The Devil's Handshake

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.

“Yes Jessica,” he answered coolly. “I do hate the term because the media always tags each successful businessmen with it whether he is working in or is Russian. An Oligarch is driven by the ability to set cash above everything else! I have never done that. So, to answer your question, no, I am not Oligarch. But I am pleased and proud to be part of the rebuilding of Russia after a difficult transition in its history,” he added attempting to close down the question.

“Do you have links to organized crime?” she probed.

“No, I don’t. I have always had complete confidence in the laws and the officers who uphold them in all the countries my group over the years has invested in and continue do so,” he answered sincerely, despite having done the exact opposite as working with and around organized crime in Russia was an unfortunate but a necessary evil.

Again Jessica probed, but having been signaled by his friend by way of a message that U.S. would start their campaign to paint either him or the leadership of Adwalland as criminals, thereby potentially derailing the Russian presence, Thomas offered his answers in a cool and understated manner.

Under any other circumstances, he would never dream of doing an interview and indeed until this one he had never done so in the past. He didn’t even have a Facebook or Twitter account, despite the many efforts of Victoria to make him get one.

When the Mayor made clear his intentions and what he expected from him, Thomas’s instincts had told him at some point he was going to be receiving a barrage of questions of this sort as he was the lead investor and broker.

His instinct had also led him to believe tensions between the U.S. and Russia were almost certainly going to start to boil in the coming months.

So using the logic to get the skeletons out of the way and on record at a time of his choosing instead of being ambushed down the road, Thomas summoned his media information officer to help prepare him.

It was a decision that had nearly given the poor man a heart attack after initially thinking Thomas was joking.

“Fucking hell, Thomas, you’re bloody nuts!” James Weston had said in typical blunt fashion, reflecting his Northern England roots.

“Jim, just get me ready,” he had said, calming his long-standing combustible friend who lived on too much coffee and cigarettes.

So as Jessica pressed him again, this time Thomas continued in the cool and focused manner just as James had taught him earlier in the day during their training session and answered.

“I think I answered that question,” he stated, followed by a deadly pause designed to fill the air with silence so to push her to move on.

With her screaming producer’s orders in her ear, sensing that he wasn’t going to answer, Jessica did just that by moving on to his education, military career before she came to a question of how he saw Russia’s future.

Her questions were presented as her views but obvious to the informed who were watching and not just Thomas, had come from a State Department briefing, signaled by her use of a statement by former Secretary of State Hilary Clinton on the attempt of Russia to “Re-Soviet” around the world as the catalysis, Thomas responded.

“In all my years doing business in Russia and the neighboring states that surround her, I have always mixed with perfectly happily ordinary people,” he said. “As I said earlier, I am proud to be part of the rebuilding of Russia after a difficult transition. The atmosphere in these countries is always totally different to the way it perceived by your colleagues in media.

“People go to work, socialize in bars and restaurants, raise families and don’t keep looking over their shoulder for the KGB at the door, so I disagree strongly with Mrs. Clinton’s perception,” he said with conviction in his voice, ignoring her question completely and giving a party line answer he knew would please the Mayor.

“How do you see Putin?” Jessica asked suddenly as if out of blue, which it was anything but.

“Here, we go!” Thomas thought. He took a big breath.

“I see him as a strong leader for whom the majority of Russians that make up the general populace respond to, whether the world likes it or not,” he answered neutrally.

“Is he your Krysha, meaning Roof, to use a Russian word?” she fenced.

The fact she used such a word in her subject confirmed to him that she had, as Steve suggested, received a full briefing from the State Department by the mentioning an essential part of Russian business in the 1990s when the country was weak and more corruptible than they were today as to the way to try and link him to the Mayor.

“Yes, I do know the President, but I wouldn’t say I am his ‘Buddy,’ Jessica. And no, he is most definitely not my ‘Protector.’” He took a moment to gather his thoughts just like James taught him he continued on.

“It’s the other way around. The President expects all of Russia’s business leaders to help and support the country interests by becoming National Champions,” he answered seriously and deliberately to give her an opening to bring up Adwalland and so send a message to State Department that he could be used as an instrument in any back channel if needed while hoping they were smart enough to see it. She didn’t disappoint.

“So your investment in Adwalland is an example of that expectation in action?” she asked as if on cue.

“Yes, I was asked to lead a delegation of Russian companies due to my close relationship with the President of Adwalland, who I think by the way, is doing a magnificent job with his tribal leaders in rebuilding his young country…But you have to remember that we are British company at heart and will always be so,” he answered carefully to lay out his position as the Honest Broker by publically espousing that, despite his many years in Russia as an investor, he was British.

“So the fact that you assisted in the negotiations between the two Presidents, in the agreement, to put a navy base one hundred and twenty-five miles away from the American base in Djibouti is secondary,” she said, delivering the statement as promised to her source at the State Department.

“What’s your point, Jessica? I don’t understand your question?” he asked to give her more fuel for the fire.

“That you’re part of the new Russian Policy deliberately challenging the United States of America in all theatres,” she said, taking the bait with piercing blue eyes.

“Well, I don’t speak for the Russian Government; you will need to ask the Russian Foreign Ministry that question. I will counter that if the Russian Government is prepared to support its and their partner’s organizations with a ten billion dollar investment into the infrastructure needed to assist in the extraction of the world’s much needed natural resources then that State,” he paused for effect, “is entitled to safeguard their interests as they see fit. So yes, if the governments of Russia or Adwalland believe a navy base will help in a traditionally hard and difficult region then I welcome it as a businessman… That said, I think it would be arrogant or naive to believe the TLH Group is part of a deliberate challenge between two great countries especially when all we are trying to do is help in the rebuilding of a young war-torn country,” he answered with a smile, implying it was.

The power-keg was now well and truly lit.

While Jessica Austin was finishing her exclusive interview with Litchfield with a move back to puff pieces, Joe McGiven turned down the television set in his private office within his Georgetown townhouse, picked up the phone and dialed David Young who was at a dinner party his wife was hosting.

Having checked to see who was calling him he excused himself from the table, immediately walked into his office, and closed the door. On the fourth ring, Young answered.

“Mr. McGiven,” he said.

“Director Young,” The Chief of Staff said. The greetings out of way, McGiven started with the reason for his call.

“Director, I don’t suppose you just saw the Litchfield interview on MGN?” he asked.

“No, Sir I did not,” Young answered before continuing. “However, I am aware his communication teams have been busy briefing journalists all over the world on the positives of the Russian commitment in Adwalland.”

“Well, it’s been over a couple of months since the Secretary has had a full update,” McGiven responded using his boss as a stick, having just been put in his place by the Director.

“Yes I’m aware that is the case, Mr. McGiven,” Young countered dismissively.

“I will have my office arrange a briefing for you if you feel the Secretary needs one,” Young continued in measured tones knowing that his calls were monitored despite the encryption software before ending the call, annoyed that he had interrupted his dinner for something he could have requested by secure email.

Interview completed, Thomas thanked Jessica and with Mikhail left the studios of MGN in his Armored Mercedes Benz S500.

Pulling out his phone, he rang Nara first in London to see how she was.

“You did very well, my Thomas!” she said before he said anything referring to the interview he had just given.

“You saw it then, darling,” he chuckled.

“You put that little Jelep in her place!” she responded with passion before launching into an update on Victoria, who was still calling home once a day while she got used to boarding school.

The update exhausted, Nara finished off the call with a confirmation as to their table guests for the annual TLH senior team dinner at the weekend at Farrow Hall, their country retreat in Sussex.

Domestic obligations out of the way Thomas then emailed Louise whose BlackBerry was never off and asked her to ask Angus to invite Mrs. Elizabeth Field and a guest that he knew, if she accepted, would be a fellow officer.

He also instructed to put her on his table, as well as making sure that the new Russian Ambassador to Adwalland and his wife were on it as well.

He had decided to invite Rebecca because she had asked to see him so to provide with her an update on matters in Adwalland.

It was something he hadn’t expected, so he wondered if that meant the British was about to pull the plug with respect to his formal request that the Prime Minister and Trade and Industry secretary make some kind of formal statement of support for the British companies investing in the country due to the Americans increasing counter briefings.

With what he just said on television and not to mention having put the ball into play with Steve over the last month Thomas knew at some point that would almost certainly happen and now it appeared it was.

He just needed to make sure that whatever happened in the game between Russia and the U.S. with respect the Naval Base, his interests were protected.

Reaching Aureole Charlie Palmer’s restaurant on 135th and 42nd Street, Mikhail got out of the car first checked the environment, then allowed Thomas to get out and enter the restaurant. As he did so, he spotted the Black Cadillac SUV sitting across the street.

“I see we have a friend Mikhail?” Thomas noted.

“FBI,” Mikhail answered earning a nod in return from Thomas over the fact that they were keeping tabs on him as they walked into the restaurant together.

Greeting the receptionist on the front desk he asked if Ambassador Fielding had arrived at the restaurant.

“Yes sir, he’s there already, sitting at the table,” the pretty lady answered with a smile before gesturing for him and Mikhail to follow her.

Twice married, hard-nosed, no-nonsense Jack Fielding was a career diplomat who previously had been a Special Advisor to the President George Bush Junior on African Affairs, and before that when the French ran the forward operating base a former Ambassador to Djibouti and now ran his own strategic consulting firm on business development.

James Weston had set up this meeting, on the premise that “If you’re going to be taking fucking heat on the Adwalland investment from our cousins then I suggest you get your own voice within the floors of the houses,” he had said, making reference to the lack of friends that TLH had in the congress and senate.

Reaching the table he found James, tie undone as usual, in his Saville Row uniform of a pinstripe grey suit, while the ambassador wore a uniform that most New York businessmen preferred of a regular Brooks Brothers dark blue suit though, in his case, his tie was made up and because he was a former public servant he had a little American flag pin on his lapel.

Getting up, James greeted him.

“Fucking good effort, Tommy!” he said instantly in his regular redneck boy-made-good way in respect to his coolness under pressure during his interview with Jessica. “The fucking phone has been going non-stop from the business desks asking what you meant on the Russian Navy base situation, though,” he said, half asking.

“What have you been telling them?” Thomas asked.

“That you’re FUCKING British! Not FUCKING Russian!” James answered hoping that he had actually grasped his positioning.

Thomas acknowledged his answer with a nod of his head knowing he would have been a tad more eloquent than that though, but, not by much, he reflected just as the Ambassador decided to introduce himself.

“I can vouch for that sir, Jack Fielding,” he said offering his hand with a smile.

“Oh fuck! Where are my manners?” said James embarrassed, despite his brilliance in communications, a double first in Modern and Medieval Languages from Cambridge, he had missed out the lesson of diplomatic etiquette. “Ambassador Jack Fielding, may I present Sir Thomas Litchfield,” he said introducing, now back on track, “and Mikhail Pshenicnikov,” he added.

The Ambassador started the conversation.

“I haven’t seen your interview yet, Sir Thomas, but having been briefed by James and seen the number of calls that he has been getting I certainly can see you must have set fire to the ‘blue touch’ paper!” he said warmly.

“I just answered it from a businessman’s point of view, Ambassador,” Thomas replied as he began to assess the person across the table from him.

“Well, I can certainly see why the State Department has been taking an interest in you!” answered the Ambassador with a small smile of his own and who was doing the same thing with respect to Thomas.

“Well, one does like to get out in the midday sun,” deflected Thomas straight-faced as he began to look at his menu.

“Indeed,” replied the older Statesman as he put his glasses on to read the menu in his hand.

The dinner was really a fishing expedition for both men, with the Ambassador providing Thomas with insight as how the State Department was viewing Russia’s re-emergence, himself, and of course their proposed base in East Africa, and finally in an effort to promote himself how he could be potentially useful within the corridors of the lower and the upper house on the Hill.

Thomas was impressed. The former Ambassador knew his stuff and quickly grasped what TLH end game was and positioning.

“You know, Sir Thomas, I think there is a touch of Metternich in you,” Fielding said suddenly out of the blue as the coffee arrived.

“Witty or tenacious?” Thomas offered deadpan with his own light-hearted attempt at the synopsis.

Smiling back in return if what somewhat surprised that the man across from him actually knew he was referring to the great Prince of Austria’s personal overall character traits who kept the powers of France and Prussia surrounding him at bay in the 1800s, the Ambassador, having recovered from his momentary surprise, answered.

“I was actually thinking that you’re unquestionably someone who has perfected the shape and nature of diplomacy of this era is going to take just as he did in his.”

“A dokter un a kvores-man zeinen shutfim,” offered Mikhail.

“I am sorry, Mikhail, forgive me. I don’t speak Yiddish,” replied the Ambassador recognizing the language nevertheless.

“It means ‘doctors and grave-diggers are partners.’” Mikhail replied with a smile as he took a sip of his water. He never drank when on duty.

“So true! That works too!” offered the Ambassador with laughter. “So which are you, Sir Thomas?” he probed again.

“I will take the fifth on that Mr. Ambassador,” Thomas answered.

“So you will support TLH?” James asked, ignoring the Ambassador’s efforts at intellectual flattery by pushing him to confirm whether he would act as their advocate in the corridors of Washington, knowing full well that Thomas needed him.

“I would be delighted to consult for your business, gentleman,” he answered as the bill arrived.