LOCATION: Istanbul, Turkey
CLIENT: Global 500 company
While waiting on the dock here in Istanbul something weird is
in the air.
As an executive recruiter that has never said no to a tough,
unlikely assignment I've found myself in many a strange situation. Done right, proper
recruiting is an intoxicating blend of hunting and sales. Find The Best and sell
them on your client. Fill the empty seat. The quant dogs of BCG can take their number
rush; I'll take a tough search assignment any day. At least that’s what I was reminding
myself of…
With evening quickly fading to night I jumped down into the big
speedboat. No sooner had I grabbed onto one of the high seats than the driver cracked
open the throttles and the hellacious engines roared up to full voice and we took
off up the Bosporus. The 50’s candidate I interviewed throughout the afternoon looked
over at me and smiled. I didn’t know who we were going to meet. It was spur of the
moment. I have the generally useful trait of being up for almost anything.
I had arrived late last night into Istanbul and this afternoon
met up with the COO succession candidate for a lunch that turned into a pleasant
multi-stop food ramble through town. It was going well. He understood my client’s
challenges and shared his own thinking about them. He was on board, very sharp,
and connected. He was happy to let me record most of the conversation and the audio
quality was good. I was looking forward to getting back to the hotel to edit it
down and transmit it to the client.
Well, that was the plan anyway. But now we were slowing up to
a dock by the candidate’s waterside villa. We tied up next to an old fishing boat
that looked out of place against the beautiful houses overlooking the water. There
was something odd about the wooden boat but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It seemed
very clean for a fishing trawler.
I climbed up onto the dock and looked over my shoulder across
the strait to downtown Istanbul. I could see the colorful safety of my tall hotel.
That was Europe. Although still in Istanbul, we were now walking in Asia. It felt
darker, and it wasn’t just the fading orange light.
As we approached the sliding glass doors behind a beautiful,
faintly modern house, the candidate turned around and said, “I've told my friend
you’re the guy whose newsletter I occasionally forward. You're both in the people
business. He's semi-retired. Don't ask him a lot of questions."
This didn’t help my comfort level. I ask questions for a living.
As we walked into a formal, dark wood paneled room a short, heavyset
man in an old fisherman sweater got up and shook the candidate’s hand, then mine.
His hand was massive and could have easily crumbled mine like a graham cracker.
He was introduced simply as Yuri by the candidate. I was introduced with both my
first and last name. The man smiled and nodded, somehow knowingly. It was obviously
his boat out back. They smelled the same.
“The ladies are upstairs in the kitchen with the fish I brought,”
Yuri said in a gravelly voice that sounded like Henry Kissinger but with the stretched
out syllables of Russian.
“Great. You two have a seat,” the candidate said as he disappeared
around a corner.
Yuri and I sat down. On the table between us was a chilled screw
cap bottle without the cap, three stubby wine glasses and a bowl of pickles. I could
smell vodka. I knew what was coming. My head hurt already from the afternoon. We
made small talk about fishing, subtly testing each other’s answer depth. Despite
the sweater the place smelled great. Somebody knows how to cook fish, I thought
to myself.
When the candidate came down we all sipped, then tossed back
the chilled vodka. It was strangely smooth. There was no burn at all. Nice.
Yuri reached across to get the bottle. As he did the left sleeve
of the worn sweater slid up. In the overhead light I caught a glimpse of the distinctive
octagonal face of a massively expensive gold Audemars Piguet Royal Oak watch. His
business, whatever it really is, must be good.
Another round went down. Number two. It was hitting me.
There was a strange dynamic in the room. The three of us formed
an equal sided triangle, with the host at the end of the table, but clearly I was
on the outside. I wanted to somehow take back some control but I knew it simply
wasn't possible—I never had any to give up. The Russian controlled the room. It
was like he controlled the gravity holding us all to the floor. He was like Jack
Welch in his prime at GE. The Russian’s human capital was immense. You could feel
it. People around him became his property, willing or not.
Yuri looked from me to the host and asked. “You told him about
finding someone’s stirrup??”
“He did,” I said answering the question for him.
“I’ve read some of your rules. Some are useful,” the fisherman
said to me.
“And which ones have you found ‘useful’?” I asked breaking the
host’s no questions rule.
The Russian thought a moment, looking down at his vodka glass
then back over to me. “The ones about controlling the movements of your enemy or
competition. Mostly good stuff.” He paused, then repeated, smiling, “Mostly.” He
reached down and picked one of the pickles out of the bowl and bit it in half. It
crunched.
“What would you add?” I asked. “What’s a management rule that’s
worked for you?” I glanced over to our host who seemed OK with the question. I realized
it was the identity of the Russian I wasn’t supposed to poke around. That was OK
with me. Eventually I would find out. I always do.
While Yuri was thinking the host reached over and refilled the
glasses. The three of us tossed them back. That was it for me. I had to work later
on the day’s recordings. Tough to do when a room won’t stay still around you.
The Russian spoke. “Well, you should certainly never let anyone
know the reality of how hard you are working on something. It just needs to get
done.”
“And why is that?” I asked.
“The moment somebody knows how hard you are working they can
measure more precisely what you are capable of. That is not good. They know your
limits and can predict your behavior. In my experience, it is better to make everything
look effortless, even if you are withering, and then choose more wisely, later,
if you misjudged.”
I said, “That’s the old corporate warfare rule of controlling
your competition by controlling what they think they know about you. War and business,
it’s largely the same.”
“Exactly,” the fisherman said. “My first mentor taught me how
to move arrogant or unskilled enemies around like chess pieces by making them think
something I was doing was either very tough, or very easy, or something in-between.
It’s gratifying to watch your enemy do exactly what you intend them to do. Disinformation
is a cheap yet very powerful weapon.”
“When weak, appear strong. When strong, appear weak,” I said.
Watching me closely he finished my thought saying, “When close,
appear far. When far, appear close.” Still watching me he paused then added slowly,
“Scientia est potentia.”
“’Knowledge is power’,” I answered nodding and smiling inside,
translating the Latin.
A few seconds of silence followed as we watched each other, then
a woman’s voice came from upstairs. The host made a gesture with his hand and a
moment later the glass door behind me slid open. The boat driver stood outside waiting,
obviously for me. Whatever this was, it was over. Our host stood up, with Yuri and
me following.
The fisherman reached out to shake my hand. “Tell me Mr. Newhart,”
he said shaking it. “Why is it a bad idea to be just as good as your competition?”
At last, new fruit to pluck. “Because, Yuri, ‘as good’ means
average,” I said. “There’s nothing compelling about average; it’s just another word
for mediocre. Nobody changes for mediocre. They change for better. That’s why I
came all this way to talk to him,” I said nodding toward the candidate who was a
great example of better.
I thanked our host and stepped halfway out the door but stopped
when the fisherman spoke. “It was nice finally meeting you. Our paths will cross
again.”
“I know,” I said before turning out the door into the moist night
air. That’s when I realized I was being interviewed for something.
The next day I flew home to Chicago. It had been an interesting
few days.
Think about it…
