as she stood up and walked out of the room.

Oliver met with Alistair at lunchtime. It proved to be a difficult conversation as he was unable to conceal his frustrations. Abbi was due to be visiting City Fiction to discuss further progress on the investor presentation but had phoned to postpone. Martin had been scheduled to email a list detailing all the professional firms and their addresses and the draft EIS document. These had not been received. David Singleton was ready to meet with the reporting accountants. Jody had insisted on being present but had emailed to cancel the meeting.

Alistair was telling Oliver about the success their eBooks were having, but suddenly he stopped and picked up his phone. He punched in a number. “Can you join us please?” he asked.

Amanda entered the room, avoiding Oliver’s eyes.

“Amanda told me about your conversation yesterday. Please take me through it again,” Alistair asked.

Oliver told him about the Russian deal, leaving very little out.

“But you’re head of corporate finance, are you not?” Alistair said.

“Well, yes, I have to keep reminding myself of that,” replied Oliver.

Alistair asked him to leave the room while he talked to Amanda in private. After twenty minutes, he was called back in.

“You’ll understand, Oliver, that we aren’t happy. But both Amanda and I still retain our confidence in you. We suggest you sort matters out and get our transaction back on the rails.”

On his way out, Oliver tried to approach Amanda. She turned away.

“The problem is still the same,” said Martin. “Andrew is going along with it. He is transfixed by the fees and he really does believe that Gavin and Duncan can raise the money. All ten million pounds of it.”

“It’s a great presentation we’ve got ready,” said Abbi. “Really strong. The photographic stuff on the mines is compelling and Dimitri is a natural. He scares me to death.”

“I think he might have scared the living shit out of more people than just you,” said Sara. She looked at her watch and said she had to leave.

She later met her Liberal Democrat MP friend. The sex was quite enjoyable. The foreplay, which involved a tirade against the party leader Nick Clegg and other cabinet members, bored her senseless. But she needed access to certain files.

Chapter Nine

Duncan arrived at Moscow Domodedovo Airport at eight-thirty on the Monday evening. He was met by a dark-suited middle-aged man who told him that “Dimitri sends his apologies. He cannot be here. He will meet you in the foyer of the hotel at seven o’clock tomorrow. He says he has to fly out on Wednesday morning and therefore we will need to visit all the mines tomorrow”.

The next morning, after breakfast in the hotel restaurant, Duncan was waiting, as instructed, in the foyer. He knew they had travelled to the south of Moscow but he had little idea where he was exactly. When he arrived, Dimitri was in an expansive mood and hurried Duncan into the back of a black Mercedes, where he handed him seven folders. Each, he explained, represented one of the mines, which collectively made up Dimitri’s businesses.

After about thirty minutes Duncan was aware that they had entered a courtyard through an entrance in high brick surrounding walls. After exiting the car, the party went into an administration centre and on through three heavy doors before reaching a conference room. There were six quite youthful people, three male and three female, sitting around. As he sat down, the Russian members of Dimitri’s staff applauded him.

Quite quickly several more men arrived, the lights went off, a screen descended from the ceiling, and a coloured picture of the headquarters appeared.

Dimitri stepped forward.

“Mr Duncan Hocken from England, we welcome you,” he said.

“We are going to tell you about our businesses. There will be eight speakers, including myself. The first is Stanislav Viddor, who is my deputy, and who will tell you about the mine here, our biggest producer of thermal coal. This will be followed by a further six presentations about our six other mines. This will take us forty minutes. We will then visit each of the mines, one by one. I understand that you wish to measure how much coal we have underneath the ground. I gave this information in London. However I have asked my technical manager, Spirio Mustov, to present an analysis at the end of this session.”

The deputy chief executive duly made his speech and then handed over to the first of the six other speakers. Each used a panorama of slides to show their mines before handing over to the next speaker. All spoke in Russian and were translated by a fair-haired, middle-aged woman, who never once smiled. At the end, Spirio Mustov put up slide after slide of figures and told Duncan that their estimate of the total volume of coal in the seven mines was three hundred tons. Duncan knew that one ton of coal was valued at two hundred thousand pounds – so this meant the value of the coal was over two hundred million pounds.

Following the serving of coffee, Duncan was whisked away by two of the Russian workers, who took him out of the office block and across the courtyard into a changing room. There appeared to be two groups of miners: the first, who occupied the left hand rows of benches and who were changing into their overalls, and the second, who had just arrived at the surface at the end of a nine hour shift. They were rather quiet. After stripping off their clothes, they were heading for the showers and toilets. Many had congregated in an adjoining area, where they were smoking cigarettes.

A man approached Duncan and indicated that he should change into the green clothing that he was holding out for him. Duncan thought about the security of his briefcase and laptop but decided that he simply had no choice but to follow the sign language and change. He was then provided with a pair of high sided boots, tight fitting but just about wearable. When the two workers saw that he was ready he was led out of the changing rooms and down a breeze block passage towards what was clearly the entrance to the mines.

He was given a safety helmet and it was indicated that he should wear it immediately. They passed through two steel doors and into a lift entrance. Three other people followed them. The cage was secured and down it went. Down and down until it stopped with a jolt. During the next hour, Duncan estimated that they walked perhaps three miles. The pace was unrelenting. At times they stopped as a railway engine towing trucks loaded with coal passed them and twice he was instructed to shelter in a specially constructed safety recession in the rock face. He was told to face the wall and then he heard an explosion and smelt the stench of cordite.

He observed that every miner was working very hard. There seemed to be no talking. He saw several coal faces where men using electric drills were loosening the rock and others were extracting the coal. This was then being shovelled into trucks on the narrow gauge railway line. There were dual track areas where the outgoing and returning transport passed each other and the shafts were lit by main lights attached to thick cables housed above the tunnels.

The pace was intense and Duncan realised the pathways were following an upwards gradient. The sweat was pouring off his face and he could feel that his underwear was soaked. But still they went on and on. At one point, Duncan was offered bottled water, which he drank greedily. When he needed to relieve himself he just stopped and peed into the side of the rocks like everyone else.