On the day I finished reading this book, two newspaper articles caught my attention. A former head of the armed forces warned that the UK could not withstand a Russian attack; on the US presidential campaign trail, more evidence emerged of Vladimir Putin’s support for Donald Trump.

Of the many accounts written about the Russian president, Mikhail Zygar’s insider’s guide to his court is one of the most compelling. Zygar, a prominent journalist, has clearly earned the confidence of many. He tiptoes carefully; a number of journalists and their sources who have tried to disclose details of the cash that Putin and his henchmen have squirrelled away have ended up dead or in jail.

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The book charts not just the machinations of the various players – indeed some of the detail may be perplexing to non-Kremlinologists. It also acutely traces the evolution of Putin’s mind. The former KGB operative in East Germany did, even as he clamped down on the domestic media, initially try to woo the west. After Iraq and particularly the colour revolutions in Georgia and Ukraine, Putin felt betrayed.

The “fat decade”, as the 2000s were known, was the period when Russians (or at least some of them) maxed out on conspicuous consumption. “Russia was clumsily learning how to be a rich country,” the author writes. It was not just the oligarchs; the civil service quadrupled in number, a ready cash cow. “There was scarcely any politics, no public life, just solid hedonism.” The most common form of bribery was a family holiday abroad, worth a few thousand, in return for rubber-stamping a contract worth millions. The state officials grew wiser and developed a taste for proper luxury. “Why take hand-outs from billionaires if you can become a billionaire yourself?” That is when the power nexus shifted. What mattered was access to the top, and increasingly that meant one man only.

In foreign policy, Putin took a binary approach to friend and foe. George W Bush (at first) was the tough guy who knew how to buy elections; Gerhard Schröder was the dependable friend who sought – and received – a big job in Russian business. The favourite, naturally, was Silvio Berlusconi. The two families were extremely close. “Putin found it so much easier to deal with European cynics,” Zygar notes.

Putin never let Medvedev forget his betrayal. When he sought re-election, Putin sent out the order to destroy him

As for the present pack, he loathes Barack Obama (and the feeling is mutual); he sees Angela Merkel as the ringleader for a tougher European response to Russia. Hence the constant support Russia gives to Trump and France’s far-right Marine Le Pen, and the delight registered over Brexit. Russia will use every possible means to shake the status quo and undermine Europe. One of the many amusing anecdotes was how Putin would bring his huge black Labrador to meetings with Merkel; she is frightened stiff of dogs.

Few of the cardinals around the president emerge with credit. The most pitiable role is ascribed to Dmitry Medvedev, the man on whom the west briefly pinned some hopes. Plucked from nowhere by Putin (just as Putin was by Boris Yeltsin), his job was to keep the presidential seat warm. Putin needed to step down after two terms, but assumed that as prime minister he would continue to run the show.

For a year or two his protege struck out; he not only brought in his own people, he tried (a little) to introduce some constitutional order into the criminal state and he sought a rapprochement of sorts with the west. Obama’s team privately mocked Medvedev and his obsession with western gadgets. They and the Europeans were pleasantly surprised when the Russians did not object to the bombing of Libya. Putin, however, was furious and would never let Medvedev forget his betrayal. When the president briefly contemplated running for re-election, Putin sent out the order to destroy him. Parliament, security services, media and the business community did the rest.

By 2012, firmly ensconced in his third term as president, Putin controlled everything and everyone. Within a couple of years of his new tenure, he had seen off the liberal protest movement, annexed Crimea and occupied eastern Ukraine. He had won back some global authority with his clever scheming in Syria.

Such was the power he wielded that during his strange (and still unexplained) two long absences from the Kremlin, nobody knew what to do. Western sanctions hit his circle hard, but nobody dared argue with him, “because they knew that he was the source and guarantor of their wealth. Putin’s good favour was what gave them legitimacy”. He had by this point become obsessed with victimhood – Russia’s diplomatic and spiritual comfort blanket.

Yet, while emphasising the court’s dependency on Putin, Zygar’s conclusion is more nuanced. Putin became what he is because those around him saw it as the simplest path for their own enrichment and job security. “In trying to divine the intentions of their leader, his associates effectively materialised their own wishes.” In other words, Putin is more of a phenomenon than a leader.

The perennial neurosis about slavophilia versus westernism is therefore a false choice. Russia, the author suggests, seeks solace and confidence in definition against others. “Each of us invented our own Putin. And we may yet create many more.”

John Kampfner is the author of The Rich: From Slaves to Super Yachts – A 2000-Year History. All the Kremlin’s Men is published by Perseus (£18.99). Click here to buy it for £15.57