OUT ON THE WATER, THE LUXURY MOTOR YACHT AURORA 4 WAS leisurely making its way out of the harbor with a very happy Nils at the helm. He, Anna-Greta and Christina stood up on the bridge and looked out through the windows in fascination while the lighthouse at the end of the pier slowly disappeared. And Brains was totally absorbed with all the technical apparatuses on board. He went from one to the other, between the GPS, computers and weird joysticks, his entire face was one big smile, and he thought that life was exciting. Of course, his beloved Martha could be a bit trying at times, but nobody could deny that things happened when she got going. And most of the time they were fun things.
“Martha, come and have a look at this,” he called out, with his gaze on the modern GPS. When he didn’t hear any answer, he went out on deck to fetch her, but his dear fiancée was nowhere to be seen. Somewhat confounded, he scratched his neck. When had he last seen her? Yes, that was it. She had just whooshed off down the waterslide at one hell of a speed and landed in the water where she had made those seagull noises. But then what? She was meant to quickly get back on board again. He felt his panic growing, and he rushed to the railings to see if she was still down there in the dock. But the sea was like a black mirror and apart from seaweed and a glove floating on the surface, nothing could be seen. He wet his lips and felt a sinking feeling in his tummy. Martha hadn’t got back on board. Whatever could have happened? He rushed in to the bridge.
“Stop the engines, we’ve forgotten Martha!” he shouted out.
“What did you say?” asked Nils, who had his hands full trying to maneuver the beast he was now in command of. The motor yacht Aurora 4 was by no means as simple to steer as he had first thought, and on the bridge they had installed a new computer system that he was not familiar with. Besides, he was not used to a joystick and all the other controls.
“Martha, we must fetch Martha,” Brains shouted.
Nils fumbled with the joystick and looked anxiously out through the bridge windows. A hell of a lot of boats lay at anchor ahead, and they were in the way. At that moment, the door burst open and a breathless Rake came in. He was sweating and his hair stuck out at all angles.
“Er, Nils, this boat, it’s . . .” said Rake, twisting his bandanna with his fingers. “I mean—in the engine room, like—damned complicated. Only buttons and electronics. The entire machine room looks like a disco.”
Nils, who had just managed to avoid a collision with a little sailing yacht, stared at Rake.
“But Dad, what the hell?! You told me that you can manage any boat at all and that you had kept up with developments, oh yes.”
“Well, yes. I have. But this boat, you know . . .” answered Rake, sounding unusually pathetic. “This is a newly built motor yacht. And engines perhaps aren’t my best subject. I was better as a waiter.”
“But you have boasted that you know your way around any engine room whatsoever!”
“You’d better learn quick. We must go back and pick up Martha!” Brains butted in.
At that moment, Nils made a very quick decision. They were out in the mooring field and would soon be in the middle of the channel among lots of big boats. There was only one thing to do.
“Drop the anchor! NOW!”
“But, no, I don’t think—” said Rake.
“But we can’t lose Martha, you must understand that,” yelled Brains, almost hysterical.
“Now listen, she is not a person who allows herself to be lost,” Rake countered. “And besides, this anchor winch is a bit different to what I am used to. It would probably be best if we kept going.”
“Oh, fucking hell!” hissed Nils and suddenly he looked rather exhausted.
WHILE MARTHA SAT IN THE TAXI ON THE WAY TO CANNES, THE captain, the first mate and the engineer remained on the quay and tried to pull themselves together as best they could. Tired and furious, they wrung out their clothes before putting them back on again.
“We swam in the wrong direction!” the captain groaned, pulling out his cell to phone the police. “Those seniors stole the boat; I can’t believe this has happened. Damn them!” He dialed the number on his cell but it was totally dead, had a wet candy wrapper in the case and was very damp.
“How the hell can we explain this?” the first mate moaned. “We’ve been conned by a gang of pensioners.”
“Is this yours?” a woman came up and asked. She held out a merrily smiling seahorse and inclined her head respectfully to the captain.
“Merde!” could be heard yet again, possibly even louder than before. He grabbed the smiling inflatable seahorse and threw it out into the water with all his force. At least that was what he tried to do. But unfortunately it didn’t reach all the way, but caught on a rusty steel wire and was punctured. Accompanied by a hissing sound, the smile slowly turned into a grimace while the seahorse deflated and ended up in a heap on the quay. The captain groaned, and signaled to the others that it was best to leave quickly. But they were too late; people were standing in the way. One of the restaurant’s owners rushed forward with towels and tried to dry them off as best he could while several guests took out their cells and started to take photos. The captain wanted to phone the police, and he asked if he could borrow a cell to phone them, but everyone had only seen a bunch of seniors go on board. Besides, both the captain and the other two were definitely a bit tipsy, so the guests just smiled, laughed and took some more photos while Aurora 4 sailed out of the harbor.
“Is this yours?” a young blonde asked, holding up a sodden captain’s cap.
“Of course it’s mine,” said the captain and he put it on, only to snatch it off again even quicker. A little shrimp and an old condom had gotten caught in the lining. The captain swore again, cleaned the trash out of his cap and then put it back on.
“They stole the yacht, phone the police!” he shouted out, pointing out to sea.
“I know,” said the restaurant owner and laughed, while the guests waved, smiled and took photographs. And every time the captain got angry and flapped his arms frantically, they all waved back merrily.
“It’s going to collide with other boats,” the captain howled as he almost lost his footing. And he had hardly said those words before a heavy scraping sound could be heard followed by a dreadful crash when the motor yacht met with something in the dark. Then he hid his head in his hands and loudly yelled out again:
“MERDE, MERDE, MERDE!”
52
THE YACHT SHUDDERED AND NILS VEERED OFF SHARPLY. THEY had bumped into something but had not got caught and had become free when Nils got more power from the engines. What a relief! But the anchor? Rake had run around out on deck and looked, and Nils had also looked here and there at the instrument panel to see if he could find a familiar anchor symbol. Dropping anchor had been so obvious that he hadn’t even thought about it, but now he was standing there fumbling. No, of course, how stupid he was. The anchor winch was out on deck and would have to be manoeuvred from there. He was just about to rush out and start it up when he bumped into Brains who was now considerably calmer.
“No panic. We don’t need to anchor. Martha will take a taxi, of course. I know her,” Brains said. “If I go down to the engine room and help Rake, then we’ll get things working so that we can make it to Cannes.”
“Are you sure?” said Nils, relieved.
“Sure as hell. Engines are basically the same. I know about that. It doesn’t matter where they are.”
They were lucky. Or perhaps Nils was a skillful captain. Eventually, he found all the commands he needed for the engines as well as the navigation system and immediately felt so much more confident. Besides, he had sailed in the Mediterranean before and in the shipping lanes he didn’t need to be afraid of running aground. With his self-confidence boosted, he steered out on the dark water and into the shipping lane and soon he and the League of Pensioners had left Saint-Tropez far behind them. No other vessels could be seen anywhere near them and things got a bit calmer on board. So calm, in fact, that Ni
ls put on some classical music and enjoyed listening to the strains coming through the loudspeakers. After a while he had forgotten their precarious situation and stood there merrily gesticulating while he hummed along with Verdi’s “Prisoners’ Chorus.” He was happy, he was out at sea, and so totally immersed in the music that he gave a start when Brains came rushing in to the bridge.
“Nils, we must turn off the transponder,” he said. “Every boat and harbor authority can see where we are, remember.”
“Oh yes, hell, I forgot that,” answered Nils and immediately he turned it off. “There is so much to think about just now. I hope they haven’t tracked us.”
“I don’t think anyone has bothered about us, thank God. And this is the first damn time we’ve stolen a yacht. It’s always difficult when you do something the first time,” Brains consoled him. “Bank robberies are almost easier.”
What a thing to say, thought Nils. This group was certainly not your average pensioner types!
THE TAXI CAME TO A HALT OUTSIDE THE LITTLE FAMILY RESTAURANT Quai des Brunes in Cannes where Martha and the Russians had agreed to meet. Here she had a good view of the harbor—which was strategic—and she had also heard that this restaurant had such incredibly tasty food. While she waited, she enjoyed a small appetizer and a glass of wine and just as she asked to look at the menu again she caught sight of Oleg and his companion. The two men were elegantly dressed and each carried a briefcase. She put her napkin down and waved to them. Then she got up to say hello, wobbled a bit and had to support herself against the table. Not because the wine was strong, but because she was faking dizziness. When Oleg hurried to help her, she immediately waved him away and tried to sit down again with as much dignity as she could muster. She had become really good at playing the role of a feeble senior and she even thought it was rather fun. A pity, though, that she sometimes really did feel her age.
“Are you all right?” Oleg asked, concerned.
“Ah, I got up too quickly, that’s all,” she said. “Blood pressure, you understand. But how nice to see you. What about a little something to eat? One should never do business on an empty stomach.”
Oleg and Boris exchanged glances and then nodded. Best to do what the old lady wanted.
“Of course,” mumbled the two Russians and they looked through the menu as best as they could. They didn’t know French, and English wasn’t their best foreign language, but they were familiar with some dishes and drinks. When the waiter came back, they ordered deep-fried octopus and wine, together with a bottle of vodka. While they waited for the food, Martha started to talk about the sale. And she was careful not to mention that she had re-named the yacht, which was now called Aurora 5, and made a few changes in the papers. But as Martha always said: You should never say too much. And sooner or later presumably he would find out.
“Gentlemen, Aurora 5 will soon be here, but before we go on board I would like to have a look at the diamonds.”
“The diamonds? Now?” wondered Oleg, nervously, and Martha could discern a tone of uncertainty in his voice. “No, not when everybody can see. We’ll do that on board.”
“Er, I am not sure about that. My husband always said that one can’t be too careful. I just want to quickly check that they are genuine,” Martha went on, pulling out a magnifying glass and placing it on her napkin on the table. “Put them here, please!”
Once again, the men exchanged glances, and Oleg looked very uncomfortable.
“Let’s look at the yacht first.”
“There is one thing you should understand,” said Martha, her voice now sounding suddenly quite sharp. “You are not the only ones who want to buy. Your colleagues at the hotel with plenty of capital were very interested. My goodness, there are so many of you rich people at that conference. One bid ninety-eight million dollars, I can tell you, but I didn’t go along with that. I had already promised you. You see, I keep my word. Well, so –” Martha paused a few moments for effect and then gave them both a penetrating look. “Either I get to look at the diamonds now, or we can forget about the whole deal.”
She raised her wine glass and took a large gulp.
Oleg squirmed where he sat. The old lady was tougher than he thought. But Boris seemed almost a little amused, and for him it evidently didn’t matter. He lifted up his briefcase, opened it and discreetly laid three diamonds on the table.
“What do you think? These are cut in facets and brilliants. The left one is valued at nine million, I bought the one on the right at an auction for twenty-eight million and here is the excellent, pink brilliant-cut stone which is valued at about thirty-six million.”
Martha prodded the glittering stones, picked up her magnifying glass, and looked at the most expensive one. She hummed appreciatively and was just about to examine diamond number two when the waiter approached. She discreetly slipped the diamonds under the tablecloth and smiled heartily.
“Tell me. Before we do business there is one thing I would like to know. What are you going to do with my husband’s yacht?”
“We are going to keep it for ourselves. Cruise in the Mediterranean, invite our friends and have a good time. It will be moored in Cyprus. Yes, we Russians don’t have to pay taxes there.” Oleg broke into a contented laugh.
“No taxes. So smart!” said Martha with fake admiration in her voice.
“Yes, a good investment. We have many yachts and properties. Paying taxes is not for us.”
“No taxes at all, really? So clever! My husband always used to swear about how everything he earned went to the state.”
“Poor guy! No, taxes are what amateurs pay. With a good lawyer and a company you can fix most things.”
“Goodness gracious me, you are so clever,” sighed Martha and she was just about to pick up the diamonds again when the waiter came with their food. “Yes, perhaps we should eat first.”
While they ate, Martha continued to question them about their businesses and soon the two of them were boasting wildly about their transactions and investments. The more she praised them, the more the two Russians told her. They dealt with billions of dollars but they didn’t pay any taxes at all. In the end, she couldn’t restrain herself any longer.
“But what about health care, roads and schools—who pays for that?”
Oleg and Boris couldn’t grasp what she meant.
“We pay for our own children’s schooling, of course, and we have private chauffeurs.”
“But the others who can’t afford that?”
“Well, it works out somehow.”
Oleg and Boris looked at each other somewhat perplexed by her questions.
“But there is one thing I wonder about,” Martha went on, and she carefully wiped her mouth for a long time with her napkin. “You and many other wealthy Russians have your capital in Cyprus. Well, I don’t understand the economy, of course, but how does the Russian state get money so that they can pay for schools, health care and roads and so on? I mean, if nobody pays taxes?” Martha asked, adopting an innocent face and taking a gulp of wine. Then she wiped her mouth carefully with her napkin and tried to look as uncomprehending and naive as she could.
“Er, what do you mean?” Oleg wondered with a degree of irritation in his voice.
“I thought people paid taxes so that a community will function. Yes, that everybody sort of helps. But it was my husband who looked after that side of things, so perhaps I have got it all wrong, of course.” Martha broke into laughter and smiled as merrily as she could. “But you seem to know all about it and I am happy to sell the boat just to you.” She picked up the diamonds again and held them against the light. “And such fine diamonds too! When I see these, it makes me so happy!”
The men looked at each other and laughed, relieved, feeling that they were once more in control of the situation. But while they ate, the Russians’ words rolled around inside Martha’s head. With a good lawyer and a company you can fix most things. And yet they still made use of public services. Just like crooked busin
essmen all over the world. And not only did they sponge off the system and not contribute themselves, but they boasted about it too! Martha thought about what it was like back at home in Sweden with all the cuts in government expenditure on care for the elderly, home care services and the low wages for jobs where you looked after people. Oh Jesus, so many things made her angry nowadays. Her heart started to beat faster. Now she was sitting here with two really big fish and she felt challenged. Of course she was going to sell the boat to them. But suddenly she wanted to do something more, something much more. Something that would teach them a lesson.
53
WHEN THEY APPROACHED CANNES, NILS CHANGED INTO A white uniform and put on a captain’s cap he found on board. On their way into the harbor he had completely embraced the role of captain and had even become a bit reckless. If Anna-Greta hadn’t shouted at him, he would have come close to colliding with the breakwater and the pier. Thankfully, she had managed to warn him in time so that with Rake’s help he could finally dock the boat at the quay.
“Can we moor here, then?” Rake wondered nervously, sweating on his back and with an anxious look at the mooring lines.
“The harbor authorities won’t be so alert at this time of day. They’ll be having dinner. We should be on our way again before they wake up,” Nils answered though he was a bit worried himself too. Those harbor officials would want to look at certificates, registration papers and lots of other boat documents and that was perhaps not such a good idea just now. He sincerely hoped that Martha had got ahold of the Russians so that the business deal could be carried out quickly. But he had worried unnecessarily. Martha was the first person he saw when he looked over the railings. She was waiting down on the pier together with two elegant men with briefcases, Oleg and his companion. But just as he was about to wave to her, he saw another two men who came up and joined them. They were two large, well-built men who looked like bodyguards. He fumbled for his packet of cigarettes but realized that he had stopped smoking. Bodyguards. Fucking hell!
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 31
