Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [21]
Dick returned to the hotel that morning after his final meeting with the minister, having seen him every day for the past week, sometimes publicly, more often privately. It was no different when Chenkov visited London. Neither man trusted the other, but then Dick never felt at ease with anyone who was willing to take a bribe because there was always someone else happy to offer him another percentage point. However, Dick felt more confident this time, as both of them seemed to have signed up for the same retirement policy.
Dick also helped to cement the relationship with a few added extras that Chenkov quickly became accustomed to. A Rolls-Royce would always pick him up at Heathrow and drive him to the Savoy Hotel. On arrival, he would be shown to his usual riverside suite, and women appeared every evening as regularly as the morning papers. He preferred two of both, one broadsheet, one tabloid.
When Dick checked out of the St. Petersburg hotel half an hour later, the minister’s BMW was parked outside the front door waiting to take him to the airport. As he climbed into the back seat, he was surprised to find Chenkov waiting for him. They had parted after their morning meeting just an hour before.
“Is there a problem, Anatol?” he asked anxiously.
“On the contrary,” said Chenkov. “I have just had a call from the Kremlin which I didn’t feel we should discuss over the phone, or even in my office. The President will be visiting St. Petersburg on the sixteenth of May and has made it clear that he wishes to preside over the signing ceremony.”
“But that gives us less than three weeks to complete the contract,” said Dick.
“You assured me at our meeting this morning,” Chenkov reminded him, “that there were only a few is to dot and ts to cross—an expression I’d not come across before—before you’d be able to finalize the contract.” The minister paused and lit his first cigar of the day before adding, “With that in mind, my dear friend, I look forward to seeing you back in St. Petersburg in three weeks’ time.” Chenkov’s statement sounded casual, whereas, in truth, it had taken almost three years for the two men to reach this stage, and now it would only be another three weeks before the deal was finally sealed.
Dick didn’t respond as he was already thinking about what needed to be done the moment his plane touched down at Heathrow.
“What’s the first thing you’ll do after the deal has been signed?” asked Chenkov, breaking into his thoughts.
“Put in a tender for the sanitation contract in this city, because whoever gets it would surely make an even larger fortune.”
The minister looked round sharply. “Never raise that subject in public,” he said gravely. “It’s a very sensitive issue.”
Dick remained silent.
“And take my advice, don’t drink the water. Last year we lost countless numbers of our citizens who contracted . . .” the minister hesitated, unwilling to add credence to a story that had been splashed across the front pages of every Western paper.
“How many is countless?” inquired Dick.
“None,” replied the minister. “Or at least that’s the official statistic released by the Ministry of Tourism,” he added as the car came to a halt on a double red line outside the entrance of Pulkovo II airport. He leaned forward. “Karl, take Mr. Barnsley’s bags to check-in, while I wait here.”
Dick leaned across and shook hands with the minister for the second time that morning. “Thank you, Anatol, for everything,” he said. “See you in three weeks’ time.”
“Long life and happiness, my friend,” said Chenkov as Dick stepped out of the car.
Dick checked in at the departure desk an hour before boarding was scheduled for his flight to London.
“This is the last call for Flight 902 to London