Moscow Blue. Philip Kurland
of the blue it dawned on him that in his excitement at the time, he had not registered something Mark had said. He had used the word “we” as if he had been invited to join the deal as a partner, and after a brief moment of deliberation, he realised he needed a partner for this more complicated deal. And this man is solid.
Dinner was booked for three at Le Souquet, his favourite fish restaurant off the Brompton Road. It was an occasion to celebrate with good food and wine.
12
Moscow, 21 January
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