Nish and Alex walked into the accounts and stores tent where The Quartermaster: Merriweather, was busy working on a laptop behind a desk. ‘How are we doing?’ Alex asked.
‘At least your complimentary lift out will save charter fees,’ Merriweather replied.
‘That bad?’
‘I’m not sure you want to know.’ Alex and Nish pulled up a pair of collapsible chairs.
‘Come on Merriweather. We can’t be that broke can we?’ Nish said.
‘Have you any concept of how much cash burn it costs to maintain an operation of this size? Of course you don’t. You just gallivant around the place ordering bottles of vintage champagne, staying in five star hotels, and leaving damage repairable bills wherever you go.’ Merriweather held up the stack of faxed invoices. ‘Not to mention landing fees, jet fuel, clearances, and now nuclear-fucking-submarines.’
‘Ah, yes, I can explain that...’ Alex said scratching his head.
‘Seriously? You can explain that? The lease fee, the bribes, and let’s not get started on the sundry stores requirements. You know why nuclear submarines are operated by large petrochemical-funded states, and not private military companies? Because they cost millions of fucking dollars to run. On what operational basis could we possibly need a Russian nuclear powered attack submarine?’
‘Fishing wasn’t it Alex?’ Nish replied.
‘Yes. A Fishing trip.’
‘This is no time for humour. I’m not the one who is going to go out there to explain to that drunken rabble that you’ve spent the month’s payroll to go tuna fishing with nuclear tipped torpedoes. You are. Tell me you got something out of The Sponsor.’
‘We’re keeping the weapons, and the bonds.’
‘All of them?’
‘All of them. Don’t tell me you can’t balance the books with a hundred million.’
‘Well firstly, it’s not a hundred million. The arms shipment is still sat out there in crates under canvas tents. We don’t have any end-user certificates for them, but that’s fine because we don’t have a customer for them either.’
‘That’s not a problem, we’re seeing the big man tomorrow, we’ll get a stand at the terrorist bazaar, they’ll sell like hotcakes,’ Nish said.
‘Well, firstly, the only people there will be on our sanctions list, which means we can’t sell to them.’
‘Forget about the sanctions list. The Kremlin fucked us,’ Alex interrupted.
‘Well that’s fantastic news, but we’ll get to that. Even if we find a buyer amongst the, let’s face it, shitters of the arms buying trade, we’ll have to sell at steep discount to reflect the lack of quality of credit covenants they offer. We’ll likely have to take payment in kind, plus buy new end-user certificates at short notice premiums to ship them, all of which will cut into the margin. Then we’ll take another hit to liquidate whatever shit they pay us in quickly to cover these expenses. We’re looking at twenty-five. Thirty at most.’
‘I can live with that. We didn’t pay for them. What about the bonds?’
‘Without a Russian buyer we’re onto the black market. We’ll be lucky to see thirty cents on the dollar.’
‘Gadaffi will buy them. He’s got mountains of cash from his oil. He’ll fence them through London at full market value,’ Alex replied.
‘Well, assuming he does, we’re looking at seventy-five million total. And we still have the air support to pay off.’
‘Fuck the Azi’s. They double-crossed us.’
‘If you don’t pay them then you’ll never get air there again, word will go round then we won’t get air anywhere. They have to be paid.’
‘So what we are looking at?’ Alex asked.
“After contractual prize distributions, payroll, the rent due on this place, new operating certificates for The Company, your little submarine charter, we’ve got four weeks overheads maximum. Then we’re into the emergency fund, which according to company rules we can only spend in times of war to cover repatriation and legal expenses.’
‘And if we have to fund an expedition?’ Alex asked.
‘How big?’ Merriweather asked.
‘We need to make a plan.’ Nish shrugged.
‘Then make it a cheap plan. So if the Russians are cutting us loose then we’re out of business.’
‘Sales are working on something with the Turks,’ Alex replied.
‘Gentlemen, if you just want someone to file your receipts get a bent accountant. I’m a Quartermaster. You need to actually listen to me and take some responsibility for your budget decisions. You can’t just buy expensive shiny shit because you like big explosions. Your affection for mayhem is going to bankrupt this company.’
‘Point taken. We’ll try and buy less shiny things,’ Alex said.
‘I’ve drawn up a list of cost-cutting measures. Starting with the complimentary fuck tent.’
‘Do you want mutiny? Take the boys fuck tent then that is what you will get,’ Nish said shaking his head.
‘Have you seen the costs involved? They’re taking fucking Viagra by the bottle.’ Merriweather handed over a ledger sheet. Nish looked at it and handed it to Alex.
‘How much! Who they fucking in there, A-list porn stars?’
‘Exactly. Either you need to reduce the quality of the supplied entertainment contractors, or you need to require a contribution. I’ve worked up a scheme based on the French Health Service payment model. Unlike our crumbling British affair they charge to visit the doctors, hospitals, etcetera. I feel a notional fee would reduce excessive consumption whilst still maintaining an appreciable benefit to those inclined to indulge in moderation.’
‘Sounds fair. What else?’ Alex asked.
‘The jet.’
‘No way,’ Alex said. ‘That’s an essential tool of business. Besides scheduled airlines don’t fly into the shitholes we work in. And we can’t charter.’
‘I appreciate that. But it seems to me that it spends a rather a lot of time idle, during which time it still incurs expenses. I’ve looked into it, and there is a gap in the market to provide V.I.P transport into the sort of areas we routinely operate. We can get a substantial premium over charter rates with additional upsell on security services. I’ve run the numbers, and based on our utilisation we would potentially run at a small profit without impacting your use.’
‘I don’t have a problem with that,’ Nish said.
‘It’s my fucking jet!’ Alex protested.
‘It’s The Company’s fucking jet. Unless you want to cut me a cheque from your personal account for six-point-five million dollars a year plus excess mileage fees.’
‘What else?’ Alex sulked.
‘I’ve prepared a fully budgeted business plan with capital expenditure program for you to examine at your leisure. I believe with some fiscal prudence we can restore our operation back on a sound financial footing.’
‘That’s good to know, I’m sure the shareholders will be thrilled, when they’re not fucking away all our profits,’ Alex said.
‘So I have your agreement?’
‘Where’s the fun in running your own army when the bean counters are worse than the regulars. What do you think?’ Alex asked Nish.
‘We can always just go and rob some banks and rich people. British regulars got away with that shit for a couple of hundred years before this whole rules of engagement system stepped in.’
‘We’re a Private Military Company not a band of petty villains. If you wish to conduct nefarious criminal activities I suggest you start a new company with a different charter.’
‘You’re a bit of a cunt aren’t you,’ Nish said.
‘Yes I am, and I’m the cunt what stops you fuckwits running out of money. Try and bear that in mind before you charter any more superpower tools of war.’
‘Let’s get a drink,’ Alex said. ‘I assume that’s still paid for by The Company?’
‘We’re introducing a trust box.’
‘For fucks sake...’ Nish said sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. Alex and Nish stormed out. ‘I don’t like him anymore.’
‘Me neither. But the Oxford-educated cunt has a point. We’ve been a bit frisky on the Amex Black.’ Alex stopped Nish and pulled him off to the side of the tent. ‘Find someone for us to rob. Just keep it quiet. You, me, Sooty, couple of others. Ten points cut each. Rest goes to The Company as, I don’t know. A charitable benefactor donation.’
‘Since we’re on the Kremlin’s shit-list, there’s a few oligarchs we could tap up,’ Nish said. ‘Leave it to me.’