MONTE CARLO. A manhunt is underway after a bomb blast turned a Ukrainian oligarch’s morning espresso into a cloud of very expensive confetti. The explosion, which occurred outside a patisserie favoured by those who own yachts the size of small nations, has left the principality in a state of heightened alert and, one suspects, a shortage of decent croissants.
The target, one Viktor 'The Teflon' Kovalenko, was reportedly enjoying a cigarillo and contemplating the existential dread of his ninth superyacht when a device of unspecified provenance decided to rearrange his schedule permanently. Early reports from the Monaco police suggest that the blast was 'significant' and that the oligarch's remains are 'currently being collected with a spatula.'
Kovalenko, a man whose wealth is exceeded only by his capacity for moral flexibility, has been a fixture on sanctions lists from here to Timbuktu. His portfolio includes a chain of Ukrainian gas pipelines, a football club that hasn't won anything since 1973, and a collection of Fabergé eggs so vast it requires its own postcode. He was, in the parlance of our times, 'a man of influence.'
But who would want to blow up a man so beloved by, well, no one? The usual suspects are already circling: Russian oligarchs with grudges, Ukrainian nationalists with a sense of irony, or perhaps a disgruntled former employee who was denied a bonus. Monaco police have launched a manhunt for 'a person of interest' described as 'wearing a hoodie and looking shifty.' It is believed they are currently searching every casino in the city, which could take weeks.
Meanwhile, the local gendarmes have cordoned off the area and are sifting through the debris with the kind of meticulous attention to detail usually reserved for finding lost cufflinks. The blast, they say, was 'targeted' and 'deliberate.' In other news, water is wet.
This attack comes at a particularly awkward time for Monaco, which has been trying to cultivate an image of genteel tranquillity to attract more oligarchs with disposable income. The casino owners are reportedly furious: 'This is bad for business,' said one pit boss, who asked not to be named, citing fear of reprisals from the cleaning staff. 'People don't want to gamble in a place where the air might spontaneously combust.'
The question on everyone's lips is not 'who did it?' but 'who's next?' The Ukraine conflict has turned the global stage into a very hostile theatre, and the billionaire class is starting to look like the extras in a disaster film. One suspects that security consultants are currently enjoying a roaring trade in panic rooms and bullet-proof prams.
This reporter, nursing a gin and tonic in a nearby bar (I am, after all, a journalist), can confirm that the mood is tense. The locals are jittery, the tourists are snapping selfies, and the only thing moving faster than the speculation is the price of armoured vehicles. As the sun sets over the Mediterranean, casting a golden glow on the scene of the blast, one cannot help but feel that the world has gone completely, utterly mad. But then again, it always was.
The investigation continues. The manhunt continues. And somewhere, in a bunker probably, a man in a suit is already planning the next 'misunderstanding.' Stay tuned, readers. It’s going to be a bumpy tax year.
