Barry Lando: Deep Strike

At 11:30 a.m. in the bunker at 51 Belgrave Place. Sarah downloaded the encrypted data dump Steve had been expecting from General Borovik.

“If this doesn’t do it, God help us all,” wrote the general in an accompanying message. “Let the operation begin.”

At noon at his vacation home in Sochi, the renowned Russian violinist Alexander Vasiliev had just begun the second movement of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto, which he was due to perform next weekend in Paris, when he received an urgent email from Vasily Kozlov: “ Sasha, for business transaction of exceptional importance, transfer soonest US$150 million from Quantum’s account with Mid Atlantic to account 107865 at the Banco del Pueblo in Panama City. Extremely tied up. Take care of this immediately. Kotzy ”

Vasiliev was one of the oldest, most trusted friends of the Russian president. The two of them had grown up together in Leningrad and then gone their separate ways but never lost touch. One of the unlikely things linking them as children was the similarity between Alexander’s family name – Vasiliev, and Kozlov’s first name – Vasily.

When it came time for Kozlov to set up Pyotr1, the offshore holding company for his increasingly vast resources, his lawyers drew up papers naming Alexander Vasiliev as the owner. For his troubles, the violinist would receive twenty million dollars a year, a four thousand square foot condominium in Moscow’s Sparrow Hills, and a lavish retreat overlooking the Black Sea in Sochi. In return, he was to act as the punctilious front man for Pyotr1, directing the banking operations of the offshore company and its holdings, like Quantum, and implementing the often complicated instructions he received from Kozlov.

One such order was the peremptory email he had just received that morning. Vasiliev was used to the vast sums involved. The violinist could also be assured it was really the Russian president issuing the orders, since his instructions invariably began and ended with “Sasha” and “Kotzy,” the nicknames they used for each other in the playgrounds of Leningrad when they were six years old.

Unknown to Sasha and Kotzy, however, was the fact that the military hackers on General Borovik’s staff, ordered to comb the files of Pyotr1, had discovered the surprisingly naive method that Kozlov used to communicate with Vasiliev.

They chalked such carelessness up to arrogance on the part of the Russian president; his certitude that no one would dare reveal the secret of Pyotr1. They were wrong. And though hacking into the president’s server would have been an extremely difficult, perhaps impossible, task, breaking into Vasiliev’s communications was relatively simple – particularly with the information provided by General Borovik’s hackers.

Thus, Steve and Sarah had no difficulty drafting the email in Russian that Vasiliev received that day in Sochi, which appeared to come directly from Kozlov. Used to executing such commands, Sasha immediately emailed a transfer order to Raul Cepeda, the manager of the Mid Atlantic Bank in the British Virgin Islands.

Dressed in an impeccable white linen suit, Cepeda had just arrived at his office in Road Town, the capital of the BVI. His wife was away on a three-day shopping trip with their daughter to Miami, enabling him to spend a worry-free night with his Cuban mistress. Cepeda was a man of immense discretion, who handled the accounts of several of Russia’s wealthiest oligarchs. He was also used to dealing with princely sums.

Before carrying out such instructions, however, he would need confirmation – particularly verbal confirmation – to ascertain that the email was legitimate and not some amateurish attempt to rip off Pyotr1. Back in Sochi, Vasiliev immediately answered Cepeda’s call. “ Buenos días , Raul, como está ?” Cepeda instantly recognized the violinist’s distinctive nasal tones. They had spent several agreeable evenings together over the years in Panama and elsewhere dealing with the nuts-and-bolts of Pyotr1 and its various holdings. Of course, Cepeda didn’t really believe that the violinist was the actual owner of all that wealth, but that wasn’t his business.

“Just checking, as always,” said Cepeda. “Can you confirm today’s order?”

“One hundred and fifty million to account 107865 at the Banco del Estado,” replied Vasiliev.

“Thanks, how’s your weather?”

“Nothing like yours, but I can still go swimming. And Raul, make sure this goes through immediately.”

“ A sus ó rdenes, ” said Cepeda.

Three minutes after Cepeda ended the call, one hundred and fifty million dollars were transferred from the account of Pyotr1 to account 107865 at the Banco del Estado in Panama City. It was 9:30 a.m. in the British Virgin Islands, 1:30 p.m. in London.

Actually, that numbered account in Panama City had just been set up three hours earlier by Steve through a tax lawyer in Panama. The fee for such rapid action was huge. But so was the payoff. As soon as the one hundred and fifty million dollars were received in the first account, Steve immediately ordered it transferred to a second numbered account he’d set up at the Banco del Sur across the street. As soon as the second transfer was completed he sent an encrypted message to Steve in London. Steve then gave Sarah the go-ahead with a second message to Alexander Vasiliev.

The violinist was in the middle of a call with his agent in New York planning a concert tour in the United States for the following summer, when an incoming beep indicated the arrival of the second pressing email of the day from the Russian president. “ Sasha, transfer immediately an additional one hundred million dollars from Quantum’s account with Mid Atlantic to account 107865 at Banco del Pueblo. Still extremely tied up. Take care of this immediately. Katzy”

Saying he had an urgent email he had to deal with, Sasha told his New York agent he would call him right back and prepared to send the second instruction to Raul Cepeda in the British Virgin Islands. It was then he noticed that Kozlov had signed as “Katzy” not “Kotzy.” Strange, since the Russian president was usually extremely meticulous about such matters. Wasn’t it also somewhat strange that Kozlov was sending two separate transfers rather than one to the same account within a couple of hours? Of course, it was possible that he had two separate deals in the works with the same individual. But wasn’t it also possible that some shyster, seeing he had gotten away with the first fraudulent transfer, decided to push for more?

He realized his suspicions were probably absurd and Kozlov had made it evident he was extremely tied up with urgent affairs of state. Just the same, Alexander Vasiliev was being compensated very generously to watch over his old friend’s burgeoning wealth. At the risk of incurring a tongue-lashing, he decided to check with Kozlov on the president’s personal mobile.

Which was just what Steve Penn was hoping he would do.

The Russian president answered immediately. He was breathing heavily. “Sorry to disturb, you, Kotzy” said Sasha, “I know you are very busy.”

“What is it?” asked Kozlov. “I am working out with my judo instructor.”

“I just want to confirm the two transfer instructions you sent,” said Sasha, now a note of concern in his voice.

“Transfer instructions? What are you talking about?”

Sasha’s note of concern turned to fear, “The email you sent me an hour ago.”

“What email?”

“For an urgent transfer of one hundred and fifty million U.S. dollars from Pyotr1.” Vasiliev’s fears had been right. They’d been had.