What Happened in Moscow: The Inside Story of How Trump’s Obsession With Putin Began

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This is the first of two excerpts adapted
from Russian Roulette: The
Inside Story of Putin’s War on America and the Election of Donald
Trump (Twelve Books), by Michael Isikoff, chief
investigative correspondent for Yahoo News, and David
Corn, Washington bureau chief of Mother Jones. The
book will be released on March 13.

It was late in the afternoon
of November 9, 2013, in Moscow, and Donald Trump was getting
anxious.

This was his second day in the Russian capital, and the brash
businessman and reality TV star was running through a whirlwind
schedule to promote that evening’s extravaganza at Moscow’s Crocus
City Hall: the Miss Universe pageant, in which women from 86
countries would be judged before a worldwide television audience
estimated at 1 billion.

Trump had purchased the pageant 17 years earlier, partnering
with NBC. It was one of his most prized properties, bringing in
millions of dollars a year in revenue and, perhaps as important,
burnishing his image as an iconic international playboy celebrity.
While in the Russian capital, Trump was also scouting for new and
grand business opportunities, having spent decades trying—but
failing—to develop high-end projects in Moscow. Miss Universe
staffers considered it an open secret that Trump’s true agenda in
Moscow was not the show but his desire to do business there.

Yet to those around him that afternoon, Trump seemed gripped by
one question: Where was Vladimir Putin?

From the moment five months earlier when Trump announced Miss
Universe would be staged that year in Moscow, he had seemed
obsessed with the idea of meeting the Russian president. “Do you
think Putin will be going to The Miss Universe Pageant in November
in Moscow—if so, will he become my new best friend?” Trump had
tweeted in June.

Once in Moscow, Trump received a private message from the
Kremlin, delivered by Aras Agalarov, an oligarch close to Putin and
Trump’s partner in hosting the Miss Universe event there: “Mr.
Putin would like to meet Mr. Trump.” That excited Trump. The
American developer thought there was a strong chance the Russian
leader would attend the pageant. But as his time in Russia wore on,
Trump heard nothing else. He became uneasy.

“We all knew that the event was approved by Putin,” a Miss Universe
official later said. “You can’t pull off something like this in
Russia unless Putin says it’s okay.”

“Is Putin coming?” he kept asking.

With no word from the Kremlin, it was starting to look grim.
Then Agalarov conveyed a new message. Dmitry Peskov, Putin’s
right-hand man and press spokesman, would be calling any moment.
Trump was relieved, especially after it was explained to him that
few people were closer to Putin than Peskov. If anybody could
facilitate a rendezvous with Putin, it was Peskov. “If you get a
call from Peskov, it’s like you’re getting a call from Putin,” Rob
Goldstone, a British-born publicist who had helped bring the beauty
contest to Moscow, told him. But time was running out. The show
would be starting soon, and following the broadcast Trump would be
departing the city.

Finally, Agalarov’s cellphone rang. It was Peskov, and Agalarov
handed the phone to an eager Trump.

Trump’s trip to Moscow for the
Miss Universe contest was a pivotal moment. He had for years longed
to develop a glittering Trump Tower in Moscow. With this visit, he
would come near—so near—to striking that deal. He would be close to
branding the Moscow skyline with his world-famous name and
enhancing his own status as a sort of global oligarch.

During his time in Russia, Trump would demonstrate his affinity
for the nation’s authoritarian leader with flattering and fawning
tweets and remarks that were part of a long stretch of comments
suggesting an admiration for Putin. Trump’s curious statements
about Putin—before, during, and after this Moscow jaunt—would later
confound US intelligence officials, members of Congress, and
Americans of various political inclinations, even Republican Party
loyalists.

What could possibly explain Trump’s unwavering sympathy for the
Russian strongman? His refusal to acknowledge Putin’s repressive
tactics, his whitewashing of Putin’s abuses in Ukraine and Syria,
his dismissal of the murders of Putin’s critics, his blind eye to
Putin’s cyberattacks and disinformation campaigns aimed at
subverting Western democracies?

Trump’s brief trip to Moscow held clues to this mystery. His two
days there would later become much discussed because of allegations
that he engaged in weird sexual antics while in Russia—claims that
were not confirmed. But this visit was significant because it
revealed what motivated Trump the most: the opportunity to build
more monuments to himself and to make more money. Trump realized he
could attain none of his dreams in Moscow without forging a bond
with the former KGB lieutenant colonel who was the president of
Russia.

This trek to Russia was the birth of a bromance—or something
darker—that would soon upend American politics and then scandalize
Trump’s presidency. And it began in the most improbable way—as the
brainstorm of a hustling music publicist trying to juice the career
of a second-tier pop singer.

Trump’s Miss Universe landed
in Moscow because of an odd couple: Rob Goldstone and Emin
Agalarov.

Goldstone was a heavyset, gregarious bon vivant who liked to
post photos on Facebook poking fun at himself for being unkempt and
overweight. He once wrote a piece for the New York Times
headlined, “The Tricks and Trials of Traveling While Fat.” He had
been an Australian tabloid reporter and a publicist for Michael
Jackson’s 1987 Bad tour. Now he co-managed a PR firm, and
his top priority was serving the needs of an Azerbaijani pop singer
of moderate talent named Emin Agalarov.

Emin—he went by his first name—was young, handsome, and rich. He
yearned to be an international star. His father, Aras Agalarov, was
a billionaire developer who had made it big in Russia, building
commercial and residential complexes, and who also owned properties
in the United States. After spending his early years in Russia,
Emin grew up in Tenafly, New Jersey, obsessed with Elvis Presley.
He imitated the King of Rock and Roll in dress, style, and voice.
He later studied business at Marymount Manhattan College and
subsequently pursued a double career, working in his father’s
company and trying to make it as a singer. He married Leyla
Aliyeva, the daughter of the president of Azerbaijan, whose regime
faced repeated allegations of corruption. After moving to Baku, the
country’s capital, Emin soon earned a nickname: “the Elvis of
Azerbaijan.”

Emin cultivated the image of a rakish pop star, chronicling a
hedonistic lifestyle on lnstagram by posting shots from beaches,
nightclubs, and various hot spots. He brandished hats and T-shirts
with randy sayings, such as “If You Had a Bad Day Let’s Get Naked.”
But his music career was stalled. For help, he had turned to
Goldstone.

During a January 2015 meeting, Trump told Emin, “Maybe next time,
you’ll be performing at the White House.”

In early 2013, Goldstone was looking to get Emin more media
exposure, especially in the United States. A friend offered a
suggestion: Perhaps Emin could perform at a Miss Universe pageant.
The event had a reputation for showcasing emerging talent. The 2008
contest had featured up-and-comer Lady Gaga. (Trump would later
brag—with his usual hyperbole—that this appearance was Lady Gaga’s
big break.) About the same time, Goldstone and Emin needed an
attractive woman for a music video for Emin’s latest song—and they
wanted the most beautiful woman they could find. It seemed obvious
to them that they should reach out to Miss Universe.

This led to meetings with Paula Shugart, the president of the
Miss Universe Organization, who reported directly to Trump. She
agreed to make the reigning Miss Universe, Olivia Culpo, available
for the music video. (Within the Miss Universe outfit, Culpo, who
had previously been Miss USA, was widely considered a Trump
favorite.) And over the course of several conversations with
Shugart, Goldstone and Emin discussed where the next Miss Universe
contest would be held. At one point, Emin proposed to Shugart that
Miss Universe consider mounting its 2013 pageant in Azerbaijan.
That didn’t fly with Shugart.

At a subsequent meeting, Emin revised the pitch. “Why don’t we
have it in Moscow?” he suggested. Shugart was interested but
hesitant. The pageant had looked at Moscow previously. It had not
identified a suitable venue there, and it was fearful of running
into too much red tape. “What if you had a partner who owns the
biggest venue in Moscow?” Emin replied. “Between myself and my
father, we can cut through the red tape.”

The venue Emin was referring to was Crocus City Hall, a grand
7,000-seat theater complex built by his father. Moreover, the
influential Aras Agalarov could help smooth the way—and bypass the
notorious bureaucratic morass that was a regular feature of doing
business in Russia.

A native Azerbaijani, Aras Agalarov was known as “Putin’s
Builder.” He had accumulated a billion-dollar-plus real estate
fortune in part by catering, like Trump, to the superwealthy. One
of his projects was a Moscow housing community for oligarchs that
boasted an artificial beach and waterfall. Agalarov had been tapped
by Putin to build the massive infrastructure—conference halls,
roadways, and housing—for the 2012 Asian-Pacific Economic
Cooperation summit in Vladivostok. He had completed the project in
record time. That venture and others—the construction of soccer
stadiums for the World Cup in Russia and the building of a
superhighway around Moscow—had earned Agalarov Putin’s gratitude.
Later in 2013, Putin would pin a medal on Agalarov’s lapel: “Order
of Honor of the Russian Federation.”

When Shugart first mentioned to Trump the idea of partnering
with a Russian billionaire tight with Putin to bring the Miss
Universe contest to Moscow, the celebrity developer was intrigued.
At last, here was an inside track to break into the Russian market.
And Agalarov agreed to kick in a good chunk of the estimated $20
million pageant budget. Trump was all for it. A Putin-connected
oligarch would be underwriting his endeavor.

But the deal had to include something for Emin. Trump’s Miss
Universe company guaranteed that Emin would perform two musical
numbers during the show. He would be showcased before a global
television audience. He and Goldstone believed this could help him
achieve his dream: cracking the American pop market.

Even before that, there would be a payoff for Emin. In May,
Culpo showed up in Los Angeles for the one-day shoot. Emin was
filmed strolling through a deserted nighttime town looking for his
love—to the tune of his song “Amor”—and a sultry woman played by
Culpo walked in and out of the beam of the flashlight he carried. A
few weeks later, the video was done. Emin held a release party at a
Moscow nightclub owned by his family. It was a lavish affair.
Russian celebrities dropped by. Shugart and Culpo flew in to join
the celebration.

In June 2013, Trump arrived in
Las Vegas to preside over the Miss USA contest, which was owned by
the Miss Universe company. Goldstone, Aras Agalarov, and Emin were
in town for the event. Emin posted a photo of himself outside
Trump’s hotel off the Vegas strip wearing a Trump T-shirt and
boasting a hat exclaiming, “You’re Fired”—the tagline from Trump’s
hit television show, The Apprentice. Trump had yet to meet
the Agalarovs. But when they finally got together in the lobby of
his hotel, he pointed at Aras Agalarov and exclaimed, “Look who
came to me! This is the richest man in Russia!” (Agalarov was not
the richest man in Russia.)

On the evening of June 15, the two Russians and their British
publicist were planning a big dinner at CUT, a restaurant located
at the Palazzo hotel and casino. Much to their surprise, they
received a call from Keith Schiller, Trump’s longtime security
chief and confidant, informing them that his boss wanted to join
their party. Sure, they said, please come.

At the dinner for about 20 people in a private room, Emin sat
between Trump and Goldstone. Aras Agalarov was across from Trump.
Michael Cohen, Trump’s personal attorney who acted as the
businessman’s consigliere, was on the other side of Goldstone. Also
at the table was an unusual associate for Trump: Ike Kaveladze, the
US-based vice president of Crocus International, an Agalarov
company. In 2000, a Government Accountability Office report
identified a business run by Kaveladze as responsible for opening
more than 2,000 bank accounts at two US banks on behalf of
Russian-based brokers. The accounts were used to move more than
$1.4 billion from individuals in Russia and Eastern Europe around
the globe in an operation the report suggested was “for the purpose
of laundering money.” His main client at the time was Crocus
International. (Kaveladze claimed the GAO probe was “another
Russian witch-hunt in the United States.”)

Trump was charming and solicitous of his new partners. He asked
Aras what kind of jet he owned. A Gulfstream 550, Aras answered.
But the Russian billionaire quickly noted that he had a Gulfstream
650 on order. “If that was me,” Trump replied, “I would have said I
was one of only 100 people in the world who have a Gulfstream 650
on order.” It was a small Trumpian lesson in self-promotion. And
Trump, proud of himself, turned to Goldstone to emphasize his
point: “There is nobody in the world who is a better self-promoter
than Donald Trump.”

“When it comes to doing business in Russia, it’s very hard to find
people in there you can trust,” Trump told Emin Agalarov. “We’re
going to have a great relationship.”

After the dinner, part of the group headed to an after-party at
a raunchy nightclub in the Palazzo mall called The Act. Shortly
after midnight, the entourage arrived at the club. The group
included Trump, Emin, Goldstone, Culpo, and Nana Meriwether, the
outgoing Miss USA. Trump and Culpo were photographed in the lobby
by a local paparazzi. The club’s management had heard that Trump
might be there that night and had arranged to have plenty of Diet
Coke on hand for the teetotaling Trump. (The owners had also
discussed whether they should prepare a special performance for the
developer, perhaps a dominatrix who would tie him up onstage or a
little-person transvestite Trump impersonator—and nixed the
idea.)

The group was ushered to the owner’s box, where Emin had an
unusual encounter. Alex Soros, the son of George Soros, the
billionaire philanthropist who funded opposition to Putin, was
there as Meriwether’s date. Emin started chatting with Soros and
invited him to see him in Moscow. “You should know,” Soros replied,
“I’m no fan of Mr. Putin.” And, he added, he was a big admirer of
Mikhail Khodorkovsky—the oligarch turned Putin critic then serving
time in a Siberian prison. Emin laughed it off.

The Act was no ordinary nightclub. Since March, it had been the
target of undercover surveillance by the Nevada Gaming Control
Board and investigators for the club’s landlord—the Palazzo, which
was owned by GOP megadonor Sheldon Adelson—after complaints about
its obscene performances. The club featured seminude women
performing simulated sex acts of bestiality and grotesque
sadomasochism—skits that a few months later would prompt a Nevada
state judge to issue an injunction barring any more of its “lewd”
and “offensive” performances. Among the club’s regular acts cited
by the judge was one called “Hot for Teacher,” in which naked
college girls simulate urinating on a professor. In another act,
two women disrobe and then “one female stands over the other female
and simulates urinating while the other female catches the urine in
two wine glasses.” (The Act shut down after the judge’s ruling.
There is no public record of which skits were performed the night
Trump was present.)

As The Act’s scantily clad dancers gyrated in front of them late
that night, Emin, Goldstone, Culpo, and the rest toasted Trump’s
birthday. (He had turned 67 the day before.) Trump remained focused
on Emin and their future partnership. “When it comes to doing
business in Russia, it’s very hard to find people in there you can
trust,” he told the young pop singer, according to Goldstone.
“We’re going to have a great relationship.

The next night, toward the end of the Miss USA broadcast, Trump
hit the stage to announce that the Miss Universe pageant would be
held the coming November in Russia. In front of the audience, the
Agalarovs and Trump signed the contract for the event. Trump
declared, “This will be one of the biggest and most beautiful Miss
Universe events ever.” On the red carpet earlier that evening,
Trump had hailed Emin and Aras Agalarov: “These are the most
powerful people in all of Russia, the richest men in Russia.”

Two days later, Trump expressed his desire on Twitter to become
Putin’s “new best friend.” Emin quickly responded with his own
tweet: “Mr. @realDonaldTrump anyone you meet becomes your best
friend—so I’m sure Mr. Putin will not be an exception in
Moscow.”

The Moscow event held great
potential for Trump to score in Russia. Now he was partnering with
a Russian billionaire connected to other oligarchs and favored by
Putin. (Trump already had a controversial venture underway in Baku,
where he was developing a hotel with the son of the transportation
minister of the corrupt regime. This project would soon founder.)
“For Trump, this Miss Universe event was all about expanding the
Trump Organization brand and getting his names on buildings,” a
Miss Universe associate recalled.

And anyone who wanted to do big deals in Russia—especially an
American—could only do so if Putin was keen on it. “We all knew
that the event was approved by Putin,” a Miss Universe official
later said. “You can’t pull off something like this in Russia
unless Putin says it’s okay.” Trump would only be making money in
Russia because Putin was permitting him to do so.

Immediately, the contest was slammed by controversy. A few days
before the announcement in Las Vegas, the Russian Duma had passed a
law that made it illegal to expose children to information about
homosexuality. The new anti-gay measure was the latest move by
Putin to appeal to the conservative Orthodox Church and
ultranationalist forces. It came amid a disturbing rise in anti-gay
violence throughout Russia. In the southern city of Volgograd a few
weeks earlier, a gay man’s naked body was found in a courtyard, his
skull smashed, his genitals scarred by beer bottles. The atmosphere
was “ugly and brutal,” a US diplomat who then served in Moscow
later said. “There would be these hooligans who would go after gay
people in bars and beat them up. There was a pretty vicious
campaign against the LGBT community.”

Human rights and gay rights advocates in Russia and around the
world denounced the new law. Vodka boycotts were launched. There
was a push to relocate the Winter Olympics, scheduled to be held
the following year in Sochi, Russia. In the United States, the
Human Rights Campaign called on Trump and the Miss Universe
Organization to move the event out of Russia, noting that under the
new law a contestant could be prosecuted if she were to voice
support for gay rights.

The uproar over the Russian anti-gay act confronted Trump with a
dilemma—how to distance himself from the law without jeopardizing
his big Russia play. The Miss Universe Organization issued a
statement asserting that it “believes in equality for all
individuals.” That didn’t stop the protests. Bravo talk-show host
Andy Cohen and entertainment reporter Giuliana Rancic, who had
previously co-hosted the pageant, quit the show. Miss Universe
officials scrambled and found replacements: Thomas Roberts, an
openly gay MSNBC anchor, and former Spice Girl Mel B.

Roberts explained his decision in an op-ed on MSNBC.com:
“Boycotting and vilifying from the outside is too easy. Rather, I
choose to offer my support of the LGBT community in Russia by going
to Moscow and hosting this event as a journalist, an anchor, and a
man who happens to be gay. Let people see I am no different than
anyone else.

This was a godsend for Trump. He granted Roberts an interview
on MSNBC. “I think you’re going to do fantastically,” he told
Roberts, “and I love the fact that you feel the same about the
whole situation as me.” Inevitably, the conversation turned toward
Putin and whether he would appear at the pageant. “I know for a
fact that he wants very much to come,” Trump said, “but we’ll have
to see. We haven’t heard yet, but we have invited him.”

Though US relations with Moscow were at this point
deteriorating, Trump was touting Putin as a wily and strong
leader. In September, Putin published an op-ed in the
New York Times that opposed a possible
US military strike against the government of Bashar al-Assad in
Syria (in retaliation for its use of chemical weapons) and that
denounced President Barack Obama for referring to American
exceptionalism. The next day, Trump on Fox News commended Putin’s
move. “It really makes him look like a great leader,” he said.

The following month, Trump appeared on David Letterman’s
late-night show. The host asked if Trump had ever done any deals
with the Russians. “I’ve done a lot of business with the Russians,”
Trump replied, adding, “They’re smart and they’re tough.” Letterman
inquired if Trump had ever met Putin. “He’s a tough guy,” Trump
said. “I met him once.” In fact, there was no record he ever
had.

Trump landed in Moscow on
November 8, having flown there with casino owner Phil Ruffin on
Ruffin’s private jet. (Ruffin, a long-time Trump friend, was
married to a former Miss Ukraine who had competed in the 2004 Miss
Universe contest.) Trump headed to the Ritz-Carlton, where he was
booked into the presidential suite that Obama had stayed in when he
was in Moscow four years earlier.

There was a brief meeting with Miss Universe executives and the
Agalarovs. Schiller would later tell congressional investigators
that a Russian approached Trump’s party with an offer: He wanted to
send five women to Trump’s hotel room that night. Was this
traditional Russian courtesy—or an overture by Russian intelligence
to collect kompromat (compromising material) on the
prominent visitor? Schiller said he didn’t take the offer seriously
and told the Russian, “We don’t do that type of stuff.”

Trump was soon whisked to a gala lunch at one of the two Moscow
branches of Nobu, the famous sushi restaurant. (Nobu Matsuhisa, its
founder, was one of the celebrity judges for the Miss Universe
telecast. Agalarov was one of the co-owners of the restaurant;
another co-investor was actor Robert De Niro.) An assortment of
Russian businessmen was there, including Herman Gref, the chief
executive of Sberbank, a Russian state-owned bank and one of the
co-sponsors of the Miss Universe pageant.

“[Trump] often thought a woman was too ethnic or too dark-skinned.
He had a particular type of woman he thought was a winner. Others
were too ethnic. He liked a type. There was Olivia Culpo, Dayanara
Torres [the 1993 winner], and, no surprise, East European women.”

Trump was treated with much reverence. He gave a brief welcoming
talk. “Ask me a question,” he told the crowd. The first query was
about the European debt crisis and the impact that the financial
woes of Greece would have on it. “Interesting,” Trump replied.
“Have any of you ever seen The Apprentice?” Trump spoke at
length about his hit television show, repeatedly noting what a
tremendous success it was. He said not a word about Greece or
debt. When he was done with his remarks, he thanked them all for
coming and received a standing ovation. (Later, Aras Agalarov,
reminiscing about this lunch, would note, “If [Trump] does not
know the subject, he will talk about a subject he knows.”)

Gref, a close Putin adviser, was pleased with his face time with
Trump. “There was a good feeling from the meeting,” he later said.
“He’s a sensible person…[with] a good attitude toward Russia.”

Trump next went to the theater in Crocus City Hall. It was the
day before the show. This was Trump’s chance to review the
contestants and exercise an option he always retained under the
rules of his pageants: to overrule the selection of judges and pick
the contestants he wanted among the finalists. In short, no woman
was a finalist until Trump said so.

At each pageant, Miss Universe staffers would set up a special
room for Trump backstage. It had to conform to his precise
requirements. He needed his favorite snacks: Nutter Butters and
white Tic Tacs. And Diet Coke. There could be no distracting
pictures on the wall. The room had to be immaculate. He required
unscented soap and hand towels—rolled, not folded.

In this room would be videos of the finalists who had been
selected days earlier in a preliminary competition and the other
contestants, particularly footage of the women in gowns and swim
suits. Here, a day or two before the final telecast, Trump would
review the judges’ decisions.

Frequently, Trump would toss out finalists and replace them with
others he preferred. “If there were too many women of color, he
would make changes,” a Miss Universe staffer later noted. Another
Miss Universe staffer recalled, “He often thought a woman was too
ethnic or too dark-skinned. He had a particular type of woman he
thought was a winner. Others were too ethnic. He liked a type.
There was Olivia Culpo, Dayanara Torres [the 1993 winner], and, no
surprise, East European women.” On occasion, according to this
staffer, Trump would reject a woman “who had snubbed his
advances.”

Once in a while, Shugart would politely challenge Trump’s
choices. Sometimes she would win the argument, sometimes not. “If
he didn’t like a woman because she looked too ethnic, you could
sometimes persuade him by telling him she was a princess and
married to a football player,” a staffer later explained.

That night, Aras Agalarov
hosted a party at Crocus City Hall to celebrate his 58th birthday.
Various VIPs were invited. Trump by now was exhausted. He spent
much of the time sitting with Shugart and Schiller. At one point,
Goldstone approached him with a request from Emin. The pop star was
filming a new music video. Could Trump the next day shoot a scene
that would be based on The Apprentice? Trump agreed, but
it had to be early— between 7:45 and 8:10 in the morning. Sure,
Goldstone said. Twenty-five minutes of Trump would have to do.

At about 1:30 a.m., Trump left the party and headed to the
Ritz-Carlton hotel a few blocks from the Kremlin. This would be his
only night in Moscow. According to Schiller, on the way to the
hotel, he told Trump about the earlier offer of women, and he and
Trump laughed about it. In Schiller’s account, after Trump was in
his room, he stood guard outside for a while and then left.

(But Schiller by another account was accustomed to being a
go-between for Trump. In a 2011 interview with In
Touch Weekly magazine that was not published
until early 2018, Stormy Daniels, a porn star who claimed she had
an 11-month-long affair with Trump, identified Schiller as the
Trump aide who facilitated her secret liaisons with Trump. “That’s
how I got in touch with him,” Daniels said. “I never had Donald’s
cellphone number. I always used Keith’s. I went up to the room and
he said, “Oh yeah, he’s waiting for you inside.’”)

The morning of November 9,
Trump showed up for Emin’s shoot. He was needed for the final
scene. The video would open with a boardroom meeting with Emin and
others reviewing Miss Universe contestants. Emin would doze off and
dream of being with the various contestants. Enter Trump for the
climax—Emin wakes up with Trump shouting at him: “What’s wrong with
you, Emin? Emin, let’s get with it. You’re always late. You’re just
another pretty face. I’m really tired of you. You’re fired!”
Trump’s bit would only last 15 seconds. Yet soon Emin would release
a video that he could promote as featuring the world-famous
Trump.

The rest of the day was as hectic as the first: a press
conference with 300 Russian reporters and more interviews,
including one with Roberts in which Trump was pressed again about
Putin.

Do you have a relationship with Putin and any sway with the
Russian leader? Roberts asked him. Trump was unequivocal: “I do
have a relationship.” He paused. “I can tell you that he’s very
interested in what we’re doing here today. He’s probably very
interested in what you and I are saying today. And I’m sure he’s
going to be seeing it in some form.”

Trump could barely contain his praise for Russia’s president:
“Look, he’s done a very brilliant job in terms of what he
represents and who he’s representing. If you look at what he’s done
with Syria, if you look at so many of the different things, he has
really eaten our president’s lunch. Let’s not kid ourselves. He’s
done an amazing job…He’s put himself at the forefront of the world
as a leader in a short period of time.”

But Trump’s comments about a “relationship” with Putin were, at
this point, wishful thinking. The word had spread through the Miss
Universe staff that Trump fiercely craved Putin’s attendance at
the pageant. In preparation for Putin’s possible appearance,
Thomas Roberts and Mel B were taught several words in Russian to
welcome the Russian president: “hello,” “thank you,” and so on.
With her cockney accent, Mel B had trouble pronouncing the Russian
words. She was told she had to get this right because Putin might
come.

By late afternoon, Trump’s anxiety was palpable. There had been
no word. He kept asking if anybody had heard from Putin. Then
Agalarov’s phone rang. “Mr. Peskov would like to speak to Mr.
Trump,” Agalarov said.

Trump suggested to an associate that after the telecast they could
spread the word that Putin had dropped by. “No one will know for
sure if he came or not.”

Trump and Peskov spoke for a few minutes. Afterward, Trump
recounted the conversation to Goldstone. Peskov, he said, was
apologetic. Putin very much wanted to meet Trump. But there was a
problem nobody had anticipated: a Moscow traffic jam. King
Willem-Alexander and Queen Maxima of the Netherlands were in town,
and Putin was obligated to meet them at the Kremlin. But the royal
couple had gotten stuck in traffic and was late, making it
impossible for the Russian president to find time for Trump. Nor
would he be able to attend the Miss Universe pageant that
evening.

Putin wanted to make amends, though. Peskov conveyed an
invitation for Trump to attend the upcoming Olympics, where perhaps
he and Putin could then meet. He also told Trump that Putin would
be sending a high-level emissary to the evening’s event—Vladimir
Kozhin, a senior Putin aide. And, Peskov told Trump, Putin had a
gift for him.

It was a crushing disappointment for Trump. But he quickly
thought of how to spin it, suggesting to an associate that after
the telecast they could spread the word that Putin had dropped by.
“No one will know for sure if he came or not,” he said.

One reason Trump’s hoped-for meeting with the Russian president
never materialized was his attention to another project. Trump was
originally scheduled to spend two nights in Moscow—which would have
yielded a wider window for a get-together with Putin. But Trump had
decided to attend the celebration of evangelist Billy Graham’s 95th
birthday on November 7 at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville, North
Carolina. In Russia, Trump told Goldstone that it had been
necessary for him to show up at the Graham event: “There is
something I’m planning down the road, and it’s really
important.”

Goldstone knew exactly what Trump was talking about: a run for
the White House. Franklin Graham, the evangelist’s son, was an
influential figure among religious conservatives. When Trump two
years earlier was championing birtherism—the baseless conspiracy
theory that Barack Obama had been born in Kenya and was ineligible
to be president—Graham joined the birther bandwagon, raising
questions about the president’s birth certificate. Appearing at
this event and currying favor with Franklin Graham was a mandatory
stop for Trump, if he was serious about seeking the Republican
presidential nomination. And it paid off: Trump and his wife
Melania were seated at the VIP table along with Rupert Murdoch and
Sarah Palin. Franklin Graham later said that Trump was among those
who “gave their hearts to Christ” that night.

Before the Miss Universe
broadcast, there was the obligatory red-carpet event. Camera crews
from around the world recorded the strutting celebrities. A
triumphant-looking Trump posed with Aras and Emin Agalarov for the
paparazzi. Trump dodged a question about whether Emin had been
booked to perform based on merit.

“Russia has just been an amazing place,” Trump exclaimed. “You
see what’s happening here. It’s incredible.” Behind him was a
banner featuring the logos of the Trump Organization, Miss
Universe, Sberbank, Mercedes, and NBC. The NBC peacock was in
black and white, without its usual rainbow of colors. Officials at
Agalarov’s company had ordered Miss Universe staffers to eschew the
rainbow, fearing it would be seen as a gay pride message.

Edita Shaumyan caught Trump’s eye. “You’re beautiful,” Trump told
her. “Wow, your eyes, your eyes.” According to Shaumyan, “He said,
‘Let’s go to America. Come with me to America.’”

Thomas Roberts walked the red carpet with his husband. He wore a
bright pink tuxedo jacket—something he would never do back home in
New York. He was sending his own message. In interviews, he
explicitly denounced Putin’s anti-gay laws.

Other celebs and local notables strolled past the entertainment
reporters. The group included Kozhin and a curious guest: Alimzhan
Tokhtakhounov, a.k.a. “the Little Taiwanese,” one of Russia’s most
prominent suspected mobsters and a fugitive from US justice.
Tokhtakhounov had an odd link to Trump’s signature property: Seven
months earlier, he had been indicted in the United States for
protecting a high-stakes illegal gambling operation run out of
Trump Tower. Additional Trump guests included Chuck LaBella, an NBC
executive who worked on Trump’s Celebrity
Apprentice, and Bob Van Ronkel, an American expatriate who
ran a business specializing in bringing Hollywood celebrities to
Russian events. (Van Ronkel once had tried to produce an American
television show extolling the KGB and its heroic exploits.)

The show went off well. Trump sat in the front row next to
Agalarov. Emin performed two of his Euro-pop numbers. Aerosmith’s
Steven Tyler, one of the judges, pumped out his classic hit “Dream
On.” For the finale, Culpo crowned Miss Venezuela the new Miss
Universe. There was no mention during the broadcast of the
controversy over the anti-gay law.

After the event, there was a rowdy after-party with lots of
vodka and loud music. A 26-year-old aspiring actress, Edita
Shaumyan, made her way into the VIP section, entering the roped-off
area the same time as a famous Russian rap singer named Timati.
Shaumyan caught Trump’s eye. He approached her, gestured to Timati,
and asked, “Wait, is this your boyfriend? You’re not free?” She
said no. “You’re beautiful,” Trump told her. “Wow, your eyes, your
eyes.” According to Shaumyan, “He said, ‘Let’s go to America. Come
with me to America.’ And I said, ‘No, no, no. I’m an Armenian.
We’re very strict. You need to meet my mother first.’” When other
women approached, trying to get photographs with Trump, he took
hold of Shaumyan’s arm and said, “Don’t go. Stay. Stay.” Shaumyan
took selfies with him. (She later produced five photos and a video
of her with Trump that night.) But nothing further happened. Trump
later had somebody give Shaumyan his business card with his phone
number on it. She never called.

From the party, Trump headed to the airport. He was going
straight home on another Ruffin jet. The next day, he called
Roberts. He told him he was pleased with the show and that it had
been a smash, with great ratings. That was not accurate—at least
not in the United States. The telecast drew 3.8 million viewers,
much less than the 6.1 million who had watched it the previous
year.

In the following days, various
media outlets in Russia and the United States reported that Trump
had used his visit to Moscow to launch a major project in the
Russian capital. “US ‘Miss Universe’ Billionaire Plans Russian
Trump Tower,” declared the headline on RT, the Russian
government-owned TV channel and website. The Moscow Times
proclaimed, “Donald Trump Planning Skyscraper in Moscow.” Trump’s
partners in the Trump SoHo project he had developed in New York
City—Alex Sapir and Rotem Rosen—had come to Moscow for the event
and met with Agalarov and Trump to discuss the possibilities.

Agalarov’s daughter showed up at the Miss Universe office in New
York City bearing a gift for Trump from Putin…Inside was a sealed
letter from the Russian autocrat. What the letter said has never
been revealed.

It seemed things were moving fast. The state-owned Sberbank
announced it had struck a “strategic cooperation agreement” with
the Crocus Group to finance about 70 percent of a project that
would include a tower bearing the Trump name. If the deal went
ahead, Trump would officially be doing business in Moscow with the
Russian government.

“The Russian market is attracted to me,” Trump told Real
Estate Weekly. “I have a great relationship
with many Russians.” He added, with his customary exaggeration,
“Almost all of the oligarchs” had been at the Miss Universe
event.

Back in the United States, Trump tweeted out the good news: “I
just got back from Russia—learned lots & lots. Moscow is a very
interesting and amazing place!” The next day he tweeted at Aras
Agalarov, “I had a great weekend with you and your family. You have
done a FANTASTIC job. TRUMP TOWER-MOSCOW is next. EMIN was WOW!

The project moved further along than publicly known. A letter of
intent to build the new Trump Tower was signed by the Trump
Organization and Agalarov’s company. Donald Trump Jr. was placed in
charge of the project.

Trump was finally on his way in Russia. And shortly after the
Miss Universe event, Agalarov’s daughter showed up at the Miss
Universe office in New York City bearing a gift for Trump from
Putin. It was a black lacquered box. Inside was a sealed letter
from the Russian autocrat. What the letter said has never been
revealed.

In February 2014, Ivanka Trump
flew to Moscow to scout potential sites for the Trump Tower project
with Emin Agalarov. “We thought that building a Trump Tower next to
an Agalarov tower—having the two big names—could be a really cool
project to execute,” Emin later said.

But international events would quickly intervene. Weeks after
Ivanka’s visit, the Obama administration and the European Union
imposed tough sanctions on Russia in response to Putin’s annexation
of Crimea and his military intervention in Ukraine. It would be a
kick to Russia’s faltering economy, already struggling because of
the plummeting price of oil. And one round of sanctions imposed by
the European Union targeted Russian banks in which the Russia
government held a majority interest—that included Sberbank, which
had agreed to finance the Trump deal. Its access to capital was now
hindered.

Rob Goldstone suspected the demise of Trump’s project with the
Agalarovs influenced Trump’s view of sanctions: “They had
interrupted a business deal that Trump was keenly interested in.”

In this environment, the plans for the Trump Tower in Moscow
crumbled. According to the Trump Organization, Ivanka Trump, after
touring Moscow with Emin, killed the deal for business reasons. But
Rob Goldstone suspected the demise of Trump’s project with the
Agalarovs influenced Trump’s view of sanctions: “They had
interrupted a business deal that Trump was keenly interested
in.”

That deal was dead. But Trump’s involvement with Russia and
Putin was not done. He still had a close bond with an influential
oligarch, Aras Agalarov, who was wired into the Kremlin. And he
stayed in touch with his Miss Universe pals, Emin and Goldstone. In
January 2015, nearly a year after Putin’s invasion in Ukraine,
Trump had Emin and Goldstone as guests to his office in Trump
Tower—a meeting that was never publicly revealed during the
investigations that followed the 2016 election. As Goldstone
recalled it, they found Trump listening to the blaring sounds of a
“hideous” rap video about Trump. The lyrics were ridiculing Trump,
and Goldstone asked, “Have you listened to the words?” Trump
replied, “Who cares about the words? It has 90 million hits on
YouTube.” While they chatted, Trump was encouraging to Emin, who
had performed at the Miss Universe contest in 2013: “Maybe next
time, you’ll be performing at the White House.”

Seventeen months later, in June 2016, Goldstone would return to
Trump Tower—this time escorting a Russian-led delegation dispatched
by the Agalarovs, offering potentially derogatory information on
Hillary Clinton, courtesy of the Kremlin, to the top officials of
Trump’s presidential campaign.

Image credit: Pavel Golovkin/AP; Olivier
Douliery/CNP/ZUMA; Mikhail Klimentyev/Sputnik/AP