Her initial reaction to Davide's invitation to work on the SinCard marketing had been incredulity. Her second had been rejection. There was no way she could leave the re-insurance business for Lili to run in her absence.
Yet that was what she'd agreed to do. Davide had pointed out, as part of his consulting input, that she and Lili had signed more than enough business to manage. It was time to slow the selling and encourage Lili to shoulder responsibility for client relations. Just as Lili could sell like a mad woman, so she soon delighted in soft-soaping clients. Their clients loved her for it.
As a business partner, Inma could not have asked for better. They were profitable and set fair for several years, assuming another olive fly disaster did not beset them.
Little by little, Davide had dissolved her objections. Lili had assisted. 'Why didn't Inma permit herself a diversion?'
With confirmation of Lili's support, and after insisting on daily conference calls to review everything happening in Madrid, Inma had acquiesced. Davide had booked tickets and they'd travelled a day later.
Tomorrow would bring the first meeting with Father Spanos, or Nikos. On the plane, she and Davide had cooked up a raft of possible marketing initiatives. More came from herself than from him. After all, she had the 'experience', as he frequently reminded her.
Now she was excited. The prospect of assisting appealed to her, although a part of her instinctively disapproved of exploiting sin. Mankind was disposed to sin. Was it so wrong?
A knock sounded on her room door. She opened it to find Davide on the other side. "Do you have the same view from your room?"
"No. I look to the south. I get the sun."
She invited him to admire Nicosia from on high. By some coincidence, the clouds were in retreat and melting away. The Pentadaktylos re-emerged. The colours on Nea Hagia Sophia became richer.
"The Basilica stuns me every time I look at it. Shall we go and inspect? The Kampanarió has progressed since I was last here. I want to get closer."
Inma nodded. She was as mesmerised by the setting sun's rays on the mountains and over Nicosia. Though not a camera person, this was a moment when she would have snapped a photo. As she painted it into her memory, hoping not to forget, Davide drew out a small camera.
"If they come out well, may I have copies?"
"Of course. Anything for you."
Inma studied Davide. Those were unusual words. Was he teasing her? Before she could decide, he moved towards the door. She followed.
Outside the hotel lobby, he bypassed the taxis. Together they headed down the hill towards the Old Town until she stumbled on a typical piece of jagged unfinished sidewalk. He caught and steadied her.
She enjoyed the feeling of his assistance. It was different. A little later she realised he had placed his arm through hers. That felt better still.
Chapter Eleven
Limassol (Cyprus)
Aris stopped his car. It wasn't a safe spot to park. Too bad. Held up in the Limassol traffic, he was desperate. He hoped he wasn't too late.
He grabbed his camera and some small vari-focal binoculars. He darted down a blind alleyway. To his relief, it emerged near the stairs up to the raised restaurant walkway. He clambered these as fast as he could and, after catching his breath, looked out to sea.
He was in time.
A large black-hulled motor yacht with a gleaming white superstructure and copious aerials threaded her way through the harbour breakwaters. He opened the app on his smartphone. Yes! This was the Kristina.
His plan had been to arrive early so he could visit the Harbour Master's office to find out where she would tie up. There was no point now. All he could do was wait and watch.
He raised the binoculars and twiddled the focus wheel. It was some while since he'd used them while bird watching by the sand flats near Cape Greco. He focused on the Kristina to double check. Her name was prominent on the stern. She applied her bow thruster to turn on a dime. With an impressive smoothness, despite the crosswind, her captain manoeuvred the large vessel astern into a tight mooring.
Aris watched as sailors tossed ashore first the bow and then the stern lead lines. Waiting harbour helpers picked them up ashore to make good around stout bollards. She winched herself to dockside with a tender gentleness.
In less than ten minutes, all was still, or the hull was. Off her stern a small crane had extended to land a gangway. The crew secured this at both ship and quay ends.
Then nothing.
The sailors disappeared.
The dock rats headed for other vessels needing their assistance.
All that moved were the oily grey-green harbour waters. These showed little enthusiasm.
Aris remained where he was.
Though tempted to sidle nearer, he was reluctant because his path to the Kristina would mean losing sight of her for a couple of minutes.
To miss anything now could be disastrous. For the story. For him personally. Iphi would string him high after a verbal roasting which would see his skin flake off of its own accord. Now wasn't the moment to imperil progress with rash impatience. His weight was almost at Iphi's decision point. He would not imperil so many months of starvation and deprivation.
A Mercedes drew up as near to the Kristina as feasible. His attention switched to it. There was no other movement. Had Limassol harbour fallen asleep?
A door opened on the Kristina. A man in grey slacks and a blue mariner's jacket stepped onto the rear deck. He waved to the car. Its driver opened his door to stand alongside the Mercedes. A second wave beckoned him aboard.
Aris turned the binoculars to their maximum setting. Though difficult to keep steady he was sure the Mercedes driver was Christodoulou. He panned his view to follow Christodoulou as he crossed the gangway to greet his blue-jacketed host. They chatted. Then they dived deep into the Kristina's interior.
This was his opportunity. He must try to obtain photographs, he hoped of both men together. He ran down the steps and made a beeline for the Kristina. He couldn't have done this a year ago. His time in the gym stood him in good stead.
He'd been correct. He lost sight of the Kristina for two minutes as he circled the leisure port to reach where she was moored.
Just as she came back into sight, tall railings with a gate confronted him. There was no way past, unless he was a boat owner. The sign said it all.
He found a spot. The downside was he would cook in the sun. He had a clear view of the stern deck. He snapped a photo of the Mercedes. The number plate might prove useful.
He baked. And continued to bake. He was desperate for water. He checked his watch. Almost an hour.
Nothing shifted.
At this rate, he would lose sufficient weight via perspiration to oblige Iphi to decide. If there was anything left to decide about. Perhaps she would dismiss him as a sun-wrinkled prune or a piece of burned bacon. Dismissal would be ironic.
His desire for a comfort break grew. With a fortitude which surprised him, he suppressed such a base instinct. This was too important.
At last. Some movement.
The same after-deck door opened. He raised his camera and zoomed in. He snapped two photos. They were too far away to be sharp, but at least he'd captured the Kristina's name on her stern in one picture.
The two men ambled across the deck towards the gangway. There was no urgency to their steps. They laughed with a frivolity Aris envied.
This time, both men crossed onto the quay. He had to be careful now. Could he obtain a closer head shot with enough clarity?
Just when he thought he wouldn't, his opportunity arrived. Using auto-shots he zipped off a half-dozen pictures. He took a couple more after zooming out.
Done!
Faced with the choice of moving away and attracting their unwanted attention, or staying put, he started snapping photos of the other boats in the harbour. The yacht moored nearest to the Kristina had a girl in smart white jeans and tight t-shirt heading to the bow. Iphi would crucify him w
hen she saw the photos. His distraction was sufficient that he missed the departure of the Mercedes, with Christodoulou and the Kristina-man inside.
Should he call Iphi and Kjersti? No. He returned to his own car and drove to the estate agent's office. If she was in, she could tell him if she recognised the Kristina-man. She wasn't, as usual. There was no yellow Rabbit parked close by.
Though tempted to telephone Iphi and proclaim his success he needed water, both input and output. After satisfying these, he'd return to Nicosia and there spring his surprise. The thought spread a pleasant warmth through his ruddy self, though that could also be sunburn.
Limassol (Cyprus)
Tassos guided Dmitriy through the lobby of his building. In the dedicated elevator he pressed the button for his penthouse. The doors opened into a small, glaring white marble security hall. He put his eye to a retinal scanner and pressed his left third finger to a fingerprint reader. The combination unlocked his front door. He ushered Dmitriy inside.
"Heavy security?"
Tassos agreed. They went outside onto the terrace. The wind had dropped as the sun dipped towards each day's watery grave.
"SinCards? Why should we be interested?"
"Because they offer profit and an opportunity to recycle more funds. But only if we secure the franchise."
"How so?"
Tassos explained the concept and how the Orthodox Church proposed to pressure Greek Cypriots to purchase SinCards. These would 'self-expiate', he laughed at his choice of word, every time someone confessed. Once emptied, the cards would need topping up. And so on.
Dmitriy's face revealed incredulity.
Tassos pressed on to discuss the details of how the franchise would operate. Dmitriy's disbelief began to fade.
"Do I understand you? You argue that, within reason, Russians could buy these SinCards online if we own the franchise. With only a modest sleight of hand, made so much easier by the computing power we have on the Kristina, we could create a false market in SinCard deposits and so launder – perhaps 'process' is politer – more of our funds?"
"Exactly. What is more, if we own the franchise, what is to stop us, or you, taking the concept to the Russian Orthodox Church, or the Greek Orthodox Church. Like all churches these days, they are greedy for more money. As the franchisee, we would ride to the rescue, offering the glue, as well as the means to syphon off funds."
"You inferred earlier that Confessee A could buy, say, a euro 100 SinCard one day online and a week later ask for a refund here in Cyprus, with the deposit made into our Bank?"
Tassos nodded. Dmitriy considered.
"That's neat. If I, Confessee A, fund a pre-paid debit card with roubles using funny-money, then I can buy SinCards online with that debit card. A week later I apply online, in Cyprus, for my money back. The credit has to go to a Cyprus bank account or credit card, by coincidence issued by our Bank. These purchases could be gradual and often."
Tassos waited to see if Dmitriy spotted the other benefits.
Dmitriy continued by summarising his thoughts. The bank would increase its deposit base. The sinner would buy and pay for the deposit to the SinCard with a rouble debit card. The credit for that SinCard purchase would clear through the financial system, converted from roubles to euros. Payment in euros would transfer to the franchisee. A week later, the rouble buyer of the SinCard would apply for a refund. Regrettably the only place they could obtain this would be at a Cyprus bank in euros, whether to an account or by applying in person.
"I like it. The only costs are the rouble/euro exchange, which we cannot avoid, and the clearing charges which will be trivial compared to the usual overheads of cleansing dirty money. In fact, the only objection I can envisage is the absolute need to keep this low key. Too much enthusiasm and we might kick off the very investigations we want to avoid. To cap it all, we dress everything in sanctity. Brilliant."
Tassos beamed. His expectations satisfied, he could now urge Dmitriy on.
"Shall we approve the financing for the franchise at the board meeting?"
"I think so. Unless I come up with some other procedural objection. In any case I presume you've thought through the mechanics and risks."
"I hope so."
"So do I. For your sake, Tassos."
"With that decided, may I change the subject? Do you know anyone interested in acquiring icons?"
"I could do. Why? Russian ones or Greek?"
"Cypriot."
"You have access to some?"
"It's possible. I'm going to show my faith in you, Dmitriy. Come."
Dmitriy followed Tassos into the latter's study. The screen was down. Tassos pulled out his phone and instructed the projector to cast a real-size image of his recently acquired Agios Nikolaos icon onto the screen.
Dmitriy gasped. He loved the delicacy of detail. The icon was lightly damaged around the edges. It did not detract from the Saint.
"You have access to this icon?"
"I could have."
"How much?"
"I'm still trying to find out. What do you think?"
Dmitriy turned. He saw other works of art on the walls.
"You are a collector?"
"Sometimes."
"If you are, why'd you want to sell the Agios Nikolaos?"
"It might be better for me to have the money and not have the icon on these premises."
Dmitriy nodded. He understood. It was a sentiment with which he could sympathise. He paused. Then he committed.
"I have a hidden strong room on the Kristina. It's almost impossible to find. We built it into the design but altered the registered schematics. A naval architect couldn't now work out where it is. You might be surprised what there is inside."
"I'm sure I would. Do you think Agios Nikolaos might like to join your collection?"
"In principle, yes. But I'd have to see the original. Your projected image is fantastic but insufficient. You understand?"
"Of course."
Tassos pressed another combination on his smartphone. Dmitriy heard a light whirring as the screen rolled up into the ceiling.
Behind, lit up, was the real Agios Nikolaos. He stunned more in the golden-wood flesh than when projected.
Dmitriy couldn't contain his whoop of satisfaction. He walked forward to look closer.
"Let me leave you to enjoy him. I'll make us coffee."
Dmitriy drank in Agios Nikolaos. He didn't notice Tassos leave the room. His absorption was total. He had to have this gem for the Kristina's hidden collection.
Nicosia (Cyprus)
Eleni arrived at the gym, nervous. The truth was she hadn't comprehended how tough the 100 Tonne Challenge would be. Never that fond of weights, her preference was for action – running and biking in the gym, and swimming. She'd only participated with weights when her personal trainers had insisted she should do so to improve her efficiency.
The question she must address this week was whether to involve Xerxes, her soon-to-be ex-husband. Though she was bored of him, he knew his stuff when it came to strength training. That was why she'd taken up with him, plus his generous good looks and initial reluctance to fall into her bed. His direction, if she could persuade him, would hone her strength and develop a weights strategy which might achieve what was possibly a mountain too far.
The factor which tempered the recruitment of Xerxes was she did not think it positive, pre-divorce, to mix him and Stephane. She didn't want Xerxes becoming jealous, which he would. Except, she wouldn't mind if Xerxes lit the green monster in Stephane, which he probably wouldn't. It was all back to front. The wrong people were reacting, or would react, in the wrong ways for what she desired.
Warmed up, but disappointed that Stephane hadn't arrived, she waited for one of the seated leg presses to become available. She stretched and kept herself warmed-up.
At last, she could sit and select a weight. She chose 30 kgs and readied herself. If she could manage a hundred she would impress herself. She would try for four repeti
tions of one hundred each, or 12 percent of the target.
Ready to begin, she waited for the second hand on her sports watch to pass 12. She clicked the timer. The first thirty presses were fine. The next twenty were harder but not too strenuous.
At seventy she slowed. From seventy to ninety crawled by. The last ten were hell, eked out one-by-ever-so-slow-one.
At one hundred, she stopped the timer. Twenty minutes? The first thirty had consumed less than five minutes. That meant the last seventy took over fifteen minutes. She shuddered, climbed off the machine and walked around the gym to ease her legs.
Stephane arrived with his gym bag. He apologised for being late and went to change. She returned to the leg press to prepare for the second hundred.
This time, the first thirty presses took ten minutes. Her legs throbbed. She paused for one minute and recommenced.
The second thirty reduced her thighs to fire. Though she didn't notice, Stephane arrived. He stood and watched.
When she took her second pause, this time to be of two minutes, he approached. Only when he moved in front of the machine did she realise he was there.
"Legs all right? How many have you done?"
She grimaced. His question did not capture her discomfort. She wouldn't admit the pain to him, not in a thousand years. He'd notice, nevertheless. Just her luck.
"I've completed one set of 100 repetitions and sixty of my second set of a hundred."
"What weight? 30 kgs. Not bad. How many do you plan to do?"
"I was hoping for four hundred in total today. Then I was going to move to arm and chest weights for variety, and a break... Okay. Time for the last forty of this set."
"I'll head for the rowing machine to warm up and then I'll join you. We can alternate on this leg press until you finish."
She restarted. Her progress was tortoise-like. This set would end up at over thirty-five minutes. She didn't dare do the calculations for 100 Tonnes.
Before she completed, Stephane reappeared. Hot and ready. She sublimated any appreciation of his physique with her final push to finish the last three. Once she was done, he indicated she should make way. In agony, she staggered off the weight machine. He adjusted the seat settings and the weights for himself.
Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4) Page 26