Erick shook hands. ‘I told the driver to wait.’
‘I will tell him to go back to Leningrad. We will arrange for your luggage to be brought here from your hotel. You will stay with us. Wait here a moment.’ He hurried out to the taxi, then came back again. ‘Welcome to our humble home. We Russians are poor, so do not expect too much of us. I am so pleased to see you. Please follow me.’
‘I was surprised when I saw the Palace. Is it a museum?’ Erick asked.
‘It is a great museum. Many Russian tourists come here during the summer. I don’t think it is well known abroad as Russia has so many palaces. I live here with my wife and can enjoy the garden and the lake every day. We lived in Moscow before I retired.’
‘You look too young to have retired.’
Osov laughed. ‘In Russia many retirements are involuntary.’
They walked towards a frozen lake. Boats had been pulled ashore for winter. Beside the water stood a small timber‑built house painted light grey, its windows picked out in a darker shade. A thin plume of smoke hung in the icy air above it.
‘This is my dacha. We have lived here for two years now. My wife’s family are from Pushkin nearby and some work here in the museum. The young man you met is her nephew.’
They entered the house, which was plainly but tastefully furnished. A fire blazed in the large open hearth, giving the room a warm, cosy glow.
‘Welcome!’ A round little woman, her black hair caught back in an old‑fashioned bun, came bustling up to Erick. ‘I am Petra, Ivan’s wife. I will make you some tea and then in an hour something to eat. I hope you are staying here?’ She looked older than her husband, wearing a baggy blue knitted dress with a white belt.
‘Yes, thank you. If it’s not too much trouble? I should have informed you I was coming, but arrangements were made at the last moment.’
‘We’re always pleased to meet someone from London. We lived there for two years before moving to Paris and then New York. My husband worked for a bank. This is six years ago. Now we are quite happy here.’
Osov frowned, indicating with a wave of his right hand that she should go and prepare the tea. When Petra had gone, the two men stood side by side looking out of the tall window towards the lake. The only sound came from the flames crackling in the grate.
‘My guess is,’ Osov said quietly, ‘that you came unannounced to catch me unprepared. To see if I am who I said I am. But the fact that you are here tells me that you are at least interested in my proposal.’
Erick smiled. ‘I have to give my opinion, see if it is technically workable. But before that, tell me about yourself.’
‘I used to be in charge of foreign investment for the Zhargo Bank in Chermyakhovskage Street, Moscow. All my life I have worked for that bank, here and abroad. After New York, I was asked to take up the position of branch manager for the Leningrad area.’ He moved away from the window and waved Erick to one of the comfortable armchairs set beside the fire. ‘After a year I had a dispute with head office in Moscow and refused to take the responsibility for something they had messed up. They wanted me to brush something under the carpet, as you say, which is not uncommon in Russia. In the end I received an ultimatum. Either I retired with a full pension and the many privileges I enjoyed and kept my mouth shut, or the bank would sack me. So I retired.’
Osov stared into the fire. ‘Maybe it was my lucky day, because it was then I discovered that I possessed a valuable talent.’
‘For what?’ Erick asked.
‘Acting. Deception, my friend. I believe in England you would call me a con artist. I was used to thinking like the manager of a small branch. This, combined with my ability to inspire trust, brought rich rewards shortly after I retired.’
‘You’re talking of bank fraud?’
Osov nodded. ‘You can be shot for that here, as you may know. But since I was allowed to keep my passport, I carried out my schemes in Paris a couple of times, with considerable success. Working in the West is perfect for me. Who would ever think of tracing me to a town like Pushkin? The Western authorities probably wouldn’t bother anyway, and if they did, where would they start? Our police here haven’t even a telex.’
‘I see your point.’
‘But things are becoming worse in Russia every month,’ Osov went on. ‘I believe that within a couple of years, the communist system will collapse and a free economy will emerge. When that happens, those who understand what the people want, and can give it to them, will become all powerful. Unfortunately, there are people here who have always controlled our black economy. The Russian Mafia, we call them. Do you know, we have fifty ways of saying “to steal” in the Russian language?’
Erick wondered how Osov dared to be so open with someone he had only just met. ‘How can you be sure I am Bertrand Boucher’s associate?’
Osov smiled. ‘I asked the taxi driver where he picked you up. Your passport is in the hotel safe, as the law requires. The hotel made a registration‑card, which you are supposed to carry. Your air ticket is in the room and it is a return. A call to Paris confirmed your description. All that happened before you even said hello to my wife. We Russian can be naive but we are not stupid.’
Erick laughed. ‘I’m glad you take precautions. We can’t be too paranoid. Why don’t you tell me your plan?’
* * *
‘The principle of any fraud is to create a situation where the banks have one hundred per cent confidence in the fraudsters. This is my area of expertise. I have two of Russia’s most talented actors from the Bolshoi Drama Theatre helping me. They speak and write English perfectly without any accent and have both lived abroad for several years. Their lives are devoted to saving the theatre. Every rouble they make out of helping me is ploughed back into BDT. They have become experts. They are skilled in building up my assumed identity, discreetly and subtly. Maybe you will laugh, but we train two half days a week. We have scripts... we improvise... we analyse... One word out of place could put an end to months of work.’
‘You are very thorough.’ Erick sounded impressed.
Osov smiled. ‘What you do not understand is that people like us have to have something to hang on to, to devote our lives to. My two friends are deeply involved with the survival of this fine theatre. That is a stronger motive even than personal greed. They are married to two dancers from the Ballet.’
‘I’m surprised,’ Erick admitted. ‘I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly not a scheme to subsidise the arts!’
‘Leningrad is where Dostoievsky lived. He believed that everything is possible,’ Osov said slowly. ‘For a person to borrow a thousand roubles from a bank is more difficult than to ask for millions of dollars. The first is merely an irritation, the second demands to be taken seriously. The spotlight is on the project, no longer on the person presenting the plan. Then it moves to the advisors. Finally to matters of security, profitability and timing. The “closing”, as they call it in American marketing, then depends on the confidence of the fraudster, his credibility, manners, looks, smile. His whole aura. Finally, of course, the person on the other side of the table wants the business and feels he could be making a big mistake by not giving his approval to the scheme.’
‘I think you have succeeded in convincing me.’ Erick smiled. ‘You obviously know what you’re talking about. But once you’ve gained the confidence of your bank manager, what happens then?’
Osov sat back, beaming. ‘Then we break that confidence! After a decent interval, of course.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
Osov leaned forward. He spoke slowly and carefully. ‘We have already opened various accounts, both in England and Spain. We are setting up a property development company in London with offices in Mayfair. First, we will ask three banks for finance for one or two developments in London. As we expect to have a large deposit in our account when we ask for this finance, I do not expect a problem. We show that we can get the work done and, more important, that we h
ave made a profit. Probably we have not, but that does not matter. Over the next two years we expand, but more and more abroad, where things are difficult to check. It is all starting to get a bit complicated, but by this time our accounts are getting bigger and bigger, and now the bank loves us. This happy relationship continues for up to two years. Then – poof! We pull the carpet from under them and the bank realises that the most recent undertakings it has been given are worthless. Then they find out that this successful property company has been built on sand.’
Erick expected from his experience with banks that an ambitious plan such as this could succeed. He recognised Osov as a man who could both plan and carry out exactly what he promised.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘As you know, I’m here to report back if you are genuine and if, in my opinion your project will work. I think I can say that we will go with you. All profits to be shared fifty‑fifty.’ He looked steadily at the man opposite and then said slowly, ‘I should warn you that if my organisation ends up being conned and not the banks, then your life, and those of your loved ones, will be forfeit.’
Osov breathed in deeply but did not speak. Erick went on in a low voice, ‘This is no idle threat. An enforcement squad is linked to the organisation. It takes instructions from only one person and its members never give up.’ He sat back. ‘You can back out now and nothing will happen. But if you take our money, you are committed. We will accept failure, but any double dealing will be a death sentence.’
Osov smiled. ‘Erick, I am not a dreamer. I am a plodder. What you have said, I fully understand. I will honour my part, but I do not wish my plan to be mentioned to anyone. What I have told you today is strictly between ourselves.’ When Erick nodded, he continued. ‘When can I expect the funds for my project?’
‘I must leave Leningrad tomorrow. The money can be transferred to wherever you want within a week.’
‘I am impressed that you can act so quickly.’ Osov rose and began to pace the room, his mobile face registering pleasure. ‘I would like part of the funds transferred to the BCCI Bank, Regent Street Branch in London. The account is in the name of Nicholstein’s Property Company Limited. The bank manager is a Mr Paul Dockett. Unfortunately in the end, of course, he will be the sacrificial lamb. But...’ He lifted his shoulders in a shrug... ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
_________________________
Edgware Road, London, Wednesday 9th November 1983
Erick and Andrea had been invited to dinner at Arthur and Diana’s.
They had been there before, but on this occasion they had been asked to dress for the occasion.
The flat was on the top floor of the Water Garden in Edgware Road. It was exquisitely furnished and commanded a wonderful view. Arthur had filled every room with antiques especially chosen to complement each other, creating a gracious home and not a soulless showplace. Entering the flat, Andrea declared, was like stepping into a different world.
In the living room they saw Catherine with a man sitting on a sofa close by, his back turned to them.
‘John!’ Andrea ran to him. ‘What a surprise! You look well!’
He gave them both a hug. ‘This was Arthur’s idea,’ he said. ‘He arranged it with Catherine.’
‘What are you doing in England?’
‘I’m in transit.’ He laughed at their bewildered expressions. ‘I’m giving myself up, going back to Maidstone tonight. But they can wait a few more hours.’
‘This evening is in John’s honour,’ said Arthur.
Afterwards John and Catherine took a taxi from Edgware Road to Chelsea, as she was staying in a small hotel off Sloane Street. Michael was at Cerne.
‘Do you believe in fate?’ she asked on the way. ‘Are our lives determined for us?’
John looked out of the window as they drove down Park Lane.
‘I don’t know. Fate seems to me like a rat in the night. Perhaps we have control over the small things, but significant events happen of their own accord.’
They sat in silence. When the taxi stopped at the hotel, she asked, ‘Are you coming in?’
He shook his head. ‘It’ll only make things more difficult. Let’s say goodbye now. I want to get this over.’
‘Is there no other way?’ Her voice sounded wistful. ‘Seems pointless to throw away two years of ours and Michael’s lives.’
‘There’s no alternative. Let’s blame it on fate.’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘We’re doing the right thing.’
‘I still love you, John,’ she said sadly and climbed out of the taxi.
He watched her hurry into the hotel, then said to the driver, ‘Take me to Maidstone.’
‘You must be joking!’ The driver looked aghast. ‘I’ll never get a fare back from there this time of night. Not worth my while, mate.’
John dug into his wallet and brought out six fifty pound notes.
The driver grinned. ‘Where exactly in Maidstone, sir?’
‘Do you know the prison?’
‘ Yes, it’s more or less in the middle of town. Working there, are you?’
‘No. I’m going back to do a couple years more on my sentence.’
He saw the driver’s eyes widen in the rear view mirror. ‘Can you do it in bits now?’ Then he understood. ‘Jeez! You been on the run? You don’t look the sort. What did you do?’
‘Just sold a bit of hash.’
‘Would a spot of music help?’ the driver asked.
‘The best thing you can do,’ John said firmly , ‘is to leave me alone. I just want to sit here and look back at London. I won’t be seeing it for a while.’
In a couple of years, he reflected, Erick would be one of the most influential and respected industrialists in the world.
Arthur had already fulfilled his dream of owning a high‑class shop and had a home which any tycoon would envy.
Bertrand Boucher had risen from nowhere to become a powerful and feared figure in European syndicated crime.
And he, John Forbes, the person who had set each of them well on the path to achieving their personal goal, was on his way back to prison.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
_________________________
Blantyre House, Kent, February 1984
‘Any ideas on target companies?’ Erick asked Jan Christensen impatiently on the telephone a few weeks later.
‘I have done as you said, not being a company analyst myself, I found Graham Rose, and persuaded him to join Hamlet Accountancy. He’s only been here for two weeks, but he’s very experienced and in a few days you will have the first suggested company,’ Jan replied. ‘Copies of the accounts will also be in the post within a few days, together with a detailed report I have worked on. You might be surprised by the product they manufacture, but think it over. It makes sense to me.’
Graham Rose’s report on Crown Bicycle PLC of Sheffield made fascinating reading for Erick. Graham was absolutely right. The company had large unencumbered assets, a manufacturing base that was presently being upgraded, and owned majority shareholdings in several other bicycle companies in the Far East, India and Africa. Based on the share price, the company was valued at £125 million and a quarter of the shares was still with the family who had founded it. The rest of the shares were well spread.
Before doing anything else, Erick had to talk to John, whose attitude to Crown would tell him everything he wanted to know. He decided to fly to England and visit John in Blantyre House open prison in Kent, where he had been moved the previous week.
* * *
‘It took me ages to find this place,’ he complained when he was finally seated opposite John in the shabby visiting room. ‘How are you?’
Erick looked round. The other prisoners looked like middle‑aged, hard men, probably eager to finish their sentences without any fuss. He knew they all had long stretches behind them, as they all came from Maidstone Prison.
‘Fi
ne,’ John replied. ‘Catherine and Michael have been here and they’ll be coming every month from now on. Mike’s doing all right, but I think you know there’s not much hope if anything goes wrong again.’ He waved his hand. ‘This place is a bit run down, but it’s not bad. Three evenings a week I play the piano. A local lady teaches me. And I’ve just started a year’s full‑time business management course. Every morning I cycle to the local college to get to know more about shares, investments and accounts.’ He grinned. ‘Some contradiction, eh? Me being back on the school bench while you’re playing monopoly with real money.’
Erick smiled. ‘Speaking of which...’
‘You’ve got something important to tell me or you’d have sent Sam.’ John sat back, waiting.
‘Graham Rose, who is our analyst, has given me the name of a target company. Your reaction will tell me if we’re on the right track.’ Erick paused, then said, ‘Crown Bicycle PLC.’
John raised his eyebrows. ‘I use a Crown bike every day. It’s the trusty steed that takes me to college.’
‘So what do you think?’
‘An astute choice. A quality product. If the balance sheet isn’t full of holes, you’re definitely on the right track.’
‘So I’ll approach the family about selling their shares?’
‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed,’ said John. ‘Hope you’re successful after getting me all excited!’
* * *
Ben Bancroft had suggested that they take over an existing solicitor’s practice in Kensington, Church Street. He had found a young solicitor called Thomas Wren who was willing to take on the company’s legal work and whom he could place in the firm for a couple of months to gain experience. Then the practice could be moved into the City, with a change of the name. Wren’s wife was a barrister working in Serjeant’s Inn on the Temple, who would also be useful to the Company.
Thomas Wren & Partners, Solicitors, of Cutlers Gardens, London EC1 became a reality two months later. Higginson Investments and Hamlet Accountancy were told to use Wren’s services as often as necessary.
Shortly after setting up his practice, Thomas Wren met Erick and Karen to discuss the best way of approaching the family who owned part of the shareholding in Crown Bicycle PLC.
The largest shareholder was the eighty‑five‑year‑old daughter of the original owner. Wren was told to approach her family solicitor on the behalf of the Zurich bank, and suggest a meeting with her financial and legal advisors. The offer for her shares was considerably higher than their market value. No other family shareholders were to be approached until the response to this offer was known.