Limonov thought once more about his plan, running over details in his mind knowing fully well this would be the last opportunity before he presented it to the president. He committed himself to its implementation, telling himself it was as close to foolproof as he could possibly make it.
Valeri Volodin entered the room, his gait fast and focused as he approached, his eyes locked on Limonov as if he might attack. He made no apology for his late entrance, but Limonov had expected none.
Volodin got right down to it. “When we last met you agreed to a plan to move my holdings to someplace out of the established network and into new secure accounts that will be invisible to not only those in the West hunting for them, but also those at home who might not have my best interests in mind.”
“Yes, Mr. President. I believe I have come up with an infallible strategy to remove your money from existing accounts where they might be monitored by FSB auditors and those who might report to FSB, then move it via a network of companies, banks, trusts, and special purpose entities to initiate the obfuscation of its disbursal, and then… suddenly, to make it altogether disappear.”
Volodin said, “You’ve lost the plot, Limonov. I don’t want my money to disappear.”
“Right, well it will reappear, only to you, and not tied to the chain of previous movements. It will not be money that was shuffled around. It will be money that existed, then ceased to exist. And then, as if by magic, new money will appear in different accounts, known only to you, all over the world.”
“You have my attention, Andrei Ivanovich.”
“The plan revolves around cryptocurrency. Bitcoin. Are you familiar with this?”
“I am familiar with it, but not familiar enough to give you eight billion dollars. Keep talking.”
“Removing your assets from their existing accounts, I will channel them through a network of shells to slow down anyone trying to track the transactions. Then I will use the money to purchase digital currency, which is untraceable. Once we have the digital currency we will use this to purchase fiat currency, that is to say government-backed money, and this money, completely distanced from your original assets, will be deposited in a collection of banks around the world. The beauty of it all, Mr. President, is that no one will know where your money is other than you.”
“This is your objective. That is not the same thing as a plan. Tell me how this will happen.”
Andrei Limonov spoke for the next ten minutes, taking small charts out of his stack of papers in his briefcase to use as illustrations. When Limonov was finished with his presentation, Volodin tapped his fingers together several times. It was an affectation that, in others, would likely appear thoughtful, but Volodin was so full of nervous energy it looked utterly manic.
Volodin said, “This man you mentioned. The man you will need the assistance of to ensure our little project’s success, do you think he will work with you?”
“For what we will pay him, he would be a fool not to.”
Volodin sniffed. “The world is full of such fools.”
Limonov was taken aback. He expected to have to defend some of the technical aspects of the plan, but not whether he could employ the services of someone by giving them an incredible sum of money to do the very job they were already doing.
Limonov said, “I will need this man to work with me for two weeks, no more. I will oversee him while he makes the trades, in increments of a few million at a time, so we do not draw more attention than we need. He is a businessman, and this is his business. The only change to his normal business is that I will require being present while he works, and the amount of money will be more than he has ever dealt with. He will be compensated for this alteration in the normal working relationship he uses with his clients.”
Volodin said, “Andrei Ivanovich, I foresee this as being more difficult than you expect. People might want information who don’t need it. People might try to find out about you and your client. I can’t allow that to happen.” Before Limonov could respond, the Russian president asked, “Do you know a man named Vlad Kozlov?”
Limonov’s stomach suddenly began to churn. His voice cracked when he answered. “I am aware of the name.”
Volodin touched a button on his desk. “Send him in.”
Limonov turned to look toward the door of Volodin’s private office. His heart pounded against his ribs.
The real reason Limonov had refused to work with the FSB was because of people just like Vladimir Ivanovich Kozlov. He’d never met the man, had no idea what he looked like, but the name Vlad Kozlov had been breathed by some of his banker friends who worked for the government. As the man entered and approached across the floor now, Limonov stood, suddenly feeling meek and small. The new arrival was forty-nine and athletic. He had gray hair so short it was spiked, and a surprisingly good sense of style. His suit and tie made him look like a Kremlin pol, but Andrei Limonov knew what the man crossing the room was.
He was an ex — operations officer in the FSB. Well known as ruthless and cunning, and also regarded as extraordinarily cold.
He wasn’t the man to pull the trigger himself, not anymore, but Vlad Kozlov was the type of man who got a lot of people killed on both sides.
He had been internal security previous to Volodin’s rise to power, but once the man on the other side of the desk from Limonov took over in the Kremlin, Kozlov had left the intelligence services and gone to work for Volodin personally. People around Moscow whispered that he had orchestrated the assassination of a couple of prominent journalists here in the city in the past few years, and his name had come up in a recent ruthless and effective hit of a popular Volodin opponent on a bridge right outside the Kremlin.
Limonov knew all this through rumors and inside gossip, but looking at the man in the flesh now, he had no reason to doubt any of it. He looked like a cross between a gorilla and a snake.
Limonov stood to shake hands with Kozlov, and when both men sat down, Limonov looked back to Volodin. “I do not understand.”
Volodin nodded. “Which is why Vlad will be your guide through all this. He works for Grankin at the Security Council, but I’ve had him tasked to me personally. You are the private equity manager. He is the facilitator. When you need something, he will get it for you. When you need someone, he will get them for you. When you run into trouble, he will spin you around and run you right out of trouble.”
“With due respect, what sort of trouble do you think I will get into? I will be setting up a business network, I will be acquiring digital currency, and I will be establishing offshore accounts. I have been doing this sort of thing for a dozen years without anyone there to guide me.”
“There will be people in Russia who do not want you to liquidate assets, people overseas who will require information you are not allowed to provide. It is the nature of the world that sometimes certain pressures must be applied to influence outcomes.”
Limonov glanced at the man seated next to him. Kozlov looked straight ahead, at his president. “May I ask if Mr. Kozlov is also responsible for keeping watch over me? Exerting this pressure you speak of on me to ensure I do what I am supposed to do?”
Volodin replied matter-of-factly, “I find it is better to trust two men partially than one man wholly.”
He said nothing else. Limonov did not know whether he should follow up that comment with a protest about the arrangement — sitting here with Volodin and Kozlov, he quickly determined the better course of action was to hold his tongue.