THE PRICE OF WEALTH
Money, it is said, buys freedom - but when you have as much of it as Abramovich you become its prisoner. The danger of kidnap or assassination is ever present and the precautions taken to prevent either eventuality constrain his life to an enormous degree. Not for him the simple pleasures of a stroll in the park or a shopping trip to Oxford Street. Virtually everywhere he goes, he is accompanied by bodyguards. The only place he is said to feel safe enough to venture outside without them is in Chukotka. Even when he and his wife took a helicopter to the French ski resort of Courchevel to go house-hunting, there were three security men with them.
In Britain, the most sought-after bodyguards - or BGs, as they are known - are 'ex-Hereford'. That is to say they are former members of Britain's crack special services regiment, the SAS (Special Air Service), which is based in Herefordshire. When he first arrived in the country, Abramovich's security was provided by a former Royal Military Police major called John Carter, who has a security company based in Epsom. But as he began to spend more time in the UK, Eugene Tenenbaum signed a worldwide security deal with global experts Kroll Associates, who employ a team of ex-SAS bodyguards under the leadership of a man known as 'Skippy'. One insider describes the new men as 'scruffy and obnoxious' prone to turning up at airports in blouson and jeans driving 'mucky' S-class Mercedes.
The movements of Abramovich - 'the principal', in BG parlance - are carefully co-ordinated by a control centre, which constantly monitors his movements, and the location of his bodyguards and other staff. This nerve centre is also responsible for detailed forward planning. Its task has been made immeasurably more difficult since Abramovich took over Chelsea and his movements became more predictable. If the club were due to play away against Birmingham City, for example, anyone who was a potential threat could predict that he would fly to the local heliport on the day of the match. In such circumstances, a team of BGs would be sent north in advance to/conduct a 'recce'. This would involve working out the most appropriate time of arrival, establishing the best route from the heliport to the stadium and appraising any hazards on the way. They would also check on the location of the nearest hospitals and the local police might be informed of his plans. If a trip involves Abramovich flying in by helicopter, the control centre is also responsible for making sure his convoy of armoured cars is in position to pick him up after he touches down.
It is after the game, however, that he is at his most vulnerable. Leaving a football ground on a match day inevitably involves getting snarled up in traffic and, as owner of the club, Abramovich is not in a position to sneak off ten minutes before the final whistle to escape the crush. The dangers of being confined to a slow-moving car are clear: Berezovsky's experience in Moscow in 1994, when he was the victim of a remote-controlled car bomb, is a stark illustration. The problem is particularly acute at Stamford Bridge and traffic concerns are the most likely explanation for Abramovich's reported desire to build a helipad on the roof of the Chelsea Village Hotel. This would enable him to leave the ground by air within minutes of the end of a match rather than spend up to an hour negotiating his departure by road.
The BGs themselves conventionally communicate with each other using walkie-talkies but also carry a mobile phone and a pager. What they are not permitted to carry by law is a firearm. As a Home Office spokesman confirms:
All handguns are prohibited in this country. Anyone wishing to carry arms would have to apply to the secretary of state for special authority under section five of the Firearms Act of 1968.1 wouldn't confirm or deny whether the individual you mentioned [Abramovich] had made such an application but section five protection is not given to a private individual.
It is widely rumoured that a number of prominent VIPs in Britain, though not Abramovich, are protected by men with guns but, if so, the BGs concerned are exposing themselves to the possibility of a mandatory five-year prison sentence under the Criminal Justice Act of 2003. The only people normally permitted to bear arms in Britain are police officers, though some exceptions are made for security people accompanying foreign heads of state or politicians who are considered to be at particularly high risk. The most potent weapon BGs can legally carry is a small baton. As a result, it is common for BGs to take courses in unarmed combat - not that Abramovich's bruisers need any lessons in that - and their role requires them to keep physically fit and mentally alert. They will also have first aid training and have access to an emergency medical kit. Given the dangerous nature of such a job, the rewards are commensurately high. BGs protecting someone such as Abramovich can expect to earn around £300 a day. Even his chauffeurs are out of the ordinary. Abramovich's fleet of cars all have armour plating and his drivers are trained in avoidance techniques.
It is a tribute to the efficiency of this security network that the most feared and ruthless grouping in the world of international celebrity - the paparazzi - have hardly got a shot in. Since he started spending time in Britain, Abramovich has very rarely been photographed outside of an organized setting, apart from when he is in the crowd at a football match. Indeed, it is when he mixes with the fans at matches and signs autographs for children that he is taking a calculated risk. In the language of security, he must draw a fine line between 'contact and protection'.
When Abramovich became an overnight celebrity, however, not only did his own need for protection increase, so did that of his family. His wife Irina could no longer go shopping in London without being recognized and occasionally photographed. Even his children were affected. Abramovich's oldest daughter was particularly frustrated at the setbacks to her mushrooming social life occasioned by the need to change her mobile phone number on a fortnightly basis.
Nor can security issues be ignored when he takes to the high seas. Abramovich's yacht Pelorus, for example, is fitted with bullet-proof glass and a missile-detection system. Should things get really hairy, there is a choice between a helicopter or a submarine in which to make an emergency getaway. There is no doubt that safety and security are high priorities for Abramovich when he is afloat and, should the worst come to the worst, his people are well prepared. The crews of Le Grand Bleu, Pelorus, and the still-to-be-completed 'Project 790' have been sent on intensive helicopter and fire-fighting courses. Both Le Grand Bleu and Pelorus are registered clients of Heliriviera, a company based at Cannes airport that specializes in support services for owners of mega-yachts with helicopters. The Pelorus alone is manned by a helicopter landing officer and a minimum of two heli-deck assistants and portable fire-fighting equipment is stowed and available for all helicopter operations.
In Russia, meanwhile, his security precautions are even more elaborate. Abramovich is one of the younger generation of oligarchs and, by the time he came on the scene, the acquisition of wealth was more to do with kickbacks and backhanders, the bribing of government officials and the charming of managers rather than hits in hotel bars and backstreet shootings. However, there is no evidence to suggest that Abramovich ever used any of these methods to acquire his wealth. But, in a society where the average citizen earns a few hundred dollars a year and more than 40 per cent of the population are officially defined as living in poverty, a man of such immense wealth has to watch his back. To this end, like his fellow oligarchs, Abramovich employs what can only be described as a private army. Russian soldiers are among the worst paid in Europe and many retired squaddies and moonlighting infantrymen are easily lured by the prospect of earning hundreds of dollars a month as hired guns.
Apart from the need to maintain a squad of heavies, Abramovich's vast wealth means that his name is constantly being linked to possible acquisitions. This is something that soon began to both amuse and frustrate him. Late one night, soon after he had bought Chelsea, he made a call from Fyning Hill to the Moscow home of his friend, the broadcaster Alexei Venediktov. 'Alexei,' he said, plaintively, 'the papers here keep carrying absurd stories about me buying more and more houses. It's as if I want to own Buckingham Palace. I have only bought the ground floor flat in one London house [the apartment in Lowndes Square, Knightsbridge]. That is, apart from my estate in the country - which, incidentally, I got before Berezovsky got his ...' At this point Venediktov, who is a serious-minded man with little interest in gossip, interrupted him: 'I said "Why are you telling me all this? I don't care. It is past midnight here in Moscow, I want to sleep." He sounded hurt, and said to me, "I wanted you to be the first to know it isn't true." I said, "Roman, are you tipsy?", and he said, "You know I don't drink.'"
On reflection, Venediktov concedes that Abramovich, well aware of Ekho radio station's influence, was not just making small talk but had called him to quash the rumours before they spread through Moscow. Although Abramovich claims not to be interested in publicity, good or bad, he is well aware that there is growing unease in Russia about how he spends his roubles in the west - or their roubles, as many of his countrymen see it.
The story that prompted Abramovich to disturb his friend's sleep was the report that he was in talks to buy Formula One tycoon Bernie Ecclestone's grand mansion in Kensington 'for £85 million'. Had he bought at that level, Abramovich would have set a world record price for a private residence. The property had been developed by knocking together two former embassies on Kensington Palace Gardens, a street known locally as 'billionaires' row'. The house had been extensively renovated in the Nineties by the Iranian art collector and financier David Khalili. Four hundred builders were hired to work on the twelve-bedroom mansion, creating a ballroom, Turkish baths, an oak-panelled picture gallery, a hair salon, an ornamental swimming pool in the basement and garaging for twenty cars. Much of the 9,000 square feet of marble used in the renovation came from the same quarry that supplied the stone used in the construction of the Taj Mahal. The property was given added cachet by the fact that it was a short walk from Princess Diana's former home in Kensington Palace.
The Ecclestones never moved in because, it is said, Bernie's wife, Slavica, thought it was too big to be regarded as a home. Irina Abramovich would almost certainly have thought the same. The rumour started shortly after Abramovich invited Ecclestone - whose £2.3 billion fortune makes him Britain's seventh richest man - to watch Chelsea play Newcastle United in November, 2003, and is believed to have emanated from a source close to the estate agents acting for the property. Abramovich's spokesman John Mann says, 'The trouble is, people send Abramovich prospectuses for all kinds of things and then spread the word that he is interested in order to stimulate other people's interest. It's a catch-22 situation. We can't win. If we deny it, it still makes headlines, so most of the time we don't even bother.'
In fact, Abramovich's invitation to Ecclestone to watch a game at Stamford Bridge was a polite 'thank you' to him for hosting his family's visit to the European Grand Prix at the Nurburgring in Germany the previous July. This, in turn, had fanned speculation that Abramovich was looking to invest in motor racing. It was Sven-Goran Eriksson who gave the story legs by declaring that he thought Abramovich might be going into Formula One soon after the oligarch's son was photographed sitting in one of the cars in the Minardi pit at the Nurburgring. Minardi spokesman, Graham Jones, issued a statement saying: 'There have been no talks of any kind with the team', but the rumour was published nevertheless under the headline: 'Abramovich ready to pump money into Formula One'.
Despite the denials, reporters continued to chase the story. The most likely beneficiary of the Russian's largesse, they concluded, would be Eddie Jordan's team, which was then experiencing cashflow problems. This time it was Ecclestone's turn to get riled by the speculation. 'It's not true,' he said. 'There was never any fear of Abramovich investing in Formula One.' Turning on the man he clearly believed to be the source, he added: 'If they go around with begging bowls they will be perceived to be beggars, which is not our image.'
Abramovich could have been forgiven another late night call to Venediktov when he read reports that he was trying to buy property in, of all places, Sevenoaks in Kent. This time the story appeared even more bizarre. He was said to have bought a house in the affluent Wilderness Avenue, thrown a Bonfire Night party to which the neighbours were invited, and then had each of them telephoned the following morning with offers of £2.5 million apiece for their houses - around £500,000 more than their market values. His plan, according to the paper that broke the story, was to knock them all down and build a new house for himself with a twelve-acre garden. Even the local estate agents were surprised by that one. 'We are not aware that he owns any property in the area,' said a representative of Headland and Weald. The local newspaper, the Sevenoaks Chronicle, followed up the story, but the reporter put on the job got nowhere. 'We've had all the national papers chasing us but we can't get anywhere with it,' he said. 'They're a bit stuck-up up there at Wilderness. They don't talk to the likes of us.'
His next would-be house purchase appeared in the Sunday Mirror. Abramovich, it reported, was paying £29 million to turn the top two floors of a converted college in Kensington into a luxury four-bedroom penthouse complete with swimming pool. He had even put £5,000 behind the bar at a nearby pub so that '360 site workers could have a party'. Nothing more was heard.
Nor would the disapproving Russian poor have been pleased to hear that he was planning to squander yet more of the millions he had looted from the motherland on a retail complex near the Chelsea ground. The week after he made $1.8 billion by selling part of his stake in RusAl, it was reported that he was considering a £95 million bid for the Fulham Broadway shopping centre, with its cinema, supermarket, shops, bars and restaurants. Here John Mann's 'spread a story to create interest' theory appears particularly sound as, shortly after the report surfaced in the trade magazine Estates Gazette, the seller, Pillar Property, invited Abramovich and a dozen others to make them an offer. To date he does not appear to have responded but the 'Chelski boss goes shopping' report suggested differently.
Naturally, a number of the spending rumours revolved around the football club itself. There were 'authoritative' reports that Abramovich was prepared to pay £50 million to poach Thierry Henry, the man he once nominated as his favourite player, from Arsenal. If ever such a bid was made, it came to nothing. Then it was said he had flown in five hundred Russian friends at his own expense to watch Chelsea take on Manchester United at Stamford Bridge in November 2003. 'A round ticket costs $1,500 - he's not going to pay that for five hundred people,' says John Mann, adding that he had in fact paid for one hundred of them. Shortly after Chelsea hired Stuart Higgins, a former editor of the Sun, as a public relations consultant, a Daily Telegraph report claimed that Abramovich had tried to hire the prime minister's spokesman, Godric Smith, to do the same job. The source of the story apparently claimed that Abramovich 'hoped that Godric might be able to offer him a line into government circles'. Not surprisingly Higgins says: 'Not true'.
Not that the phantom spending spree was confined to Britain. During his stays in Chukotka, Abramovich has occasionally visited cities on the comparatively nearby western seaboard of Canada and the United States. But even there he clearly has to be careful where he steps and what he does. After a brief stay in Vancouver he was reported locally as having made a bid to buy the city's Canucks ice- hockey team. But even before Mann had the chance to deny it, the Canucks' majority shareholder, John McCaw, said he would only be interested in selling the team to a local buyer. The story was enough to tell all the local millionaires that now was the time to place their bid.
For all the unfounded rumours, there is a charmed circle of advisers, contractors and consultants who are profiting from Abramovich. When a multibillionaire hits town, there is money to be made by alert businessmen in a whole range of spheres. In Russia, Abramovich is at the head of a giant industrial combine that employs tens of thousands of people but in Britain his organization has more of the air of a Byzantine court. Take property, for example. Perhaps inspired by Berezovsky, who is in the process of acquiring a valuable collection of houses, including the former country house of the radio tycoon Chris Evans, Abramovich set about assembling a property portfolio of his own. The fortunate recipient of his custom in this sector is the blue-chip estate agent Knight Frank, one of the more respectable outfits in a field notorious for cowboys. It handled the purchase both of his estate in West Sussex and his apartment in Knightsbridge and is believed to have been retained to find the grand London townhouse he has now decided he needs.
Harrods chairman Mohamed Al Fayed, as we have seen, has become a friend but his bottom line also benefits. Not only has Irina become one of Harrods' best customers since arriving in the capital but, as the owner of Battersea Heliport and Metro Business Aviation, Al Fayed also benefits from Abramovich's airborne lifestyle. Battersea Heliport is the hub of London's helicopter traffic and every landing and take-off brings in lucrative fees. Each time Abramovich flies in from Fyning Hill, Al Fayed makes money. Abramovich is also a customer of Air Harrods, Al Fayed's fleet of helicopters decked out in Harrods' distinctive sage green livery. Al Fayed could lose Abramovich as a customer at Battersea, however, if the owner of Chelsea builds a helipad at Stamford Bridge.
Farnborough airport, just fifteen minutes by helicopter from Battersea, is another beneficiary of Abramovich's spending. Heathrow and Gatwick appear to have decided that the private jet market is too much of a distraction from their core commercial airliner business and have largely priced out private users. They switched their trade to Luton and later Farnborough, which is owned by TAG Aviation, a company controlled by the Ojjeh family: Syrian businessmen who made their money out of arms deals with Saudi Arabia. Over the last decade, TAG has transformed the former military airfield in Hampshire, southeast of London, out of all recognition. With its futuristic architecture and high-tech hangars, it betrays no clues/to it£ former role and the car park is now full of black limousines rather than camouflaged trucks. Unlike Heathrow and Gatwick, Farnborough also offers the advantage of discretion. 'If you want to fly into this country without anyone noticing, Farnborough's the place to land,' says one aviation business insider. As a result, it has become a particular favourite of the Russians and one man in particular is said to have benefited handsomely. Mike Savary, chief executive of the Geneva-based Global Jet concept.
When we add the battery of restaurants, caterers, recruitment consultancies, jewellers, designer boutiques, and china and glassware shops that also enjoy Abramovich's custom, the fillip to the economy of Britain of his spending just as a consumer can be put at tens of millions of pounds.