The Devil's Handshake by Michael Reagan Page A

“toeing the line,” Thomas decided that
when he received an approach from the ‘fixer’ representing the
Sheikh of Dubai (flush with money by selling the sand of his
Emirate and then mortgaging it) offering to buy his forty-nine
percent stake in his Oil Company for US$30 billion he concluded the
time was right to leave Russia forever.
    With the deal all but signed and just as he
was about to get on the plane to head for the United Arab Emirates
Thomas’s private mobile went off with the screen flashing
“Mayor.”
    The oligarch took a deep breath and answered
on the second ring. The conversation was curt and in English.
    “ Thomas, I want you to join
me in Sochi tonight.” No greeting or small talk after three years
of silence, just an order to be obeyed.
    “ Yes, Mr. President,”
Thomas’s reply was equally short.
    “ Mayor?” Mikhail asked,
already knowing the answer.
    “ Better tell the Captain we
are going to Sochi!” Thomas ordered. The expression on his face
said it all.
    The flight took nearly four hours. Thomas
didn’t speak once as he sat opposite his trusted aide and bodyguard
lost in his thoughts, something Mikhail later remarked had worried
him immensely for he was never like that.
    Once the plane landed they were met by the
President’s protection team and with only Mikhail allowed to travel
with him, but not before he had to with great reluctance his hand
over his weapon, they were driven to the Mayor’s summer
residence.
    Arriving at the grand villa on Bocharov
Ruchey, Thomas was shown directly into the President’s office while
Mikhail was asked to wait outside.
    The sight of the Mayor standing behind his
desk, as was his way, signing papers with two aides at his side
greeted Thomas as he entered the room. Motioning for him to sit in
a chair in front of the desk Thomas did so in silence for five
minutes. It was pure theatre by the Mayor designed to impress upon
Thomas his position and power.
    Finished and dismissing the aides, The Mayor
opened the discussion.
    “ Thomas,” he said, taking a
pause as his signal to answer reflecting his position over Thomas
and it was his turn to answer. The Oligarch did just
that.
    “ Mr. President,” he replied,
dominance established.
    “ How are Miss
Gurbanammedowova and Victoria?” The Mayor asked, providing him a
signal that he always kept tabs on him.
    “ They are extremely well,
Sir,” Thomas offered in reply that earned a single nod back in
return.
    The “Presidential style” small talk over, the
President of Russia got up then requested that they go out on to
the terrace.
    Having sat down at a cast iron table in the
sun, the Mayor picked up the silver tea set and poured Thomas a cup
of black tea and then one for him.
    “ Why are you selling to the
Sheikh?” the President asked as he stirred the glass to release the
flavor.
    “ His offer is a good one,
Sir,” Thomas responded, leaving his tea untouched.
    “ Not for Russia my friend!”
the President answered referring to the fact a foreign state not
even a country but a mere city state within an OPEC nation
potentially owning a Russian Oil Company thereby affecting its
Energy Security position was not an acceptable
situation.
    Sensing that the conversation was now not a
negotiation, but that of a directive, Thomas knew instantly that
his deal with the Sheikh was dead.
    “ Do you have a preferred
buyer, Sir?” Thomas asked, for being a wise man, he knew now was a
time when to bow down at the throne.
    “ Niet.”
    “ This is going to be
extremely difficult!” Thomas thought as he took a sip of his black
tea trying desperately hard not to show his nerves.
    “ Then what would you
suggest, Sir, as I am sure now that my business does not comply
with your National Champions Policy,” Thomas stated, knowing that
if the man nationalized his business the cash-flow loss on his
entire business would almost certainly break him.
    The Mayor smiled at him. “The solution is
simple, you either