The Silent Oligarch: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

like a rugby player’s set firmly apart. He wore baggy navy shorts and a black sports shirt and had tied a white sweater around his neck. His skin was tanned deep and even like cherry wood, his silver hair bright against it.
    Webster stood where he was, dripping and holding the towel close across his chest. Tourna sprang up the ladder two rungs at a time and held out his hand. Black sunglasses wrapped around his face.
    “Ben. Aristotle Tourna. Delighted you could make it.” His smile revealed two strips of bright white teeth, even and closely packed. His handshake was needlessly strong.
    “Likewise.” Webster, taller by a head, gave a half smile. “I was about to give up on you.”
    “Sorry. Unavoidable. You had breakfast?”
    “No.”
    “Me neither. Get dressed and we’ll eat.”
    When Webster returned twenty minutes later Tourna was on the phone, talking loudly in Greek and walking back and forth along the side of the boat. Eventually he sat down and started buttering a croissant. His skin sang with health. He had the look of a man who ate well: his jowls were full and his cheekbones fleshy. It was hard to imagine that he denied himself much.
    “Better than having breakfast in some hotel on the mainland, no?” he said, beaming at Webster.
    “It’s beautiful.”
    “I love it here. You see that island over there?” Webster turned. “That’s Symi. Greece. And that, the peninsula, that’s Turkey. But really, it’s all Greece. Always was. One day we’ll take it back. Whenever I come here I feel like I’m on a raid.” He laughed. Webster couldn’t tell if there was mirth in it.
    Tourna began to pile spoonfuls of fruit salad into a bowl. As he ate, his leg jigged up and down.
    “So, Ben. What’s your background?”
    Webster told him about his time in Russia, about finding journalism tame in London after Moscow, about falling into the industry by chance.
    “Why did you leave GIC?”
    “Too big. Too corporate. A new rule every day. It became hard to get results.”
    “And Ikertu’s different?”
    “I think it has the right balance.”
    Tourna nodded, as if to himself.
    “OK. OK. That’s good.” He put his spoon down. “Tell me. What happens to what I tell you here?”
    “It stays with me. If you want to engage us and we’re happy to be engaged then I’ll share it with my colleagues.”
    “If you’re happy?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why would you not be happy?”
    “We might not like the job. We might not like the client.”
    Tourna nodded again, and then laughed. “So I’m on parade here as well?” He took a long drink of orange juice. “That’s OK.” Webster sensed he was being stared at. “OK. Let’s start. You know Russia. Do you know a man called Konstantin Malin?”
    “Yes, I do.” He felt his senses jolt awake. Malin. That was unexpected. Malin and his quiet legend.
    Tourna nodded and chewed. “I bought a company from him.”
    Webster interrupted. “Mr. Tourna, would you mind taking off your sunglasses? I’d be more comfortable if I could see your eyes.”
    Tourna looked up from his bowl and stopped eating. “You want to look inside, huh?” His forehead creased as he raised his eyebrows. “You want this work or not?”
    Webster smiled. “We’re busy. It’s all the same to me.”
    “OK,” Tourna said with a dry laugh, and took them off. His eyes were a flat brown, the skin around them slightly lighter than the rest of his face. “This is more fun than I expected.”
    Webster saw something heated, something childish in Tourna’s gaze: he gave the impression of being ill-equipped to deal with reverses. He kept his smile but didn’t say anything. For a moment the two men looked at each other.
    “Tell me about Malin,” said Webster.
    Tourna nodded to himself again and took a deep breath.
    “He sold me a company. Well, one of his stooges did. It was meant to own a package of exploration licenses. Some oil, some gas, all in Yamal-Nenets. We did the due diligence and