Crash Course

by Derek Fee

  “How nice to see you again,” Safardi said as soon as the Englishman was settled.

  Barrett was always intrigued by the Arab’s accent which owed nothing to his place of origin. Without seeing the olive skin and the sharp Arabic features a person hearing only Safardi’s voice could not be faulted for thinking that its possessor was a member of the British Aristocracy.

  The waiter came and stood beside the two men.

  “Some coffee please,” Safardi said without consulting his companion. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “What did you find out about our friend Kane?” Barrett asked.

  “He is what he seems.” Safardi put his hands together before his chest the tips of the fingers joining. He looked for all the world as though he was praying. “In fact, he is an extremely interesting individual. Ex-captain in the Parachute Regiment, Distinguished Conduct Medal in Afghanistan. Left the service under some sort of cloud. Makes money and spends money. One could not say that he is a good money manager. A reckless man by all accounts and not one to be trifled with.”

  Barrett raised his eyebrows at that. He could be damned rash himself.

  “His uncle has decided to try and rehabilitate him,” Safardi continued as the coffee arrived. He waved away the waiter and poured two cups of the steaming liquid. He dropped four sugar cubes into his cup, stirred and sipped. “Most people think the old man has rocks in his head.”

  Barrett sipped his coffee. “What are we to do about him?”

  “He could sabotage our plan to get to the final race in Key West.” Safardi added another two cubes of sugar to the tea and stirred. “I’ve checked with every source we’ve got. It all adds up. And that might spell trouble for you in this year’s races.”

  “Maybe the race committee should hear about his past?” Barrett said.

  “Not yet if you don’t mind. I don’t really think they’d give a curse, do you? I want to see a little more of Kane.” Safardi leaned towards Barrett.

  “I need some money.”

  “You always need money. Our deal was that you would get fifty per cent of the prize money. Sorrento was a bust.”

  “I’ll take an advance.”

  Safardi took an envelope from his pocket and laid it on the table. “Five thousand now, to be repaid in one week.”

  Barrett picked up the envelope and slipped it into his pocket.

  “That concludes our business I believe,” Safardi said pouring himself another cup of coffee. “Take my advice for what it’s worth and stay away from Kane. You’ve been on a collision course with him since you saw Morweena on his arm. Forget him and forget her. There’s plenty more where she came from.”

  “I don’t give a shit about Kane’s background,” Barrett said, leaning close to Safardi. “Nobody walks out on me and nobody fucks with me during a race. Now it so happens that both people I want are in the same boat. Watch the race closely on Sunday. “This time I won’t be the one to pull away. I’ll fuck up that pair.”

  “You’re a bigger fool than even I gave you credit for.” Safardi looked into Barrett’s glazed eyes. “Hate and revenge are useless emotions.”

  “Watch the race,” Barrett said, getting up from the table. “It’s a pleasure doin’ business with you.” He strode off in the direction of the exit.

  The young Arab watched the Englishman retrace his steps to the entrance of the restaurant. In many ways, Barrett was not a very satisfactory employee. Over the past months, the recklessness which had attracted Safardi to him had turned into a liability. Recklessness and brains were the combination that he was looking for. And Kane seemed to possess both. Perhaps it was time to change the old guard. But not before Kane had been tested and teased.

  Chapter Thirty

  Karakatis looked at his watch. He had an hour before he needed to be on his yacht for his traditional party. He sipped a Pernod and looked around the bar area of the Le Petit Carlton pub located in the back streets behind la Croisette. The clientele of the bar was predominantly British. Normally Karakatis wouldn’t be seen dead in such a place but tonight was different. He needed somewhere discreet where there was no chance of meeting one of his colleagues. In the middle of the floor, a woman in a black miniskirt gyrated to the bar music. He looked at his watch again. Five minutes more and not a minute longer

  His head shot up when he saw the figure of Bill Thompson slide into the bar. They can never resist, he thought, as he watched Penhalion’s mechanic make his way towards his table.

  “Good evening, Mr Thompson.” He pointed at a seat beside him. “What can I offer you to drink?”

  ‘Beer, pint of. I’m not sure I should be here, Mr Karakatis.” Thompson sat reluctantly in the chair proffered.

  They’re always reticent until the money is mentioned, Karakatis thought and signalled the waiter to bring a pint of beer. “How’s the work going on the boat?”

  “I’m not sure as how I should be tellin’ you, Mr Karakatis.”

  Thompson was laying on the reluctant act with a trowel, Karakatis thought. Maybe he’s not as dumb as he looks.

  “I’d heard that you were the kind of man who had enough sense to know which way the wind was blowing.” Karakatis took a Pernod and a pint of beer from the barman and handed him twenty euros. He passed the beer to Thompson.

  “The boat is in great shape,” Thompson said, licking his lips after his first draught of the lager. “This stuff isn’t bad. Most of the beer I’ve had over here has tasted like gnat’s piss.”

  “How will it run on Saturday?”

  “Those engines are humming like a bird. I reckon she’ll do pretty well.” Thompson took another slug of his beer. “But I don’t suppose as you brought me here to get an update on the odds for Saturday.”

  Not intelligent but clever, Karakatis thought, but there’s no harm in that. “You’re quite right, Mr Thompson. I hear on the grapevine that Penhalion is about to go under and I was wondering whether you might work for me when you get laid off.”

  Thompson finished his beer and set the empty glass in front of Karakatis. “I haven’t heard that Penhalion’s is going under.”

  Karakatis signalled for another round. “Don’t be stupid. Penhalion has already let more than fifty men go. It’s only a matter of time before the place closes completely. Then you’ll be out on the street with the rest of them. It’s time you looked out for yourself.”

  “And how exactly would I be doin’ that, Mr Karakatis?”

  “If I were to get to the World Championship, my team would need an extra mechanic and I thought that you might be interested.”

  “But what if Mr Penhalion’s boat gets to the finals?”

  “That’s a big what if, and even then, there’s no guarantee that the boatyard won’t go under and you with it. Sometimes it’s better to jump before you’re pushed.”

  Bill Thompson sipped on his beer and peered at Karakatis over the rim of the glass. He’d heard from the other mechanics that he was a bad one but it wasn’t in Bill Thompson’s nature to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “If the Penhalion boat were to have some kind of mechanical trouble during Saturday’s race, and it was to finish down the field, that might assist some other competitors.”

  “You might be right there,” Thompson said placing another empty glass in front of his host.

  Karakatis signalled for a refill. “And if that mechanical trouble were actually caused by someone then that someone could expect to have a job waiting for him when Penhalion goes under.”

  “What I suppose you’re really askin’, Mr Karakatis,” Thompson said taking the glass from the waiter. “Is for me to like change teams. Sort of like the way football players change teams.”

  “Now you’re getting the idea. You change teams but you stay working for Penhalion until he folds.”

  Thompson rubbed his chin in an exaggerated fashion. “But when footballers change teams there’s usually a transfer fee. Maybe
I should get a transfer fee seein’ as how I’m promisin’ to transfer.”

  Karakatis smiled. “You’re reading my mind. I was thinking the same thing. Shall we say that I would be willing to pay you two thousand pounds to transfer to my team?”

  Thompson frowned. “I’d rather you’d say that you’d pay me ten thousand pounds to transfer to your team. That way I could make sure the Penhalion boat has some mechanical problem in Saturday’s race.”

  The greedy bastard, Karakatis thought and then smiled. It was comforting to know the kind of person one was dealing with.

  “I think we could manage that.”

  “Tomorrow and in cash,” Thompson said and finished his third pint of beer.

  “That can be arranged.” Karakatis slid a business card across the table. “Call me at the number on the card tomorrow and we can arrange the transfer.”

  Thompson took the card and dropped it into his pocket. “It’s a deal.” He stood. “I’d best be gettin’ back before they start wondering where I’s got myself to.” He turned and left the bar.

  Karakatis finished his Pernod hoping that David Penhalion would join his party. He would use the occasion to put his final offer on the table. It would be the ultimate insult to the arrogant Englishman.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was nine o’clock when Kane and Morweena made their way to the head of the group being ferried by a series of motor launches from the pier at the Vieux Port towards the island of Sainte Marguerite. Morweena was wearing a light silk dress and a cool breeze blowing from the sea caused her to shiver as the launch made its way towards Constantinos Karakatis’ yacht, Athena, which was moored in the lee of the heavily wooded island with the dark imposing structure of the Fort Sainte Marguerite at its summit.

  Kane reckoned that the brightly lit yacht lying in the distance was equal in size to a small freighter. There were yachts and super-yachts but Karakatis’ boat was in the super-super class. Aside from the cost of such a vessel, it would take a crew of at least twenty to keep Karakatis’ pleasure palace afloat. He didn’t recognise any of the other partygoers on the launch until he spied the figure of Lemay slumped in a seat at the rear. His eyes looked glazed and he wore three-days’ growth of beard. It was a picture of a man heading rapidly downhill. Noticing Morweena shiver, he took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

  “What a gentleman,” she said, snuggling into the jacket.

  “No one is all bad, not even me. What’s with your old man and Karakatis?”

  “Karakatis has been after Penhalion Marine for years. If we go bankrupt, he’ll be first in line at the liquidator. And he’s not shy about making it known.”

  “David is up front about the business being in financial difficulties. Why doesn’t he sell it and live on the proceeds?”

  “Two reasons. Firstly there won’t be any proceeds if Karakatis gets his way. Secondly, Dad would rather die than sell the business. It’s all about tradition for him.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Where did you disappear to after the race in Sorrento? And don’t give me any of that crap about helping Tom with his business.”

  “I don’t have to answer to anyone for my movements. I’m entitled to have a private life.”

  “I don’t know how Tom talked my father into this last throw of the dice. Initially, I thought that it might be a plan to push Penhalion Marine into bankruptcy. But I checked out Tom Bell and there’s no connection between him and Karakatis. And then Tom insisted that you become the driver of the boat. No ifs or buts, it was you or he’d pull his investment. That was strange. I tried to check you out on social media. You must be one of the few people in the developed world that doesn’t have an Internet footprint. How do you explain that?”

  “I hate technology.”

  “Are you part of a plan to bankrupt Penhalion Marine?”

  “Nothing could be further from the truth.” The launch had reached the yacht and the passengers were disembarking. “Right now I need some fun and a little booze.”

  “I think you’ll find that Mr Karakatis will have provided plenty of both.” She took the hand of a uniformed sailor.

  Kane watched her climb on board the yacht. It was only an operation. He wasn’t emotionally involved. Yeah.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Kane made his way to the bathroom and communed with nature. He drank two glasses of water to rehydrate and tried to wish his headache away. The party on the yacht was a blur of drinking, dancing and talking bullshit. He had managed to stay on script, but only just. He was grateful that there was a day’s rest before he had to perform. The plan was for a bit of R and R. He’d catch a few rays and maybe avail himself of some of the services of the hotel spa. But first, he’d put on the feedbag. He’d heard the hotel provided a sumptuous buffet breakfast.

  His throttleman was seated at a table on her own when he entered the breakfast room. They’d had a couple of dances at the party but Morweena was intent on circulating while he was still fighting the first stage of grief. He was somewhere he didn’t want to be and was afraid it showed.

  “May I?” He picked up a plate of food and pulled back a chair at Morweena’s table.

  “Be my guest. Have you fully recovered?”

  “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

  “It was a party. You looked more like you were at a wake.”

  “It’s the Celtic way. We’re a morose bunch. At least you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

  “I didn’t think you noticed.”

  “It was hard to ignore the belle of the ball.”

  David strode over to their table. “Hello, you two, enjoy the party last night?”

  “When you’ve been to one party on a million-dollar yacht, you’ve been to them all.” Kane drank his coffee.

  “I know what you mean,” David turned to his daughter. “How about you, Morweena?”

  “I had a smashing time. Lucky though that I took Mark along. Karakatis was all over me. He can get a little persistent in his attentions.”

  “Rather you than me as far as Karakatis was concerned,” David said. “Every time that damn man’s name is mentioned I fancy that I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. It’s a damned uncomfortable feeling knowing you’re being stalked by one of the western world’s best-known corporate raiders. Penhalion Marine would only represent small fry to Karakatis but it means everything in the world to me. Not a man to take too lightly is our Dinos Karakatis. Now, what had you planned for today?”

  “I thought that since there was nothing else for us to do that Mark and I might take a trip along the coast following the route of the race.”

  “Some people have all the luck,” David said. “You spend the day gallivanting around while the rest of us pump sweat getting the boat ready. It’s a very unfair world.”

  “I thought this was a day off,” Kane said. “I was thinking about a bit of sun-worshipping and a visit to the hotel spa. I’m still feeling the effects of last Sunday’s race.”

  “There’s no such thing as a day off.” David smiled. “You’ll be out in the boat tomorrow, use today to familiarise yourself with the course.” He kissed Morweena on the cheek. “Enjoy yourselves.” He strode off towards the exit.

  “We have two possibilities,” Morweena said. “We can rent a speedboat and take a trip over the course or we can go drive along the coast and view the course from the land side.”

  Kane could feel his stomach making the decision. “No boats today. Let’s take the drive.”

  Morweena had chosen to take the road which ran along the Riviera towards the Italian border and the town of Ventimiglia. On their right, the land fell away towards a deep blue sea, while inland the hills rose, towered over here and there by feudal castles surrounded by a cluster of white village houses. The coastal communities through which they passed were constructed along palm-lined promenades while on the hills, stands of Aleppo pines dominated the landscape. They drove silently along the
peninsula of the Cap d’Antibes looking down on the twin islands of Sainte Marguerite and Saint-Honorat standing like two spiked green oases set into a background of deep blue. The nineteenth-century abbey buildings on Saint-Honorat stood out like black dots beneath the eleventh-century fortress which stands at the sea’s edge. Sheltering in the lee of Sainte Marguerite, Morweena could see the white hull of Athena. On the way, she pointed out some of the physical features of the course.

  Kane listened but his mind was still on the wooden coffin as it slid along the gurney on its way into the furnace. His mother death wasn’t unexpected. The anger he felt wasn’t against her but at himself. He and the lousy job he’d chosen had killed the people that were closest to him. If that was a fact, why the hell was he still doing it? Wasn’t he smart enough to say that enough was enough? All he needed to do was to pick up a phone and tell Davenport where he could stuff his bloody job. Why didn’t he have the balls to do it. He looked at Morweena. If he pulled out now, David and she would have time to engage another driver. One with a lot more experience than him and who was concentrated on helping the Penhalions save their business and not trying to expose a drug smuggler. Why wasn’t he prepared to do the honourable thing?

  “I don’t think you’ve heard a word I said over the last half hour. You’re a million miles away.”

  “I’ve heard every single word.”

  “Okay tell me about the course.”

  “It’s out there somewhere.” He waved his hand towards the sea.

  “Your concentration has been non-existent since your return. Is there a problem?”

  Kane felt the hot Riviera air sweeping over the open-topped vehicle. It felt good. “I’m damned if I know.” His mother’s death and its effect on him wasn’t part of the plan. What the hell plan was he talking about? He had to be thinking about Davenport’s plan. He had no plan for himself. “I’m the kind of guy that’s always had problems. You saw the tip of the iceberg in Sorrento. Things can get pretty hairy around me.” Davenport hadn’t planned for this eventuality. It was up to him to explain his morose mood.