Curley Yellowstone: Final Extinction

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-68222-722-0
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 292 Seiten

Yellowstone: Final Extinction is about an eccentric, billionaire terrorist who buys a nuclear warhead from two Russian Army colonels. He intends to detonate it in the caldera of the Yellowstone Volcano causing an eruption that would end all life on earth.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Curley, Michael

Leseproben

CHAPTER 5 - PLAYING THE BEER CARD When Mustafa took over the family business he made a major decision. He would buy a brewery in another country. He would make that new company a success, too. Then he would sell Antalya and rid himself of the stigma of the “haraj.” Mustafa wanted entrée to the Russian Federation and he did not want it through Islam or his Islamic contacts. The family business would be very useful. After vodka, beer was the second most popular drink in Russia. So, Mustafa leaned on the president of his family’s company, Antalya, the largest brewery in Turkey. He wanted to buy a major brewery in Russia: St. Petersburg, to be exact. He wanted entrée to St. Petersburg’s elites – especially their military elites. Mustafa told his man that he, personally, wanted to be involved in their Russian acquisition. Clive Hilton put up with a lot from Mustafa. As Mustafa took pleasure in telling him often, he was very well paid. He was, indeed; so he didn’t mind Mustafa’s goading. Mustafa knew nothing about making or selling beer. He didn’t interfere with the management of the company. He just had a few pet projects that he wanted the company to be involved in. It didn’t take much effort on Clive’s part. He was usually only too happy to oblige. But then there was this Russian thing all of a sudden. The Turks were kin to the peoples of the 5 “stans” of the former Soviet Union: the Kazakhs, the Uzbeks, the Kyrgyz, the Tajiks and the Turkmen. Clive had plans for expanding the company into those countries. But the Turks had nothing in common with Russians. So, why Russia? Why St. Petersburg? The biggest brewery in Russia, accounting for 38% of all beer sales in the Federation, was Stariy Pivovar – the “old brewer.” Their headquarters and their biggest brewing plant were in St. Petersburg. The problem was that Stariy Pivovar was owned by the Norsk Group in Bergen, Norway. Norsk had bought Stariy Pivovar for pennies a year after the collapse of the Soviet Union. With a 38% market share, they were unlikely to sell. When Clive told Mustafa about this, he was furious. Mustafa would not take no for an answer. He demanded that Clive go to Norway and buy Stariy Pivovar. Clive had half a mind to quit. Mustafa was out of control. Still there was that big paycheck. There was also the possibility that once Mustafa got comfortable with Russia, he might ok Clive’s plans to expand into the “stans” where their Turkish provenance would serve them well. So, Clive swallowed hard and did as Mustafa ordered. But he turned to a couple of his London School of Economics classmates for help. Roger J. B. Beach was a Managing Director at P. Lane Donnelly & Company, a boutique investment bank in the City of London. He specialized in mergers and acquisitions. Clive called him and two days later showed up in his office at Lime and Leadenhall Streets just across from Lloyd’s. Clive told Roger what Mustafa wanted. Roger confessed he knew nothing of the beer scene in either Turkey or the former Soviet Union. But when Clive outlined his own plans for expanding into the “stans” regardless of what happened with Stariy Pivovar, Roger said he’d learn. The prospect of doing a series of deals in Central Asia was someplace his firm was definitely interested in going. “I don’t know how you can put up with all the crap you have to take from that arsehole of a boss you have. But he and I have at least one thing in common. I drive an Aston-Martin DB9 Volante. The chaps at the factory tell me there’s a bloke in Istanbul, named Mustafa, who has one too – with the same Italian cream leather interior. Can’t be too many Mustafas running around Istanbul in DB9 Volantes with Italian leather interiors. So, let’s see what we can do for him. If he drives my kind of car, he can’t be all bad.” Clive’s next stop was the chambers of Sir Lawrence Haislip, Q.C., C.M.G., on Chancery Lane off Fleet Street. Larry had done LSE before being called to the bar. While at the LSE, he had written a paper on the trade embargo with South Africa that received wide attention. Once a solicitor, he had been appointed to the commonwealth commission that negotiated the end of apartheid with President F. W. de Klerk, which led to the first free elections in South Africa’s history. That election was won by Nelson Mandela and the African National Congress. No sooner had Buckingham Palace issued the letters patent making Larry a Queens’ Counsel (Q.C.), than they also appointed him a Companion to the Grand Order of St. Michael and St. George (C.M.G.), making him a knight as well. He was one of the youngest solicitors ever to receive those awards. Larry also had experience doing commercial transactions in the Russian Federation and the some of the other republics of the former Soviet Union. He said acquiring a Russian brewery wouldn’t be a problem. Roger Beach did the numbers and reported them to Clive by phone once he was back in Istanbul. Stariy Pivovar produced 3.5 billion liters of beer each year. They sold them for 35 rubles apiece, which was about $1 a liter. So their gross sales were about $3.5 billion on which their pre-tax earnings were close to 9%, or about $300 million. The corporate income tax rate in the Russian Federation is 20%. So, assuming Stariy Pivovar was a good citizen and paid its taxes, that would leave after-tax profits of about $240,000,000. “The rest of this, I don’t think you’re going to like.” Roger said. “The price/earnings ratio of beer stocks in growing markets like the Russian Federation is about 15:1.” This means that every $1 of annual earnings would command about $15 in the price of the company’s stock. “So, my friend, you’re looking at a probable price tag for Stariy Pivovar of about $3.5 to $4 billion.” “Bloody hell! That much?” “I’m afraid so.” Roger said, but then brightened a bit. “Now there’s not much published information on a private company like Antalya but, that said, the population of Turkey is about half that of Russia. Furthermore, with the Islamic prohibition on alcohol, I’ve got to believe that Turkish beer consumption per capita is a fraction of Russia’s. So, I can’t imagine that Antalya’s earnings are anywhere close to Stariy Pivovar’s. I also don’t know what other resources your man, Mustafa, can muster. But, the City has witnessed many David and Goliath matches – where the Davids have won.” Roger went on. “Think your chap is up to it?” “$4 billion is a lot of money. I don’t know. Even if we mortgaged Antalya up the wazoo, we couldn’t afford it. I guess I’ll have a talk with Mustafa. It’s not going to be pleasant. He’s not going to want to hear this.” Clive thought it best not to get into a row with Mustafa at the company office. Mustafa maintained his own personal office – that the company paid for of course – out in Ortaköy near the Bosphorus Bridge to Asia. Clive called for an appointment. Travel from the Beyoglu district to Ortaköy was never easy during the day. The traffic was always a nightmare especially on the Çiragan Caddesi that ran along the straits up to the bridge. That’s where Mustafa’s office was. Strange bird, Mustafa. Clive mused. Lives in a mansion overlooking the Sea of Marmara in the posh Kadiköy district on the Asian side. Works at a luxurious private office overlooking the Bosporus on the European side. His heart with his religion, in Asia. His head with his love of technology, firmly in Europe. “By the beard of the prophet, $3.5 billion!” Was Mustafa’s reaction. Clive told Mustafa about his trip to London. “So, we have a banker and a lawyer who know how to make these transactions. Good. Tell them to go to Norway and get a price.” Mustafa said. “But Mustafa, Antalya isn’t worth anywhere near $3.5 billion.” “I gather that from what your Mr. Beach said. Please get on to him right away and tell him to put his findings into a report that I can show some possible investors.” “You know some possible investors?” Clive asked. “If the price is reasonable, as your Mr. Beach says. And, if they can make a reasonable amount of money; then yes, I know several possible investors. Actually, beyond just the money, there are other reasons why they might want to invest.” Mustafa was looking far away out the window when he said this – a sign that Clive shouldn’t go there. Larry Haislip took the call from Roger Beach. “Funny you should say that. Not only was I thinking the same thing, but I am looking at a painting on my wall by an early Norwegian impressionist named Per Humbla. The painting is called “Wild Geese.” How appropriate!” “Listen, my friend.” Sir Lawrence went on. “I share your foreboding. I think the Norwegians would be daft to sell – even for $4 billion. But, let’s look at the bright side. We have a solid company in Antalya, and we have an old friend like Clive in the wheelhouse. Let’s...