First: a superb interview with the chef de cabinet. Jean-Luc ALLAVENA (JLA) was focused and clear, and humbly deferred to the Prince’s authority and leadership. He talked about “improving intelligence” and “expanding international contacts” and “pay-as-you-go taxation” rather than tax avoidance. STINSON was extremely impressed by JLA.
Second: up the narrow winding stairway to the Prince’s turret office, more of a den. Pressure and stress had taken a toll on the Sovereign; his mood was dark as he gave a stumbling, halting interview, deferring to me to prompt him on the many points we hoped to convey.
And when STINSON wanted to take Albert’s photograph--for a story that would probably be the best PR since his investiture--the petulant Prince turned testy and refused.
Next, I met Luxembourg’s foreign intelligence chief in the bar of Hotel Columbus. He described his service to me, and I grasped it as a model to which his own Monaco service should aspire.
The Lux chief was enthusiastic about our vision for a club of micro-European intelligence services, and vowed to get the ball rolling with his counterpart in Malta. The Luxembourg service, he said, had no contact with Liechtenstein, Andorra, and San Marino, and would very much welcome liaison with them.
As to expanding our own liaison partnerships, the chief kindly opened his Rolodex for introductions to the services of a number of countries on my wish list, including the Balkans, not least because it was in Balkan banks that prominent Monegasques were parking their ill gotten gains.
Late that evening, I took a call from JLA, who was concerned that his interview with USA Today would over-shadow that given by the Prince. He wanted the reporter to know that the Prince was in command—something that might not have seemed obvious to Stinson, due to the Prince’s faltering performance. I assured JLA that STINSON’s focus was the Prince.
Next afternoon, I visited the Palace to see JLA and meet Paul MASSERON, the new interior minister. Masseron walked a tightrope between JLA and Jean-Paul PROUST, but managed to find his balance.
“Many people know who you are by name, that you exist,” MASSERON told me. “But they don’t know a face or a body.”
The spymaster briefed MASSERON, a discreet gum chewer, on his mission. I explained that, in service to the Prince, I had been collecting and analyzing intelligence for four years, ready to take action against a number of targets, the dossiers of which we would provide presently.
MASSERON appeared satisfied with the arrangement and provided me his mobile phone number and e-mail address for future contact.
After MASSERON departed, JLA and I spoke privately.
JLA said he was supposed to have attended the post-North Pole Vladimir PUTIN dinner at the Kremlin with the Prince. But Albert’s senior aide-de-camp eased JLA out of the trip by saying it would be a “one-on-one” meeting, which proved false.
I speculated that the aide-de-camp did not want JLA around to witness his evolving close contact with the Russians.
I had been digging, as authorized by the Prince, into the aide-de-camp’s “dossiers,” and they left troubling questions about influence for sale:
He had tried to impose Robert MUNSCH as an “eye specialist doctor” at the new Institute for Medical Sports.
The new Yacht Club of Monaco: From its inception, he had connected himself closely to the architect, Lord FOSTER, and organized special, secretive meetings in his office, without consultation with the yacht club’s general manager, Bernard D'ALLESSANDRI.
Special allocations during the Grand Prix: Purporting to act “on behalf of the Prince,” he decided who should be given extremely valuable berths in the port during the Grand Prix.
Nike: “A very strange dark folder,” I was told by an informant. “Everybody knows the very special link between the aide-de-camp and Cory T, of Red Bull. It is certain Cory got to build and manage the new Nike store with some very strange authorization.”
As if that wasn’t enough, I learned from my spy, HUNT, that shredders in the finance ministry were “red hot.” Paperwork between 2003-2004 was being shredded at a fast pace, “including orders of Prince Rainier that had not been acted upon.”
On the evening of May 18th (2006), I met the Prince’s second cousin and godson, Jean-Leonard DE MASSY--grandson of Prince Rainier’s sister, Princess Antoinette.
I speculated that the aide-de-camp did not want JLA around to witness his evolving close contact with the Russians.
I had been digging, as authorized by the Prince, into the aide-de-camp’s “dossiers,” and they left troubling questions about influence for sale:
He had tried to impose Robert MUNSCH as an “eye specialist doctor” at the new Institute for Medical Sports.
The new Yacht Club of Monaco: From its inception, he had connected himself closely to the architect, Lord FOSTER, and organized special, secretive meetings in his office, without consultation with the yacht club’s general manager, Bernard D'ALLESSANDRI.
Special allocations during the Grand Prix: Purporting to act “on behalf of the Prince,” he decided who should be given extremely valuable berths in the port during the Grand Prix.
Nike: “A very strange dark folder,” I was told by an informant. “Everybody knows the very special link between the aide-de-camp and Cory T, of Red Bull. It is certain Cory got to build and manage the new Nike store with some very strange authorization.”
As if that wasn’t enough, I learned from my spy, HUNT, that shredders in the finance ministry were “red hot.” Paperwork between 2003-2004 was being shredded at a fast pace, “including orders of Prince Rainier that had not been acted upon.”
On the evening of May 18th (2006), I met the Prince’s second cousin and godson, Jean-Leonard DE MASSY--grandson of Prince Rainier’s sister, Princess Antoinette.
De Massy
An intense, if sensitive individual, DE MASSY had serious concerns about what was going on within the principality.
I outlined our mission, in general terms, and DE MASSY offered his cooperation.
Clearly, DE MASSY could tap into intelligence both in the corridors of power and on the street, and thus seemed a strong asset for the team. He told me that Jean-Paul CARTERON was trying to cultivate him into his network; of course, as a blood relative to Monaco’s royal family, DE MASSY would be used by CARTERON as cachet to promote his own agenda within both the principality and among foreign leaders of small nations he counted as friends and summit participants.
At ten to eight next evening, the Prince appeared at M-Base.
I outlined our mission, in general terms, and DE MASSY offered his cooperation.
Clearly, DE MASSY could tap into intelligence both in the corridors of power and on the street, and thus seemed a strong asset for the team. He told me that Jean-Paul CARTERON was trying to cultivate him into his network; of course, as a blood relative to Monaco’s royal family, DE MASSY would be used by CARTERON as cachet to promote his own agenda within both the principality and among foreign leaders of small nations he counted as friends and summit participants.
At ten to eight next evening, the Prince appeared at M-Base.
I said, “No martinis. Wine tonight.”
“You can’t do that,” said Albert.
“Okay, but I’m out of olives—it’ll have to be cocktail onions.”
I briefed the Prince on our new relationships with a half-dozen intelligence services, all of them eager to create liaison partnerships.
On May 23rd, Jeff STINSON’s USA Today story on Monaco was published, beneath this heading: Monaco Steers Clear of Once-Shifty Image, subtitled, Beefed-up intelligence operation monitors comings, goings.
It was a perfect result for Operation Scribe.
An official of a foreign intelligence service wrote: “Just the sort of thing that will make shady people think twice.”
From JLA: “Very good indeed.”
I did not hear from the Prince. Albert was not renowned for showing appreciation to anyone devoted to his service. And he probably did not even remember it was I who had orchestrated such superb publicity.
On July 5th, my first day back in M-Base after a month away cultivating new contacts in Washington DC, I spent a long day with various assets and informants. They painted a bleak picture revolving around the same themes: lack of progress and indecisions and everyone jealous of everyone else for access to the Prince (a disorder known as Malade de la Sovereign).
Despite having his special project dossiers transferred to JLA’s desk, the Prince’s senior aide-de-camp had been increasing, not decreasing, his influence, spreading word that he now played a “super undercover role” doing “special international government missions.”
These updates were brightened only by the occasional anecdote, like Minister of State Jean-Paul PROUST apparently summoning Jean-Paul CARTERON and demanding to have a say over who could attend CARTERON’s summits—and CARTERON storming out in anger.
Or Steven SALTZMAN being called “pork.”
“What do you mean, pork?” Eringer asked.
“Pork! Pork!”
My asset meant pig.
“You can’t do that,” said Albert.
“Okay, but I’m out of olives—it’ll have to be cocktail onions.”
I briefed the Prince on our new relationships with a half-dozen intelligence services, all of them eager to create liaison partnerships.
On May 23rd, Jeff STINSON’s USA Today story on Monaco was published, beneath this heading: Monaco Steers Clear of Once-Shifty Image, subtitled, Beefed-up intelligence operation monitors comings, goings.
It was a perfect result for Operation Scribe.
An official of a foreign intelligence service wrote: “Just the sort of thing that will make shady people think twice.”
From JLA: “Very good indeed.”
I did not hear from the Prince. Albert was not renowned for showing appreciation to anyone devoted to his service. And he probably did not even remember it was I who had orchestrated such superb publicity.
On July 5th, my first day back in M-Base after a month away cultivating new contacts in Washington DC, I spent a long day with various assets and informants. They painted a bleak picture revolving around the same themes: lack of progress and indecisions and everyone jealous of everyone else for access to the Prince (a disorder known as Malade de la Sovereign).
Despite having his special project dossiers transferred to JLA’s desk, the Prince’s senior aide-de-camp had been increasing, not decreasing, his influence, spreading word that he now played a “super undercover role” doing “special international government missions.”
These updates were brightened only by the occasional anecdote, like Minister of State Jean-Paul PROUST apparently summoning Jean-Paul CARTERON and demanding to have a say over who could attend CARTERON’s summits—and CARTERON storming out in anger.
Or Steven SALTZMAN being called “pork.”
“What do you mean, pork?” Eringer asked.
“Pork! Pork!”
My asset meant pig.
Such were the delights of working with persons for whom English was a second language.
DE MASSY had attended CARTERON’s June summit and made an interesting new contact: Sergei PUGACHEV--a wealthy Russian living in Nice who had designs on Monaco.
PUGACHEV told DE MASSY he was building a “six star” hotel on Moscow’s Red Square and that he wanted SBM, Monaco’s hotel group, to manage it, even though SBM was not, and never had been, in the business of managing hotels beyond the principality’s borders.
PUGACHEV had just purchased a Monaco institution called Sam’s Place—a homey Monte Carlo restaurant—and transformed it into a Moscow-style bar and restaurant called Altovia to give his grown sons—Viktor and Alexandre, Monaco residents both--something useful to do.
When I connected with the chef de cabinet, I found JLA demoralized. “Again, PROUST has screwed the Prince,” said JLA.
Albert had apparently swallowed PROUST’s playbook hook, line and sinker—a reversal of the plan Albert had agreed with JLA two days earlier.
How and why could this happen?
The answer was simple: PROUST, last to see the Prince, skillfully walked away with Albert’s tacit agreement. For the Prince, perpetually distracted as he was, tacit approval was the easiest way to avoid confrontation. So he gave in to PROUST, whose plan was this: Yes, Franck BIANCHERI would step aside as finance minister. But that was because BIANCHERI would become chairman of economic development and special advisor to the minister of state.
And so PROUST solved his dilemma on how to remove BIANCHERI as finance minister (by “promoting” him) without it looking like he had capitulated to Palace rule.
BIANCHERI, however, was under no such illusion.
On the evening of July 7th, DE MASSY met with the “newly promoted” Franck BIANCHERI seven o’clock in Monaco’s Yacht Club. He said to BIANCHERI, “Glass of champagne to celebrate?”
“Are you kidding?” BIANCHERI replied. “There’s nothing to celebrate. I was running a ministry of two hundred people. Now I have no people, no real portfolio. The titles mean nothing—they have cast me out.”
Joined by his wife, Sylvia, the BIANCHERIS spit blood and venom in unison. Disgusted, Sylvia departed.
“I had asked you about skeletons,” DE MASSY said to BIANCHERI, referring to a period before DE MASSY had met me. “You told me there were none.”
BIANCHERI transformed from glum to nervous, dropping his hands between his knees, avoiding eye contact. “What do you mean?”
“You ever heard of Bosna Bank in Sarajevo?”
BIANCHERI hesitated. “Should I know it?”
“You were the finance minister,” said DE MASSY. “You should know all the banks everywhere.”
BIANCHERI flustered.
DE MASSY had attended CARTERON’s June summit and made an interesting new contact: Sergei PUGACHEV--a wealthy Russian living in Nice who had designs on Monaco.
PUGACHEV told DE MASSY he was building a “six star” hotel on Moscow’s Red Square and that he wanted SBM, Monaco’s hotel group, to manage it, even though SBM was not, and never had been, in the business of managing hotels beyond the principality’s borders.
PUGACHEV had just purchased a Monaco institution called Sam’s Place—a homey Monte Carlo restaurant—and transformed it into a Moscow-style bar and restaurant called Altovia to give his grown sons—Viktor and Alexandre, Monaco residents both--something useful to do.
When I connected with the chef de cabinet, I found JLA demoralized. “Again, PROUST has screwed the Prince,” said JLA.
Albert had apparently swallowed PROUST’s playbook hook, line and sinker—a reversal of the plan Albert had agreed with JLA two days earlier.
How and why could this happen?
The answer was simple: PROUST, last to see the Prince, skillfully walked away with Albert’s tacit agreement. For the Prince, perpetually distracted as he was, tacit approval was the easiest way to avoid confrontation. So he gave in to PROUST, whose plan was this: Yes, Franck BIANCHERI would step aside as finance minister. But that was because BIANCHERI would become chairman of economic development and special advisor to the minister of state.
And so PROUST solved his dilemma on how to remove BIANCHERI as finance minister (by “promoting” him) without it looking like he had capitulated to Palace rule.
BIANCHERI, however, was under no such illusion.
On the evening of July 7th, DE MASSY met with the “newly promoted” Franck BIANCHERI seven o’clock in Monaco’s Yacht Club. He said to BIANCHERI, “Glass of champagne to celebrate?”
“Are you kidding?” BIANCHERI replied. “There’s nothing to celebrate. I was running a ministry of two hundred people. Now I have no people, no real portfolio. The titles mean nothing—they have cast me out.”
Joined by his wife, Sylvia, the BIANCHERIS spit blood and venom in unison. Disgusted, Sylvia departed.
“I had asked you about skeletons,” DE MASSY said to BIANCHERI, referring to a period before DE MASSY had met me. “You told me there were none.”
BIANCHERI transformed from glum to nervous, dropping his hands between his knees, avoiding eye contact. “What do you mean?”
“You ever heard of Bosna Bank in Sarajevo?”
BIANCHERI hesitated. “Should I know it?”
“You were the finance minister,” said DE MASSY. “You should know all the banks everywhere.”
BIANCHERI flustered.