TUNA LIFE (25 page)

Scott ended up spending almost two hours with Stephen Crane. His story was fascinating. Without any formal education he had managed to build up a small health food empire on the Gold Coast. From its simple beginnings in Stephen’s grandmother’s garage, the company had grown to twenty employees and sales in twenty-two countries. It had been a remarkable success story, but Stephen had harboured greater ambitions. He had been through the period where he wanted material wealth and status-symbols. He had owned big houses and expensive cars, but none of that had really given him what he wanted. What he really wanted was to see how far he could take the company – to build something really big. And to grow really big one had to go to the US. But in order to launch in the US market he needed money, more money than he had.

Then Roman Bezhrev had appeared, as a white knight. Without demanding an exorbitant share of the business, he had offered Stephen Crane the funds he needed to take the business to the next level.

Six short months later everything had changed, though. The US expansion had turned out to be quite successful, and the outlook for the company was bright. Then, almost out of nowhere, Roman had appeared in Stephen’s office, accompanied by two Russian goons. He had suggested that Stephen’s company merged with a Moscow based company Roman owned. Stephen had of course refused. Roman and his goons had left the office that day. But life had never been the same.

Stephen had felt unsafe and monitored. His daughter, who was only fifteen at the time, had been approached by a few Russians on the way home from school one day, and his wife was constantly being followed by strange cars.

Roman himself had never made any direct threats. But Stephen never doubted who was behind it all. In the end he had accepted the Russian’s proposal, and a few months later he had lost his company. He still didn’t fully comprehend how it all had happened. Roman and his lawyers had called shareholder’s meetings so often that Stephen in the end hadn’t bothered to bring his expensive lawyer along. And just like that, his life’s work had ended up in Roman’s hands.

“I can promise you one thing,” he said. “There’s only one person who is going to get rich on this new economy that you are writing so much about, and that person is Roman Bezhrev. Everybody else is going to miss out big time. Believe you me. I’ve been there. He’s charming, he’s polite, he hands you money, a lot of money. He makes you believe you are his best friend. And when you least expect it – he goes for the kill. Roman is evil, pure evil.”

Scott thought about what he had heard driving home. He had made a visit to two other locals who had sold their businesses to Roman as well. None of them wanted to talk. They had families, they said. Perhaps that was the reason Stephen Crane had been willing to talk? His wife had left him and moved to Canada with their daughter. The love hadn’t been strong enough to live a life in poverty with him, Stephen had said.

53

Vesna Connor was beaming as the sun caressed her new summer dress. She had spent a good two hours, the night before, deciding which outfit to wear. It was important to be organised, she liked to be organised. Still she had changed her mind this very morning, just before she was about to leave. And in a short half hour she had managed to try on every outfit in her wardrobe. Her bedroom now looked like it had been raided by a gang of drug-addicts. But she couldn’t care less. She had found the perfect outfit.

As she stood there she realised that she missed having a boyfriend. It wasn’t that she needed a boyfriend to help her decide on an outfit for the day – in all of her relationships she had most often chosen a totally different outfit than her boyfriends suggested anyway. They just wanted to see skin, tits and thighs. But she missed compliments. A genuine compliment that she looked good, a genuine compliment that she was beautiful. She never got it at work. They all hated her. They knew their jobs were on the line, that there would be more cuts in the paper the next six months. Everyone walked on eggshells around her. They all said the right things, they all agreed with her. Everyone except Scott Davis of course. He would never change. He was straightforward. That was the reason his comment in the office today had made such an impression. Scott had said she looked nice. That her hair looked nice. It appeared as if the comment had surprised Scott as well. As if he hadn’t planned to say it – that it had just slipped out. He had been standing there in awkward silence for a moment, before rushing past her. Probably to occupy the meeting room. Vesna didn’t approve of it, his use of the meeting room as his private office, and she had given him a stern rebuke the previous day. But she decided to let it pass today. He had given her the confirmation she needed. It was the very reason she was so happy and confident, as she stood waiting for the mayor. The day of the big press conference had finally arrived. Vesna felt partially responsible for what the mayor was about to tell the rest of the Gold Coast – a vision for creating a new technological hub in Australia, an Australian Silicon Valley. She would of course not be mentioned in his speech, or receive praise or fame for her involvement; those things were reserved for the mayor. It was his vision being presented today. But Vesna knew better. She was the one who had put the wheels in motion. Even though the mayor thought it was his idea and vision that was presented today, it was actually Vesna who had steered him in the right direction. As one of the most active think-tank members she was responsible for what was about to be presented.

Music started to stream from the large subwoofers on stage, and a massive video screen came to life behind the mayor, who was strolling onto the stage. Scattered applause filled the air.

“One year has passed since you gave me the honour of becoming mayor in the city of my heart. Three hundred and sixty-five days has passed since I was given the opportunity to make a difference.”

The applause subsided.

“So what have we achieved in this short year? Have I kept the promises I made exactly one year ago? Let’s review my promises and see what has happened.”

The mayor’s election promises were listed on the massive screen behind him, and he started going through them, one by one.

It turned out he hadn’t been able to keep most of them, but he came up with reasonable explanations of why. Reasons the audience could understand and relate to. The mayor didn’t come up with the usual excuses, or attempt to deliberately hide facts by being vague, he just told it as it was. The reality was that circumstances changed, and there were a lot of compromises one had to make being a mayor, a lot of minorities to consider.

The presentation was quite unusual in its form, but it seemed like the audience, which were mostly reporters, enjoyed it.

After twenty minutes the mayor had finished going through his list. He peered out over the audience, and lifted the microphone to his mouth.

“We have just been through what the City Council has been able to achieve in my first year as mayor. It’s not a bad list, but it’s not a good one either. In my first year as mayor we have also had unprecedented problems. Big storms have damaged our beaches, we’ve had a record-high dollar, and we’ve been struggling with a government that doesn’t seem to understand that not all of Australia is mining minerals or trading with China. We can’t just hope for good weather, we can’t just hope that our currency will stabilize at a lower level, we can’t just hope that our federal government will lend us a helping hand. We need to take our own action. We need to trust ourselves. We need to ensure that the Gold Coast remains relevant for the next hundred years. And that’s why today I can proudly announce our new strategy for the Gold Coast.

The red dot, the new logo of the Gold Coast, filled the big screen. A couple of basic slogans appeared inside the dot.

The Gold Coast – from tourist centre to Australia’s Silicon Valley. A strategy for the next century.

Vesna Connor smiled. She knew they were about to create history. Last night her own brother had called her, her ridiculously successful investment banker brother from Sydney, and he had literally begged her to introduce him to some of the new up and comers from the Gold Coast, begged her to introduce him to Andrew Engels.

This was indeed a historic moment in time - the day the Gold Coast took control of its own destiny.

54

Roman Bezhrev immigrated to Australia in 2008 after having established himself as a successful business man in Moscow, where he had been born several decades earlier. He had started off importing and selling cars. He had purchased them cheap in Poland, and driven them back to Moscow, where he had sold them with a handsome profit. After realising that he could make more money importing cars than he could ever make working as a doctor in Moscow, he had quit med school and become a trader. He had become one of the new entrepreneurs in a Soviet Union opening up to the world.

He didn’t have any Party background, and had thus never been able to manoeuvre himself into the right circles of power. So he had missed out on the opportunity to take part in the pillaging of state property when President Boris Yeltsin sold off the family silver for nickels and dimes. Even though he had the ambition, he never became one of the billionaire-oligarchs - the billionaire-oligarchs who were rich enough to buy English soccer clubs. Instead Roman moved to Australia. Better to be a big fish in a small pond, than a small fish in a big pond was his way of thinking. Maybe Roman Abramovich ruled in London, but nobody doubted which Roman ruled on the Gold Coast.

Scott Davis looked at the notepad in front of him. He still used a basic notepad, even though the Gold Coast Times’ management encouraged its journalists to use iPads. Probably so that they could turn on the location services and check where he was at all times. That was not going to happen. And Scott enjoyed writing by hand. It was only a problem when he sometimes struggled to decipher what he had actually written.

He had talked to two old contacts from his time as a crime reporter, Russian fishermen who had arrived at the Gold Coast in the early 1970s. They still knew everything that happened in the Russian community. But they weren’t very talkative.

Scott was warned to stay away from Roman. Roman didn’t accept that regular laws applied to him as well. He acted as if he was still in Russia. The two contacts were afraid that Roman at some stage would damage the reputation of all Russians on the Gold Coast. He was too greedy, had his hand in too many honey pots. When Scott had asked them whether Roman had done anything illegal, they had both started to laugh. One didn’t become rich in Russia by following laws, not Roman-rich. The difference between him and the really rich, the oligarchs who had settled down in London, was that Roman never had stopped his old ways. He was still acting as if he was living in Moscow, as though Australian laws didn’t apply to him.

“These tech companies,” one of the Russians had started. “It’s not a coincidence that Roman has started to invest in these tech companies. He wants to become the richest man in the world. That’s his real ambition.”
Scott laughed. “I don’t believe Forbes Magazine has him on their shortlist.”

The Russians didn’t laugh.

“He owns more than you think. Much more,” said one of them.

“Why did he start investing in tech companies though?” Scott asked. “With his background, I mean. It’s not the most obvious choice when you’re a nightclub owner.”

“Don’t let Roman’s rough exterior fool you. He’s a very smart man. Back in Russia he was one of the first to invest in the internet, the side of the internet most people don’t talk about, but which is tremendously profitable.”

“Internet porn?” Scott asked.

The Russians nodded. “The porn industry has been extremely innovative when it comes to internet. Roman was one of the pioneers of the internet porn industry in Russia; he made it house-broken. He’s got one simple philosophy:
Do not promise a crane in the sky, rather give a titmouse into my hands.
He professionalised internet porn. He removed the fear people had to hand over their credit card details to a porn company. By operating as a traditional company, by providing outstanding customer service with easy refunds and cancellations, he managed to acquire millions of customers to his websites. And in just the same way he professionalised extortion.”

“Money-extortion?” Scott asked.

“What’s the biggest hurdle for people to pay ransom?” the Russian asked.

“You know there’s no point. If you pay they will just come back and ask for more.”

“Correct. Roman introduced small money extortion in Europe. He got his programmers to hack into various private health centres. Instead of stealing the information, the programmers encrypted the servers. By paying a relative affordable sum of five thousand Euros, the health centres would regain immediate access to their files. After a couple of successful transactions the rumours started: If you ever were hacked, the cheapest solution was always to pay up. You would have your data back in less than twenty-four hours. A lot cheaper and quicker than hiring expensive computer consultants which in most cases had no idea how to get the data back anyway.”

Scott stared at the ocean. There was definitely more to Roman than the eye could see. He wasn’t a novice in the internet world, he was a seasoned swindler. One who was involved in everything from money extortion to internet porn. Why had he involved himself with these new tech companies? Was he actually attempting to change? To become a law-abiding and respected businessman? He would of course know that there was a limit on how long he could run an extortion business and get away with it. And regardless of how profitable it was, it would never get him on the list of the richest people in the world. A couple of home runs with his internet start-up investments though, and maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

There was, however, a peculiar coincidence. Some of the missing girls had accumulated large amounts of cash in a short time frame. Had they been involved in internet porn?