The Devil's Handshake (25 page)

On reaching the Carlton Tower Hotel in
Knightsbridge at seven thirty in the morning, Navjot got out of the
Mercedes, walked briskly through the hotel, and right into the
famous Rib Room to join his newly hired Head of Security, Tony
Wilson.

He had chosen the dining room for the meeting
as it was his alter-ego Mr. Singh’s local restaurant of choice when
in London because it was near Mr. Singh’s townhouse in Walton
Row.

A former Major in the UAE Defense Forces and
prior to that an Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) in the Welsh
Guards, the stiffed backed man of over six-foot-three-inches had
been over the moon when a recruitment agent rang him out of the
blue at his Thailand home informing him he had got him an interview
with a rich Indian who was looking to bump up his security for his
expanding business in Africa.

With an ex-wife in England, a young Thai
wife, plus two families to support, Wilson had thought when he
looked GSG up on the web that his Christmas had come early. Even
more so when he found it came with a package of £120,000/- per year
plus all the fringe benefits. Consequently it hadn’t taken him long
to confirm he would take the job after his first meeting with Mr.
Singh.

Apart from the making sure the security at
the shops and transportation was all spot on, a job he could do in
his sleep, Tony thought his life was on the up.

That had quickly changed, however, when his
new employer had asked him to look at bringing onboard some
technical consultants for the group’s new investment interests they
were intending to build.

Not wanting to show his contacts in the world
of former “Ruperts” were limited, he had approached his former
Commanding Officer Lt. Colonel Andrew Martin. Of course, Tony was
completely unaware that was the only reason he had been hired in
the first place.

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.

“
BULLSHIT! I’m fucking
starting to wonder whose fucking side you’re on!” The Bostonian had
angrily said before backing off knowing calling out a CEO of a
significant news company wasn’t the best policy. “I am sorry,
Steve. I know am over-stepping the mark,” McGiven had added. “It’s
just that I am under pressure from the Sec. State!” Joe had
continued even though that wasn’t the case but in any event useful
in the game of political negotiations.

This call hadn’t been a surprise as both
Thomas and he in London had discussed that it would come at some
point.

That night they had agreed that for them to
become the ‘Brokers’ they would need to appear as neutrals despite
their links to each other so for the moment Steve kept wise counsel
and remained silent.

“
Look, I honestly need your
help on this, Steve,” The Chief of Staff said finishing off his
mini-performance.

“
Okay, I hear you,” Steve
had responded on cue.

“
Look, nobody is supposed to
know this as we only start running the promos tomorrow, but
Litchfield is doing an exclusive interview in a couple of days with
the Business Desk in New York.”

“
Really, who’s doing it?”
McGiven had quickly asked seizing the moment and falling into
Steve’s trap.

“
Jessica Austin,” Steve had
responded with a smirk that the Chief of Staff couldn’t see, as he
had cast his fly almost as if he were fishing in Montana for
trout.

“
How about you get somebody
to brief her on the value of the Russian base. What she does with
it is up to her.”

Immediately the Chief of Staff had bit,
“Thanks I certainly appreciate your support, Steve!”

“
Oh and don’t worry the Sec.
State will be at your dinner for your coming out parade,” Joe had
added, to which Steve chuckled.

“
It amazing what a little
push can do,” Steve had privately thought.

“
Favors for favors,” he had
chuckled to himself, having Kerry at the dinner was going guarantee
him the exposure and political support he needed to announce that
was throwing in his hat and entering the ring as a potential
serious candidate for Governorship of the world’s ninth biggest
economy in the near future.

Once the call was out of the way, Steve had
discreetly let Thomas know that McGiven was coming for him just as
they had discussed through the simple use of a code word in
BlackBerry instant messenger within a good luck note. Now he was
just waiting to see how he managed it.

“
Don’t let me down buddy,”
he said to Thomas’s face on the screen.

Introductions completed, Jessica turned and
smiled towards the famous billionaire.

“
Sir Thomas, welcome to the
MGN Newsroom.”

“
Thank you,
Jessica.”

“
Your career has certainly
been stellar, to say the least, with your interests ranging from a
shareholding in our parent company it needs to be mentioned to our
audience, to your global natural resource interests,” she said
setting the scene. “So I would like to begin our interview with a
question that although I understand it is one you hate, but I feel
our viewers would like to hear an answer to?”

“
Of course,” answered Thomas
all charm personified, knowing what was coming.

“
Do you consider yourself an
Oligarch?” she asked.

“
Straight to the point!”
Thomas thought.