Cold Blood. Alex Shaw
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dollars in profit!’ His face had grown red and any hint of levity had passed.
He sighed and remembered the dusty mountains of Afghanistan some eighteen years before, and the young Spetsnaz captain who had fought next to him. ‘You were the best in Kabul, saved us all. Now I ask you to save me again. I want you to stop this SOCOL team once and for all.’
Oleg, who had listened quietly, let his tongue run along the outside of his top lip. He loved action and had grown weary of ‘business’. To take on a real target was what he lived for. He looked at his CO.
Bull folded his arms and nodded. ‘It can be done, but of course there is a price.’
Lesukov’s eyes glinted; he had anticipated this. ‘I will give you ten per cent of each shipment that passes successfully into Ukraine.’
‘Thank you. While that is a good offer, my friend, can I ask if you find it easy to export your “goods” from Ukraine?’
Lesukov paused and in that millisecond confirmed what Bull had expected. ‘They are squeezing me from both ends. At one end I have the SOCOL and at the other border guards, customs officials who will not accept payments and…’
‘Thirty per cent, Ivan.’
‘What?’
‘Thirty per cent and I take care of imports into Ukraine and exports out of the territory.’ Bull folded his arms.
Lesukov scratched his nose. ‘My margins are not that high, Tauras. I can give you twenty.’
‘Twenty-five per cent and we can start today.’ Bull held out his right hand. Lesukov momentarily paused then grasped it with his own.
‘Deal. But you will not start today. Today we have a little fun, eh? I know an interesting club!’ He refilled the glasses and then placed a call on his office phone.
This time Bull made the toast. ‘To business.’
They drank. There was a knock at the door; Lesukov beckoned a young man into the room. ‘Gentlemen, this is my nephew, Arkadi. He will take you to the hotel.’
‘Zdravstvyite.’ Arkadi Cheban greeted both men in Russian as he shook their hands. ‘This way, please.’
Lesukov regarded his two comrades as they were led down the steps and out of the factory. He had once been a Spetsnaz warrior himself, but now – he held his considerable gut – he was the director of a chair factory. Officially.
Regus Business Centre, London, UK
The City Chamber of Commerce and Industry pre-mission briefing for the forthcoming Trade Mission to Ukraine was held at a Regus business centre in Central London. The fourteen participating companies had, in the main, sent their representatives on this wet July day. Alistair Vickers was one of the first to arrive and had taken a seat, as befitted a man from the embassy and official guest speaker, at the head of the long oval table. To his right sat Nicola Coen, the mission leader who would be accompanying the group to Kyiv. On her right sat the official mission travel agent, Wendy Jenkins from Watergate Travel. Vickers had made a joke about the company name but, in Wendy’s case, it had been heard by ears that hadn’t understood. Nicola had smiled and looked down at her papers, not wanting to make fun of her ‘travel management provider’.
The seat to Vickers’s left was empty and reserved for the other guest speaker, Bhavesh Malik. Vickers had met him once before and on that occasion he had also been late. He picked up his copy of the handouts that accompanied the briefing and read the information about Bhavesh’s father, Jasraj, which had been lifted from the company’s own unapologetic website:
‘NewSound – a success story! At the age of fifteen, Jasraj moved to the UK – East Sussex, Portslade, in fact – to work for his uncle’s hearing aid dispensing business. But by twenty-one, ‘Jas’, as he became known to all his friends and customers, was qualified as an audiologist and set to work designing his own aids. These were some of the first BTE (Behind the Ear) models to go on sale in the UK! Now, after forty-seven years of hard work, Jas’s front-room workshop has turned into three manufacturing plants in the UK, Pakistan and Ukraine, producing high-quality hearing aids and covert listening devices.’
Vickers skipped the more self-congratulatory bits and focused on the part the missioners had come to learn about:
‘…Opened in 1999, the Odessa manufacturing site is based in what was formally a top-secret Soviet telecommunications plant. Initially aided by European Union money and taking advantage of Investment Zone status granted to the area by the Ukrainian government, it soon started mass production…’
Vickers replaced the handout on the table and picked up the mission brochure detailing the various British companies ever-hopeful of selling their particular brand of goods into Ukraine. These companies included, among others, a manufacturer of industrial chemical metering equipment, a management training consultancy, a nickel alloy welding supplier, a pharmaceutical manufacturer and distributor, a language school, a giftware company and, much to his amusement, a Savile Row tailor.
Looking around the room he saw that most of the missioners had now arrived and were just waiting for the final two to finish pouring their coffee and deciding which biscuits to put on their saucers. The tall double doors opened and in stepped Bhavesh Malik. He smiled at Nicola and Vickers and, after placing his umbrella in the stand and brushing the rain from his lapels, took his place.
Nicola started the briefing. ‘Thank you all for coming today. I know that, for some of you, London isn’t the easiest of places to get to. As you’ll see, each of you has a briefing pack which includes our itinerary for today, the proofs of the mission brochure, and copies of the information Wendy and I will be giving you. But first I want to start by introducing our two guest speakers for today. Alistair Vickers is the commercial attaché at the British Embassy in Kyiv. He’ll be giving a business overview of Kyiv and the rest of Ukraine.’
Vickers smiled and looked around the room, finding a sea of expectant faces.
‘Bav Malik is managing director of NewSound UK and his company is somewhat of an export success story. He’ll be letting you in on the secrets of how to make your business work in Ukraine. But first to practical matters, Wendy here, who I believe most of you will have spoken to on the telephone, has some good news. Wendy?’
Wendy unfolded her arms and opened an envelope; her accent, much to Vickers’s chagrin, was estuary English. ‘I’m happy to say that Air Ukraine International has now confirmed your seats and sent me the tickets. You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve managed to get you all complimentary access to the business lounge at Gatwick and on your departure from Boryspil Airport.’
Vickers sipped his tea and listened as Wendy handed out tickets and, together with Nicola, went through the travel itinerary. These were the usual points that needed to be clarified, but Vickers didn’t know why he had to sit through it. Nonetheless he pretended to look interested and not stare at the clock, its hands moving ever so slowly, at the opposite end of the room. The technicalities over with, the floor was his. Vickers delivered the prepared FCO (Foreign and Commonwealth Office) statement on Ukraine, told the story of the country since independence in 1991, and gave an overview of the investment climate, current government and, of course, the inherent risks of doing business in an emerging market. ‘I am now happy to answer any questions you might have.’
‘I saw a lot at the time about the Orange Revolution, in the press and on television.’ It was the language-school rep – or Director of International Studies, to quote his mission entry. ‘What do you think will be the long-term outcome of this and what will be the impact?’
Vickers nodded. He, of course, had two opinions on this: the official HM Government line and his own personal one. He decided to live dangerously. ‘As I’m sure you must be aware, the former president had been in power for two terms so couldn’t sit for a third. More reforms were needed and the new government promised to