Anything could be poisoned.
Sanches arrived fifteen minutes late. In his early forties, he was about five feet ten inches and had a paunch. He was wearing a tan sport jacket, dark slacks, and a white shirt with no tie. His brown hair was unkempt. His skin was milky, his eyes nervous and intense. As soon as he spoke, it was evident that he was no Alejandro Sanches.
«Please excuse the alias, Mr. Firestone», he said in Russian, «but I have to be careful».
«I understand», Jamie answered, also in Russian, wondering if all the other people in the bar were security personnel for Sanches.
«My real name is Alexander Perepilichnyy».
Jamie motioned for the waitress as Perepilichnyy dropped into a chair. He ordered green tea as Jamie tried to size him up. Perepilichnyy did the same to Jamie.
The tea was served.
Perepilichnyy said, «Thank you for agreeing to see me».
«Of course. We’re very interested in what you have to say».
Perepilichnyy lifted the teacup and took a careful sip. He put the cup down. Both men stared at each other in awkward silence. Then Perepilichnyy said, «I got in touch with you because I saw the videos about Kuznetsov and Karpov. Magnitsky’s death was shocking. Every Russian accepts corruption, but torturing an innocent man to death is crossing the line».
Bullshit, thought Jamie. He knew that these days most Russians didn’t operate on high-minded principles like these. Everything in Russia was about money. Making it, keeping it, and making sure no one took it. Jamie had no idea what Perepilichnyy’s real agenda was, but he was confident that the man wasn’t sitting here because he cared about Sergei.
«The information in your email is good but incomplete», Jamie said. «Do you have any more documents?»
Perepilichnyy said, «Yes, but not with me».
Jamie leaned back in his chair, the ice in his Diet Coke shifting as it melted. «Would you mind if one of my colleagues joined us? I’d like him to go over the documents you provided. When we’re sure we understand them, we’ll tell you what else we need».
Perepilichnyy agreed. Jamie pulled his phone from a pocket and texted Vadim, who was waiting on New Bond Street right around the corner. Two minutes later, Vadim pushed through the entrance, made his way to the table, and introduced himself.
As Vadim sat, Jamie pulled out Perepilichnyy’s documents. Vadim leafed through them and asked, «Do you mind walking me through these?»
«Sure. This is a Credit Suisse bank statement for an account owned by Vladlen Stepanov, husband of Olga Stepanova». Perepilichnyy indicated a line midway down the page. «Here’s a transfer for one point five million euros on May twenty-sixth. Here’s one for one point seven on June sixth. And here’s another for one point three million on June seventeenth». He ran his finger over several other transactions. All told, in May and June of 2008, €7.1 million had been transferred into this account.
Jamie squinted at the documents. «Where did you get these?»
Perepilichnyy shifted uncomfortably. «Let’s just say I know some people».
Jamie and Vadim didn’t like this, but they didn’t want to spook Perepilichnyy so they didn’t press him.
Vadim flipped through the papers. «This could be very useful, but I don’t see Vladlen Stepanov’s name in any of the bank statements. How are they connected to him?»
«That’s simple. The account belongs to a Cypriot company owned by Vladlen». Perepilichnyy pointed to an ownership document with Vladlen’s name on it, but not his signature.
Vadim lowered his glasses. He’d been investigating corporate fraud for over thirteen years, and his standard practice was to assume everything was a lie until he saw evidence to prove otherwise. «Thank you. But without proof that Stepanov actually owns this company, there’s not much we can do with this. We need copies of these ownership papers with his signature».
«I understand», Perepilichnyy said. «This was just meant to be a first meeting. I can come back with what you’re asking for if you’d like to meet again».
«Yes, that’d be great», Jamie said. With that they finished the meeting and shook hands, and Perepilichnyy got up and left.
When Vadim returned to the office to report what had happened, I was suspicious and said, «It sounds like a scam».
«Maybe. But if what he’s saying is true, this would be the first time we could show exactly how some of these people got money from the tax-rebate fraud».
«Fair enough. Let’s see if Perepilichnyy can produce what he promised».
A week later, they agreed to meet again. This time they would be joined by Vladimir Pastukhov, who, because of his near blindness, had an amazing sixth sense for people.
The following Tuesday, Vadim and Vladimir met Perepilichnyy back at the Polo Bar. True to his word, Perepilichnyy produced a copy of a signed document showing that Vladlen Stepanov owned the Cypriot company with the Credit Suisse bank statements.
When Vadim and Vladimir came back to the office and showed me the document, I was not impressed. It looked like a simple piece of paper with some illegible signatures on it. Anyone could have made it or forged it.
«What is this? I can barely read it».
«This is from Stepanov’s auditor», Vadim said.
It seemed to me that they were too ready to believe Perepilichnyy. «This could be anybody’s signature. Do you really think we should trust this guy?»
«I do», Vadim said. «I think he’s for real».
«What do you think, Vladimir?»
«I believe him too. He seems honest».
They continued to meet over the following weeks, and we learned some interesting things. In addition to the Swiss accounts, Perepilichnyy told us how the Stepanovs had purchased a six-bedroom villa and two luxury condominiums in Dubai on the Palm Jumeirah, a massive man-made archipelago shaped like a palm tree. The market value of these properties was around $7 million. In Russia, the Stepanovs built a mansion in the most fashionable suburb of Moscow that was valued at $20 million. In total, they’d amassed bank accounts and properties worth nearly $40 million.
To help illustrate just how lavish and ridiculous these expenditures were, Vadim got hold of the Stepanovs’ tax filings, which showed that since 2006 their average annual income was only $38,281.
This information was so good that I was sure it would go viral if we produced another YouTube video. Adding Olga Stepanova to our collection of «Russian Untouchables» would shake the Russian elite right to the core.
There was one problem, though.
Perepilichnyy’s story wasn’t just good. It was too good.
It was entirely plausible that Perepilichnyy was working for the FSB, and that this was a well-planned operation to destroy my credibility. It was right out of their playbook: create a character with a believable story; have this person pass valuable information to his target; wait for the target to disclose this information publicly; then show how the information is false.
If this scenario played out, it would entirely compromise all the work we had done over the last three years with journalists and governments throughout the world. It wouldn’t take long for policy makers to ask, «Why are we backing this liar at the expense of our important relationship with Russia?»
If we were going to make a video about the Stepanovs, I had to be certain that what Perepilichnyy said was true — and I also needed to know how he’d gotten his information.
For a long time he was cagey on this point, but finally, he let down his guard. He told us the reason he had so many of these financial documents was that he’d been a private banker for a number of wealthy Russians, including the Stepanovs.