‘But another ring road? Is that the best way to solve them?’ Vladimir raised a vodka. ‘Your health,’ he said, and took a sip. ‘How long is it that we’ve known each other, Dima?’
‘Twenty years,’ said the billionaire.
‘I remember the first time you came and sat in that chair.’
‘I do too! Without you, I’d be nothing, Vova.’
Vladimir laughed. ‘No one would be anything! Russia would be nothing! Do you know what a shitheap it was when I got hold of it? If you think you do, think again. Tell me, how much did you pay the first time?’
‘To see you?’
Vladimir nodded, downing his vodka.
‘A million dollars.’
‘That was cheap.’
‘Very cheap. Ridiculous.’
‘Today it’s five million, Monarov tells me. Maybe it’s more. I don’t even know.’
‘It should be more. Your time is priceless, Vladimir Vladimirovich.’
‘So, was it a good investment?’
‘A very good investment,’ replied Kolyakov without hesitation. ‘At ten times the price it would have been a good investment.’
Vladimir nodded. Not as good an investment as it was for me, he thought. To make people pay to meet him, only so that they would have the chance to offer him even more money – who could imagine such a business? The first time he saw how this kind of thing could be done, when he came back to Russia and found himself in the city government in St Petersburg during the wild days as the Soviet Union collapsed, he could barely believe it. An eye-opener. At the start he was barely a spectator, getting the crumbs of the crumbs, a percentage of the percentages, but as he rose in influence and got the hang of the game, the money came flooding in. Commissions, fees, markups, kickbacks – call it what you want. Set up a company and watch the businessmen queue up to route their business through it and leave you twenty percent as they did. Sometimes thirty or forty percent. Import, export, food, oil… Never in his life had he imagined it could be so easy or that he could take so much. But as it turned out, even that was small beer. Once he got to Moscow, everything would have an extra zero on the end, or two, or three.
‘I’m not sure about another ring road,’ he said. ‘Didn’t the latest report say another ring road would make things worse?’
‘That’s just a report, Vladimir Vladimirovich,’ said Kolyakov, waving a hand airily. ‘A word from you, and it’s forgotten.’
‘I thought it said extensions to the metro or even a light rail system would be better.’
Kolyakov shook his head gravely. ‘That’s very expensive.’
‘This isn’t?’
‘Well, more metro…’ Kolyakov shook his head again. ‘We’d need foreign partners. You know what they’re like, Vladimir Vladimirovich. They have laws in their countries about what they can and can’t do – who they can and can’t give to, I mean. They don’t really understand how things are done. This is much better for us. Nice and simple. Let’s build a road! Five years, twenty billion dollars – we’re finished.’
‘Well, this doesn’t concern the president of the federation,’ said Vladimir. ‘It’s an issue for the mayor of Moscow.’
‘Lebedev wants it.’
Vladimir smiled slightly. ‘How much are you giving him?’
‘Ten percent.’
‘So? If he’s happy, you’ll do it.’
‘I also want you to be happy, Vova.’
Vladimir watched the other man. There were two reasons he liked Kolyakov. First, he was only a businessman. All he wanted to do was make money, and when he had made it, to make more. He had zero political interest or aspiration, unlike others who, as they got wealthier, thought their money gave them the right to some kind of say in how the country should be run, and whom Vladimir had had to deal with. And second, he understood the vertical of power, which Vladimir demanded should be respected. Even though this proposal was something that in principle would be decided at the level of the Moscow city administration, Kolyakov knew that in Russia all power started in the Kremlin, with one man, so he made sure to come to Vladimir as well, as he always did.
Kolyakov cleared his throat. ‘Twenty percent for you, Vova. Tell me what company to put it through, and I’ll do it.’
‘That’s generous.’
Kolyakov shrugged. ‘Who gets rich from making other people poor? Share our fortune with the world, isn’t that what the priests say? And the people of Moscow will have a wonderful new road.’
‘Which they desperately need.’
The billionaire laughed. ‘The process will be official, Vladimir Vladimirovich. Lebedev’s people will write a public tender. It will be a very fastidious process, all above board.’
Vladimir raised an eyebrow.
Kolyakov laughed again.
But Vladimir didn’t crack a smile. After a moment, the expression on Kolyakov’s heavy face became confused, as if he was wondering whether his offer to relieve the state of twenty billion dollars to build a road that would condemn Moscow to years of traffic misery, for twice the price it should have cost, had somehow missed the mark. Vladimir enjoyed the spectacle, seeing the panic he could sow with a mere twitch of his eyebrow.
He let his gaze wander to the watch that was on the billionaire’s wrist. You didn’t see a Vacheron Tour de l’Ile every day, even on the wrists of the people who came to see him.
Kolyakov realised where he was looking. He glanced up at Vladimir questioningly, then began to unfasten the watch.
Vladimir waved a hand dismissively. ‘What are you doing, Dima? I was just admiring it. A Tour de l’Ile, right? I’ve got two myself.’
The billionaire kept his fingers on the clasp, still unsure if he was serious.
‘Dmitry Viktorovich, please! It’s your watch, not mine.’
‘Everything I have is because of you, Vladimir Vladimirovich.’
Vladimir laughed, not in such a way as to deny the remark, but in acknowledgement of it.
‘Build your road,’ said Vladimir. ‘Talk to Monarov about the arrangements.’
The billionaire smiled and nodded gratefully. Sometimes, thought Vladimir, the businessman’s obsequiousness was sickening, just like a dog. For an instant, he imagined him as a monstrous chimera with the body of a lapdog and a heavy-jowled Kolyakov-face looking up at him, desperately seeking a sign of affection.
Vladimir wondered whether he should have taken the Tour de l’Ile, but in some ways, to show that you could take something but that you deigned not to, was even better. Besides, in the next day or two, Vladimir knew, a packet would arrive for him.
Suddenly Vladimir was aware of a nauseating, fetid odour. He sniffed. ‘Do you smell anything?’
Kolyakov sniffed as well.
‘It’s the Chechen,’ said Vladimir. ‘The fucking Chechen never leaves me alone.’
‘There’s a Chechen here?’ asked the billionaire.
‘Can’t you smell him?’
Kolyakov’s eyes narrowed. ‘I think… I’m not sure…’
‘Smell! Come on! Try! That’s him. It’s the Chechen.’
Vladimir had first seen the Chechen on a visit to Grozny early in the war that he had started, while inspecting an area of the city that had recently been taken back from the rebels. The Chechen’s head protruded from a reeking shed or outhouse or shack of some kind behind a house that had been almost totally destroyed. Vladimir couldn’t see whether it was still attached to a body. From the look of it, the head must have been there for a few days. The lips were retracted from its grinning yellow teeth, and the tongue emerging from the mouth was swollen and black, like a gigantic slug crawling out of his throat.
‘He never says anything,’ said Vladimir. ‘Just hangs around. You know, I told the whole world once we killed him in a toilet. Just to see what they would say, the western press. Everyone went crazy. One dead Chechen in a shithouse and they’re up in arms. If only they knew what else we did!’