“So we own Aurora Four,” Rake summarized, and he had to admit that Martha really had thought this through.
“Exactly, and soon the Panama wreck will disappear with Bielke’s transponder and Lloyds will lose five hundred million kronor at least. Unbelievable!” Martha sounded very satisfied.
“You are very sharp, Martha dear,” Brains said, and there was a tone of admiration in his voice.
“Oh no, not like you,” said Martha, diplomatically as women do, taking his hand in hers. “And then I added that extra page in the contract. Oleg and Boris will be shocked. You should never call elderly ladies ‘old hags’ and ‘senile.’ That can cause you a lot of trouble.”
“That’s enough, you make me nervous!” said Rake.
WHEN OLEG WOKE UP THE NEXT DAY, HE DISCOVERED THAT IT was unusually silent. He had a throbbing headache and it took a while before he realized where he was. Martha, and the boat purchase, yes that was it. Yes, his skillful bargaining had been too much for her! He had bought the super yacht for a steal! He smiled contentedly. Now he would fix some coffee and something tasty for breakfast. He looked around. There ought to be something edible on the boat. Perhaps Martha could whip up a good omelet for them. He got up and stretched his arms above his head. Boris and the other two were still asleep. He thought about waking them, but decided it would be nice to be on his own for a while. Apart from the sound of the sea, it was completely silent and you couldn’t hear Martha’s bossy voice anywhere. Presumably, she and the others were still in bed asleep in some of the cabins on the upper deck. He wandered around for a few minutes and felt the delightful thrill of having become the owner of such a fantastic boat. Then he remembered the Jet Skis and that little motorboat. He hadn’t had a good look at them. Whistling, he took the elevator down to the lower deck and discovered that the motorboat was gone. Oh yes. Martha had said that they would go and fetch the crew. And that was the last he had seen of the gang of old pensioners, when they’d been heading toward the quay. But they hadn’t come back . . . it seemed to be taking an awful long time; had something delayed them? Whatever, they would come back sooner or later and then he would have a long talk with the captain and the members of the crew. He wanted to make sure they were capable of taking the boat to Cyprus.
He went and woke up the others and while they waited he made breakfast for everybody. Thankfully, the fridge was packed with delicacies and he succeeded in producing a delicious morning feast with omelet, croissants, fruit, juice and lots of coffee. Oleg had found beer and headache pills too, which rounded off the breakfast, and then they each took a chaise lounge and went up on deck. They had spent several intensive days at the conference and it was nice to relax a little. For a brief moment he was worried that something might have happened to the old lady, but even though she sometimes got a bit dizzy, she was in fairly good shape. No, he was worrying unnecessarily. Any time now, they would come back. Quite simply, something must have delayed the crew. He found some sunscreen next to the pool, rubbed it on and put his hand up to his head. He had drunk a lot of vodka last night. Perhaps he ought to have another beer, or why not a pick-me-up from the bar counter. But no, it was probably best to have a calm talk with the crew first. If only his headache would go. You felt so dull and listless the day after some heavy drinking. The next time, he would be more careful and drink a bit less. Oleg closed his eyes and stretched out on the chaise lounge. Life wasn’t bad at all. He and Boris had managed to bargain and reduced the price by twenty million dollars! Good God! Old ladies shouldn’t do business! But other people’s misfortune was his own good fortune!
THE LEAGUE OF PENSIONERS HAD NOW REACHED SAINT-TROPEZ and Rake kept the motorboat in position so that Nils could climb up onto the abandoned Panama vessel. His legs felt like jelly and when he was on his way up he was afraid he might slip and fall. Some marine organisms had attached themselves on deck and in some places there were large patches of oil. The stairs were perforated with rust and there was no railing. Even though he was only wearing a T-shirt, he was sweating. At this time of the morning, it wasn’t so hot, but the climb up from the motorboat and having to carry tools and the transponder, that was hard work. Now he was almost there, but he must still attach the transponder properly so that it would work. Martha, of course, had said that it was a simple job to do, but running up and down on bridges and roofs, maneuvering large yachts and even being expected to be an outfitter and take part in an insurance fraud—all that made considerable demands on a man.
He wiped some drops of sweat off his upper lip and pressed the transponder closer to his chest. Just one careless step and Bielke’s AIS would end up in the water. And with it five hundred million kronor—well, at any rate, if you could believe Anna-Greta. She had worked out that figure as being the amount they would get from the insurance, and they might even get more. But first the signal must be sent so that the harbor authorities would know that Aurora 4 was out at sea and then could also register that the motor yacht had disappeared suddenly. But then, of course, God forbid that he should drop the transponder. This should have been a job for two men up here, somebody who could help a bit, but now he must do it all himself. What would happen if he slipped? On the other hand, Rake or one of the others in the League of Pensioners would not exactly be of much help if he did slip.
Two more sets of stairs to go. If only he could find a suitable place above the bridge where he could fasten the apparatus with screws, then all would be OK. Perhaps by the railing next to the radar? Here, the transponder wouldn’t be visible from the water, but the signals could reach every point of the compass. Excellent! Bielke’s AIS was not impossibly heavy. In fact, it wasn’t much bigger than an old-fashioned video or a record player. It ought to work. But just this very minute it felt as if it weighed several tons. Had his dad and the others realized that they had actually given him the responsibility for five hundred million or so? Why had he ever agreed to do it?
Rake and his friends were always thinking up all sorts of mischief, but it was often Nils himself who had to carry out the tasks. And as soon as he had finished one job, the gang came up with something new. Those pensioners were far too energetic and really rather troublesome. On the other hand, he had to admit that now he had a new life, his days were filled with activity and it was actually more fun than his old job. Going to sea had felt like a challenge when he was young, but now being a seaman often meant monotonous and repetitive work, and you hardly ever could go ashore. So really, he didn’t have anything against all these new and weird tasks he must carry out, it was just that the responsibility for the transponder felt almost overpowering. They could have refrained from telling him that so much money was at stake. It wasn’t until he had agreed to do the job that they had informed him that the transponder would show where Bielke’s boat was before the radio signals vanished and this Panama wreck sunk. An insurance fraud, five hundred million kronor. He almost dropped the apparatus just thinking about it.
He turned around with a sigh. The sun was about to rise and the sea was calm. The old fishing village Saint-Tropez was still asleep and no other boats were in sight. There was only Rake in the motorboat down below, waiting for everything to be ready. Nils took a deep breath and hurried up the stairs. He skillfully avoided a plastic bucket, a rusty pipe, an open chest with old life jackets and some old boxes on the middle deck and finally reached the stairs up to the uppermost deck. Quickly he took the last steps and was finally on the deck above the bridge. Carefully he walked along the rusty and slippery roof. Where the hell could he fasten the apparatus? There was rust and steel everywhere. Luckily, Christina had camouflaged the transponder with some old paint, rust and a bit of dirt so that it would look like a part of the Panama wreck. But the AIS must be screwed down; yes, it must be firmly attached so that it would sink with the ship.
On the starboard side, some boats were now approaching in the distance. He felt a growing panic. No, he must decide where the wretched thing should be fastened; he couldn’t d
ither any longer. The bag with his tools rubbed against his legs, and the transponder now felt even heavier. He looked around and right next to the railing he discovered a wooden beam which looked stable. He went up to it, put the transponder down and the bag of tools too. He ought to be able to nail the blasted thing to that beam. He checked in his bag. Yes, there were some long nails and a hammer. He quickly grabbed them and was just about to start when Rake shouted out:
“The police!”
Nils stood up quickly and saw that one of the boats he had noticed earlier was now on its way toward them. And yes, it was indeed a police launch, it said “GENDARME” on the side. Damn! Oh well, he might just manage it. Quick as he could, he picked up the hammer, put some ten-inch nails in his mouth and pushed the bag to one side so that he could get at the wooden beam. But that was when it happened. The bag bumped into the transponder which then slowly slid toward the edge and tipped over it. Without a sound, Bielke’s AIS fell down onto the deck below. There was no thud, no crash—there was just silence.
“What the hell!” Nils roared when he discovered the faux pas. Horrified, he got up, looked over the edge and stared down. The apparatus wasn’t on the deck below but must have ended up in the water. Er, five hundred million gone? No, that doesn’t happen in real life, only in films. And there was no way he could tell anybody what had happened, he couldn’t even tell God almighty himself!
“Hurry, the police can see us,” Rake called out from down in the motorboat.
Nils was sweating profusely, and didn’t know what he should do. But a quick glance at the approaching police launch made him decide.
“I’m coming,” he shouted out. He hung the bag over his shoulder and managed to make his way down the stairs and then down the rope ladder. But when he reached the motorboat he didn’t say a word. What was there to say when you had just lost five hundred million?
WHEN RAKE AND NILS RETURNED TO THE HOTEL, THE REST OF the League of Pensioners had checked out and were standing there waiting. They had booked rooms at a smaller and less fancy hotel outside Saint-Tropez where they would stay until the Panama wreck was towed out to sea. But first Brains must get the transponder turned on with the remote control so that they really would be certain that everything was working before they boarded the plane to Stockholm.
For the next twenty-four hours all of the members of the League of Pensioners found it extremely difficult to sleep and they ate almost nothing. Christina went around handing out fruit and fresh organic salad but nobody felt like eating anything. And Nils suffered the most dreadful anguish. He knew that he ought to tell them what had happened, but he didn’t dare. And deep inside, he nourished a wafer-thin hope that he might not have to tell them the truth. Because when Brains used the remote control he would of course think that there was something wrong with it, yes, that there was a technical problem that stopped the signal from reaching the transponder. And then nobody would ever discover what had really happened. But Nils was ashamed of his own thoughts. You shouldn’t behave like that. But the alternative? Well, that was ten times worse!
57
THE HARBOR MASTER IN SAINT-TROPEZ WAS MAKING A LAST round on board the Panama-registered ship M/S Maria Bianca. The notorious wreck would at last be sunk. For almost a year, they had been trying to get rid of the rusty monstrosity from the harbor, but without success. If the mayor hadn’t personally got involved, it probably wouldn’t have been possible at all. But the Philippine crew had long since abandoned the boat and the harbor authorities had not found a responsible owner. Nobody had been prepared to pay to break up the vessel, let alone to sink it. But now it had gone so far that the boat had become a sanitary problem and, besides, everyone was afraid that the damned thing would sink in the middle of the harbor. Now at last the old derelict vessel would be towed out to deeper water. But first he would have to check that all the oil tanks were empty and that there was nothing left on board that could harm the environment. He sighed over having to do this dirty work, but the tugs were ready and waiting so it was best that he did it as quickly as possible.
Harbor master Hardy started at the very top and then systematically worked his way down through the vessel. He had reached the middle deck when it suddenly struck him that they ought to salvage the fire extinguishers and life jackets that were still there. They would always come in useful. He went out on the deck and almost tripped over a plastic bucket and a rusty pipe before reaching the chest with life jackets. But, mon Dieu! Those, too, looked in very bad condition. He got hold of the one on top. The cloth was faded, almost rotten, and when he gave it a little pull it immediately tore. He dug down a little deeper in the chest and pulled out another jacket. This had a wide neck, was made of old-fashioned cork and the orange cloth had become faded and was very delicate. He tried pulling that and again the result was that it ripped. No, there was nothing to salvage here and one could just as well forget the fire extinguishers. They wouldn’t be of any use either. He was just about to throw the jacket back into the chest when he caught sight of something that gleamed. It looked like a transponder of some sort. Had the Philippine crew been smuggling technical equipment? He lifted up the apparatus but then saw that it was an ordinary AIS Match Mate that must have been used on board the vessel. It looked rusty and damaged and when he poked it he got rust on his hands. No, damn it, that was worthless, it wouldn’t work anyway. He put it down on the deck and hurried on. Half an hour later, he had gone through the whole vessel and checked everything. Not a single screw on this old heap was worth keeping. He brushed the dirt off his uniform, pulled out his cell and gave the tugboat captain the go-ahead. Then he asked to be picked up.
While the Panama boat was being towed out by the tugs, Hardy drank coffee with the crew on board and played a hand of poker. And a few hours later, when the coast was only visible as a light gray haze on the horizon, he gave the order to sink the Maria Bianca. Two seamen went on board and opened the sea valves, while other crew members detached the towing cables. Then they picked up the two men and steered away from the sinking vessel. Harbor master Hardy and the others went up on deck and stood by the railings for a long time watching as the old heap slowly sank.
“What a wreck, not worth a cent,” he said with a snort. But he was quite wrong about that.
THE LEAGUE OF PENSIONERS HAD HAD A RESTLESS NIGHT. THE cheap hotel they had chosen had been filled with noisy guests who had partied during the night and none of the seniors had got much sleep. Anyway, the members of the gang of pensioners found it hard to relax. When they had heard that the Panama ship would be sunk in the morning, they had packed all their things and were ready to leave for the airport. But first they must activate the transponder. With dry eyes and after an extra cup of coffee, they took a taxi down to the harbor to check out the vessel.
When the taxi had stopped and they had gone out along the quay, they saw two tugs by the derelict ship and realized that they wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Then they walked out to the end of one of the jetties to get a better view of what was happening. To be on the safe side, none of them was using a walker or anything else that might help people identify them, and Anna-Greta and Martha were wearing wigs. Red hair this time. Brains and Rake had dressed in sailing clothes and wore fashionable boat shoes. They blended in well.
“Righto. All we have to do is activate Bielke’s motor yacht, Aurora Four, come!” said Brains with a grin. He held up the remote control and pointed it at the Panama ship. He pressed a few times, checked the batteries and pressed again. But Bielke’s transponder didn’t react.
“Damn it! That’s weird!” he exclaimed in surprise. “I haven’t got any contact. It’s just dead. Oh, God, I can’t get the transponder to respond!”
“Of course you can. It worked earlier,” said Christina.
“Yes, come on now, Brains, try again!” Martha urged. “A lot is at stake.”
“Five hundred million kronor is not exactly peanuts,” Anna-Greta pointed out.
Brains c
hecked the batteries, raised and lowered the remote and tried going to the very end of the jetty to get contact. But he looked angry when he came back.
“Nothing works! I don’t understand the reason for that.”
“Perhaps the reception is poor today,” said Nils trying to look as normal as possible. As if he was innocent and as if five hundred million didn’t mean anything at all.
“But it worked before when I tested it,” Brains insisted.
“Of course, but a lot could have happened since then,” said Nils, cautiously, and when he said this he wasn’t actually lying.
“What if it was the rust paint,” exclaimed Christina, wringing her hands in despair. “What if I have painted away five hundred million!”
“No, no, you didn’t do that,” Rake tried to console her, and he gave her a little hug. “I watched when you painted it, and you were very careful. You didn’t splash paint anywhere.”
They all became silent and stood there a long time, confused and numb, which you could hardly avoid being if you had just lost five hundred million. What should they do now? Tired and dejected they looked out toward the vessel. Up on the deck a uniformed man was talking on a telephone. He waved and then climbed down the rope ladder and boarded one of the tugs. The crew attached towing cables and after a while the two tugs turned toward the horizon. Soon the sound of their engines grew louder, the cables tightened and they started moving off.
“Hmm,” said Brains, “I will go right to the end of the pier and see if I can get contact there.”
He walked as fast as he could and when he got to the very end and again pointed the remote control at the vessel, something happened. It was as if the transponder had woken up after a long, long sleep, and sort of stretched and come to life. At first the signal was weak, but when the vessel turned a little, the apparatus reacted more strongly. Brains cheered. Now the harbor authorities and other vessels could see that Bielke’s motor yacht was leaving Saint-Tropez and going out to sea. There was of course a minimal risk that somebody would discover that the transponder was now on the Panama wreck instead of a luxury yacht, but everybody was fully occupied in towing the old heap out of the harbor and making sure that it didn’t collide with the boats around. Before anyone would have had time to digest the information, Bielke’s yacht would be far out at sea and then, a moment later, it would suddenly vanish. Sunk and off the screens forever. Brains hurried back to the others, beaming with joy.
The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly Page 34