Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) by Neil Behrmann Page B

American banks were keen to lend the Russians hundreds of millions of dollars. The directors promised that the companies would soon develop substantial mines that would earn multi millions.
    A few years passed by, but the mines produced hardly anything. The companies spent a lot, continually requiring more money for drilling and other equipment. In most instances, the drills and tools never arrived. Losses grew and investors became impatient. The directors knew that their promises were empty, but the Telegraph was unsure about Yapolovitch. Did he know the full story, or was he in fantasyland? Yapolovitch remained full of confidence at various investor and banker meetings and enthusiastically backed the directors. Good times were around the corner, he claimed. Yapolovitch continually spun the optimistic story because he was no longer an objective, cautious banker. The directors were bribing him. The bank paid him an unexceptional salary, so his wealth came from backhanders. The bribes enabled him to enjoy the lifestyle of a jet set celebrity banker who owned a Moscow football club.
    For a short while, Moscow Narodsky and other banks continued to lend money to the dud companies, but eventually the music stopped. Disenchanted investors and bankers at last decided that it was foolish to throw money down Siberian holes. Losses mounted. The corporations were doing so badly that they stopped paying their employees. The workers complained and the Russian police began to investigate. They found that the directors were fraudsters. Yapolovitch tried to wriggle out of his corner and decided that it was best to give State's Evidence. The deal was that he would receive a lenient sentence for his corruption, provided that he exposed the crooks behind the scam.
    The company directors and Yapolovitch were the front men, but the Telegraph concluded that the true owners of the dud mines were the Russian mafia. When they found out that Yapolovitch was going to give evidence to the Moscow prosecutor, the mafia took out a contract on his life. He ran away to London, but couldn't escape the Russian criminal network. The public hanging was a message to others. Keep your mouths shut!
    I held my breath as I recalled the struggling, twitching banker at the end of the rope and nervously paged through the newspaper. Relief! There was nothing about the police search for the key witness.
    While I was looking, I came across another article. The story was about the death of a Russian journalist. Marcia Mirikover, freelance Moscow correspondent for the Telegraph and other foreign newspapers, had investigated the scandal. She had met with the angry workers. Most of the information in the Telegraph's Russian fraud article came from her reports. Mirikover had arrived in London the previous week to interview Yapolovitch. She had been a friend of his wife at university, so the refugee banker had decided that he could trust her. Her meeting with the Moscow banker proved to be fatal.
    'Marcia Mirikover, a courageous journalist, died in mysterious circumstances last week,' the Telegraph said. 'She fell in front of a train at King's Cross.'
    'The Railway Police first thought that it was yet another suicide on London's underground,' the article continued. 'After the body was recovered, British and Russian police cooperated. They concluded that it was very possible that someone had pushed Mirikover on to the railway line.'
    The date of the death was scary. It was the very day I had arrived in London. I recalled the delay at King's Cross station and commuters saying someone had fallen in front of the train. Was the unfortunate person Mirikover?
    I folded the Telegraph and noticed that the authors were grinning at the headline. One of them asked for the paper and laughed: 'Seems that Yapolovitch was yapping too much.'
    I smiled weakly, held Jazz's lead tightly and quickly left the pub's garden. I was paranoid, fretting that I would be recognised by someone, anyone. I