No Place in the Sun

by John Mulligan

  ‘Just checking, sir, I noticed the Irish passport when you handed it in. Is the purpose of your visit business or pleasure?’

  ‘I’m on a short business trip, I’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘Be careful in Montenegro, sir, what nature of business are you involved in?’

  Tom wondered at the questioning; maybe the guy thought he was an arms dealer or something. Anyway, he seemed friendly enough, and he was Irish as well.

  Tom smiled. ‘Nothing illegal; I’m in the property business.’

  ‘This isn’t an official comment you understand, just one Irishman to another. Just watch your back, there’s a lot about the property business in Montenegro that’s dodgy and even downright dangerous. Are you carrying a lot of cash, did your contacts tell you to bring cash to buy the property?’

  ‘No, nothing like that, I’m just an agent, no cash involved.’

  ‘That’s ok; I see lots of guys lately with briefcases full of money, maybe not all of it legal, heading down to buy land and sites. A lot of them lose it, and don’t ever see any land in return, so I warn them when I see them to keep their eyes open.’

  ‘That’s decent of you.’ Tom warmed to the young policeman. ‘What else is dodgy about Montenegro, what kind of things go wrong?’

  ‘Land ownership isn’t as straightforward as you might think, for one thing. A lot of land was taken from its owners during the war, not just in Montenegro but in Bosnia and Croatia as well, and if we get to a restitution process in this region then the title to a lot of it may be worthless. People that buy certain property here may have to give it back at some stage if the rightful owners come back.’

  ‘But if it has title, from the town hall say, it will be ok?’

  ‘Not necessarily, a lot of the town halls are crooked, paper may mean nothing if it comes down to a court case in the future. Look, I’m no lawyer, I’m just an observer here, but I’m saying to you what I say to a lot of people in your shoes, just be careful. Not everything is as it seems in this part of the world.’

  The man handed back the passport and Tom got back in the jeep. Vladimir raised his eyebrows. ‘Problem?’

  ‘No, no problem, just a routine check.’

  They drove for an hour and crossed the neck of a narrow fjord on a small open-decked ferry, then headed south along a winding tree-lined road that hugged the coast and gave views over some rocky shoreline and the occasional small beach. Ten minutes later the driver pulled off the road into a small town and stopped outside the only hotel.

  ‘I have booked you a room here; you can eat here also, or there are two restaurants by the shore. I will collect you at seven in the morning as you asked; we will meet my boss and the other promoters of the project at seven thirty.’

  Tom dropped his bag in the room and walked down to the small beach. A few cafes and a pizza restaurant were open for business, as well as a shop selling what appeared to be pirated CDs. The latter advertised its wares by blaring the music loudly through a pair of massive speakers, almost drowning out the sound of the two musicians playing in the small bar next door. A couple of small shops sold postcards and an array of inflatable plastic beach toys, but the people wandering up and down didn’t appear to be spending any money.

  The waiter in the pizza place almost grabbed him and showed him eagerly to a table. The choices were limited; just pizzas and basic pasta dishes. Everything was cheap but there was nothing to excite the palate; Tom ordered a pizza and a bottle of imported beer and sat taking in the view as the sun set over the small bay.

  It was a pretty place, no doubt about that, but would Irish buyers buy apartments here? That was another question altogether. It was a bit off the beaten track, no real reason for anyone to visit the area, but then again that could change. If a project was well packaged, maybe with a bit of guaranteed rental attached, then buyers might be tempted. It would never be Spain though; the place would never be another Costa del Sol, no matter what happened over the next few years. This was the backwoods, even allowing for the fact that it was a summer destination only.

  The Irish policeman’s advice worried him a little. Was it really that bad? What kind of problems would be down the line for buyers if the UN or somebody started getting back land for its rightful owners? Tom had heard about the so-called ethnic cleansing, where people were forced from their homes and lands during the civil war. What if they all came back and wanted to move into the apartments built on their lands? Would Scorpio have to compensate them? He didn’t know, but stranger things had happened.

  He didn’t like the direction that Tania was taking the business lately. Ever since she started appearing on the TV she was different; it was like she believed her own hype about being the Property Doctor. All this madness about more and more new markets, this was all crazy stuff. What was the point? They were doing fine in Bulgaria and Spain, why divert buyers to crazy markets like Montenegro? At least in Spain and Bulgaria you were reasonably sure of getting paid, and the buyers stood a good chance of owning something; down here, you couldn’t be sure of anything.

  The waiter brought the pizza and Tom started to eat; it tasted better than it looked, it wasn’t too bad. He ate most of it and ordered another beer.

  He lay awake for a couple of hours; it was hard to sleep with the racket from the music shop. He didn’t really want to be here in this small village in Montenegro; he had plenty to do back in the office and he wasn’t convinced of the usefulness of trying to set up business links here. He thought of the trip tomorrow, on to Rome and then to Beirut; that all seemed pointless too. Why did she want to have a presence in all these places? What was this global domination stuff about? Was she just trying to outdo Harry and the bicycle man and all the other pretenders to the overseas property throne? Tom didn’t have answers, but the whole thing was starting to annoy him.

  He thought about his own situation. He was making a lot of money; he could quit now and never have to do another day’s work if he wanted to. He knew that his job involved walking a very thin line between legality and downright deceit; he didn’t have a real problem with that but he knew too that some day it might all fall down around his ears. It was a constant niggling concern that all his customers might come looking for their money back when they realised that they had bought so much rubbish. He wasn’t overly worried about it, after all he was technically just an employee of the company, and the buck stopped with them. Maybe it was time to think about where this would all end though, to consider his strategy in the longer term.

  Eventually he drifted off to sleep in the narrow bed. The blaring music started at dawn and he got up and showered; there was no point in trying to lie on with that racket. The breakfast was much as he had expected; some soggy cereal and some hard bread and curled slices of cheese. The coffee was strong and tasty though and it woke him up, so that he was alert and ready to go when Vladimir pulled up outside.

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Murphy.’

  ‘Good morning, Vladimir. Where are we going to this morning exactly?’

  ‘Not too far from here, it was a big hotel in the old days, now it’s closed, empty. My bosses want to renovate, make from it an apartment development, they will meet us there.’

  They drove down a side road that led them along the side of a cliff; the road ended at a tunnel and Vladimir shifted into first gear and turned on the headlights. ‘This road is not used any more; it will need to be renovated also.’ The jeep lurched along the rutted road through the rocky tunnel.

  They emerged into the sunlight in a small bay, a pretty place with a little beach and a dilapidated concrete building perched on the steep slope above it. Two other four wheel drive vehicles were parked in the small car park and a group of heavy-set men stood around, most of them smoking.

  The older man reached out his hand. ‘Welcome to Montenegro, I hope that you had a good journey.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Tom was reminded of the policeman’s advice when he looked around at the group. Apart from the
man in front of him who was well past middle age, the others looked strong and fit, and had the appearance of former soldiers. They all shared the same tight military style haircuts, and they stood with feet apart and with hands behind their backs as if they had just been told to stand at ease. He wouldn’t like to be here if he was carrying a briefcase full of money, it would be pretty nerve-wracking.

  ‘This is our project, Mr. Murphy. It was a hotel as you can see, a very fine hotel in the old days but not so good now.’

  ‘Nice site right enough.’ Tom liked the look of the little bay with the waves lapping on the small beach. It was idyllic.

  ‘We will make here a project with sixty five apartments and a small restaurant and a bar; my associate will show you the plans in a moment. It will be a top development, luxury apartments, all with a view to the sea. Very nice. Do you think that you can sell such a project in Ireland?’

  ‘It’s possible, depends of course on the price and the specification, but everything is possible.’

  ‘This is what I have heard; in Ireland you can sell anything, it is a rich country, a lot of money there. Come, let us go inside.’

  One of the younger men unlocked a side door to the building and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow the others to enter. In the hallway another thick-set man placed a basket on a table and motioned to the others.

  ‘In the basket please.’

  To Tom’s shock, the other men all produced pistols of varying shapes and sizes from inside their jackets. He felt weak at the knees; the policeman had warned him about trouble, but what on earth was going on? Surely they hadn’t lured him here to kill him, what would be the point of that?

  It all seemed surreal, and Tom wasn’t sure for a minute if he was dreaming, but then one by one the men deposited their guns in the basket and walked on into the building. The older man placed a small silver pistol carefully on top of the other weapons and motioned to Tom.

  ‘Your gun please, Mr. Murphy. It is not considered civil to bring your gun to a meeting.’

  Tom stammered with relief. ‘I, I don’t have a gun, I didn’t bring a gun, really.’

  The older man looked surprised. ‘The other Irishmen who were here had guns; please do not take this as any kind of disrespect, but we must check, you understand. Max!’

  The thick-set man stepped forward and frisked Tom quickly and efficiently; he had done this before. ‘Is ok.’

  ‘Sorry to doubt you, Mr. Murphy, just routine, I hope that you understand.’

  ‘No problem.’ Tom was still in shock at the display of weaponry; what had he got himself into here?

  He followed the boss to what must have been the hotel restaurant, a large room overlooking the bay. A round table stood in the middle of the room, and one of the other men was unrolling papers and drawings on to it. They sat down and Tom busied himself looking through the plans; he didn’t want his nervousness to show in front of these people.

  ‘So, Mr. Murphy, you think you can sell these apartments to your investors?’

  ‘Maybe, depends on the price and how much interest we can generate in Montenegro. What is the situation with the site, the hotel, are you the owner?’

  The older man said something in his own language, provoking a ripple of laughter from the men around the table. ‘Owner? This is a word that means different things in different countries; it is enough to say that I can make all decisions about this property.’

  ‘So the title, the legal ownership, can be transferred properly to buyers in the project?’

  ‘Of course, everything will have the stamp of the town hall, will be absolutely legal, is absolutely not a problem.’

  ‘I think we can probably generate some interest in this, but I will have to talk it over with my associates, look at the figures, you know.’

  ‘We have many other lands, properties, if you sell this one there will be many others. We can make a lot of business together.’

  Tom ventured a smile. ‘And you are the owner of all of them?’

  The boss laughed and clapped Tom on the back. ‘You are beginning to understand my country; we will work well together, I am sure.’

  The trip back to the border seemed to pass quickly; the police waved the jeep through without a glance and the signs for the airport appeared almost immediately. Tom turned to the driver.

  ‘I have a lot of time to kill before my flight, could you drop me in Dubrovnik maybe, and I’ll get a taxi out to the airport later?’

  Vladimir shook his head. ‘I am sorry, I do not like to go inside Dubrovnik, is not a good place for me, but I will leave you at the taxi place at the airport, you can get taxi to the city.’

  ‘Are there problems in Dubrovnik?’

  ‘No, no, not for you, not for foreigner, but for a Serb like me, it is not a good place. I would like to help you, but I don’t feel good about going there. I hope that you understand.’

  Tom waved goodbye to the driver and took a taxi to the gate in the huge city wall; he walked through the arch and down the main street and sat at a table outside a busy café. The coffee was good and strong and the shady cobbled street was crowded with strolling tourists. He ordered some lunch and called Tania.

  ‘Back in Dubrovnik, just marking time until the flight to Rome.’

  ‘Any joy? What was the project like?’

  ‘The project was fine, very attractive site, but they’re gangsters; do you know I was the only one at the meeting without a gun?’

  Tania laughed loudly. ‘We’ll have to get you a little gun, can’t have you letting the side down. Question is, can we make a margin, and can we be sure of getting paid?’

  ‘Yes to the first, and probably no to the second.’

  ‘Then we shouldn’t waste any more time on it, it would be nice to have it on the books though. Maybe we can put it up on the website and say it’s all sold or something.’

  ‘I think we should just walk away from it, Tania; forget about the bloody country, it’s a dangerous place.’

  ‘What about where you are, Dubrovnik, that’s a separate country isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s in Croatia. Why?’

  ‘Any business there?’

  ‘Looks great, a very attractive city, a lot more relaxed and lots of tourists.’

  ‘Then have a run around the streets and find an estate agents office, do a deal with them on split commissions, anything at all, just to get a foot in the door in Croatia.’

  ‘Tania, I have only an hour here.’

  ‘Then don’t waste it. Goodbye, Tom.’

  The Boeing nosed up to the terminal at Fiumicino and the seatbelt sign pinged off; Tom stretched himself and headed for the door. There was plenty of time, but he had never been to Rome and wasn’t familiar with the layout of the airport buildings; there was always an anxious few moments until it became clear where the gate for the next flight was located. This time it was easy to find, only a short walk from where he had come in. The queue was already starting for the Beirut flight; all the passengers were being checked and having their hand baggage screened.

  It had been a stroke of luck meeting the Englishman in Dubrovnik. A hundred yards from the café Tom had pushed open the door of an estate agent’s shop, pleasantly surprised at the modern layout and the professional looking setup in general. When he asked the young woman at the counter whether she spoke English, she asked him to wait and went back and brought a young man in a smart suit to meet Tom.

  ‘Hello, I’m Graham, how can I help you?’

  ‘Tom Murphy, Scorpio investments, can I have a few words?’

  Graham had moved to Dubrovnik to be closer to his wife’s family, and had used his experience in property sales in England to open a new agency in the city. It was doing well, selling property to locals and foreigners, and he was interested in Tom’s proposal.

  ‘The commissions are small, so half of any commission isn’t much, but its all cash flow and we’d be glad to do business if you can give us reasonable volume.’r />
  ‘What would you call reasonable?’

  ‘Two or three sales a month would be good.’

  ‘I think we can manage that. If you can get an exclusive project, where nobody else has access to it locally or otherwise, we can both make additional margin and we can probably do a lot better than that.’

  Funny how things sometimes fell into your lap when you weren’t really looking; he had just gone into Dubrovnik to pass an hour, but it had turned out a lot better than the experience in Montenegro. He shuddered at the memory of the basket of guns and the man who laughed at the notion of ownership of property. Life with Scorpio was never dull, that was for sure.

  In spite of his tiredness, Tom was excited at the prospect of seeing another new country. Even though he was only on the plane, the atmosphere was different; there was already a feeling of being somewhere exotic. Many of the passengers were in Arab dress, and the babble of languages was different from his usual experience. He was looking forward to seeing the Lebanon.

  At the aircraft door Tom’s first thought was that he was walking through a stream of hot air from the engines, but as he descended the steps it became clear that this was a sweltering night. He walked across the tarmac to the terminal and joined the queue at the visa desk. The policeman leafed through his passport and looked him in the eye, comparing his face to the passport picture.

  ‘Purpose of your visit, sir?’

  ‘Business.’

  ‘How many days you want to stay please?’

  ‘Until tomorrow.’

  The policeman stamped the passport with a large square stamp and scribbled something on it.

  ‘That will be ten Lebanese pounds, sir.’

  ‘You take euros?’

  ‘Fifteen euros, sir.’

  Tom passed over the money and retrieved the passport. The queue at immigration had almost cleared and he passed quickly through and headed for the taxi rank outside. The taxi wasn’t air-conditioned and he sweated in his shirt and tie; the cool lobby of the Monroe Hotel was a welcome relief. He leaned on the long white counter and passed his credit card to the receptionist; it was late and he was very tired and not in the humour for small talk. The porter seemed to sense his mood and said little as he brought Tom’s bag to the room.