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All characters in this book are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to real characters, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Robin Dee 2024
All Rights Reserved
Front cover design by
Robin Dee
Email: gristudio@hotmail.com
3
Carla was 19 years old. Carla was every boy’s dream – golden skin, petite but beautifully proportioned, beautiful teeth and a cheeky smile, bubbly personality and a fun girl to be with. She kept her hair in an urchin cut as it was easy to manage, and it was bleached blonde with the sun, giving her the appearance of a beach tomboy. Her regular attire was ragged cut-off jeans and either a flimsy halter top or tee shirt. It was warm in the South of France, and she had an image to maintain. She was carefree, smiled and said hello to everyone she met, and considered herself lucky to live in such a beautiful place with beautiful people and beautiful weather.
Carla lived with her grandmother, Mimi, and was brought up by her and her father who was a fisherman, and who had died 10 years previously in an accident at sea.
She had never really got over that terrible day, and although her exuberance appeared to be natural, it was her way of dealing with the tragedy by wiping out the bad bits and remembering the good bits. She never knew her mother, and never knew the reason why.
It was never talked about. Carla and Mimi were very poor and just managed to live on a day-to-day basis in a run-down rented apartment in a back street of Sainte-Maxime in the South of France. The landlord kept increasing the rent and Carla kept having to get extra shifts at the corner mini-market where she worked just to pay for the basics. There was never enough money to pay for luxuries. Her wages from the market would never cover the cost after the rent and food was paid for.
Carla got home from her job on a Friday night and gave her grandma a hello kiss.
“Carla, my love, there is something I have to tell you,” she said. “I had a visit today from the owner of the Haven Retirement Home and they have found me a place under the benevolent trust grant which I qualify for. I can move in next Friday.” This came as a shock to Carla. She knew her grandma wanted to go into a residential care home as she was finding it increasingly difficult to manage on her own when Carla was at work. She had fallen a couple of times, the last time ending up in hospital. She couldn't continue like this. It was only a matter of time until there was another serious fall or a scalding.
She already had a few near misses.
Carla spent the next week at work in a state of semi-shock. Her world had been turned upside down. She had no right of tenure on her grandma’s house so she would be homeless. She could never afford a place of her own. Her colleague at work, Claudette, had said she could stay with her until she found somewhere, but it would only be temporary.
She got home at 9 pm on the following Friday night to an empty house. Her grandma had gone to the home that day for good. Carla sat down in her grandma’s chair and cried. She dried her eyes and looked around the room. Then she spotted a note on the 4
coffee table. It was from grandma. She read it with difficulty through the tears. Her grandma had asked her to clear out the house, and keep anything she wanted. The only thing of her grandma's that she ever wanted was a beautiful 1920s costume necklace which she had always admired, featuring a jet black chain decorated with red beads and a filigree accent that held a faceted red teardrop stone. She went into her grandma's bedroom and saw that all of her clothes and personal possessions had been removed. All except for her jewellery box on the dressing table. She stood for a long time looking at it, then slowly opened the ornate lid. The box itself was a work of art with polished inlaid panelling inset with mother of pearl. As soon as she raised the lid, she saw it. There, right in front of her, was the necklace. Not only the necklace, but also a pair of matching earrings which she had forgotten about. There was also a note. It said, "For you my darling. Please take them and the box. I will be so happy to know you are wearing them."
She put them on and stood in front of the mirror for half an hour, and then it was time for bed. She knew she wouldn't sleep.
The next morning she woke up, made some coffee, and thought to herself that she must go out and try to get her life sorted out. After showering and dressing, she just had to put on the necklace and earrings. Maybe they will bring me luck, she thought. She bought a local newspaper from the stall down the street to study the accommodation to let, and started to walk down to the harbour to read it. She spotted a good friend of hers, Paul, who ran boat trips to St Tropez across the bay.
“Going across?” he shouted to her, and gave her a wolf whistle!
“Might as well,” she answered, “nothing else to do.” She climbed into the boat, and they waited for other passengers while Paul approached every tourist walking past and tried to get them to take the trip. After 30 minutes, they had 12 passengers and they set off. It was quite a fast boat, and the ride was always thrilling. Sometimes Paul would let her drive it, which was not strictly legal under his licence, but hey – this was the South of France!
She took the wheel, and she couldn’t help noticing the male passengers staring at her. She hoped it was in admiration and not fright, and then she realised they were staring at her carefree Bohemian appearance. It made her feel good.
When they reached St Tropez, Carla got out of the boat and made her way up the jetty.
She decided to go to the local open-air market and buy some fresh fruit and a can of juice, and then go around the harbour looking at the millionaires’ yachts while eating her lunch. And the admiring glances she got from lots of people gave her a huge boost.
Maybe life’s not so bad after all, she thought. She sat down on a bollard beside a particularly opulent-looking motor yacht some people might call a gin palace, and thought, what would I give for a trip on that! She opened her bag of fruit, pulled the tag from the can of juice which exploded all over her with a loud whoosh because of the heat, and she let out a loud squeal and dropped everything, the pieces of fruit flying away from her. Then, the most amazing thing happened...
5
Carla just sat there, looking on in horror, as her rosy red apple flew through the air and landed with a loud splash into the harbour, and at the same time her tray of fresh strawberries erupted like a volcano from her lap with each one of the luscious fruits choosing its own trajectory, either to follow the apple or to splat like a burst balloon on the hard ground. To complete the floor show, her beautiful soft peach gently rolled off her lap onto the ground, and ever so gently found the lowest possible route culminating in a drainage channel leading directly to the sheer drop into the harbour. She made a last minute dive to retrieve it, but lost sight of it as it disappeared in slow motion over the edge, closely followed by the orange juice escaping from the can which was rolling on its side. The peach's fate was confirmed when she heard the splash as it hit the water.
“Merde!” she shouted at the top of her voice, throwing her arms into the air. She quickly followed it with “Bordel de merde!” Her heart was beating hard and she tried to console herself. She started to cry. Some passers-by looked at her, but no one offered to help her.
She was just about to leave when she glanced up at the boat she was sitting next to. It was moored stern-in to the jetty and she read the name on its transom - Gravitа Z-Ro, Sanremo. Some people were lunching on the aft deck, and one of them, a very good looking man, had left the party and had been leaning on the rail watching all of Carla’s mishaps. When she looked up at him, he smiled.
“OK,” she shouted, “Laugh, why don’t you. I’m sure you found that very funny.
Go on, laugh at other people’s misfortunes, sitting up there on your big posh yacht, you think you’re smart don’t you?” The man seemed taken aback by her outburst, and he made towards the gangway from the boat and walked down it towards her. Carla got frightened and started to hurry away.
He shouted after her, “Please, wait, please. I was not laughing at you. Please let me explain. Stop. Don’t go.” She stopped, turned around, and found she was facing the most handsome, amazing man she had ever seen. She also thought he looked a bit familiar. He looked straight at her and thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he knew she was the girl he had seen before in the mini-market at Sainte-Maxime when he was over there the other day getting supplies for the boat’s larder. He never forgot beautiful girls. He was in the fashion business. He was the first to speak.
“Please let me explain. I am Lorenzo Agastini, and I saw you a few days ago at the mini-market in Sainte-Maxime. You served me. I didn’t know if you were the same girl as you now have different clothes on, and if I may say so, very beautiful ones. Have you heard of Gravitа Z-Ro?”
Carla thought for a second, and then said, “Yes. I have seen advertisements for their jewellery in expensive glossy magazines.”
Lorenzo continued, “Good. It is my company. I own it. We are the premium manufacturers of superlative Italian designer costume jewellery in the world. We are at the forefront of contemporary fashion. I was just so delighted to see you sitting beside my yacht and then realising it was really you from the shop. Then when I saw your 6
necklace I couldn’t believe it. These 1920s styles are going to come back, and we are currently designing a new period range for the next season. If I'm not mistaken, what you are wearing looks like a genuine Coco Chanel piece. How did you manage to get it?”
Carla didn’t want to tell him the truth, so she just said, “Oh, they are a vintage set I acquired some time ago.”
“You are very bold, wearing something so valuable to just walk about,” Lorenzo said, “and can I say they suit you exceptionally well. Absolutely beautiful! But then so are you.” Carla felt herself turn red. She wasn’t used to compliments from magnificent men like this.
Then Lorenzo said, “I see you were having a little trouble with your lunch?
Would you like to come aboard and share some of ours? We have plenty to go round.
Please,” and he ushered her towards the gangway.
They walked aboard the yacht, and Carla was absolutely stunned by the grandeur of it all. Every surface was shiny pristine white, and all of the metalwork was sparkling.
She took a glass of champagne offered by a steward, and then sat down to a lunch of smoked salmon, caviar, and even fresh fruit which Lorenzo made a big joke about referring to her 'flying fruit', and then had to apologise when Carla scowled at him. They talked about anything and everything. Lorenzo told her how he had inherited his father’s jewellery business, and then built it up into the top designer brand of the costume jewellery market. He showed her around the yacht which he described as his ‘plaything’, and then went into great detail about the helicopter he was negotiating to purchase from a millionaire in Cannes who had fallen on hard times. This was the purpose of this trip.
They returned to the sun deck, and Lorenzo indicated a lounger for Carla to sit on. He sat beside her, never taking his eyes off her necklace, and offered her a cigarette from a gold cigarette box on the small table. She accepted, and he took one also. As they sat back to relax in the sun, Lorenzo launched into a long speech.
“My dear, I am completely enthralled by your necklace and earrings. And your vintage glasses too. I have to admit to being hugely impressed at you being able to wear such outstandingly beautiful jewellery and carry it off so well with a Bohemian look. You make a very bold statement which says – This is me, this is how I am, accept me or die!”
With the last word, he shaped his hand like a gun, pointed it at her and went ‘Pouffff!’
“You, my dear, are making the statement that we want to encompass for next year’s marketing strategy. Have you ever noticed in magazine advertisements for jewellery that all the models are always just that - professional models detached from the ordinary girl on the street? It’s true. Not one of them would even dare to be seen in glasses, which are now one of the biggest fashion statements around. It’s a travesty of , of.... of....” he searched for the right word.
“Truth?” Carla offered.
“Yes. Yes, truth,” Lorenzo continued. “For our next campaign, we are going to show ordinary girls modelling our products. Exactly like you. There will be working girls, tomboy girls, sporting girls – all the real deal - just like you. And to find one who 7
can carry it off, is the icing on the cake. You will see why in a minute." And then he made an extraordinary proposition to Carla.
8
“I would like you to be the public face of Gravitа Z-Ro for next year.” Lorenzo suddenly hit her with this statement after studying her face for fully two minutes in silence.
“Huh?” Carla muttered, leaning her head to one side in a quizzical gesture.
“That’s right,” he continued, “I would love for you to front all of our marketing for the next year at the very least. Could you do that? Your face would appear in all of our advertisements in the top glossy magazines, you would be in all of the TV and cinema commercials, your beautiful smile would grace every advertising hoarding from Tulsa to Timbuktu. You are exactly what I’ve been looking for – beautiful, vivacious, striking, terrific attitude, a bit of a tomboy, and with a definite rebel streak. You are a marketing consultant’s gift from heaven. And best of all, you are genuinely, seriously, unique. What do you say?”
Carla thought for a minute. “I already have a job. I wouldn’t want to risk losing it. I couldn’t afford to. And I couldn’t do all that stuff. No, I’m not what you want.”
“You are exactly what I want,” Lorenzo continued, with a hurt look on his face.
“You are exactly what I need, my dear. Let me answer your concerns. This will be a proper job. You will get a very good salary, probably about ten times what you earn at present, so you CAN afford to. And of course you can do all that stuff – just act naturally because you ARE a natural, my love. Will you let me do some trial shots to prove it? Just for fun?”
“OK”, Carla said, “it can’t do any harm.” Lorenzo got his camera out, and then started taking shots of Carla smiling, frowning, teasing with her tongue licking her lips, then with her looking naughtily over her glasses, and finally with her holding her glasses and sucking the leg in pensive mood.
“Wonderful, wonderful,” Lorenzo shouted, like an excited little boy. Now, can you tell me what you are wearing under your top and shorts?”
Alarm bells started ringing in Carla’s head, and she asked “Why?”
“We will also need a certain amount of sexual content, but don’t worry my pretty, it is in the best possible taste and fully under artistic licence,” explained Lorenzo.
“I have on a bikini – nothing else,” Carla said. This was her standard summer wear as she was sure to end up on a beach somewhere before the day was over.
“Excellent, excellent,” Lorenzo shouted, clapping his hands like the little boy again. “Please take off your shorts and top.”
Carla did as he asked, and he started snapping her in automatic mode like a demon possessed. He really knew what he was doing. He taunted her, teased her, encouraged her, played with her, and unashamedly flirted with her as she posed on the deck, leaned on the rail, sat on a bollard and pouted at the camera, wrapped her leg sexily around a rope, all of the time an absolute beauty in a bikini.
Lorenzo was seriously impressed by this girl and her seemingly natural antics. “I think we have definitely found ‘The Face of Gravitа Z-Ro’ for next year. You will do it?
9
“OK, I will,” she said. It had to be an improvement on her current situation.
They sat down and talked a bit more over a glass of wine. Lorenzo asked if she was free to start immediately, and she said more or less. She would have to go home for her clothes and personal stuff, tell her employer that she was taking two weeks vacation as she didn’t want to resign just yet until she was sure this was for her, and most importantly visit her grandma and tell her the news. Lorenzo told her she would have free use of the company guest villa they had in Sanremo. They made arrangements to meet up at the jetty the following morning, and then the boat would leave for Sanremo.
Carla went back to the jetty which Paul used and waited for him to arrive. All of the way home in his boat she couldn’t stop talking about her new adventure. Paul listened and seemed genuinely excited for her.
“Only one trouble,” he said, “I won’t be seeing so much of you,” and he frowned like a little spoilt child.
“You will,” she immediately replied, “I will make sure of that.”
Over the next few weeks, Carla was treated like a film star. She moved into the company villa. She worked out daily in an elite fitness and beauty club which the company owned, and best of all, the first thing she did was attend the in-house design centre. Then she was presented with a selection of around 50 pieces of jewellery from the new season’s collection, and told to pick 25 of her choice which she could use daily, and the rest would be kept for use in photo shoots. She chose a varied selection of pieces which she totally fell in love with. Carla thought all of her Christmases had come at once!
Carla also kept in touch with her friends Paul, and Claudette from the shop. By now, she had officially resigned from her job in the market. One day, Lorenzo told her they were going in the yacht to a remote uninhabited island not too far from St Tropez, to do some photo shoots in front of the amazing rock formations on its shoreline. Carla was to take all of the jewellery in 3 aluminium flight cases, and told to guard them with her life. She phoned Paul to tell him where she was going, and he said he would come out in his boat on the way back from St Tropez to see her. She was really looking forward to seeing him again.
They set off at a fast pace to the island, and Carla sunbathed on the deck. She had on a pair of large black plastic framed prescription sunglasses which Lorenzo had paid for. He came up to her as they approached the island and said, “I’m worried you are getting too much sun my dear. Why don’t you go below deck and put on more cream, have a rest and a cool drink? I will call you when I need you.”
Carla thought for a minute, and said, “No, I’m OK. I’ll stay here.”
Lorenzo looked her straight in the eye, and said, “You misunderstand me, my dear. You WILL go down below deck and stay there until I call you. Do you understand?” She was 10
immediately frightened. She had never seen him like that before. He was menacing. He had a dangerous glint in his eye. She did as she was told.
She eventually felt the boat slow down, and waited to be called. She waited, and waited. Then she heard another boat approach. It pulled alongside, and she heard voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said. She tried to squint through the window, with her face hard against the glass. She saw a man, a woman and a child being helped aboard Lorenzo’s yacht, some shouts, and then the boat left. At that point Lorenzo came into her suite with a flight case in his hand. He put it beside the other three flight cases containing the jewellery and said, “Another consignment my dear. Take good care of it. Now, wait here until I call you.”
Carla sat still, sipped at her drink, and then heard the noise. It was another boat.
This one had a very loud powerful engine. It pulled up quite suddenly alongside the yacht, and the wash from its wake rocked the yacht. Then Carla heard the loudhailer.
“Attention, attention Gravitа Z-Ro. This is the police. You are under arrest. I repeat, you are under arrest. We have a gun trained on you, do not try anything. Remove your keys from the ignition as we come alongside, and throw them to us. Prepare yourself for a boarding and stand against the railing facing the sea with your hands behind your heads.
All of you. We are coming aboard.” Carla froze. Through the window she could see the police launch and an officer on the bow with what looked like a sub machine gun trained on the yacht. She grabbed her phone and dialled a number.
11
This was bad. This was very bad. Carla had dialled Paul’s number on her phone and it had gone straight to voice mail. She left a message – “Paul. PAUL. Call me back immediately when you get this. Help me Paul, help me, please. I’m in big trouble.” She was shaking like a leaf, and she took repeated deep breaths to try to stay calm and in control. An inner voice told her to lock the door, so she did. She looked out of the window again. Two policemen were escorting the family who had just joined the boat over onto the police launch, and they seemed to be treating them quite harshly. The family were of North African appearance. The mother turned around to see where her son was, and the policeman took hold of her head, wrenched it back into a straight-ahead position and pushed it forward so hard that she stumbled and fell. He didn’t even help her to get up, but just shouted at her. Carla noticed that the boy seemed terrified and was shaking like a leaf. Then she saw Lorenzo produce papers for the policeman in charge to inspect. There seemed to be a heated argument going on over their content.
Carla was totally distraught. She had no idea what to do. She remembered her grandma’s old saying ‘If something seems too good to be true, then it usually is.’ She was right. Something was seriously wrong here. She slipped the sunglasses off, put them in their case, dropped them into one of the flight cases and got out her own old glasses to wear. Then she heard footsteps coming down the staircase, and loud voices. “Police.
Anyone here? Come out now. This is the police.” And they banged on all of the doors as they shouted. Carla’s heart almost stopped when she saw the door handle move, and she heard the voice shout, “Get me the key to this door. NOW!” Immediately her animal instinct survival technique kicked in. Fuelled by the sudden rush of adrenaline combined with fear, she became totally alert and knew exactly what to do. There was a small door leading from her suite to a steep staircase down to what Lorenzo called the diver’s wet room. It had wet suits, snorkels, oxygen tanks and all sorts of diving gear hanging up. A small door from it opened out to the sea, just above the waterline. A platform could also be lowered by pressing a green button. She would go down there, open the door and dive into the warm Mediterranean Sea. As long as she put her glasses into her bum bag first, she would be OK….. unless the police started shooting at her! But as they were on the other side of the yacht, she might escape unseen. Or, she could just take her chances and surrender to them, but this looked like something really heavy to her and she wanted no part of it. Right at that moment her phone rang.
“Paul, Paul, oh mon Dieu, thank you, thank you, where are you? I’m in big trouble, I have to get off this boat, the police are boarding, where are you?”
“Carla, stay calm, I can see you, I’m nearly there, I can see a police launch alongside, what do you want me to do? Are you OK?”
“Oh Paul, I love you Paul, help me, please.”
“It’s OK, ma cherie, I’m here, I’m here, now tell me what to do.”
12
“Come to the opposite side of the boat to where the police are. I will open the diver’s door and jump onto your boat. I will have 4 flight cases with me. They have the full range of jewellery in them. Oh Paul, please do it, and Paul, cover your face with something in case they see you. I’ll be waiting.”
“OK, I’ll be there in one minute. Hold on – I’m coming.”
Carla picked up two flight cases, tucked them under her arms, then lifted the other two remaining cases and carefully carried them down the stairs. She heard the suite door being forcefully opened as she closed the door to the stairwell. She opened the diver’s door, pressed the green button to lower the platform, and stepped out onto it as Paul’s boat came alongside. Paul’s boat was about a metre below the platform, and she noticed straight away that Mickey Mouse was driving it! If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the situation, she would have fallen about laughing. Then she remembered Paul kept a Mickey Mouse mask on the boat to amuse children. It certainly came in handy today!
She closed the diver’s door and threw the flight cases down to him one by one, and then before she jumped down herself into his waiting arms she pressed the red button which raised the platform back up.. She gave him a big kiss and said, “Let’s get out of here, fast!” The engine on Paul’s boat was badly needing refurbished, and it belched out smoke, so he moved off very slowly with low revs so as not to attract attention from the noise and smoke.
They left the yacht unseen, and very quickly got around the other side of the island to be completely out of sight. At that point Paul gave the boat full throttle, and it surged ahead towards Sainte-Maxime and safety. Paul had already made alternative arrangements with a colleague to bring his few passengers back from St Tropez on their boat so he could return and do some work on his engine. When they were almost there, he slowed the boat right down until it stopped, looked at Carla and said, “I thought you were scared of mice?” She went up to him and pulled the Mickey Mouse mask off his head. The elastic broke and pinged his face. “Ouch!” he shouted. “Now you’re for it,” he added. He came up to her, reached out and carefully removed her glasses. He gently put them down on a seat, and she said, “What are you doing?”
“This,” he said, and he took her face in his hands and gave her a long, gentle kiss.
Carla immediately felt a tingling rush of pins and needles surge right through her. When she returned the kiss, they frantically hugged, kissed, and thought it would never end.
She’d never felt like this before. Never.
“Do you remember what you said to me on the phone?” Paul asked.
“Yes, I think it was ‘help’, or something like that.”
“And what else?”
“Umm….. dunno. Give me a clue.”
“You said you loved me.”
“Did I? It must have been the fear talking.” By now she damned well knew what he was talking about, but she didn’t want to admit it and spoil a good friendship.
“I think you should remember the old Chinese proverb, ‘In fear there is truth’,”
he said.
13
She just shrugged her shoulders. Then he said it, “I love you.”
“No you don’t. I bet you say that to all the damsels in distress that you rescue!”
“No, just you. And now you’re going to tell me I’ve just ruined a beautiful friendship!”
“Come here,” she said, “you’ve just transformed a beautiful friendship into a beautiful partnership. I do love you. There, I’ve said it. I love you, love you, love you!”
They kissed passionately, then Paul said, “I think we should get back now, I don’t trust these police, and there are funny people out there in yachts!”
They got back to the jetty at Sainte-Maxime, moored the boat, and walked up to Paul’s trailer home where he lived in the boatyard. “I need a drink after all that,” he said, pouring two cold lagers from the fridge. “Let me see this famous jewellery that has caused all this trouble." Carla took a long refreshing gulp of her drink and opened the first case.
“Are they all the same?” he asked. Paul made a sound like "Phew" when he saw the contents.
She opened the other cases, and then came to the fourth case which had been added on the boat. “This one’s locked,” she said.
“Let me see,” Paul said, “I can open this with a hammer and a screwdriver.”
He got the tools from a tool box, and started to demolish the locks. Eventually the latches sprung up and he opened the case. When they saw what was inside, their jaws dropped to the floor! Unbelievable!
14
Paul looked at Carla. Carla looked at Paul. They both looked at the case again.
Both together, at exactly the same time, they exclaimed “WOW!” In front of their very eyes were bundles and bundles of used American dollars packed tightly into the case.
Paul took a bundle out. “These are fifty grand bundles,” he said incredulously, with a smile from ear to ear, “and there are about a hundred here! Do you know how much that is? DO YOU?”
“Umm….. five million?” Carla squeaked.
“Say that again,” Paul laughed.
“Five million, FIVE MILLION!” Carla screamed.
“Someone’s gonna want this back,” Paul said quietly. “This is too heavy for us to handle,” he added. “We’ve got to hand this in to the police.”
“They don’t know we’ve got it,” Carla reasoned. “We weren’t seen.”
“But you disappeared, the cases disappeared, and the money disappeared. Your man is going to put two and two together. It’s not rocket science. We’re in big trouble here,” Paul said with a worried frown.
Carla gave him a hug and said, “Let’s sleep on it. He already told me to guard the cases with my life. I thought the fourth case had more jewellery in it. I’m only doing what I was told. Anyway, he's in custody and probably going to be put behind bars.”
They spent the night talking non-stop about what they could do with $5,000,000
while drinking more and more lager. By midnight they were exhausted and fell asleep in each others arms.
Next morning, Paul got up with the head from Hell! “Oh, it hurts, never again!”
he moaned while putting some coffee on. It was 7:30 and he turned the radio on for the local news on the music station from Monte Carlo, his favourite station. What he heard next completely floored him. As soon as he realised what they were reporting, he shook Carla awake. “Listen, listen,” he hissed. They were both silent as they listened.
“We have just received news of an incident which occurred off an uninhabited rocky island just south of the island of the National Park of Port-Cros. Yesterday afternoon, the motor yacht 'Gravitа Z-Ro' was intercepted and arrested by the police under the suspicion of illegal people trafficking. The yacht is owned by multi-millionaire Lorenzo Agastini, owner of the Italian designer jewellery company Gravitа Z-Ro. Mr Agastini was arrested along with Helena Breda, Alonso De Luca, Mario Ferrari, and three unidentified North Africans including a young boy. The four Italian nationals are suspected to have been part of a human trafficking syndicate and have been under observation by the police for four months. Yesterday’s arrest was the culmination of a long investigation when it was alleged that a large payment of cash was transferred from an unidentified North African boat to the Gravitа Z-Ro along with the people being smuggled aboard. Apparently this was a very large sum covering all of the transactions 15
over the last six months. The police are still trying to locate this sum, and it is alleged that it may have been thrown overboard. The African family are in a holding centre subject to their repatriation home. The others have been detained pending trial. We will keep you informed as we receive further news.”
Carla sat nervously playing with her glasses throughout the whole report. She fondled them, opened and closed them, sucked on their legs, then put them back on. “Did we just hear that?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Paul, with a grim expression, “we sure did. That report was unusual in its detail. They must have concrete evidence against them. What do we do now? What do we do with the money?”
“What money?” Carla said with an innocent ‘little girl’ look.
“Come on, you don’t mean...”
“We don’t know anything about any money. They’ve lost it, we’ve disappeared.
End of story.”
“But we HAVE to do something,” Paul insisted.
“OK,” Carla quickly replied, “we get married!”
“What? WHAT?!”
“You don’t want to?”
“Yes….. YES! Of course I do!”
“OK, that’s settled then,” Carla said, matter-of-factly.
“But what do we do with the… err... money that doesn’t exist?”
“Simple. We hide it until the heat goes down, then we use it – gradually. You can get a new boat engine, and you can buy a new boat – for me! I want to do tourist trips with you – we’re a great team!” Paul was speechless. “And most of all,” Carla continued,
“I want to walk down the aisle in my grandma’s necklace with her to see me while she still can, and then join you for the rest of our lives.”
Paul smiled, hugged her, and then gave her a big passionate kiss. This all sounded too good to be true. Secretly he had this nagging feeling that someone, somewhere, was going to move heaven and earth to get that money back. He blanked it out of his mind, and they both jumped back into bed.
16
Midnight.
“I want to see my lawyer. I have the right. You can't hold me here. Do you know who I am? You are seriously overstepping your authority here, do you know that? I personally know the Italian Police Chief Commissioner and he will create a major international incident over this. It's your jobs that will be on the line, do you hear me?"
The officers in the room just ignored Lorenzo. He started getting violent and throwing his arms around, to which they just re-cuffed him and pushed him back down onto the seat. He could see he was getting nowhere.
"Now let's just get one thing straight here before we go any further sir." The leading officer spoke for the first time. "You have been arrested due to the overwhelming evidence against you. We have been watching you for months. You have left a trail like breadcrumbs. You have been careless - we have not. We have won your little game. You can see your lawyer tomorrow. He will advise you to cooperate with us fully. It is your only chance for the unlikely result of a reduced sentence. It is the end for you, sir. You might as well accept it. Now get some sleep and we shall continue this in the morning, although it is a cut-and-dried case and shouldn't take long to prepare it for trial. Would you like something to eat or drink sir?" Lorenzo scowled at the officer, and then lay his head down on the table, banging his feet on the floor.
Carla and Paul lay for a couple of hours thinking in silence, then Paul spoke. "We really can't keep this money. We can't, no way."
"Why?
"How are we going to spend used American dollars? Huh? Think about it. How can I buy a boat engine or even a boat with cash like that? We'd arouse suspicion right away from the start. We can't spend it anywhere, except maybe change a few dollars and buy a candy bar! The money is useless to us. It might even be marked for all we know.
We're taking it to the police this morning."
"Wait, wait, WAIT!" Carla panicked. "There must be a way. There's GOT to be a way. Have you heard of money laundering?"
"I've heard of it, but that's out of my league. The only laundering I ever get done is my overalls."
"But Paul, my love, you think about it. Think about the new engine for your boat.
You really need it. Think about a new boat for me. Think about us expanding the business. Think about us working together. Think of our future. It's all there in that case.
It's all ours by right. We could have died over that. It's GOT to be worth it. Please think about it..... for me? Pretty please?"
Carla was very very insistent. "I'm going out," Paul suddenly said. "I need to think and clear my head."
17
He went out the door and walked down to the water's edge. Gilbert, who owned the boatyard where Paul lived in the trailer, was down beside an old vintage cruiser he was renovating in his spare time. "Penny for them," he said when he saw the frown on Paul's face. "What's eating you?"
"Oh, just things," Paul answered nonchalantly.
"What things? Come on, tell your uncle Gilbert."
"It's a money thing."
"Isn't it always? Always in short supply. It'll never be any different!"
"Well, this time it's different - there's too much!"
"What do you mean too much? Tell me. Spill."
"No, I've already said too much."
Gilbert abruptly stopped what he was doing, put down the file he was using, and came over to sit on the wall beside Paul. "Now you've got to tell me, pal. No holding back."
Paul looked him in the eye. "I've come into some money. A lot of money. But there's a problem, a big problem."
Gilbert laughed out loud, "How can there ever be a problem with too much money? You're crazy!"
Paul continued, "I've inherited a large sum from a relative, but the problem is that it's all in American dollars."
"I don't see a problem with that. You can change it you know."
"Not this time Gilbert. It's not entirely legal. My relative had it stashed under the floorboards. I don't know if the serial numbers are recorded anywhere, or how he even came by it, but I do know it wasn't by fair means and almost certainly by foul. Now do you see what I mean?" Paul couldn't believe he had just told someone else all of this claptrap. But his mind was now working overtime about keeping this money.
"Give me a minute," Gilbert said, and disappeared into the boatyard shop. Paul sat and watched all the millionaires' motor yachts moored in the marina, glistening in white and chrome, their reflections sparkling off the water. One of them could be mine, he thought. Before his thoughts ran away with him, Gilbert came back out of the shop and sauntered over to him. He sat back down beside him and handed him a business card.
"What's this?" asked Paul.
"This could be your answer," replied Gilbert. "Some time ago I did some work for this guy when his boat broke down here. He left me his card and said if I ever needed his services to give him a call."
Paul looked at the card. All it said was 'Ronald Marsh, IT and Financial Consultant,' and had a Spanish address in Roses, Girona, and a mobile telephone number.
"What is he, some kind of banker or something?" he asked.
"He's the 'something', all right", Gilbert said. "In other words, money launderer."
There was a long silence, then Paul said, "Can I take this?"
"Please do. I don't think I'll ever need his services, but I think you sure do."
Paul took the card and wandered slowly back to the trailer. His thoughts were 18
running wild. What on earth was he doing? Carla had been watching him from the window, and opened the door to let him in. He came in and sat down on the sofa. She sidled up next to him, held his arm and asked, "What is that, darling?" He presented the card to her.
"Financial Advisor?" she asked. "That looks good. Can he help us?"
Rather than tell her what this Ronald Marsh really was, he said, "Yes. It would appear so."
"How?" she asked.
He just couldn't hide the truth from her. "He's a money launderer. He can convert our money into useable funds." Then he just realised he had said 'our' money. Looks like we're in it up to our necks now, he thought.
19
The sun beat down on the villa Casa de la Fortuna in the dry, dusty province of Girona, Spain. This was siesta time, but Ronnie Marsh was never one to relax. His mind was permanently working overtime. Permanently working on how to make money - big money, by any means possible. With him it was almost an obsession, a habit, a vice. He had pulled off a wide variety of very dubious scams in his time, and the results could be seen in the beautiful villa, the three sports cars, a Ferrari, Porsche and Jaguar parked on the house forecourt, the four thoroughbred horses looking over the air conditioned stable doors, and the helicopter sitting in its place on top of a giant 'H' painted on the tarmac beside the house. Life was good for Ronnie, but he was getting bored.
His last project was helping out an old friend who had got into major difficulties in Holland when he bought a ship to use as an offshore radio station, only to find out later he didn't actually own the ship as the sellers didn't have clear title to sell it. Major actions were going to take place imminently, including massive court orders for millions and the actual repossession of the ship itself from its anchorage in international waters by force. Several people had to flee the ship, and his friend Frank Bentley had to flee the country and take refuge at the Spanish villa, abandoning his nightclub in Scheveningen which Ronnie managed to requisition for himself after siphoning all of Franks funds from the club accounts and depositing them in his Jamaican bank account for a fictitious company called Diamonde Drilling which he set up to launder money when needed.
Through another scam which included high level blackmail, he acquired a plant hire contractor's business along with a local radio station in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, and set Frank up there as owner/manager, with the proviso that he laundered funds for him when needed through the business. As a little sideline, he 'persuaded' Frank to marry a Russian girl who was staying at the villa illegally so that she could get into the UK. He received a small fee from her for his services, but the unexpected result was that she and Frank fell in love and were now a devoted couple. After all that, lying in the sun with a cold drink beside the pool was definitely boring! Suddenly his phone rang. He looked at it, not recognising the number.
"Hello," he said abruptly. He never gave his name away when answering a phone until he knew who it was and what they wanted.
"Hello," a male voice said. "Is that a Mr Ronald Marsh?"
"Who wants to know and what do you want?" Ronnie answered.
"My name's Paul. I got your card from Gilbert at the boatyard in Sainte-Maxime in the South of France. He said you might be able to help me."
"In what way?"
"In a financial way. I have some money I need changed."
"How much?"
"Five million dollars"
Ronnie's heart leaped. He took a swig from his drink.
20
"Hello, hello," Paul said nervously, "are you still there?"
"Yes," said Ronnie, "I'm here. If you want my services you need to know my fee up front first."
"What is it?" Paul asked.
"For an amount like that, it is 50%."
"WHAT? Did you say 50%?"
"Yes, take it or leave it. There's a lot of work involved, but you will end up with two and a half million clean dollars that you could buy your granny a bunch of flowers with and no repercussions. It is a clean efficient service, and can be completed in a week.
Do you wish to proceed further?"
Paul hesitated. "I... I... I'll need to think about it," he stammered.
"Oh no you don't," snapped Ronnie. "That's not how I operate. You either say 'yes'
now, or you never contact me again. That's the way it is."
was shaking. "Umm... er... well... OK... I suppose so. OK, I'll go ahead."
"That's better," said Ronnie with a big smile on his face. I shall be flying to Monte Carlo this weekend for some casino entertainment. I shall call you to meet me there. You must be available immediately as I don't wait for people, and you must have the five million with you. It's OK, you can trust me. Remember, I'm taking a huge risk doing this, hence the large fee, but I guarantee you the transaction will be successful.
Stand by on Sunday for my call, and be available to meet me within fifteen minutes of receiving it. Oh, and one more thing, come alone."
They said their goodbyes, and Ronnie plunged into the pool for a swim before dinner. Paul opened a bottle of Cognac and poured himself and Carla stiff drinks.
This time it was Carla who was expressing doubts. She came back into the trailer after a long walk along the beach so she could avoid being present during the phone call.
Paul was the first to break the silence. "The deed is done."
"I'm having second thoughts," she said.
"Too late."
"Can you not phone him back and cancel? I really think we're out of our depth here. I'm actually terrified. Somebody's going to want this money back."
Paul was now the positive one. "I advised against it, you persuaded me to go ahead. Now it's done and we're going through with it. I can see all of the benefits now.
We'll worry about the risks if it comes to it."
Carla made coffee and they sat in silence for half an hour, then there was a loud banging on the trailer door. They both caught their breath and looked at each other, terrified.
"It's the police. Anybody in there? Open up," a commanding voice said.
Paul opened the door to two officers. "Can we come in?" the first officer said.
"We would like to ask you a few questions. Paul was visibly shaking.
"Are you all right, sir?" the second officer asked.
"Yes, yes," Paul replied. "The police always make me nervous. I always start to think that have I done! Please come in."
21
Carla offered them coffee and they declined. They all sat down and the first officer spoke. "You may be aware of an incident that occurred here two days ago when the occupants of a motor yacht were arrested for people trafficking."
"Yes, I had heard something had happened," Paul replied nervously.
"A second craft was observed in the vicinity by the captain of the police launch, and there is a boat moored at the jetty which fits this description. The boatyard owner tells us that you are the owner, sir. Is your boat the Margarita"?
"Yes it is."
"OK, can you please tell me where you and your boat were between the hours of two and four PM the day before yesterday?"
Paul was quaking. This is it, he thought, our numbers up. We'll have to hand the money over.
"Sir, I asked you a question. You are required to answer it."
"I... I... I had dropped off passengers in St Tropez. I was returning to Sainte-Maxime to work on my engine. I did see a large motor yacht drifting near to a small rocky island, but I paid no attention to it. I stopped behind the island for a spell and threw out a fishing line. I had no luck so I headed for the marina and went ashore."
The policemen stood up, and the first one said, "Thank you sir, you've been a great help in us eliminating you from our enquiries. If you do remember seeing anything when you were out there, no matter how small or insignificant you think it is, please contact us at the station. Thank you again, and good-day."
After they had left, Carla let out a huge sigh of relief. She sat shaking, her nerves shattered. "Th... th... they never even mentioned me," she stuttered.
"You were lucky," Paul quickly replied.
"I know, I know," she said, "I don't think they know I was on the yacht. I don't think they know I exist. Lorenzo must have kept quiet about me. I think he's kept quiet about the money too, and the jewellery. He must have. He would have been stupid to tell them. Now nobody but him and us know about it. We're in the clear! Ha ha!" And she did a little dance.
Paul came back with, "Nobody but him, us, and his henchmen you mean."
"You think so?" Carla put on a quizzical face.
"I know so. You'd be stupid not to."
Now, neither of them thought they were doing the right thing, but it was as if an irresistible force was dragging them further and further into a journey with no return ticket.
22
Ronnie was up at the crack of dawn. He had already done the pre-flight checks on the helicopter, lodged his flight plan, and was ready to go. It was an ambitious journey, but he'd done it several times before. He loaded his small overnight bag and a fairly large flight case, and then climbed aboard. Running the engine up and completing the checks, he was ready for take off. He would fly straight across the Montpellier Bay in a straight line. No trees or overhead cables to worry about there.
After an uneventful flight, he approached the helipad on an area of parkland behind the casino in Monte Carlo. There was space for four helicopters to park here, along with refuelling, valeting and security facilities. After landing, he unloaded his cases and booked in to his overnight room in the Casino Hotel. After a shower and a fine meal in the restaurant, he was ready to hit the tables.
This was not one of his better nights. The tables were against him and the numbers had been fighting him all night. He lost - considerably. After returning to his room at midnight, he phoned Paul as previously arranged.
"Hello, Paul here."
"Paul, it's Ronnie Marsh."
"Hi. Is everything ready?"
"Yes. Tomorrow's the day. Now listen closely. There's a little bistro called Rebecca's just down from the casino on the other side of the road. You will be there at 11
am prompt, and you will have the money in the flight case. You will make doubly sure, no, let's make that triply sure that it is all there, right to the very last dollar as I won't be counting it. If it isn't, it will be your loss. We shall just be two friends having a coffee. At an opportune moment I shall put your case into my larger case, and then we shall leave and go our separate ways. You will not get a receipt, or any paperwork whatsoever. This whole transaction is done on trust. That is how I operate. You will then stand by in one week for a phone call from me. The return of the two and a half million will be done in the same manner. Only difference is that it will be in useable Euros. Is that all clear?"
"Yes. I'll be there."
"Good. Make sure you are."
Paul didn't sleep well that night. Ronnie slept like a baby. He was back in the driving seat and he loved it. At the helm, in control, running other people's lives, back being the big man. Life was good! That night he dreamt about how he was going to spend his two and a half million.
Paul and Carla dreamt about how they were going to spend their two and a half million. They also dreamt about how they would always be looking over their shoulders.
23
At one point around 3 am, Paul woke up with a scream. He had thought someone had a knife at his throat. When he realised it was Carla's hand, he stopped shaking and relaxed.
"What's wrong darling?" Carla whispered. "Bad dream?"
"Terrible dream. I think it was trying to tell me something. I do so want this money, and at the same time I so don't want it. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes darling. Me too. It'll all be better in the morning, and you'll feel better once you've handed the money over. I'll come with you."
"No, no, no, you can't. He says I must come alone."
"OK, I will wait here, but you MUST phone me as soon as you leave the bistro.
Promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
Morning came after a long sleepless night. Paul had arranged with Gilbert the night before to borrow his pick-up truck to go to Monte Carlo. He downed a quick cup of coffee, grabbed the flight case, kissed Carla goodbye, and walked across the boatyard to where the truck was parked. He stowed the case securely under the passenger's seat. The engine fired up first time on the Toyota Hilux. He tuned the radio in to Riviera Radio to take his mind off things, then drove out onto the main road and set off.
Ronnie awoke refreshed. He walked out onto his balcony to take in the warm morning sunshine, then showered and went down for a hearty breakfast. Full of the joys of life, he smiled and nodded to the other guests, helped himself to a selection of cold meat on offer at the buffet, then sat down with a pot of fresh coffee and enjoyed his breakfast over the complimentary morning paper. He read an update about the arrest of a motor yacht and its occupants off an uninhabited island. He didn't make the connection with the money as this whole area was infested with millionaires and their money sloshing around. Ha ha! Including me! he thought. After breakfast, a fine Cuban cigar in the beautiful gardens, then down to work.
Paul arrived in Monte Carlo, the battered pick-up a little incongruous amongst the Ferraris, Lamborghinis and Porsches. He parked in the nearest public car park and paid the extortionate fee for a ticket from the pay-and-display machine. The first hour was free - how generous he thought - but the second hour was 4.40 Euros, so he thought he had better pay it rather than get caught out. He took a good look around for robbers, villains, or any other suspicious looking characters before getting the flight case with the millions in it out from under the seat. Talk about being paranoid! The truck didn't lock, so he was thankful he didn't need to leave anything in it. Grabbing the case handle with such a fierce grip that his knuckles were turning white, he made his way towards the bistro. Already the shore and the streets were awash with bikinis and hot pants, with some very fine contents in them, but Paul was totally oblivious to the show parading in front of him. He was a man on a mission. He got to Rebecca's Bistro first, went in and 24
chose an obscure table in the back corner. A scantily clad waitress came over to him and asked what he would like.
"I am expecting a friend. Can I wait until he arrives please?"
"Yes, no problem sir," the waitress replied with a gorgeous smile showing off film star teeth.
Paul looked nervously at his watch. 10:59 and 15 seconds. He watched the expensive cars pass by in the street through the window on the opposite wall to where he sat. 10:59 and 30 seconds. He was quivering and he couldn't stop his leg from shaking.
10:59 and 45 seconds. I've got 15 seconds to get out of here and run, he thought. 5.....
4..... 3..... 2..... 1..... the bistro door opened and the little bell on the door frame tinkled innocently. In walked a chubby, well-fed looking man in a cream tropical suit with an expensive silk shirt open at the neck, showing an expensive gold pendant on an expensive gold chain. He was carrying a rather large aluminium flight case. As his hand went up to the handle to close the door, Paul noticed several expensive gold rings with expensive gemstones just bursting to get out of them on his fingers. He had on a pair of expensive Versace sunglasses - definitely not purchased from a drug store. He took them off as he closed the door, scanning the room and spotting Paul, the only other customer there apart from two very stylish ladies sitting at a window seat. He approached Paul with a big smile showing off a gold tooth.
"Ah, Paul I presume?" he said, pulling out the chair opposite him. He noticed Paul's case under the table.
The waitress came up to the table again and said, "Gentlemen, what can I get you?"
Ronnie was quick to reply. "Two coffees please. Double shot espresso for me.
Paul?"
"Latte for me please," said Paul having gained control of his nerves.
"I won't shake hands Paul as I want it to look like we have known each other for a long time. We both know why we're here, so let's have our coffees, do the business, and then go our separate ways. I don't want small talk or to get to know you. OK?"
"OK."
At that precise moment, the bistro door burst open with force, almost knocking the little bijou bell off its mountings, and two police officers purposefully marched in and went right up to the counter. Paul saw them before they entered and he froze. His face turned a deathly white as his heart did a double back flip in his chest. Ronnie had his back to the door and wondered what had just happened, until he saw the officers pass their table. Both of them were speechless and all they could do was sit like two waxworks models, it all happened so fast. The officers wanted to speak to Rebecca who came through from the kitchen to see them, and they showed her a photograph. "Have you seen this man recently please?" the first officer asked. "He has been working as a pickpocket in the area this week, and now some cars have been broken into in the car park along the road."
Rebecca studied the picture and said, "No. Sorry. I don't recognise him."
The officer continued, "We're sorry to have troubled you, but please be careful as 25
we think he may start to target local businesses. Please call us immediately if you spot him or anything suspicious in the area."
"Yes, certainly officer. Would you both like a drink?"
"No, thank you, we have many more calls to make," and they turned around and headed for the door, hesitating at Paul and Ronnie's table. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" the officer addressed Ronnie.
"No, I don't think so," Ronnie replied somewhat taken aback, "I don't live here."
"Hmm... your face is familiar. It'll probably come to me tonight in bed." And with that parting shot they left.
Paul started to explain to Ronnie, but he put his hand up right in his face, "No.
Stop. I don't want to know about you or the money. I operate on a 'need to know' basis and right now all I need to know is that there's five million dirty dollars in that case, and all you need to know is that there will be two and a half million clean Euros in it in a week's time. Now put it in here," and he opened his case.
Their coffee cups were still half full but he stood up and said, "We're leaving,"
and went up to the counter to settle the bill. Within seconds they were out the door, Paul walking back to the car park empty handed, and Ronnie walking to the helicopter with a few dollars in the case.
26
Paul reached the car park and realised that he hadn't even been away for an hour.
He was still on the free hour and had wasted his money which he could ill afford on a second hour's parking which he didn't need. He didn't even think twice that in a week he would be a millionaire. He actually believed that he might never see or hear from Ronnie Marsh ever again. And he couldn't report the theft of the money to the police if that happened. He drove back dejectedly to his trailer and Carla who was waiting for him.
Ronnie had a spring in his step like a Spring lamb. He was elated. He reached the helipad in twenty minutes, went straight to the helicopter and lodged the case in its secure location. He went over to the Portakabin they used as an office and paid for the services by credit card. Time for take-off, and after he completed all the pre-flight checks and lodged his flight plan by phone, he was off. As he pulled over the sparkling blue Mediterranean, a thought struck him. He could keep all of this money. There was no record of it anywhere and possession is nine tenths of the law. He had the devil on one shoulder telling him this. On the other shoulder was an angel with a halo pleading with him to stick to his word. I'm not a bad man, he thought to himself, but I have done a lot of bad things. This would be no different. At that, the devil slayed the angel with his sabre and held his hands up in triumph!
The sea was simply beautiful with the sun low on the horizon. It made him feel very humble and at the mercy of Mother Nature. The setting sun over the Spanish border just completed the feeling of well being. So much so that by the time he approached his home area, the angel had recovered and condemned the devil to a fiery hell. He was glad, as he had taken a liking to that young man. He saw some of his younger self in him -
hungry for money. He was singing away to himself as the villa loomed into his field of view. Then he stopped suddenly and he gulped as his heart jumped into his mouth and he took a bite out of it. There, parked on the villa forecourt were four cars of the Guardia Civil, the local police, and another two cars of the Servicio de Vigilancia Aduanera, the specialist force that deals with customs, tax evasion, and illegal financial transactions.
Some of the officers had dogs, and they were surrounding the villa, looking in windows and trying doors.
"Hells bloody bells and damnation!" Ronnie shouted out. "What the..." He immediately banked the helicopter and swooped northwards. They couldn't possibly know what he was up to, but it was definitely likely that they were investigating one or two or three of his former dubious activities. Ronnie had to think fast. He looked at the fuel gauge - half full. He decided to make a beeline for a private airfield that he had used before. He knew the owner and he was very accommodating. He maintained radio silence in case it was being monitored, and in twenty minutes he was touching down on the 27
tarmac of a deserted airfield in the desert. There was a Cessna single prop aircraft sitting outside a hangar, and a Twin Otter sitting at the side of the hangar. He noticed a floodlight come on outside the bungalow adjoining the airfield where the owner lived, and a man in blue overalls started to walk over.
"Hello Emilio," Ronnie shouted, waving to him.
"Heavens above. Where did you come from?"
"From up there," Ronnie replied, pointing at the sky.
"Ha ha ha!" laughed Emilio, "How are you my friend? It's good to see you. You didn't radio your arrival - naughty naughty!"
"It's a little bit delicate Emilio. I couldn't. Can I come in? I can explain."
"Yes my friend, come on in. Tessa will cook you a meal and we can do some catching up."
Ronnie removed the flight case from the helicopter and they both went into the house.
Over dinner, Ronnie explained the situation without going into too much detail.
"So you see Emilio, I need to lie low for a few days. Can I stay here? You'd be doing me a great favour and I'd be forever in your debt."
"I guess so," said Emilio. "That's a terrible situation to be in."
"You don't know the half of it," Ronnie added truthfully. "I'll phone my nearest neighbour, Johnny Paton, tomorrow. He's an ex-pat and we get on well together. He'll know what's going on."
"My home is yours, Ronnie. Please make yourself at home."
Meanwhile, Paul arrived back at the trailer and parked the pick-up in its space outside the boatyard shop. Carla came running out of the trailer in a panic. "Oh Paul, Paul, Paul, thank Heaven you're here. I'm terrified. It's awful. I've never been so frightened in my life. We've got to get out of here... now... anywhere... oh my God!"
"Whoa there," Paul said, holding his hand up, "calm down, calm down.
Whatever's the matter my love?"
"They've found us. THEY'VE FOUND US! Lorenzo's henchmen - they've FOUND US!" And she started to cry.
"How do you know? What's going on? How can you be sure?"
"He was here today. Right here, trying to get into the trailer. He was a horrible, vicious looking character, like a Mexican bandit with a droopy moustache and long dirty greasy hair. He kept looking through the windows and banging on the door shouting
'Come on out, you have the money, I want the money, you're going to die so throw the money out here. NOW, or I come in there and get it.' Oh Paul, we have to go now. Right now."
"But where can we go?"
"We can go to my Grandma's apartment. I still have a key. There's no furniture, 28
but we'll be safe there. Please Paul."
They hurriedly packed some things into rucksacks and locked up the trailer after checking no one was around. Holding hands tightly, they crept out of the boatyard onto the main road. It was a fifteen minute walk to the house, and they kept turning round to see if anyone was following them. Finally at the apartment, Carla opened the door and they went in to safety. Paul opened a tin of cold meat they took with them and made sandwiches with bread from his rucksack. He also took out a couple of cans of Coke and they sat down on the floor to have their simple meal, finishing off with two over-ripe apples that he rescued from the trailer.
They stayed there the whole week, only venturing out for cheap tins of food and milk, until it was time for the phone call from Ronnie Marsh telling them he had the money and their problems would all be solved. It never came. An extra day passed. It never came. Yet another day passed. It never came. Paul was distraught. Carla was terrified.
"That's it," Paul said, "I think we can say goodbye to the money. We've been conned. How could we be so stupid?"
"Not only that," Carla added, "we've got a desperate man after us for money we no longer have. We've had it. We've got to get away from here, far away from here, as far as we can," and she started to cry. Paul tried to comfort her, but all she could think about was grabbing their rucksacks and getting out of there. Paul phoned the boatyard and told Gilbert they were going away for a while, and asked him if he would take care of his boat meantime. Then they started making their plans, with absolutely no idea of where to begin.
29
During this time, Ronnie was still laying low at his friend's private airfield. He spent his time lying in the sun, drinking beer, lying in the sun, drinking beer, pottering about in the hangar, and drinking beer. The five million dollars was burning a hole in the airfield safe. Emilio hadn't asked the whys and wherefores behind the money. He knew his friend only too well, and he knew that with Ronnie Marsh anything was possible.
Best to ignore it.
Meantime Ronnie was getting more and more agitated over his inability to do anything about Paul's money. He needed access to his villa. He needed access to his laptop and paperwork in his safe, and finally he needed a meeting with his very accommodating bank manager in Madrid who was well versed in processing his 'unusual'
deals and was well recompensed for his trouble. Time to phone his neighbour Johnny Paton.
Johnny answered the phone on the twelfth ring just as Ronnie was about to hang up.
"Johnny, what gives, mate?"
"Ronnie? Ronnie, where the hell are you?"
"Never mind that, Johnny. How are things at the homestead?"
"How are things at the homestead, he says. How are things at the bloody homestead! Ronnie, the bloody place is crawling with fuzz! Bloody crawling! They've been here all week and now they've parked a bloody mobile control trailer in your entrance. What the hell's going on mate?"
"Johnny, I wish I knew. I saw them when I was coming in with the chopper so I made a quick diversion."
"Well, you better steer clear of here mate if you know what's good for you. Looks like you're a popular bloke with the law just now."
"Thanks Johnny, you're a pal. Keep an eye out and I'll phone you sometime later."
"Cheers mate."
Then Ronnie phoned his bank manager's direct line in Madrid.
"Pablo Velasquez speaking."
"Pablo, it's Ronnie. Ronnie Marsh."
"Ronnie, how are you my friend?"
"I've been better Pablo, I've been better. Listen, I need you to do me a very great favour."
"Stop right there Ronnie, before you say another word there is something you need to hear." Ronnie's heart sank.
"What is it Pablo?"
"I have had government inspectors here all week. They are very interested in your dealings. They have taken away records of all the proceedings that they can access.
30
Luckily they do not have any information about the Diamonde Drilling account in the Jamaican bank. I have that all encrypted."
"Hell's bells Pablo! This is a disaster. I've got a large sum here I need you to pay into it. Can you do it pronto?"
"No way Ronnie. It's more than my life's worth to touch any of your dealings just now. We're all being watched. Give it a few months and then get back to me."
"OK Pablo, I won't argue with you. Just keep me out of any investigations if you can."
"It's too late for that my friend. You are a marked man in Spain, and probably soon in the whole of Europe."
"Goodbye Pablo."
"Goodbye Ronnie."
Then Ronnie dialled Paul's number.
Paul and Carla were lying on the beach at a secluded little cove that only they, and very few other people, knew existed. The only other occupants were a family with two children and a dog playing with a beach ball at the other end of the sand. They had seen them here before, and knew that they stayed in the big house which had gates opening onto the beach from its garden. Lucky sods, Paul thought. In fact, right at this minute, he thought anyone was a lucky sod who didn't have vicious looking villain on his trail for money he no longer had. He looked at Carla. She looked at him. The looks said it all - what on earth are we going to do? Suddenly he heard his favourite song of the moment, Enrique Iglesias and Nadiya with "Tired of Being Sorry". It took him a few moments to come out of his trance and realise it was actually his phone ringtone. He jumped up with a start, looked at the display, pondered over the number which he didn't recognise, and then just managed to answer it before it was about to stop.
"Hello," he ventured tentatively, not giving anything away here.
"Hello," the voice at the other end of the line said, "is that Paul?"
"Who's asking?"
"It's Ronnie. Ronnie Marsh. You know who it is."
"Wow! Am I glad to hear from you! You've no idea. I thought we'd never hear from you again. I thought you'd gone off with the money for good. What a relief!"
"Is that all you think of me? Really? After all I've done for you? You think I'd do such a thing? I'm disappointed in you Paul. Very disappointed. I've a good mind to cancel the whole deal. Do you want me to do that?"
"No, no, no, please don't do that. We're at our wits end here. Somebody is trying to steal the money from us and they'll stop at nothing. We're in hiding 'cos we're in real danger. We've got to get out of here double quick. We need that money more than ever now so we can get far far away and start again. When can we meet? Tomorrow? Please make it tomorrow. We'll both be there so we can get on with our travels. It's OK - there will just be the two of us. Carla is my girlfriend."
"Ah, now..... well..... slow down a bit. There has been a bit of a hitch. Nothing too 31
serious. I still have your money, in its original form, with me here. It's safe, no problem there. The slight problem lies in the fact that I'm not able to change it right now. Just a minor setback. I hope I'll have it sorted soon, say in about two or three weeks. Just hold on and I'll call you then."
Paul was frantic. "No, no, that's no good. We need it now, NOW, do you hear, no later than tomorrow. Our lives are in danger, real danger if we hang around here. You have to help us. Please. I'm pleading. Everything hinges on this. Our lives are in your hands. Please don't leave us like this, I'm begging you."
"Now let's get this straight Paul. I don't take orders from anyone, and I don't HAVE to do what anyone tells me to do. I am the boss here, and you fit in with MY
plans, do you understand?"
"Yes, OK, I'm sorry. It's just that we are desperate. We HAVE to get out of here no later than tomorrow. The apartment we are using is being re-let tomorrow and we have nowhere to go with no money. Is there any way at all that you can help us? Please?
I'm asking nicely."
Ronnie was silent for a moment as he thought to himself. "I have a suggestion.
Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Can you get to Spain? I need you to come to the Mirabelle Airfield in Girona.
That's where I'm currently based. If you can get here tomorrow, I have a plan."
"We have no money for fares, but I do have an uncle who does a daily run to Spain with his truck carrying animal feedstuffs. I think we could hitch a ride with him.
I'll phone him now."
"Good. When you get to the locked gates at the airfield, phone me and I will come and let you in."
"We will, Ronnie. Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to us. We look forward to getting the money there. Bye."
"Bye. See you tomorrow, and don't let me down."
32
They spent their last night at Carla's grandma's old apartment and she felt sadness mixed with excitement. This was a huge turning point in her life, for good or bad. She was now on a roller coaster ride that she couldn't stop. Paul suddenly found that he had done a lot of growing up in the last week, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. But he was in this for the duration come what may, and he felt responsible for Carla. He phoned his uncle that night and found out he was leaving at 6 am for his run to Spain. He would pick them up at a Shell service station on the main route which was only a half hour's walk for them.
They woke at 5, had a quick wash, ate some stale fruit washed down by milk, and then set off to meet their lift. At the garage, they climbed aboard the truck and settled down to some more sleep. The journey progressed so well that Paul's uncle said he would have time to take them right to the airfield and drop them at the gate. He did this, and after they climbed down, he roared off in a cloud of dust.
Paul and Carla looked around them. There was a high chain link fence stretching as far as the eye could see in both directions. A double substantial mesh gate was in front of them, with double locks built into it, and as added security, a heavy chain looped through the two gates with a giant padlock securing it. There was a steel pole behind the gates with a CCTV camera pointing down at them. Other than that, the whole area was desert and scrub. A few sickly looking shrubs were struggling to survive and most of them had given up and were blowing along the dusty ground in the breeze. Paul and Carla looked at each other, and Paul said, "This is it. Here we are. No turning back."
Carla just smiled silently.
Paul took his phone out and dialled Ronnie's number. It went straight to voicemail. He immediately felt anger and frustration, and left a curt message to say they were there waiting at the gates. After half an hour in the burning sun, a white Nissan pick-up truck approached the gates on the other side, pulled up, and Ronnie got out. He approached the gates with a big bunch of keys and started to open the locks.
"Welcome to Mirabelle Airfield, come on in," he said, leading them to the truck.
Carla climbed in beside him and Paul climbed in the back. Nobody spoke on the short journey to the house. When they got there, before getting out Ronnie stopped the engine and said, "Now this place belongs to a good friend of mine and he is doing me a huge favour letting you stay here. We will only be here a few days while my helicopter is serviced, and then we shall depart on a long journey."
"Where to?" Paul asked.
"Scotland."
"Scotland? Why?"
"It's a long story. I'll tell you after dinner. Let's go inside."
33
After all the introductions were made, Ronnie spun a completely believable fictitious story to his hosts as to why Paul and Carla were there, and thanked them profusely for their generosity in putting them up for two nights. Then, after dinner, he took them through to his room.
"Sit on the bed, you two, and listen. This is important. You must follow these plans exactly and do as I say if you want your money. This is the only way. I have it all worked out."
"But when will we get the money?" Paul asked.
"Quiet please. No questions. Just listen. I told you there was a slight hitch. Well, actually, it's a major hitch. A massive hitch. A giant sized spanner in the works so to speak. Now, before I go any further just to show you I'm a fair man, I give you a choice.
You can take all of your money and leave now if you so desire, or you can hear me out and go with my plans. It's up to you. What will it be?"
"Can we hear your plans?"
“OK. Listen up. I'll keep it simple. At the moment, and until the foreseeable future, I cannot get access to my house where all of my paperwork and laptop is. Also my agent in Madrid who facilitates the transfer of funds to my offshore bank account has been compromised and cannot act for me. Do you follow so far?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now comes the difficult part. I have to get out of the country for an indeterminate period of time until all of this blows over, and the only chance you have of getting your money changed is to come with me. Understand?"
"Come with you to Scotland you mean?"
"Got it in one. We fly to Scotland in my helicopter with two stops on route to refuel, Ireland and the Mull of Kintyre. Then we join a good friend and colleague of mine at his home in Strathdee, Aberdeenshire, where he will provide us all with a safe haven and you will then have a chance to have your money changed, but maybe not all at the one time. After we get there, you will be free to start again and build a new life for yourselves. There is just one proviso. The previous deal still stands. The commission is 50%. This covers all of my services. Your accommodation here, the flight, your accommodation in Scotland for as long as you need it, and, most important of all, I shall be your financial manager when we get there. I will control all of the fund management and will issue you with clean cash as and when it can be arranged. How does that sound to you?"
Paul was quick to reply. "Yes. That's all good." He looked at Carla and she was smiling and nodding her head. "We have to get out of the country too, so we're with you."
"Good. It's a deal," and they shook hands. "Tomorrow you have a free day here while I get the helicopter serviced, and the following day we depart at dawn. Now off to bed the two of you."
34
The next day passed slowly. It was hot. Paul and Carla lay in the shade and tried to catch up on some lost sleep. Ronnie helped Emilio with the servicing of the helicopter.
In between times, he was on the phone to Frank Benson in Strathdee, his long suffering
'good friend and colleague' who he had mentioned the previous day. The phone call went something like this.
Ronnie: "Hi Frank. It's Ronnie. How's it going mate?"
Frank: "What do you want?"
Ronnie: "Oh come on Frank, be nice! Why are you always on the defensive?"
Frank: "Because every time you phone me it's trouble of some kind. What is it this time?"
Ronnie: "Frank, mate, old friend, colleague, I've got a corker of an opportunity for you."
Frank: "No."
Ronnie: "Come on Frank, hear me out."
Frank: "You've got two minutes."
Ronnie: "I'm coming up in three days Frank. In the chopper. I'll have two guests with me. You've to accommodate them. It's all tied in with a super deal which is going to line your pockets with some nice tax-free silver. OK?"
Frank: "I said no, and I mean no, and that's final. OK?"
Ronnie: "See you in three days."
The next morning after breakfast they climbed aboard the helicopter. Paul and Carla had never been in a helicopter before so this was a real adventure for them both.
The plan was to take off from the airfield, fly close to the Pyrenees north west to Bilbao, then head out over the Bay of Biscay and the Celtic Sea to a small private airfield at Donaghmore in the Republic of Ireland, where they would refuel and stay overnight. The next day they were to fly out to the Irish Sea and stay over the water all the way up to the Mull of Kintyre in Scotland. Another friendly private airfield was there at Machrihanish, and arrangements were made for refuelling and accommodation. The final leg of the journey was to fly up the Sound of Jura, enter Loch Linnhe and fly right up the Great Glen following the Caledonian Canal, and finishing with flying the entire length of Loch Ness. To avoid Inverness, they would fly east at the end of Loch Ness and keep to the low ground just south of Nairn. Then they would head south and come into Strathdee from the north, landing at the local gliding club airfield. Hopefully this whole route would avoid customs and officialdom. This was the biggest gamble as far as Ronnie was concerned.
The first leg of the journey went well with no incidents. They flew over some 35
beautiful scenery, and kept low enough so they could appreciate it, as well as staying under the radar and not attracting attention. Low flying helicopters were a common sight.
The airstrip at Donaghmore was something else. It was deserted. Nothing there except a wooden shed, presumably with a fuel pump inside it, and unbelievably, some cows grazing on the grass beside the runway. There was also the accommodation, a caravan with a notice stuck to the door saying 'Key on top of the wheel.' It was anchored down by car seat belts attached to huge metal eyes set in concrete. Also the fact that there were no trees to be seen somehow indicated that high winds were to be expected. Ronnie strapped the helicopter down to the metal eyes set into the apron, and then went into the caravan.
It was stocked with tins of beans, a loaf of bread, UHT milk, tea and coffee, and water was obtained from a standpipe outside. Carla made them all beans on toast with coffee, then they all had a good night's sleep.
Early the next morning, after beans and coffee for breakfast, Paul left some Euros in the honesty box. Ronnie went to fuel up the helicopter, and opened the rickety wooden shed expecting some kind of prehistoric hand driven pump. Instead, he was met with a modern state-of-the-art Tokheim dispenser with card payment facilities built into it.
They took off without having seen a soul for the entire visit. Heading out to the Irish Sea, they headed north, watching out for the Isle of Man. It eventually obligingly appeared, and a course was set between it and the Irish coast. The rest was plain sailing (or flying). Watching out for the bit of Scotland that sticks out at Stranraer, keeping between it and Ireland, then watching for the Mull of Kintyre lighthouse. After that, it was minutes to the airfield at Machrihanish.
On the face of it, this was a much bigger operation than the previous place - much bigger. It consisted of Campbeltown Airport and RAF Machrihanish, the military station which was now in the process of being run down prior to being sold off for commercial use. The compound Ronnie wanted was Western Isles Helicopters, a company engaged in the urgent transportation of goods and people throughout the Western Isles. He could slip in here early evening without attracting any untoward attention.
They landed, and walked up to a Portakabin office which looked deserted. Ronnie tried the door and it opened. Inside was a young girl of sixteen or seventeen, sitting on the desk playing a hand-held video game.
"Ah'm Rhona," she said in a broad west coast accent. "Are youse lot the pairty frae Ireland?"
"Yes, we are," Ronnie replied.
"Guid. Ah kin get awa' noo. Ma Dad left me tae greet ye and show ye whaur yer accommodation is. Go on ower tae that buildin', an' ye'll see a caravan roon' the back.
That's yours fur the nicht. There's food and water in it, and in the mornin' ye'll get fuel when we open. If that's a' OK, then Ah'm aff. Ah've got a date. Bye." And with that parting shot she locked the office, jumped onto a BMX bike with no brakes, and pedalled off at ferocious speed.
"What did she just say?" Ronnie asked.
36
"Don't ask us, we're French." Paul replied. "Was she speaking English?"
"A form of English I think. Anyway, she pointed at that building over there, and I heard the word 'caravan' mentioned, so let's tie the chopper down and investigate.”
They wandered over and found the caravan. It was superbly fitted out with clean bedclothes and towels. It even had a very efficient shower which they took turns at using.
After watching the little television for a while, they retired to bed for another good night's sleep.
The next morning, Ronnie was up first so he went out into the crisp bright morning to stretch his legs and look around. He wandered over to the Portakabin to find it open and a man sitting at the computer inside. "Oh hi," he said, "you must be Mr Marsh." All he had been told was that they were a business party on route from Ireland to Aberdeenshire in Scotland.
"Yes, that's right," Ronnie replied. "Nice little set-up you have here."
"Thank you. It's still quite new and we're hoping to expand. I'm Fraser McDonald by the way. I think you already met my daughter Rhona last night?"
"Your daughter? She doesn't sound anything like you!"
"Ah, she was born here you see. I'm an incomer, from Essex originally. I came up here on holiday, met a local girl, married her, and the rest is history."
Ronnie wasn't one for small talk, or anyone else's family history, so he moved on.
"Can I fuel up?"
"Yes, no problem. Whenever you're ready."
He gathered the others, got the helicopter refuelled, and in no time they were off.
The flight up the west coast of Scotland and over Loch Linnhe was truly spectacular. The whole of the Great Glen was awesome, and when they started to overfly Loch Ness, Ronnie called out for them to watch out for the Loch Ness Monster. They were convinced they saw it several times, but Ronnie pooh-poohed it saying it was most likely floating tree stumps. They didn't believe him, and decided there and then that they would go there as soon as they could to do some monster spotting.
Soon they reached the end of Loch Ness and veered east towards Nairn, keeping to the low ground to avoid the Cairngorm mountains. Past Nairn, they would keep the coast in view, and then past Elgin they would head south-east for Aberdeen, but keeping clear of Aberdeen Airport at Dyce and the city itself. The plan was to head south before then and pick up the River Dee. As soon as it was spotted, it was a piece of cake from there. Follow the River Dee west until the Strathdee Glider Club came into view.
Permission was granted to land there and park the helicopter there for as long as was necessary. A quick phone call to Frank should result in him picking them up in his Range Rover, then back to Strathdee, safety, and hopefully a whopping big meal!
37
Frank Benson (formerly Bentley) was sitting pretty these days. He did owe a lot to Ronnie for setting him up in his present situation. In fact, Ronnie had saved his skin from a very dangerous episode he got himself into 20 years previously.
Frank had owned a nightclub in Scheveningen, Holland, called The Mermaid Club. He had become very interested in offshore radio, and the fact that you could start a commercial radio station from a ship outside the territorial limit free from any laws, rules and regulations. He could promote his club and the artistes who appeared there on such a station, as well as making loads of money from the companies who would be lining up to pay for advertising time on it. He bought a redundant oil rig supply vessel, renamed it The Mermaid, and Mermaid Radio was born. He engaged a very keen young English guy called Dave Buckingham as his first deejay, and also Dave’s Austrian girlfriend Katharina as onboard cook, deejay, and publicity personality for the station.
Everything was fine for the first few months of its operation until one night a huge ocean going tug appeared and threatened to cut the ship’s anchor chain and tow it in to harbour. It was discovered that Frank didn’t have clear title to the ship as the sellers didn’t have clear title to sell it. Dave and another deejay, Canadian Tom Hammond, managed to escape in a motor boat to England, and Katharina was ashore to attend her father’s funeral. Frank had to abandon his nightclub and phoned his old friend Ronnie Marsh to help him. Ronnie arranged for him to come to his Spanish villa and hide out.
Meantime, Ronnie had guests staying with him from Scotland, and through a fortunate combination of taking advantage of a man’s nasty break-up with his wife, plying him with drink, and blackmailing a council official who was also staying there, Ronnie obtained a dying plant hire business in Aberdeenshire along with a local radio station, and all of the public works contracts from the council by way of the blackmail. It was one of his finest coups.
He also had a Russian girl staying with him illegally, and he forced Frank to marry her as part of the deal so she could get entry into the UK. Frank was to take over the running of the plant hire business and the radio station, thereby providing a laundry service for any dirty money Ronnie might acquire in his future dealings in case his fictitious company in Jamaica, Diamonde Drilling, was to face any problems. As it happened, Frank and Tamara fell in love and she stayed with him after the ‘wedding of convenience’. She played a very active part in the running of both businesses. Frank’s young deejay, Dave Buckingham, also managed to reach Strathdee and had been working there on the station for 20 years. After losing his girlfriend during the ship episode, he lost touch with her for nineteen years, and then by a pure fluke found her again, and found that he had a nineteen year old daughter to her. He also had an eighteen year old son to the lady who ran the local truck stop in the village. However, Frank took him 38
under his wing as the son he never had, and made him an equal partner in the radio station, along with giving him and Katharina a derelict cottage which he renovated for them as a wedding present when they married in 2007. Also, somehow, Ronnie had managed to take over Frank's nightclub. Everything in the garden was rosy, and they were all living happily ever after… and now a year later, Ronnie had barged in and made an unwelcome appearance.
Frank's phone rang, and rang, and rang. He had looked at the display and saw it was Ronnie.
"Leave it," said Tamara, his Russian wife. By then it had stopped and gone to voicemail.
"I'll need to answer it, love. He knows we're here and he's expecting me to go and pick them up."
"No, I don't want him here," she said emphatically, slipping into Russian.
"Pardon? In English please!" Tamara would always revert to her native tongue under stress.
"I do not want him here, or his friends. We do not need any trouble, and he is trouble."
"Tamara, my love, Ronnie is the reason we have all of this - the business, the house, the money, and most of all I have beautiful you because of him."
She looked at him with a look that always made him melt, pouting her lips and saying in a 'little girly' voice, "No, I definitely don't want him here, my darling, please,"
again in Russian.
"Come on, I told you IN ENGLISH!"
"I love you with all my heart, with all my soul, my sakharok. OK, my precious, you do what you think is best. You always do anyway."
The phone rang again, and this time Frank answered it. "Hello, Frank here."
Tamara cuddled in close to his face to hear the other side of the conversation, and she kept kissing his cheek and licking him, trying to put him off.
"Frank, me old mucker, great to hear you. Are you coming to pick us up? Can't wait to see you both. Honestly, can't wait."
"Hello Ronnie. I thought it would be you," and he tried to push Tamara off without success. "I'm just finishing dinner, but give me thirty minutes and I'll be there.
You're at the gliding club?"
"Yes. The chopper's all secured and locked up and we're all yours."
"OK, stay put and I'll be there soon."
They stood about waiting and wandering back and forward, over to the fence, over to the gate and back again. The main road was quite busy, and Ronnie could see that the presence of the helicopter and its occupants was causing quite a bit of interest as 39
various cars slowed down and necks craned as they passed. Ronnie knew all about the bush telegraph in this part of the world, and just hoped that they wouldn't be making headline news on tomorrow's front page in the local rag. Then, a police Land Rover slowed right down and stopped at the gate. A big stocky policeman eased himself out of it with some difficulty, and ambled over nonchalantly to the gate as only policemen can.
"Good evening sir," he said politely in a broad Aberdeenshire accent. "Now, what do we have here? It's a helicopter, isn't it?"
Ronnie came over to the gate and was tempted to give a sarcastic answer to the bleedin' obvious question, as he thought it was, then bit his tongue. "Yes, officer, it certainly is."
"I thought so, I thought so. I know one when I see one, but I've never seen one in the flesh before, as it were. Tell me sir, are you the owner of this... er... vehicle?"
"Yes I am. I can show you full documentation if you like. And I have full permission to park here."
"That's OK. That won't be necessary sir. How long are you staying sir?"
"I don't know yet officer. It may be a while."
"If you're leaving this thing outside here tonight, would you like me to keep an eye on it? I can patrol past here every hour or so."
Ronnie was taken aback by the friendliness. "Yes, officer, that would be fine if you're sure you don't mind."
"No problem at all sir. Tell me, does that thing... um... er... fold up?"
"Yes it does. The rotor can all fold together so it can go into a building."
"In that case sir, I'll phone Melvin, the owner of the premises, and make sure you can put it in the hangar tomorrow."
"I think that's all been arranged officer, thank you."
"I'll do it anyway sir. Melvin can blow hot and cold. He takes on too much and often forgets things. It's time he was retired. Don't tell him I said that though!"
At that precise moment, Frank pulled up at the gate in his Range Rover. "'Ello
'ello 'ello, wot's going on 'ere then officer?" He loved to say that to Constable Ian Fraser every chance he got.
"Very funny Frank," Constable Fraser replied sardonically. "Would you like me to breathalyse you, or check all your tyre tread depths? It's no problem you know. Happy to oblige."
Frank didn't want to get into another verbal tennis match with Constable Fraser as he usually lost. He just ignored him and turned to his guests. "Hi folks. Good flight?"
Constable Fraser cut in, "Oh, they're with you are they? I might have guessed it.
Anything to do with a helicopter, posh cars, or beautiful women and you know Frank Benson's not too far away."
"Ian, don't you have criminals to catch and lock up? Stop harassing innocent law abiding citizens, there's a good lad."
Constable Fraser climbed aboard his Land Rover with his tail between his legs and drove off.
40
"Yes thanks. The flights were perfect. Absolutely brilliant. I'll take you up for a spin Frank, you'll love it," Ronnie finally replied. “Now, let me introduce you to Paul and Carla. They're going to invest in our business. Nothing like a bit of international expansion, eh Frank?"
Frank was used to Ronnie's hot air. He knew to take everything he said with a very large pinch of salt. They all climbed into the Range Rover Sport and headed off to Strathdee. All the way back, Ronnie kept up a running dialogue of how he was presenting Frank with a golden opportunity, and how lucky they were to have two young and wealthy investors on board who were prepared to risk all of their funds in their businesses. He explained how part of the deal was to provide them with accommodation until their funds were fully integrated into the businesses, and how he would need to stay there himself for the foreseeable future until things became a little less 'uncomfortable' at his home in Spain. He never stopped talking for the whole twenty minute journey, as if he was doing a hard sell and his life depended on it.
When they came to the single track road that led up to Benson's Plant Hire at Mains of Clarty, Strathdee, Ronnie said, "Wait till you see this place folks. Quaint or what? You're about to see a farm complete with farmhouse, contractor's yard, and radio station all rolled into one. It's unique. There's nothing like it in the world. Aren't we lucky?"
41
They had gone into the farmhouse led by Frank. "Honey I'm back," he shouted.
No reply from Tamara. He ushered them into the well-worn lounge and onto the well-worn sofa with its stuffing and springs trying to escape. Ronnie gave the place a look of disdain and muttered, "Quaint!"
Frank stuck his nose round the kitchen door and spotted Tamara at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan. He went up behind her, gave her a squeeze and kissed her neck.
"Don't think you will get round me that way. I told you I didn't want him here. I expressly told you, and what do you do? You bring that little piece of doggy poo into my house, and not only him but a couple of strays as well. Are you stupid or something?"
"Honey, honey, honey, you know I didn't have a choice. We're only here because of Ronnie, and you know it was him who brought us together, and you know I love you, love you, love you, my little honey flower, you are my pride and joy, my precious toy, and anything else that rhymes with toy that I can't think of right now! And something smells superb. What are you making for us? A traditional Russian dish?"
"Ha! Now that just shows how stupid you are. It's a traditional Scottish dish, mince and tatties." Then she turned around with the stirring spoon and let him lick it.
After that they kissed, and everything in the garden was rosy.
Tamara served the meal and was the perfect hostess, to Frank's surprise. Ronnie asked them where they would be staying that night, and Tamara said she had put fresh bed linen and towels in the caravan that Dave and Katharina used to stay in, and had a fan heater running all afternoon in it to dry it out. They could stay there meantime until they knew what their plans were.
After dinner, Frank walked with them up the forest track to the caravan which was located at a wide part of the track beside the woodman's cottage where Dave Buckingham and his Austrian wife Katharina lived. Dave was Frank's 'adopted' son, and part owner of the radio station, Strathdee FM. Dave and Katharina had lived in the caravan until Frank renovated the cottage and gave it to them as a wedding present. The caravan had moss growing on it and only one wheel, with a stack of breeze blocks supporting it where the other wheel should be. However, it was cosy and would do meantime.
Frank and Ronnie settled Paul and Carla into the caravan, and then Ronnie beckoned Frank outside and over to a fallen tree where he indicated him to sit. Then he spoke.
"Time I laid it on the line, me old mucker. I owe you the truth. I'm in the 42
proverbial shit, not ankle deep, not knee deep, but up to my neck in it this time. I need your help to get out of it. Badly. There must be a way out. Two heads are better than one.
What do you say?"
"You know Ronnie, you're your own worst enemy sometimes..... most times!
You're never content with what you have. Good grief man, how old are you now? The wrong side of fifty? Why do you keep putting yourself through these things? You're almost a pensioner! You better give me all the details, every last one."
And he did. For almost an hour, sitting on that log. Then Frank replied after a long silence, "For God's sake, keep this quiet from Tamara. She must never know anything about this, do you hear? Where's the money now?"
"Under my bed in the caravan."
"Well, it can't stay there. Tomorrow we'll put it in the house safe. Tamara is going out with two of her friends for a coffee morning. I'll let you know when the coast is clear.
What's going to happen with the other two?"
"Their future's in my hands Frank. I need to get this sorted bloody quick. I want them out of my hair so we need to find a way out of this tomorrow. Keep the whole day clear because you and I are on a mission, mate."
"Hey, just a minute, how has this suddenly become 'you and I'?"
"Frank, Frank, Frank. Don't give me grief. Who was it who saved you're skin and got you out of your massive mess that you got yourself into? Eh? Remember? It's payback time Frank - payback big-time," and he put his arm around Frank and gave him a hug. Frank accepted it with gritted teeth. They said goodnight. Ronnie went into the caravan and Frank strolled at snail's pace back down to the track to the farmhouse, with the whole world on his shoulders.
Ronnie didn't sleep well that night. His mind was working overtime, brewing all sorts of schemes to get the money changed and back into circulation. Tomorrow he would call into the local bank and sound them out. Maybe a little country branch like that could do a fund transfer to Jamaica without raising suspicion? Who was he trying to kid.
All they would be used to is the local small businesses paying into their accounts. This would be an epic earth shattering occurrence should he be stupid enough to initiate it.
No, that was out of the question. Looked like he was stumped. Ronnie Marsh stumped?
No, never.
43
Strathdee was one of those places which was everything to everybody. There were the usual old derelict buildings and yards that nobody knew the owners of any more. Then there were the newly built mini industrial units and workshops in a little business park down by the river, now mostly occupied by double glazing contractors, painters, joiners, a one-man car repair garage, and believe it or not, a financial advisor and mortgage consultant. On the Main Street, there were the traditional baker, butcher, newsagent and tobacconist, and a general store owned by an Asian gentleman.
Supermarkets had not yet made an inroad into Strathdee. At the eastern end of the village was the garage and petrol station which always had about half a dozen used cars for sale on the forecourt, and a large yard at the rear where three twenty-year-old buses were parked. Only one of them was mobile, the other two being constantly stripped for spares to keep it going for the school run. The forecourt shop sold everything from tins of beans to sweets, cigarettes, souvenirs, and even flowers, the last minute saviour of many forgotten anniversaries!
Dead in the centre of the village in a prominent position was the Station Hotel, and it was owned by Frank. He had bought it years before from the couple who owned it and had let it slip so badly that they were in danger of bankruptcy. Frank kept them on as managers and spent a lot of money on upgrading the hotel so that now it was as good as you'd get.
Just outside the west end of the village was Tammy's Truck Stop. It nestled on the edge of a pine forest, giving it a magical Alpine appearance, and it had a large forecourt which could accommodate trucks and cars. Frank owned the Truck Stop too. He bought it from Tammy when she was almost going bust, and he kept her on as manager. She lived in two trailers behind the cafe. Frank spent a fortune on the Truck Stop to upgrade it, and he started to have live entertainment with Country and Western bands appearing regularly from Aberdeen. This was a great success and it became a firm favourite with American oilmen from the oil capital, Aberdeen. Tammy also had a nineteen-year-old son to Dave Buckingham, twins to the vending machine repair man, and a daughter to Archie Murdoch, the truck driver with Benson's Plant Hire. Yes, this was just a simple little Scottish village!
Strathdee FM, the radio station which Frank and Dave both owned equally was based in a Portakabin in the farmyard at Mains of Clarty, the base of Benson's Plant Hire, and their home. It was operated by volunteers, and Frank and Dave even got paid by the government for providing work placement training facilities. It was a very popular station, and the numbers of listeners in the area it served easily surpassed the big corporate owned station in the city whose signal also reached Strathdee. It also beat the BBC for listeners.
44
In the summer the area was awash with tourists as this was Royal Deeside. The Queen's Balmoral Castle was just along the road. In the winter the area was deserted and very often buried under snow.
And now Ronnie Marsh had been unleashed into it.
45
Ronnie was flying the helicopter over a deserted moorland. Following him in hot pursuit was a vicious-looking attack helicopter with guns blazing. He kept taking evasive action and it kept following. Every time he swooped one way or the other it followed, and the flight case slid across the floor, crashed into the side, and a handful of the dollars flew out into the path of the attack helicopter, it's blades chopping them up into confetti.
He was shaking and whimpering, and then his chopper took a hit from the pursuer's machine guns. Fuel started to spray from a tank and warning lights were flashing accompanied by buzzers buzzing. He was over an expanse of water and losing height, so he decided to ditch. The water came up to meet him, and with an almighty impact the aircraft plunged into the water, its rotor sending plumes skyward until the engine was swamped and suddenly died.
Ronnie let out a yell and suddenly sat upright in bed. "Oh my God, Oh my dear Lord," he panted, sweating and quivering. "That was bloody awful, terrible! What a bloody nightmare!" It was 6 am so he got up. "What have I got myself into?" he whispered. "I've got to get this sorted somehow. But how?"
He made himself coffee and some toast, then walked outside into the morning dew. He decided to walk, and walk, and think, and think. He covered every inch of Strathdee in two hours. He walked the entire riverside walk, then cut up to the village and came back in a zig-zag pattern up and down every lane and path. This was a very nice place, he thought. Pity he couldn't enjoy it.
By the time he got back to the caravan, he had formulated a plan. Paul and Carla were up and eating breakfast. "Hi you two," he chirped, trying to sound upbeat.
"Oh hi Ronnie. You were up very early," Carla replied.
"Well, you know what they say about the early bird."
"What do they say about the early bird?" Carla asked with a puzzled expression.
Ronnie lost his enthusiasm quickly, and couldn't be bothered explaining. "Oh, it's just a stupid saying. Not important."
Carla just made a sarcastic smile which he didn't even notice. Paul was immersed in his phone.
"What is important," Ronnie continued while he had her attention, "is what we're going to do with this money. I have a plan."
Carla stood to attention. Paul looked up quickly, and suddenly he had their full attention. They stood there looking at him expectantly.
"We're going into the city tomorrow. This is 'Oil City', Aberdeen. This city is used to handling large sums of money so we're going to blag it. I am going to be Mr Ronald Marsh, Chief Executive Officer of Diamonde Drilling, an offshore drilling company which actually does exist and is based in Jamaica. You, Carla, are my PA, that is personal 46
assistant. Paul, you are Technical Director. Now we need to look the part, so I am going to go with jeans, a white shirt and tie, and a high visibility insulated fluorescent coat.
Paul, you will wear a pair of bright orange coveralls same as they wear on the rigs. And Carla, we will need to see if Frank can rob Tamara's wardrobe for a smart business suit.
"Then we are going to borrow Frank's Range Rover and we are going to pull into a visitor's space in the car park of the biggest mainstream bank in the city, go inside, introduce ourselves, and then make an enormous deposit into Diamonde Drilling's Jamaican account via their front counter. We will be happy to pay any fees resulting from this transaction. We've got to just go for it guys."
"We are completely in your hands Ronnie. But this does sound like fun!" Carla smiled.
Ronnie returned her smile and continued. "There's just one small thing I need you to do my dear before we do this."
Carla's smile evaporated and she said, "What?"
"We are going to pay a visit to a large travel agent in the city. You are going to be a French/American PA whose boss is over here on oil business. You will go up to their bureau de change desk and request a change of $500 into pounds sterling. You will take a mixture of notes from the pile of money so we will see if any of it is forged, has recorded serial numbers on their database, or any other impediment. If it looks like there is a problem, you will wing it, saying that you must find a toilet immediately - you know, change of water change of food - and then you fly straight out of the door into the Range Rover and we fly off double quick. Otherwise, if it all goes smoothly, you thank them politely, take the changed money and leave in a leisurely and professional manner and we drive off carefully and sedately. You got all that?"
They all looked at each other and nobody said anything. Ronnie was the first to speak. "Well?" he said.
"I think this sounds like a very good idea," said Carla, I think it might work. At least it is worth a try."
Then Paul broke his silence. "If we don't get arrested and locked up in the process. I would rather you two just get on with it and leave me out of it."
Ronnie got annoyed. "Do you not want your share of the money? Do you not want to be rich? Do you want to be a coward all of your life? If you don't want to take part, then you can just go now. Go on - pack a bag and take to the road. Hitch hike into oblivion and get on with your pathetic little life. It'll be all the more for us. Are you a man or a mouse?"
Carla was quite taken aback by this outburst. "Paul, Paul darling, think of us.
Think of our future. The whole world is before us." She went up to him and gave him a squeeze and a kiss.
"I am. I'm thinking of our future behind bars!"
They sat around and talked over the plan for a couple of hours. Carla was very cooperative, but Paul kept trying to blow it to pieces. Ronnie decided to try some reverse 47
psychology on him and told him it was good that he was trying to find out the flaws in it now before they put it into action. This caught Paul by surprise, and he started to have renewed interest in the whole thing, offering ideas on how to improve it. When they were finished, Ronnie went down to the farmhouse to see if Frank could help with the hi-viz coat and overalls. He had already smuggled a business suit for Carla from Tamara's wardrobe while she was sleeping, and he said that Tammy down at the truck stop could help with the other items. Her ex 'common law' husband had worked on the rigs but deserted her long ago for a Norwegian female he stayed with in Stavanger on his weeks off. After what she called her 'common law' divorce from him, she still had a lot of his stuff stored in sheds behind the truck stop. She always said that if he ever tried to come back for it, she would shove it up his 'common law' backside! You knew where you stood with Tammy!
For the rest of the day, Carla and Paul took off down the village to explore, and Ronnie went down to the farmhouse and started to shadow Frank everywhere he went, much to his consternation. When he followed him up the stairs to the bathroom, Frank got really annoyed. "For God's sake man, can I not get a minute to have a pee?"
"Sorry mate, sorry. I didn't know you were going there."
"Where the hell did you think I was going? To have a lie down?" Frank shouted through the bathroom door as he finished and washed his hands.
"No, no, yes, no. Hell, I don't know. Frank, I'm all over the bloody place. I've never been in this much shit and not been in control. My house is under siege, the cars are sitting there, the horses will starve to death unless these government guys do something about it, and it looks like I'll never be able to go home again. And the worst bit? I've got millions sitting in your safe and I can't use it. That's it mate. The end. I'm all washed up."
"Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie. This isn't the Ronnie I know. Come on, mate, you'll find a way out of this. You've got a plan. Just do it. I know you can. It'll all work out. I know it will, you're the maestro."
"I used to be, Frank, but we're all getting too old now. Look at you, I envy you, all set up nicely with the businesses and a lovely wife, you've got it made you lucky sod.
I'm gonna retire after this, I've had enough of living on the edge. I could fall of the perch tomorrow with all this stress. It's not good for a bloke."
"You've still got your nightclub in Scheveningen mate, well, my old nightclub actually, don't you forget it! But you're welcome to it, after all, you got me out of a terrible jam."
"Yeah, the nightclub. I phoned them and they're doing all right. That's one saving grace I suppose. OK mate, I'll get out of your hair. I'll go and have a lie down in the caravan."
"Yes, you old codgers need your afternoon naps," Frank quipped.
"Cheeky sod," said Ronnie, and gave Frank a playful punch on the shoulder as he left.
48
Ronnie went back to the caravan, made some coffee, then settled down in front of the little portable television to watch an old Ironside episode with thick snow all over the picture. He eventually gave up when the picture faded right out and he turned on the radio. He fell asleep on the sofa bed to the sound of Dave Buckingham on Strathdee FM.
49
The next morning dawned bright and clear. They all got up early, full of purpose and ready for a day that should decide all of their futures. After a quick breakfast, they all got kitted out in their clothes for the day's project, and they looked just like a typical team from a drilling project. Could they pull it off?
Ronnie drove Frank's Range Rover out of the farmyard and down the track to the main road. They left the village and headed out on the open road to Aberdeen. Everyone was silent, and Strathdee FM was playing on the radio. The flight case with the money was on the rear seat beside Paul, while Carla had the debatable honour of sitting in the front beside Ronnie, looking the part of a high-flying PA to perfection.
They entered the city of Aberdeen - the Granite City - and they were all very impressed by the cleanliness and solidity of the buildings. This place is built to last, thought Ronnie. He followed the signs to the city centre, and eventually reached Union Street, the main thoroughfare. All of the big High Street stores were here, including one of the mainstream travel agents. Ronnie pulled up outside it on double yellow lines and looked at Carla.
"What have you got in your handbag my dear?"
"Five hundred dollars," was her answer.
"What are you coming back with?"
"The equivalent in pounds sterling."
"Good girl. Now go to it tiger!"
Carla nervously opened the car door, got out, and stood looking around before going into the travel agents. As she entered, she saw the Bureau de Change desk on her right. She went up to the counter and was met by a smiling girl. "Can I help you madam?"
"Yes please, I would like to change some dollars into sterling."
"How much would you like to change?"
"Five hundred."
After tapping the amount into her keyboard, the assistant told Carla the equivalent amount in sterling and asked, "Is that OK madam?"
Carla replied with a smile, "Yes, that's fine."
"I'll have that ready for you right away,"the girl said. This is going very smoothly, Carla thought. Then...
"Can I have your name and address please?"
Carla froze. "Why do you need that?"
"It's procedure," the girl said, "and I will require to see your passport to verify identification please."
Carla was not expecting that, and she became very flustered. This aroused the assistant's suspicions and she said, "Please wait there madam, I will need to get my manager."
50
That was enough for Carla. She rushed out of the shop in a panic, dived into the Range Rover and shouted at Ronnie, "Drive, DRIVE! NOW!"
Ronnie reacted immediately, firing up the big 4.5 litre V8 and flooring the throttle. "What the hell's up? Did you rob them?"
Carla was in tears and spluttered, "N... n... no, I, they wanted my address and passport. I panicked. I had to go. Oh Ronnie, I'm wetting myself!"
"Bloody hell, no, not in Frank's car, you bloody better not!"
Ronnie didn't know where he was going, but he reached the River Dee and followed the road alongside it. Eventually he spotted a park. The sign said 'Duthie Park', and he drove into the car park and pulled up in a vacant space. The sun was shining, and mothers were unloading children from cars and strapping them into buggies, dog owners were unloading their pets and putting their leads on them, and Ronnie, Carla and Paul all stepped out of the car and breathed in the cold fresh Aberdeen air. Strangely enough, they didn't look out of place in Oil City. They wandered over to a tea and coffee stall and Ronnie ordered them all coffees. Back they went to the car and sat on the wall to drink them.
"Well, that was great, wasn't it? What a bloody disaster!" Ronnie was the first to break the silence. "I'm not giving up, we'll go on to the bank next. I'll do all the talking this time."
Without wasting any more time, they drove to the main city branch of the National Bank of Scotland and parked in a visitor's space in the car park. All three of them walked briskly up the marble steps and through the opulent glass entrance doors.
Inside, everything seemed to be made of granite and marble. Exotic pot plants abounded, and vases of fresh flowers decorated all the window sills. There was a vacant space at the counter and the teller beckoned them over. "How can I help you sir?" the teller asked Ronnie.
"Umm, yes, er, I would like to transfer some money to our company's overseas account please. It's a straight forward cash transaction."
"Certainly sir," the girl said with a warm smile, "how much is to be transferred?"
"Five hundred thousand dollars," Ronnie answered.
"Can you give me your account number please?"
"Yes, it's with the Jamaican National Bank and it is 4493..." and she stopped him right there with a raised hand.
"No sir, I mean your account number with us."
"I... umm... don't have an account with you. Is that a problem?"
"I'm afraid it is sir. We can only conduct a transaction like that with one of our account holders. Do you not have an account with a UK bank?"
"Er... no," Ronnie stumbled. "We are just taking over a drilling operation in the Forties Field and haven't got that set up yet. Can you not help us now and we shall open a company account straight away? We need that money into the company funds for the day-to-day operations of the project."
"I'm afraid it is not as straight forward as that sir. You can apply to open an account, but you will need references, submit full company details including registration 51
details, give a prediction as to the level of transactions that will be handled, and any other details that may be required by our assessment team. And it is not a forgone conclusion that the application will be successful."
Ronnie was gobsmacked. "And how long does all of this take?"
"Normally about three weeks. If you are going to use us for large cash deposits and transfers, perhaps longer as we need to establish the integrity of the funds. You can't be too careful these days, and our customers wouldn't expect anything less that a fully intensive scrutiny of origins and destinations of large amounts. Do you understand, sir?"
"Good God woman, you make it sound like an airport terminal! I'm going to give you hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of business, possibly millions, and you're turning your nose up at it? I can't believe it!"
The girl ignored his outburst. "Now sir, would you like me to arrange a corporate meeting with our management team?"
Ronnie knew when he was beaten. "No, thank you, that won't be necessary. We'll go somewhere else. Somewhere that appreciates our business."
"You will find the same requirements wherever you go sir, but if that's what you want, goodbye."
That sounded so final, so Ronnie said goodbye and they left.
They were sitting in the car in silence in the bank's car park when a man in a suit came out of the front door, looked around, spotted them, and started to walk over. Ronnie took fright, started the engine, and swiftly pulled out of the car park and into the city traffic. "Let's go home," he said glumly.
52
They drove up the track to the caravan at walking pace, all of them with their tails between their legs, totally deflated.
"What now?" Paul asked.
"I don't know about you," Ronnie answered, "but I'm going out to get smashed tonight. The answer might be in the vino. What have we got to eat?"
Carla replied, "Just some packets of Super Noodles."
"Great. I'll have that. It'll be a good foundation for the booze."
After the convenience meal, Ronnie said goodbye to Carla and Paul, who were going to have a quiet night in, and headed down to the farmhouse to see Frank. He was carrying Tamara's business suit in a carrier bag with the intention of slipping it to Frank surreptitiously at the door. The big cast iron knocker was hanging at an angle by one screw on the peeling front door. Ronnie knocked on it, frightened that it would drop onto his foot and amputate a big toe. Frank answered the door in a silk dressing gown.
"Oh, very suave," Ronnie observed, "you look like the landed gentry.
"I like to take care of my appearance, even when you're not around. What can we do you for?"
"Here, take this," Ronnie whispered, slipping Frank the carrier bag. Frank took it and hung it on the coat hooks on the wall inside his big waxed jacket. "The whole day's been an unmitigated disaster from beginning to end. I just want to go out for a pint or six, want to come?"
"Oh, I don't know, we're all settled in here for the night."
"Aw, come on mate, we haven't had a drink together for yonks. You can show me the best watering hole. What about that truck stop? They have live music, don't they?"
"Yeah, they do. And Tammy told me there's a band from Texas playing tonight.
The Palominos I think they're called. They're supposed to be pretty good. Some big Texas oilman brought them over and they're also appearing in Aberdeen."
"Excellent! Sounds like a plan! Can we take the Range Rover?"
"Ah, all you're wanting is a chauffeur! I might have known!"
"Not at all. Not at all. We'll take a taxi. Call for one now."
Frank looked Ronnie straight in the eye. "This is Strathdee, mate. Not Mayfair.
We'll take the car. If we get sloshed, someone will give us a lift home in a truck or a tractor, and we can pick up the car tomorrow."
"OK, let's do it. I'll just tell Tamara we're off for the night," and he grabbed his wax jacket from the hook. "Oops, better put this bag in the car tonight. I'll sort it out tomorrow," and he threw Ronnie the car keys while he went to talk to his wife. Frank came out and joined Ronnie who was already in the Range Rover. "Are you sure you want to have an evening's Country and Western? If you prefer, we could go to the Station Hotel, shoot some pool, and rub shoulders with the village worthies who'll be propping 53
up the bar. I own both joints, so it's all profit in our pockets either way."
"No, mate, the truck stop's fine. Anyway, I've heard so much about this fine lady who runs it."
"Ah yes, the lovely Tammy, the pride of Strathdee. You best be prepared mate, she'll eat you for starters before the evening begins. Be warned!"
As they approached the truck stop, Ronnie was impressed. "Hey Frank, this place is magic! Just look at the location, nestling in a pine forest, looks kinda like an Alpine lodge."
"I've been lucky with what it's cost to do it up. That sign cost me 250 pounds at an auction, new price 3,000 pounds. The resurfacing of the car park cost nothing - our own Benson's Plant Hire did it for free, and the local council provided the tarmac from a school playground job we had a surplus on. A slight mistake in the ordering, and you can't take it back! And I got the whole place redecorated by work experience kids and some community service bad boys who couldn't afford their fines. It's all about planning, and some luck thrown in."
"I envy you Frank. There I am sunning myself with cocktails and women beside my pool in Spain, with my horses, helicopter and sports cars, and here you are living life to the full doing proper stuff, meeting proper people and doing proper deals. If I can't return to Spain, this could be just the change I need."
A cold chill ran right up Frank's spine, his shoulders gave an involuntary shudder, and the little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was the last thing he needed, to have Ronnie Marsh intruding on his idyllic country life.
They parked the car and went into the truck stop. On the stage a motley collection of scruffy looking individuals were setting up a drum kit, amplifier and speakers. Ronnie thought they must be the roadies. Boy, they were scruffy. Their jeans were ripped and impregnated with oil and diesel by the smell of it, their long lank hair looked like the cats had sucked it, and overall, they looked like something the cats had dragged in. They swore at each other and argued about the placing of the equipment, in between swigging mouthfuls of beer from the bottles and farting. Frank and Ronnie went for the only free table left, but before they reached it a big guy in a Stetson hat got there before them and sat down. He spotted them looking at the three remaining seats and gestured them to take them. They smiled at him and sat down.
"Hi. I'm Ritchie Allman," he said in a bright all-American way.
Frank introduced them. "I'm Frank Benson, and this is my friend Ronnie Marsh.
You come here often?"
"No. First time. I'm kinda managing the boys here," and he waved his arm in an arc at the stage. "I've brought them over from Texas to play Aberdeen. It's their first time.
They're darned good you know. Wait till you hear them."
"That's... them?" Frank asked, incredulously.
"Yeah, that's them. Aren't they great lookin'? I heard about this place. Some guy took it over and spent a fortune on it to attract the big Country acts. I thought it'd be ideal 54
"Yes, thank you very much," Frank replied, "we'll have two pints of Belhaven.
That OK Ronnie?"
"Yes, fine by me."
Ritchie called the waitress over, who just happened to be Tammy. She came over immediately, always keen to approach a table where there were men. "Now gentlemen, what can I get you?" she asked, as she leaned over forcing her cleavage into view.
Ritchie ordered three pints of Belhaven, then added, "And can I have a JD chaser?
Make it a double. Gents, would you like a whisky chaser?"
"That's very kind of you. Yes, we'll have a couple of Glenmorangies, said Frank.
"Make 'em doubles too," added Ritchie.
"Coming right up," smiled Tammy, then added, "you're new, aren't you?" looking at Ronnie. "And you're not! You're barred from here," she laughed, giving Frank a big hug and a kiss. "Just joking my loon," she quickly added, "but aren't you going to introduce me to this handsome friend of yours. I know the other guy, he's with the band."
"Tammy, I'd like you to meet Ronnie Marsh, a business associate of mine," Frank said, very formally.
Tammy held out her hand, and when Ronnie went to shake it, she made it quite clear she meant him to kiss it. He did so, and became a bit flustered.
"Wait a minute..... hold on there..... are you the guy with the helicopter the whole village is talking about?" she blurted out.
"Well..... yes..... I am. How did you know?"
"This is Strathdee. Everybody knows EVERYTHING!"
Frank cut in, "Tammy, get the drinks. Now."
"Yes big boss. Sorry sir, yes sir, three bags full sir!"
Ritchie was taking all this in. "Helicopter? Boss? What gives guys?"
Frank took over. "OK, I own this place, so technically I'm her boss. And Ronnie has flown in from Spain in his helicopter for a well earned break here. Now you're up to speed, let's chill out and enjoy the music."
Once the band got into their set, Frank said, "These guys are good. This is exactly the kind of thing I want for this place. How did I not hear about them?"
"Well," said Ritchie, "your lovely lady Tammy got talking to me in a McDonald's in the city and we arranged it between us. She is the manageress, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is, and she never fails to surprise me."
"Well, there you are. Let's enjoy the music and have another drink Same again?"
"My shout," said Frank, jumping to his feet.
By this time, Tammy was extremely busy at the bar so Frank went up to get the drinks and had to wait a while. Ritchie smiled at Ronnie and asked, "So, on vacation, eh?"
"Well, not exactly. It's kind of a working holiday, if you know what I mean."
"No, I don't. Tell me more."
"It was a last minute decision. I can't go into details, but it was a matter of necessity."
55
"Now you've got me interested. What could be so urgent?"
"You wouldn't believe me, so let's just leave it there."
Ritchie knew when to stop, so when Frank returned with the drinks they just sat back and enjoyed the great music. After a few more rounds, Frank got up to go to the toilet and Ronnie slumped over the table with his head in his hands.
"Hey man, too much booze? Wanna break? Glass of water? Some fresh air?"
Ronnie wearily looked up at him. "No, I need a lot more than any of that. I'm well and truly in the mire, past my neck."
"Wow! That sounds ominous. Anything a new friend can help with?"
"No. Not unless you can change a large amount of US dollars into sterling."
"Really? That would be easy-peasy for me. How big an amount?"
"Five million."
"Five million? Really? Five million green-backs? Is that all? Is it clean?"
"That's just it, we don't know. Maybe, maybe not. And what do you mean is that all? Are you a banker or a financier?"
"Ha ha! No," Ritchie laughed, "better than that. I'm in oil. My company owns a couple of rigs. One's working out in your little pond, the North Sea right now, and the other one's laid up in the Cromarty Firth under care and maintenance waiting for work. It costs nearly a million dollars a day to keep these two babies going. Right now, things aren't looking too good with the downturn in North Sea oil, and the company's losing money. They're talking about rationalising, and you know what that means - I could be out. Hell, I built the darned company, but it's all corporate stuff now and people don't matter any more. I don't have a say in what happens and I'm thinking of baling out, but right now I'd lose too much. Are you for real with this dough? Is it readily to hand?"
"Oh it's to hand all right, just sitting there looking for somewhere to go."
By now, Frank had stepped outside to enjoy a cigar and got talking to some people he knew. Ritchie slid his chair over closer to Ronnie, then looked around him on both sides as if everyone was eavesdropping. He put his mouth up to Ronnie's ear and said, "Listen to me. I can change your money for you, no problem. We have amounts more than that going back and forward in the company's account all the time. It's chicken feed. Would you be up for it?"
Ronnie sobered up pretty damned quick and he was suddenly alert. "Did you just say what I thought you said?"
"Yep. I sure did. Piece of cake to me. Just say the word."
"The word is yes. YES!"
"OK, there is one condition. It's called commission."
"That's fine, just say your figure."
"50%"
Ronnie was now fully sober! "Did you just say 50%?"
"Sure did. It's easy, but it's a high risk transaction due to the dubious source of the dosh. High risks cost high money. And I need a little nest egg so I can quit the company."
"OK, I'll need to think about it. There are another two people involved who I need to consult."
56
Ritchie became forceful, "Well don't think too long, and DON'T tell anybody else where this offer is coming from, understand? I do have ethics. Here's my card. Call me on the cell phone tomorrow with a 'yes' answer."
"OK, thanks. I'm sure it will be a 'yes'". And at that point Frank came in.
"Hey you two, sorry about that, I got kind of involved with someone I knew outside. Have I missed much?"
Ronnie said, "No, not much. Just some great music. Anyway, can we go now? I'm just about sleeping."
"Yeah, hang on," Frank replied, "I'll give Dangerous Dan a shout, he's just in the bog. He's offered us a lift back in his truck. We can come back for the car in the morning."
"Dangerous Dan?" Ronnie looked terrified. "Is that a good idea? Why's he called Dangerous Dan?"
"Because his name's Daniel."
"No, it's the 'Dangerous' bit I'm worried about."
"Oh, that only refers to his antics with a chain saw. We'll be all right. Don't worry," and with that they got up to leave. Tammy spotted them and came over. "Are you leaving already? Is anything wrong?"
"No, not at all," Frank replied. "Everything's fine. It's been a wonderful night.
We're just a bit tired."
"Aw, shame," Tammy whined, with a hurt look. "I thought we could maybe have had a lock-in when everyone had gone. I'd love to get to know your friend," and she gave Ronnie a big smile. Frank had experience of Tammy's 'lock-ins', and he didn't want to go there tonight. When Dangerous Dan appeared, they left.
On the way back to Mains of Clarty, Ronnie and Frank shared the front seat of Dan's Mitsubishi L200 pickup with a five litre can of chainsaw oil, two weeks' editions of The Sun newspaper, a half-eaten cheese sandwich, a pair of overalls impregnated with diesel, three petrified apple cores and an enormous German Shepherd, which had to sit on Frank's lap, and insisted on licking his face. They were never so glad than when they reached the end of the track up to the farm. "Just drop us here," Frank said. "The walk up will do us good."
When they got out, the dog wanted to come with them, but Dan got out and rounded it up after it had sniffed around and done about half a dozen pees. They shouted goodbye and thanks, and then walked up the track under a full moon.
"I've just got to tell you Frank, that guy Ritchie is going to change the money for us. He can do it all through his company. He's in oil."
"Are you happy with that?"
"It's the only chance we've got, mate, so I'm going with it. Trouble is he wants 50% for his services, but the way I see it is that anything's better than nothing."
"I think you're right, but don't get me involved."
57
Ronnie had another sleepless night. Carla and Paul had been asleep in bed when he got back to the caravan, so he dozed for a while on the sofa, then went to bed. He was up at 6 am, drinking coffee and churning last night's proposition over and over in his mind. He went out for an early morning walk down to the village and bought a newspaper in the village store.
"Oh, you're the gentleman with the helicopter, aren't you?" Margaret the store assistant asked.
"How on earth did you know?" Ronnie asked her, flabbergasted.
"This is Strathdee. There aren't many strangers around, and there aren't many helicopters around, so if you put the two together then you're usually right."
"Incredible!" Ronnie muttered as he took his change and left the store.
Back at the caravan there were signs of life. Carla was hanging some smalls out on the line which was strung between two silver birch trees. "Ah, Ronnie, good morning.
How was your night out?"
"Good. Very good. In fact, I want to talk to you both about it. Come inside."
Carla poured them all fresh cups of coffee and they sat round the table.
"I have an offer to change the money," Ronnie started. Carla looked overjoyed, and even Paul managed a smile. "However, there are a few conditions which I need to tell you about."
Carla spoke. "OK, tell us."
“A Texas businessman in the oil industry who I met last night is going to do it for us through his company. The thing is, he wants 50% to do it. It's our only chance."
Paul was immediately on the defence. "50%? But you are also taking 50%. Where does that leave us? No. NO. We can't do this."
Ronnie was ready for this. "I have already thought of that, and this is what I propose. I am prepared to reduce the amount I take just to get this over with. Now, we have five million, right?"
"Right."
"The oilman gets two-and-a-half million, right?"
"Right."
"I am willing to reduce my share to two million, leaving you with half a million between you."
Paul jumped up from his seat. "No. No way. You cheat. It's us who are providing the money. You are a cheat," and he almost went up to punch Ronnie with his clenched fist.
"Now just calm down. I think it's a very good deal, considering it's me who's doing all the work and taking all the risks. I'm sorry, it's not open for discussion. That's 58
the deal, take it or leave it. You can walk away with your half share now if you want to and find some other mug to change it."
Paul and Carla looked at each other. Carla was first to speak. "I think it's OK. It's way less than we were expecting, but we started off with nothing, and it's way more money than we've ever had in our lives. Tell your friend we'll do it." Paul looked at her in disgust, but she ignored him.
"I think that's a wise decision," Ronnie said. "I'll phone him right away."
Ronnie took his phone and walked up the hilly track to the Strathdee FM
transmitter to get some privacy, and a good signal. Halfway up he sat on a fallen tree, took out Ritchie's card from his wallet, and dialled his mobile number.
"Ritchie Allman speaking."
"Hello Ritchie. This is Ronnie Marsh. Remember? From last night?"
"Ah yes, last night. I've been regretting it all morning so far!"
"Aw, you're going back on our deal?"
"Oh no, hell no! I'm talking about the booze. Far too much! You want to go ahead with the deal?"
"Yes. I've discussed it with the others and the answer is definitely yes."
"OK. Good. I thought you would go for it, so I've been doing a bit of homework last night so I'd be prepared. Now listen closely, here is how it works. First of all, there will be an additional expense of a hundred thousand to be paid to our Chief Financial Officer. I can't do it without him, and he's planning on leaving the company too. You OK
with that?"
"I guess so." Ronnie immediately mentally deducted it from Paul and Carla's share.
"Now, you have a chopper, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now here's what you will do. I will give you twenty-four hours notice and you will fly out to the oil rig with the money. You will make sure you only have enough fuel to reach it and no further. I will give you the full coordinates to put in your GPS so there should be no problem finding us. When you are ten miles from the rig, you will transmit a distress call on the radio and request a landing for refuelling. Our radio operator will reply to your call and guide you in. Oh, by the way, he will require fifty thousand for his services. He is planning to leave the company too. When you land I will meet you on the helipad and arrange for your refuelling. Our onboard chopper technician will give your aircraft a full safety inspection, in particular the fuel tanks and lines. He'll fill your tanks, and then carry out another inspection for leaks. You will be offered coffee, and you will transfer the case with the money over to me in payment for the emergency landing facility, fuel, and technical services. This will all cost five thousand dollars and will come out of your share. Our Administrative Manager will take the money and insert it into our system by juggling with a few decimal points. He will require five thousand for his work."
Ronnie interrupted, "He's not leaving too, is he?"
59
"How did you guess? As a matter of fact he is. Anyway, you will then take off and return immediately to your base. Is that all understood?"
Ronnie hesitated for a few seconds, then asked, "Why do I have to fly out to the rig? I've never landed on an oil rig before. Can we not just do it by meeting in a park somewhere, or even by boat?"
"Mr Marsh, Ronnie, this is the only way I can get the money into our system. It'll be immediately swallowed up in the huge amounts that slosh about daily. And as for boats, the port authorities are getting too nosey these days. They're into everything, like they're trying to justify their existence. Our transfer of funds has something akin to diplomatic immunity. Nobody bothers it. Our Chief Financial Officer will play a crucial role in paying your balance into your bank. Jamaica, isn't it? After this call has ended, text me the bank, branch address and the IBAN, and I will text you confirmation by return. After that, you are on your own. We never met. OK?"
"OK. When will all of this take place?"
"I'm aiming for Monday. I'm flying out to the rig on Sunday and I'll phone you then."
Ronnie couldn't think of any other questions. "OK Ritchie, I've got all that. I'll need to have someone else with me though, probably Frank, 'cos you can't fly these things single handed and navigate at the same time."
"All right, but he MUST be sworn to secrecy. I mean it. If he blabs to anyone, there are certain people who would delight in disposing of him. I didn't want to bring it up, but that also applies to you sir."
After the call, Ronnie felt a chill run right down his spine, like his blood was running cold. This was getting heavy. Too heavy for him. He was used to making money from his scams just by pressing buttons on a computer with none of this hair-raising James Bond stuff. And, after a quick mental calculation, he worked out that Carla and Paul's share had very quickly dropped to three hundred and forty-five thousand. He sat for another half hour, then decided his next job was to recruit Frank to help him. Paul was no use - too volatile, and his heart wasn't in it. And Carla? Well, she was a woman.
No, Frank was his man. They went back a long way and he could trust him. He strolled slowly back down the track, taking in the beautiful scenery, the deafening silence and the overpowering scent of pine and everything green. Under different circumstances this would be heaven to him, he thought.
He reached the yard and there was a commotion going on. Archie Murdoch, the truck driver, was in full flow. "Ye're just a cheapskate. I've said it afore and I'll say it again. Cheapskate. There, and Ah'll probably be saying it next week and the week efter.
The truck needs new tyres, NEW! Dae ye need me to spell it oot tae ye? N - E - W. New!
No' re-cuts. How many times have we re-cut the tread noo? Eh? Twice? Three times?
Ye're only allowed one re-cut by law. It's no' your licence that's on the line here, it's mine.
Ah'm responsible as the driver to make sure the truck is road legal, and noo we're almost doon tae the canvas."
Frank had his head in his hands in despair.
"We're gonnae to get a blowout, you mark my words, nothing surer. AND it'll 60
happen when we've got a big machine on the back. If that happens and the school bus is coming the other way it disnae bear thinking aboot. The truck would jackknife, a thirty ton excavator would be on top of the bus, the lot would be doon a ditch, or worse still, in the river, and the kids would all be squashed to death or drooned. DROONED, dae ye hear? Ah'd be up in court, you'd be up in court, it'd be the end of the business, ye'd lose yer hoose, yer wife, yer self respect and so would Ah. How could you ever live wi'
yersel'? Eh? Answer me that. Ye can't, can you? Cheapskate!"
Archie was a huge bear of a man. He had no neck. Just a massive body clothed in oil-impregnated overalls with a fully-bearded head on top. In fact, it was impossible to determine where his beard stopped and his long greasy lank hair began. He had hands like shovels, which he used to their fullest advantage to accentuate his points one by one.
Looking at Frank expectantly, he got his pipe out from his left hand top overalls pocket and his tobacco pouch from the right hand top pocket. After stoking the pipe with the foulest-looking black tobacco, he took half a dozen matches to get it going. The reek that came out of it cleared the air of any midges and any other wildlife within half a mile radius, and Frank coughed and flapped his arms about to dispel the smoke which had gone straight in his direction.
"OK Archie, you win. I'll get onto it as soon as I can. In the meantime, can you please get this bulldozer down to the playing fields job at Cluny Bridge?"
Archie removed the pipe from his mouth and blew a huge plume of smoke into Frank's face. "Huv ye no' been listenin' tae me, ya numpty!" When he got really fired up he always slipped into the vernacular in his broad Aberdeenshire accent.
"Ah'm no' goin' onywhere till ye get this sorted oot. Ah mean it! Ye'll dae it noo.
Ye hear, NOO! No' next week. No' the morrow. NOO! Ah'll jist sit here an' eat ma piece while ye phone the tyre fitter. It's up tae you. Ah've got a' day!"
Frank looked in despair. "There's a bit of a cash flow problem just now Archie.
It's not a good time. You know how it is, it'll all pick up again soon. Give us a week.
OK?"
"OK? Oh bloody kay? You are bloody joking. Ha ha ha bloody ha! Ah'm tellin' ye noo, that's it. Ah'm on bloody strike. Ye've had yer chance. Ah might even bloody resign if ye dinnae get this sorted, NOO!"
"OK, OK, you win, as usual. I'll get onto North East Tyres right away and get them out this afternoon. Would you do a bit of overtime tonight to get this machine to the job?"
"Ah'll pretend Ah never heard that!"
As Frank went to go into the house, Ronnie approached him. "Is this a bad time, mate?"
"Every time's a bad time around here when Archie's involved. Every time, mate."
"It's just that I need to bounce something off you. It's urgent."
"So are Archie's tyres, but come in. You can do your bouncing while I phone the tyre company. Fire away."
"I need you to come with me on a helicopter trip."
Frank put the phone down in mid dial. "A helicopter trip? Where to?"
"You'll love it, Frank. Not many people get the chance of a trip like this. It's a 61
once-in-a-lifetime experience. You'll thank me for this one."
"Ronnie, when you bull something up this much it's got to be dodgy. Come on –
spill!"
"OK, it's to an oil rig, in the North Sea. We're going to deliver five million dollars."
"God almighty, man, I told you not to get me involved. The answer's no. No way.
N - O spells no. NO. Do you hear?"
"Have a think about it Frank. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The only thing is, you can't tell anyone about this. It's just between you and me.
Frank looked Ronnie straight in the eye. "You're right about once-in-a-lifetime, because our lifetime will end right there and then when we crash into the North Sea. Are you totally mad?"
Ronnie could see he was going to have to resort to other means. "How about if I pay you? Would you do it for fifty thousand dollars?" He could see the expression relax in Frank's face as he thought it over.
"A hundred thousand. No less."
"You drive a hard bargain Frank, but a hundred thousand it is. Just keep next Monday clear."
Frank picked up the phone again to dial the tyre company. He had just secured the payment for Archie's tyres, and Carla and Paul's share had plummeted even further.
62
Ronnie got back to the caravan exhausted. He didn't know where the others were, so he just flopped back and relaxed with a two-day-old newspaper that was lying around.
At least the crossword hasn't been done, he thought, and that passed an hour until he fell asleep. Before he knew it, it was six o'clock, and still no sign of Carla and Paul. He decided there and then that he needed some food, and booze. He could get them both at the truck stop. He wandered down to the farmyard in the hope that Frank would either go with him or give him a lift. Frank wasn't there, but Archie was, watching the mobile tyre fitters putting the last new tyre on the truck while he kept his pipe going.
"If it's a lift ye're wanting, I can take ye doon in a few minutes," Archie offered.
"What? In that monster?" Ronnie queried, looking at the big articulated low loader.
"Naw. Ah've got ma car. Ah'm leaving the truck here tonight in protest. If Ah wis tae move it an inch, Frank would expect me to take that dozer doon tae Cluny Bridge.
You've got to play Frank like a finely tuned Straddlevarious!" Oblivious of his mispronunciation, he indicated a Land Rover Discovery parked under a tree. The vehicle was of indeterminate age and indeterminate colour, totally sprayed with mud along both sides, and had an array of spot lights along its roof and on the bull bar at the front.
The tyre fitters finished, Archie locked up the truck and they both climbed into the Discovery, but not before Ronnie had to go in the driver's door and climb over the gear lever as the passenger's door didn't open. He had to move an Irn Bru can which had been dripping all over the seat, a newspaper, a bag of potatoes and a dead pheasant before he could sit down. He looked at Archie while holding the pheasant.
"Road kill. Ah smacked it this mornin' on my way here. The wife'll hing it up to mature, then we'll hae a good meal in a few weeks if Ah kin bag anither yin tae mak' it mair worthwhile." Ronnie just accepted this. He was getting used to life in Strathdee.
At the truck stop, Archie pulled into the car park and got out so that Ronnie could climb over. "Ah'll no' join you. If Ah did, Ah'd end up there a' night! Have a good night."
"Thanks Archie. I appreciate it. Goodnight."
Archie roared off, leaving a thick cloud of diesel smoke behind him. Ronnie coughed, phew, almost as bad as his pipe, he thought. Then all he could think about was Tammy's warm smile the other night.
"Come in, come in, lovely to see you." There was that lovely smile again. Tammy greeted Ronnie as he came through the door, and guided him up to the bar with a hand on his arm. She held on just a little bit longer than was necessary, and then asked, "What would you like to drink? It's on the house."
63
"Oh, I think a pint would be very nice, thank you."
"Belhaven?"
"Yes please."
Tammy poured the beer while Ronnie took a seat on a bar stool. She waited for the beer to settle before topping it up, and looked over to him without saying a word as if she was sizing him up.
"What brings you down here tonight? Are you alone?"
"I'm very alone. More alone than you think."
Tammy mulled this over. He was a strange fish, but she liked any kind of fish.
Particularly ones that were easily hooked. She had hooked plenty in her time.
"Well, here is the menu, here is the bar, and here I am, your own personal barmaid for the evening. How does that sound?"
"That sounds just fine. Let me see," and he studied the menu. "I'll have the Aberdeen Angus burger with chips, and a black coffee please."
"Excellent choice. You won't regret it. And for afters?" And as she asked, she leaned over, her reading glasses on a cord dangling over the table, and displaying the finest cleavage Ronnie had seen in a long time.
"We'll leave that open. Let's just see how it goes."
Tammy gave a little giggle and made off into the kitchen thinking, it'll always be open for you!
When she brought his food through, she directed him to a table and said, "Would you mind if I joined you? I'm due a half hour break. My daughter will take over."
Ronnie looked a bit put out. He just wanted to be on his own to mull over the tasks that lay ahead, but he didn't want to appear unsociable. "By all means," he said, forcing a smile. "Please do."
Tammy sat down opposite him with a cup of coffee and looked at him, smiling.
"What?" Ronnie asked with a start.
"Nothing. I just thought you reminded me of someone. Some film star, but I can't put a name to him."
"Me? Like a film star? Are you joking? Do you need glasses?"
"No, sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, really, I'm sorry. Forget I said it. I'll go."
And as she went to get up, Ronnie put his hand on her arm.
"Wait, don't go. I'm very rude. I shouldn't have said that. You can flatter me all you like, I don't get enough."
Tammy put her hand on his and smiled. "Good. But you do look very distinguished," and, pushing her luck, added, "and handsome, if you don't mind me saying." She was a past master at this!
Flattery always got to Ronnie's ego. He couldn't help it. Tammy was sharp as a pin, and as soon as she read the vibes she moved in for the kill. "Would you like to join me for a drink after we close? It would be nice to have someone to chat to."
Ronnie could only say yes, so he did.
For the rest of the night he sat listening to the Country singer over a few beers.
Then it was closing time. Tammy locked the doors, switched off the neon sign, pulled the 64
blinds then went into the kitchen to make sure everything was switched off. Coming back through, she grabbed six bottles of beer, put them in a cardboard carrier and came over to Ronnie. She held out her hand and beckoned him to come with her.
"What? Where are we going," Ronnie asked.
"Somewhere more comfortable. My trailer behind the cafe," she replied smiling.
At fifty-two years old, she still felt like a naughty little girl sometimes. She left her daughter Mona to clear up in the kitchen and they both went out the back to her trailer. Ronnie hesitated at the door and took a deep breath, smelling the night.
"This place," he said, "there's just something about it. Something I can't put my finger on. Some kind of magic. You know what I mean?"
Tammy turned to face him. "I can't say I've noticed and I've lived here for most of my life. But maybe it takes an outsider to feel it."
She was very close to him, and at that moment all he could smell was the pine forest, the cold dampness of the night, and her body. It awakened feelings in him that had been dormant for a long time. Yes, he had always had beautiful women adorning his pool at his Spanish villa, but they were only arm candy. He never let himself get close to them. He used them as bate for guests who he wanted to blackmail, and it always worked. He felt an underlying sense of excitement, mixed with an uncanny feeling of something overtaking him - a loss of control, but nice. "Shall we go in?" Tammy's voice brought him back to earth.
"Yes, yes, of course," and she opened the trailer door and lead the way. Inside it was warm and welcoming. A black cat lay sleeping on the big corner sofa, stretched out.
"He likes his comfort," said Ronnie, suddenly feeling a little nervous and uneasy.
"She," Tammy corrected him. "That's Missy, and she has a great life. Please sit down, she won't bite, there's room for us all. Would you like a drink? Whisky?"
Ronnie sat at the opposite end of the sofa and the cat totally ignored him. Tammy fixed the drinks and sat down beside him, even though there was loads of room on the rest of the sofa. She handed him his drink and said "slаinte mhath" as she raised her glass to him.
"I beg your pardon?" said Ronnie.
"It's the Gaelic. It means 'good health'."
"Oh, right. Cheers!" Ronnie didn't want to embarrass himself trying to speak Gaelic.
He was starting to feel a little uncomfortable and wondered why he accepted the invitation to come in, when Tammy asked him completely out of the blue, "Can I ask you a personal question?"
Taken aback, Ronnie stuttered, "Y... y... yes, I suppose."
"How old are you?"
"Fifty-six. Why?"
"How old do you feel?"
"Usually about seventy! But right now I feel like a silly little teenager. How old are you, Tammy?"
"Oh, you should never ask a lady her age! But seeing as it's you, I'll tell you. I'm fifty-two."
65
"And you know what I'm going to ask you next, don't you?"
"Do I?"
"Stop playing games. How old do you feel?"
"After a hard day, I'd say seventy, same as you. But right now? Nineteen."
"Hmm..... both teenagers, drinking whisky. Not sure if our parents would approve!"
"Tammy laughed, put her glass down on the table and said, "Well, have you heard the saying 'might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb'?"
"Sure have," Ronnie replied, and looked straight at her. Tammy caught his gaze with her hazel eyes and started to smile. Her whole face lit up and it had a magical effect on Ronnie - he was speechless. This was one beautiful woman. She was well rounded.
Everything about her was round, her face, her beautiful cheekbones, the little dimples below them, her cute little double chin, her breasts and her ample body, but not overly so.
He thought of her as a teenager, but saw much more. This was a teenager, a film star, a mature woman and a glamorous granny all rolled into one. She absolutely radiated sex appeal, and after her busy day in the cafe she smelled gorgeous. It was a mixture of body odour, cooking odour, the slight trace of cologne still hanging on from its morning application, and most importantly, the pheromones exuding from her across to him. He gave in, and lost control.
They slowly, gradually brought their faces together without saying a word, and their lips touched, barely, gently, as light as a butterfly landing. Ronnie's heart was racing. Tammy was in full control. They stayed like that for about thirty seconds, then drifted apart. Ronnie went to speak and Tammy put her fingers to his lips to silence him.
She then moved in close and gave him a full passionate kiss. The result was electric.
Ronnie responded, taking her in his arms and continuing with one kiss after the other, first one way, then the other, his right hand travelling hesitantly to her warm soft breast.
She grabbed his hand and forced it to fully complete its journey, letting out a little whimper. This tipped Ronnie over the edge, and his leg started to rub against hers, forcing its way between hers. They said nothing. All that could be heard was the whimpering coming from Tammy, and deep moans coming from Ronnie.
Just at the point of no return where this was going to have to be continued in bed, Ronnie pulled away and said, "I'm sorry, this is very bad of me, taking advantage of your wonderful hospitality. I should go now."
Tammy looked surprised, taken aback, and disappointed all in one. "Don't apologise - no need." She was panting, slightly breathless, and well on her way to a climax. She didn't want to stop, and she grabbed Ronnie by the arms, her knuckles white with the force. She pulled him roughly towards her kissing him madly, while her hand travelled downwards and discovered that he was really glad to be with her!
"I think I'll stay a while then," Ronnie managed to pant.
"I - think - you - better," Tammy replied in between breaths. "We've got to do this." After a very heavy ten minute petting session they reluctantly parted and she continued, "How would you get home anyway?"
"Good question. I don't know."
"Well then, you're staying here, and that's an order," and with that she pulled him 66
up from the sofa and led him through to the bedroom.
"What about your daughter?" Ronnie asked.
"Oh, she has her own trailer. She likes her own space. Too old for Mummy now!"
They went through to the bedroom and Ronnie was amazed. It was all frills, lace, and furry animals everywhere, very, very feminine. "Wow! This is fantastic!" he exclaimed.
"Thank you. I've had all these animals since I was a little girl. I could tell you exactly who I got each one from." This made Ronnie think of her even more as a teenager, and it gave him a buzz.
"Why don't you strip off and slip under the duvet while I have a shower and get myself ready? At my age, it takes a little longer than a teenager what with one thing and another, if you know what I mean! I won't be long."
Ronnie obliged, kept his jockey shorts on and did as he was told. He loved this assertive woman. Lying back, he told himself over and over, "Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep," so he picked up a Chat magazine from the bedside cabinet and started to flip through it. Eventually he heard the door open and looked up. She was a vision of loveliness. All woman in every way. She had a white towelling robe on, and she untied its belt and let it slip off her shoulders to the ground. Ronnie thought he was going to have a heart attack. All he could do was gape with his mouth open.
"Do you like?" Tammy eventually said, and twirled around.
"Oh yes. I like. I like a lot."
"Well, move over and let a girl in!"
She slid into the bed beside him, then shrieked, "Yikes! What's this? You've still got pants on. Get them off!" Ronnie was embarrassed, so he obeyed and threw them out onto the floor.
"That's better. Now come here."
They snuggled up, caressing each other, whispering nonsense to each other, playing with their bits and bobs, Ronnie playing with the bits and Tammy playing with the bobs.
Two became one, and eventually at three o' clock they both fell into a sound sleep.
67
Frank was up at six o' clock as usual. There was always something to prevent him from getting any sort of lie in. This time it was Archie banging on the front door and shouting his head off like a man possessed. Frank had hardly opened the door when he started on the attack. "Look! Look at it man! That's goin' naewhere this morning. No' wi'
a tyre like that. It's flat, totally flat. It couldnae get mair flat if it tried. That's what ye get fur leavin' things to the last meenit then gettin' a rush job done. Ye'll need tae get them back here right away. Right away, Ah'm tellin' ye."
The offside front tyre on the truck was completely bereft of any air. Frank stood there in his dressing gown, his salt and pepper hair all over the place, and he yawned, rubbing his eyes. "What? What are you on about, man? Come back in an hour when I'm awake!"
"An hour? AN HOUR? Dae ye realise Ah came in here at six o'clock tae tak' that dozer to the job early so Ah can pick up the excavator frae Lord Strathdee's estate all in the one day withoot doing any o' yer unpaid overtime on a Friday nicht? Dae ye realise that? His lordship wants that machine awa' today. He's got dignitaries comin' fur the weekend." By now Archie's face was purple and steam was coming out of his ears, and he slipped further into the local dialect. "Ye cannae treat oor best customer like that. Get on that phone noo tae the tyre fowk, dae ye hear?"
"Archie, they don't open until eight o'clock."
"Phone their twenty-four oor emergency number. It's an emergency! An' Ah'm nae workin' the nicht on a Friday. Ah've got plans. Faimily stuff."
"OK, OK. I'll do it now over some breakfast," and he went inside.
Frank knew the plans Archie had. Family stuff? More like propping up the back bar at the Station Hotel and chatting up the new barmaid who had started last week.
Archie had a notch on the bed in the back of the truck cab for every barmaid that had ever worked there. Frank sighed, and thought there and then of seriously jacking it all in.
He'd almost had enough of this madman who seemed to run HIS business! But then again, Archie was an expert in his craft. Completely irreplaceable. The place would fall apart without him. Frank knew he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, or the devil and the deep blue sea. He just wished for a moment that Ronnie would take him away over the deep blue sea in his helicopter to Jamaica where they could lie on the beach all day every day sipping cocktails. While he was miles away on that beach, there was a sharp rap on the kitchen window and a gruff voice shouted, "Are ye on that bloody phone yet?" Archie heard the muffled reply through the glass from a despairing Frank that he'd do it right away.
Six fifteen in the morning in the deserted farmyard. A giant low-loader sitting 68
immobile with a flat front tyre. A tipper truck sitting beside it with the hydraulic ram in bits, waiting for some replacement parts. A huge pile of railway sleepers next to it - one of Frank's 'bargain' acquisitions which 'would come in handy one day'. A black cat sleeping on a window sill, tired out after a night's mousing. A cockerel standing proud on top of a pile of scrap iron announcing to the whole world, "It's time to get up!" The dawn chorus in full flow, with a choir of blackbirds taking the lead vocals, augmented by a backup group of thrushes, finches, pewits, warblers and tits. It was an awesome performance! And the growing plume of vile black smoke rising in the still air from Archie's industrial-grade pipe which had just been eventually ignited with a whole box of matches, accompanied in between puffs by mutterings of, "Ah'm no' daein' this..... Ah'm no' daein' that..... wha' does he think he is..... Ah'm no' workin' the nicht..... blah.....
blah..... blah!" He sat on one of the railway sleepers and poured himself a coffee from his flask into its lid. The man was an institution!
Then Stan arrived. There's not much could be said about Stan, except that if you could imagine the most bedraggled, unkempt, dirty, oil-impregnated individual you have ever seen in your whole life, with the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, and not a good word to say about anybody, then you've got Stan to a tee. His dog was even worse. It looked like it had been knitted from a ripped down fisherman's jersey, but the pattern had gone wrong. Stan pulled his Ford Transit van, vintage 1967, over to the tipper truck, turned the engine off with the screwdriver which was permanently lodged in the ignition switch and got out. He always stood back to admire his van. It was in a worse state than Stan, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The panels were an assortment of pale faded blue, red primer, and rust, and barely visible on the sides was the legend 'John Mackinnon & Sons, Fish Merchants, Aberdeen Harbour', where the lettering had been removed.
Archie looked up, "Fit like, Stan?"
"Nae bad, nae bad Erchie," Stan replied with a look of absolute gloom about him.
"Weel, Ah hope ye're daein' better than me, Archie continued. "Ah'm groonded until that daft loon fae North East Tyres comes and finishes the jobbie he cocked up yesterday."
Stan just nodded, grunted, and climbed up on the tipper to review the work to be done. He knew better than to get into a grumbling conversation with Archie. At that precise moment, the North East Tyres van pulled into the yard.
"Aboot time tae," Archie was already shouting before young Calum the tyre fitter could get out of his van. As Calum walked over to him, he was already receiving a barrage of Archie's wrath in advance. "Ye're useless, man. Worse than useless! Look at it.
Ye want tae go back tae tyre fitters school an' learn how tae dae yer job properly."
Calum just ignored him - he'd heard it all before. He fired up the air compressor in the van and unreeled the airline hose over to the flat tyre. He inflated it half way, then withdrew the hose. He unleashed a mouthful of spit onto his fingers and liberally coated the valve. Bubbles formed in the saliva, one after the other. "There's you problem," he smiled, "it's a faulty valve."
"It's nae ma problem, laddie, it's yours. That's a new valve ye fitted yesterday. Ah 69
"It's these Chinese valves we're getting now. We've had a few faulty ones, but your others seem to be OK."
"Ye really fill me wi' confidence driving this beast wi' dodgy Chinese valves. Ye better keep yer phone on 'cos Ah'll be the first tae phone ye if any more go. Kin ye no fit a guid honest Brutish valve?"
Calum kept quiet, changed the valve, inflated the tyre to the correct pressure and did the spit test. All was OK. He couldn't get away quick enough, and was shouting
"Bye" as he drove out of the yard in a cloud of dust.
Archie fired up the big engine which shook the farmhouse to its foundations, ground the truck into first gear and started off on his journey. He stopped suddenly with a loud hiss of air brakes, jumped out and went over to retrieve his flask from the railway sleeper where he'd left it, muttering obscenities under his breath. Back in the cab again, and this time he got away OK.
At this point, Ronnie came walking up the track into the yard, a little bit dishevelled. He spotted Stan up on the tipper and nodded a "Hi" to him. Stan stopped what he was doing, pointed a big spanner at Ronnie and said, "Hey, you're Tammy's new boyfriend, aren't you?"
Totally caught on the hop, instead of denying it Ronnie answered in confused frustration, "How the hell did you know that?"
"The night has a thousand eyes, my friend, the night has a thousand eyes," Stan sang, displaying a toothless grin. Shaking his head, Ronnie walked on up the track to the caravan.
70
Friday and Saturday passed uneventfully. Ronnie spent the two days at the Gliding Club, giving the helicopter a full check-over, a clean, and refuelling it with just the right amount of fuel that he calculated would take him to the oil rig, with a little bit left over for safety. He sat in the office and planned his flight. He would phone Aberdeen Air Traffic Control after he got Ritchie's call to lodge his flight plan with them, classifying it as an urgent courier delivery. Carla and Paul went for rambles around the area on Friday, and into Aberdeen on Saturday to explore the shops. Then, on Sunday morning at nine o'clock, the call came.
"Ronnie Marsh speaking."
"This is Ritchie Allman."
"OK, I'm ready."
"Good. You will leave there at nine am tomorrow. You will have enough fuel for three hours flying, and it should take you about two and a half to two and three quarter hours to get to the Miranda rig. The name is on the helipad. As we discussed before, you will put out a distress signal two miles from the rig and request an emergency landing for fuel. Everything is in place to receive you and it should all run like clockwork. Nothing can go wrong. Are you OK with all that?"
"Yes, OK, except for the 'nothing can go wrong' bit. I never like to tempt fate."
"You'll be fine. We're all experienced professionals here."
"I hope so, I sure do," Ronnie said, and he hung up.
Monday morning, Ronnie and Frank were both up at 6:30. They had breakfast in their respective abodes, then met up in the farmyard at 7:30. They hardly said a word to each other as they climbed aboard Frank's Range Rover, Ronnie gripping the flight case containing the five million dollars with a vice-like grip. They drove through the village as it was just wakening up, the shopkeepers taking deliveries and the garage shop girl out washing the pumps. It was only 8 miles down to the airfield and they were there in no time. The helicopter had all been prepared the night before, and all they had to do was notify their take off, sit back and enjoy the ride.
Frank was nervous as hell as he'd never flown in a helicopter before, but Ronnie told him to just put the headset on, relax, and look at the scenery. He put the coordinates into the GPS, initiated all the checks and gradually let the turbine warm up to its operating temperature. Then he increased the power until it was screaming like a banshee and they lifted off. Ronnie was taking off into a light westerly breeze, so he gradually did a 180 degrees turn towards Aberdeen in the east, making Frank's stomach churn as he watched the ground swirl around below them.
"Don't look down," Ronnie said over the intercom. "Just keep looking straight 71
ahead until you get used to it."
"OK, I'll try."
They navigated by following the River Dee all the way to Aberdeen. The Bridge of Dee came into view, then soon after it, Aberdeen Harbour. Now that they were over the sea, it was just a case of obeying the GPS and looking out for a rig called Miranda.
Eventually, they spotted a cluster of three rigs on the horizon. "It must be one of these,"
Frank said.
"Ritchie never said anything about three rigs," said Ronnie with a worried look on his face.
When they were still about five miles from the first rig, a warning buzzer sounded loudly, and a red warning light marked 'Low Fuel' started flashing in and out on the instrument panel.
"Bloody hell," shouted Ronnie, "I never thought this would come on so soon."
"What's happening? What's wrong?" Frank yelled out alarmed. "Are we gonna crash?"
"No, no. It's just that we're..... well..... kind of running out of fuel. But we should make it."
"Oh God, oh no, I don't want to die. Are we going into the drink?"
"No. Calm down. Don't panic. I've to put out an emergency call to the rig with a request to land. We'll get there." At that point, the alarm sounder doubled in speed and a warning siren started to shriek. The red low fuel light now stayed on constantly.
"Holy shit!" Frank cried, "we're doomed! This is it. I wish I never came!"
"God almighty Frank, stop being a girl! We're OK. When this happens, we've got one gallon left."
"One gallon? ONE BLOODY GALLON? IS THAT ALL? Can you not see how far we've still to go? We've had it!"
"Shut up Frank." Ronnie tuned to the emergency channel, "Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is helicopter mike-romeo-oscar-november requesting an emergency landing.
We are out of fuel. Miranda rig do you read me? Over."
"Mike-romeo-oscar-november, this is the Hawk rig. I read you. You are approaching us now and are cleared to land. Do you copy? Over."
"Affirmative, Hawk. We are bound for the Miranda and are expected there. Over."
"Mike-romeo-oscar-november, do not go to Miranda. I repeat do not go to Miranda. You do not have enough fuel. You must land here as soon as possible on your first approach. You MUST land on Hawk. Do you copy? Over."
"Affirmative, Hawk. On approach now. Request wind direction and speed please.
Over."
"Wind is north-easterly, speed 5 knots. You are into the wind and should have a direct landing. Over."
"Thank you Hawk. We are five minutes away. Prepare for landing. Over."
"Mike-romeo-oscar-november, cutting radio now and preparing to receive you on helideck. Over and out."
Frank was holding onto anything he could with white knuckles. "How the hell can 72
we land on that - it's like a toy Lego model!"
"Frank - cut the crap and just guide me onto the big H." Ronnie thought that would keep him occupied. As they got nearer to the rig, the helipad got bigger, and soon the giant 'H' was as big as the chopper. Suddenly the note of the engine changed and started to drop. This time Ronnie looked really worried. "Now's the time to start praying, old son, we're completely dry."
They were almost over the 'H' and dropping fast. Ronnie shouted "hold on tight,"
and the chopper hit the deck with much more force than it should have. A deck crew of three immediately ran over to it and attached anchor straps. Frank had shut his eyes for the last few minutes, and now he opened them and started to laugh.
"We've done it! Hey, we've done it!" he shouted.
Ronnie thought he could have started questioning this 'we' lark, but he thought better of it and they both climbed down onto the deck. A guy who seemed to be in charge came over to them. "Well done guys, that was close. Too bloody close for comfort! What the hell happened?"
Get out of this, Ronnie thought. "I honestly thought we had enough fuel for our return journey. The gauge said we had, then the low fuel alarm came on and now the gauge says empty. It has been giving a bit of trouble."
"This chopper shouldn't have flown then," said the boss guy. "It should have been grounded."
"Yeah, I see that now," flapped Ronnie, "we'll get it all fixed when we get back.
Can you refuel us?"
"Sure, no problem. And I suggest our guys take a look at your undercarriage too.
You came down with quite a bang. Meantime come on down for a coffee and we'll get you fixed up."
They went down to the mess room and had coffee and biscuits. A TV was on in the corner playing some satellite sports channel with no one watching it, the general whine of all the rig machinery drowning out the commentary. After an hour, the boss guy came in to the mess room and said, "That's it. She's all fuelled and ready to go. And there's no damage. It all seems to be OK. There is a bill to settle for services rendered - a nice round figure of five thousand dollars."
"Five thousand!" Ronnie spluttered. "FIVE THOUSAND? How come?"
"It's all detailed. Landing fees, deck crew, service inspection, fuel, oh, and the cancellation of a scheduled chopper arrival that we had to put off because you stole their space. We get charged for that. They're on Miranda waiting for you to leave here."
"Is the coffee included in that?" Ronnie asked sarcastically.
"Oh no guys, that's free!"
"Well, we've got to get to Miranda, so can you radio the other chopper to leave and we'll get right over there now? They will settle everything. Just refer it to a Mr Ritchie Allman."
"Yeah, OK. Get yourselves powered up and we'll see you off. We've spoken to Ritchie. We know him well, and we're all the same company."
They climbed aboard the chopper and Ronnie checked that the flight case was 73
still there in the locker. After the system check and power up, the deck crew member held them still until the scheduled helicopter had left the Miranda rig, and then he spoke on his radio and waved them off after telling them to give a wide northerly berth to the returning chopper which was keeping south. Frank felt more at ease this time - he'd done all this before, and got the tee shirt! The short five minute flight over to Miranda went off like clockwork, and the deck crew were on hand to wave them in. Ritchie Allman was also there.
"What gives, guys? You fancied a little scenic tour on your way here?"
Ronnie laughed sarcastically, "It was a scenic tour we could have done without."
"Well, you got here now. The guys will tie you down, and then y'all come on down for a nice big fry-up. Don't leave anything behind now!"
Ronnie grabbed the flight case and Ritchie led them over to a red area where steel steps took them down to a steel walkway leading to some offices. He took them into one of the modules which opened out into a large canteen area with tables and chairs, and a mouth watering smell of burgers, bacon, home baking and coffee. They all sat down at a table and a steward came over to ask what they would like. They all opted for the big all-day breakfast and the steward went off to prepare it.
"Now, you won't be needing a refuel or a check-up after your visit to our next-door neighbours, will you?" Ritchie asked.
"No, that's all been done," Ronnie replied. "You won't be needing the payment for it then, will you?"
"Oh yes, I'm afraid that still stands. Promises were made and people were compromised, and the landing charges still apply."
"But we've paid for the fuel twice then?"
"It's not as straight forward as that. You need to know how the system works to understand. Believe me, there's nothing I can do about it. Wheels within wheels are meshing with fine precision and you can't change that. Just roll with it."
Ronnie decided to give up and not pursue the issue any further. Then Ritchie hit him with a bombshell.
"There is one final piece in the jigsaw which needs to be put into place."
Ronnie looked at him quizzically. "Yes?"
"I have a package here which I need to go to the mainland urgently. It's very small, very light, and very valuable. Your assistance would be very much appreciated.
Will you take it for me? I'll tell you where to deliver it to."
"Emm... this isn't part of the deal, mate. No, we're not doing any of your dodgy work for you, and it must be dodgy if you're not doing it through the usual channels.
Forget it."
Ritchie put on a menacing look. "Let me rephrase that, guys. You WILL take it for me. Understand?" And he gently put his hand on the flight case handle and slid it over to his feet.
Ronnie and Frank looked at each other, their hearts racing. Ronnie shrugged his shoulders, Frank looked like he wanted to leave right now..... but to where? Then Ronnie said, "Looks like we don't have any option. You're holding all the aces."
"I knew you would see sense guys. Now enjoy your meals, and if you don't mind 74
I'll just take this now to my office to count it. We wouldn't like any discrepancies now, would we? I take it all your Jamaican bank details are inside?" Ronnie nodded.
He took the case and left. Frank looked at Ronnie and said, "That's another fine mess you've got me into, Stanley!"
Ronnie replied, "I'm glad you can see the funny side of it. We're in deep shit here mate. Do you know what he's asking us to do?"
"Take a batch of freshly baked scones to his old granny in her little cottage?"
"Ha ha bloody ha! If this wasn't so serious it would be hilarious. Frank, I don't do smuggling, you know that. No partaking, no trafficking, nothing. No way. You know I've lived on the edge of the law all of my life, but it's all corporate stuff, victimless crime, and nobody ever got hurt. This is a whole new ball game. You're talking about huge jail sentences here if it goes wrong, and being permanently caught in the net if it doesn't. I don't want any part of it."
"Ronnie, mate, we don't have a choice. We're trapped. Let's just play along and see what he wants. We can do it our way 'cos we're the ones with the chopper. Let's box clever."
They finished their meal in silence, and then Ritchie came into the room with the flight case and put it on the table. "All present and correct," he said with a big grin.
"Now, your delivery is in the case, all wrapped up and ready to go. Do you have a key for this case?"
"Yes," Ronnie replied.
"Good. Please lock it now." Ronnie did so, and Ritchie continued. "Now, here are your instructions, memorise them. The delivery will take place on Saturday. The time will be 11:50 pm. The location will be in the car park at Kirkhill Forest on the A96, just past Aberdeen Airport coming out of the city. The access road to the forest is on the right of the dual carriageway, just before the B976 on the left. There is a gap in the central reservation to enable a right turn into the forest. You will arrive at 11:50 pm. There will be a silver Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van parked in the car park. You will have a set of keys to this van which are with the merchandise. You will open the side door of the van, put the merchandise into a briefcase which will be open. You will then close the briefcase and spin the combination locks to make sure it's locked. You will then lock the van and leave with the keys. You will make sure you are away from the car park by midnight.
That is VERY important. On your way home, you will throw the van keys into the River Dee. Are there any questions?"
"Yes," said Ronnie, "what if the van's not there?"
"It will be there, don't worry. If the unforeseen happens, like a breakdown or accident, I'll call your cell phone. The same applies if you have a breakdown or accident, you immediately call mine. Got it?"
"I guess so."
"Good. The merchandise is here in your flight case. Lock it in your locker and guard it with your life. Now let's get you off."
They climbed back up to the helipad, boarded the chopper, and after the usual checks and procedures they took off.
75
The flight back was without incident. When they landed at the airfield late evening it was deserted. Ronnie strapped the chopper down, removed the flight case, and they both climbed into the Range Rover. Once they were inside, Frank locked the doors and said, "Open it," nodding towards the case.
"Should we?" Ronnie queried.
"Yes. After all, we've got to check it's all there and the van keys are there too."
"You're right," and he unlocked both of the locks, snapping the latches open.
What they saw was a fairly large package wrapped in heavy duty polythene and bound liberally by brown parcel tape. A set of vehicle keys were taped to it with parcel tape. “Hell’s bells," said Ronnie. “That’s about ten kilos of pure uncut cocaine. This is heavy, in more ways than one.”
"I’m not thinking about it. Now, not a word to Tamara or anyone else about this.
As far as she knows, you were just giving me a helicopter trip."
After arriving home at Mains of Clarty, Frank put the merchandise into his home safe and they both retired to bed, shattered after their day's work.
They both had a restless night, and by 6 am Ronnie couldn’t sleep any more so he got up. It was a fine morning, so he decided to walk down to the village for a paper, and then..... what the heck! A full Scottish breakfast at Tammy's Truck Stop.
It was 7:30 when he reached Tammy's, and when he went in, her smile lit up the whole cafe. "Ooh, I was wondering when I'd see you again," she chirped. "Breakfast?"
"Yes please. That's why I'm here."
"Is that all?"
"And to see you too."
"Aw, you say all the right things! Breakfast's on the house."
"There's no need for that. I'll pay."
"No you won't. I'm having mine, so you'll join me, and that's an order!"
Ronnie sat and read his paper while having a disjointed conversation with Tammy as she flitted about getting the breakfasts ready. There was only one other table occupied by six burly guys who looked like a road repair crew. In between talking over the counter to Ronnie she was singing her heart out, and Ronnie's heart went out to her. This woman had a wonderful simple life. She had it all. Her job, her family, and a wonderful home.
Who was he to come along and inflict his world of crime and deceit onto her? This was the first time he'd had any feelings for a woman other than what he could get out of them.
It was uncanny and he was out of his comfort zone. He shouldn't have come.
At that moment, her cheery voice shook him out of his deep thoughts. "Here we are then. Let's get stuck in." It was a plateful fit for a king. Bacon, two eggs, black 76
pudding, sausages, fried tomatoes, tattie scones and mushrooms, along with toast and coffee.
"Wow! You're going to make someone a fine wife one day!"
"Ha! Chance would be a fine thing! I'm afraid that boat has sailed long ago. Not much danger of that now."
"Don't be silly. Never say never. You're a fine looking woman, have a great personality, and best of all, a terrific cook!"
"Well, thank God you've got your priorities right!"
Then Ronnie couldn't believe what his mouth was about to say. "Do you... um...
do... um... you think we might..." and he tailed off.
Tammy finished it for him, "Get together again?"
Ronnie turned red and got all flustered. "Well, something like that, or maybe... if we were to... kind of... um..."
"Go out together? Like a proper date?" Tammy finished his sentence.
"Would you? Could we? Like, both of us... together?"
"Yes. YES! Of course, I'd love to. When? Tonight? Tomorrow?"
Ronnie really wanted to, but all he could think about just now was the impending drop-off job on Saturday night.
"Maybe... um... how about next week? I've got some business to attend to this week which will take me right up to Sunday and I need to be on the ball. After it's finished, I'll feel like celebrating."
"OK. As long as you're not trying to back out already. I've had that happen too often."
"No. No way. I really like you Tammy. I want us to get to know each other better before..."
"Before what?" she asked indignantly, "before the deed's done? I think it's a bit late for that don't you think? OK, I'm only teasing. Yes, of course I'll see you next week, and then... who knows?"
At that point three lots of customers came in, so Tammy returned to the counter and took their orders while Ronnie finished his breakfast on his own.
After bidding Tammy goodbye with a peck on the cheek, he strolled back to the village and wasted some time sitting on a bench while watching the day. People were going about their daily business, shopping, stopping to chat, cleaning their windows and sweeping their front steps with absolutely no knowledge of what he was about to do this weekend. He felt totally unconnected to this innocent little community, and at the same time, connected to it via Tammy. A very strange feeling! But a good feeling.
After wasting more time doing nothing, it was lunch time so he bought a pork pie, an apple and a can of juice from the village store. He ate his lunch while taking the riverside walk alongside the River Dee and then climbed up through some fields containing Highland cattle to the caravan. Another afternoon's lounging around and it was soon the end of another day.
77
After five day's lounging around it was soon the end of another week. An important week because it signified the start of the weekend. A very special weekend because it marked the first time, and the last (he hoped), that Ronnie would be a drugs courier. This was way out of his league, but the remains of the $5 million was always in the back of his mind, eating away like a worm, burrowing into every conceivable avenue of getting it back to him. He was a man on a mission. Nothing could go wrong.
Saturday morning dawned, and both Ronnie and Frank were on edge. They had told Tamara that they were meeting up with an old friend in the city that night and then going for an Indian, and she believed it. She was never in the habit of going into the safe so the merchandise had been hidden all week, but just to be sure, Frank had changed the combination. He hated keeping anything from her. Borrowing Tamara's business suit for Carla and getting it back undetected took years off his life. Any little thing he had kept from her before had always come out in the end and he just had a bad feeling that this would be the same, and a Russian woman with a fierce temper was not a pretty sight when you were on the receiving end. No sir!
To be on the safe side and make sure nothing could go wrong with their transport, Frank and Ronnie spent the day thoroughly checking over the Range Rover. Oil, water, tyre pressures, everything. They even gave it a full valet inside and out - anything to make the time pass quicker.
Morning coffee, lunch, afternoon cup of tea, dinner, then..... it was time. Frank showered and dressed smart casual so as not to arouse Tamara's suspicions. Ronnie came down from the caravan to join him looking very dapper. While Tamara was preparing the dinner, Frank had removed the merchandise from the safe and locked it in the Range Rover.
As they were about to leave, Tamara said, "Now, you boys have a good time tonight, but you also behave and do not have me worrying about you. I know what you kids can be like when you get together. I have brothers back in Russia and it usually ends up in a police cell. I will be very, VERY angry if you do the same. You hear?"
"Yes dear," Frank said meekly, and he gave her a little goodbye kiss.
They climbed aboard the car and were soon out onto the main road and on their way to the city. As they were very early, to kill some time they decided to go down to Aberdeen Harbour and watch the constant stream of oil rig supply vessels going in and out. Frank wondered if it was just the pressure of what lay ahead bearing down on him, but he felt a certain uneasiness in the air. The harbour was deathly quiet. There were no other cars there, no people walking about, no noise from ship crews shouting to each other as was usually the norm. Silence! He knew this place well, it was a favourite spot of his to visit, but he just felt like something wasn't right, not able to put his finger on it.
78
They sat in the car at Pocra Quay until 11 o'clock listening to Dave Buckingham on Strathdee FM on the car radio. It never failed to amaze Frank how he could get the little signal from a small community radio station to cover the city, right down to the harbour.
It was all down to some clever positioning of the array of antennae on the huge mast above the farm at Mains of Clarty. All totally within the rules and regulations of course!
They turned the radio off just before the news and stepped outside to enjoy a cigar before setting off. A police car appeared at the entrance to the quay and drove slowly down towards them. There were two officers in the car and it stopped almost adjacent to the Range Rover while the officers had a good look around. Two professional-looking men standing beside an executive vehicle smoking cigars was not an unusual sight in Oil City, even at this late hour. The policemen gave them a wave, then turned full circle and drove off. Frank's and Ronnie's hearts had both stopped momentarily during the few minutes it took, and they both let out a huge 'phew' before getting back into the car.
"Time to go," Frank said as he started up the big V8. They pulled away from the harbour area towards Kittybrewster, then up Rosehill Drive to join North Anderson Drive, the main through traffic route which is normally congested, but at this time of night it was deserted. After they joined the A96, it was only a short distance to Aberdeen Airport, and then a few miles past the airport was Kirkhill Forest.
At 11:45 Frank was in the right hand lane of the dual carriageway indicating a right turn into the forest. The normally busy road was deserted and he cut across the opposite lane and into the forest entry road. He kept going just slightly more than walking pace, both of them feeling just a little bit apprehensive at what lay ahead. Ronnie already had the keys for the Mercedes Sprinter held tightly in his hand, his knuckles white.
The forest road curved round to the left and they followed it round in the still pitch dark, the big vehicle's powerful headlights illuminating the trees and making shadows that moved like giants following them. After less than a minute, they reached a wide car park area with a stony gravelly surface. Frank drove in and cruised full circle around the perimeter of the car park. They looked at each other and Frank said, "What time is it?"
"11:49 exactly," Ronnie replied.
"And what time were we strictly to be here at?"
"11:50. Which it is now. Just turned it."
"Well, where is it? There's nothing here. No Sprinter van - nothing. Can you see anything?"
"No." Ronnie was shaking. "Let's give it ten minutes. All lights out, and keep watching for any movement."
Frank turned the radio back on to take some of the spookiness out of the situation.
Dave Buckingham was playing Steely Dan and 'Rikki Don't Lose That Number' on his show on Strathdee FM. "Another bloody song about gays," Ronnie blurted out indignantly.
Taken aback, Frank hit back with, "You're so old fashioned, so you are. This is 2008 man, move with the times for God's sake. Anyway, for your information, that song has got nothing to do with gays. It is said that Donald Fagen wrote that song about a professor's young wife called Rikki who he had an unrequited crush on at college. He let 79
his imagination run wild in the song. It's one of the best rock songs ever made."
"OK, Doctor of Music, you've made your point." By now, Dave was playing Boy Meets Girl and 'Waiting For a Star to Fall'.
"And that's another wonderful track," Frank added.
"Shhh... I hear something," Ronnie whispered. The trees above them were being lit up by headlights coming up the track. Both men froze, and their blood ran cold.
"What the hell are we doing here? We must be mad. I must be mad!"
"Quiet. Keep down."
A loud car exhaust roar came into earshot, then a dark coloured Ford Fiesta with blacked out windows and yellow go-faster stripes came roaring in and started doing doughnuts in the middle of the car park with dust, stones and gravel flying everywhere. It came to a sudden stop sideways and two youths got out, finished swigging the dregs out of beer cans and chucked them down on the ground. Lighting up cigarettes, they pointed over to the Range Rover and shouted out, "Woo-woo, get in there," and finished off with a two-finger piercing whistle. Then they fired up the little car and gunned it out of Kirkhill Forest, pedal to the metal.
Frank and Ronnie heaved sighs of relief. Frank broke the silence, "Right, it's coming up to ten past twelve. What do we do now? We were ordered to be out of here by 12."
"I'll phone Ritchie's mobile number," said Ronnie and he called it up in his contacts list.
"The Vodafone you are calling has been switched off. Please try again later."
Ronnie started getting alarmed. "This is all going tits up," he said. "His bloody phone's switched off."
"It can't be, this is the big night. He'd be on top of this to make sure it all came off OK. So what now? What do we do? Remember, he's got your money."
"And we've got his goods."
"Well, we'd better get out of here. I'm not hanging about with all that stuff on board." And then...
Just as Frank was about to start the engine, a news flash came on the radio. "This is Strathdee FM with an urgent news bulletin. We can now report that it has been confirmed that one of the helicopters relieving the crew from the Miranda oil rig 150
miles north east of Aberdeen crashed earlier today into the North Sea. No survivors have been found and the rescue mission has now been changed to a recovery operation. It is feared that all sixteen on board have perished, including the pilot and co-pilot. We can confirm that Ritchie Allman, the company's European Operations Director was one of those on board. We will keep you updated as soon as we get more information. Meantime, the coastguard has issued this number for relatives to contact, 0800 7548890."
All the colour had drained from Ronnie's face. "Bloody hell! Did we just hear that? Tell me we didn't."
"No mate, we heard it all right."
"Well, now we know why the van's not here."
"And why his phone's switched off," added Frank.
They sat there for another half hour, tossing their thoughts about. "We're 80
completely up shit creek without a paddle mate," said Ronnie.
"Hey, less of the 'we'. I've got nothing to do with this, remember?"
"You're in it as much as me, mate. This is your car and it's got a ton of cocaine in it. Get out of that!"
"Well, I'm going to dump it over there in the woods right now and have nothing more to do with it. And I should dump you there too, 'mate'."
"No no no no... you can't do that. I've got to keep it. Somebody's going to come looking for it. And remember, my money's at the bottom of the North Sea, gone forever.
This is my insurance policy."
"Is that all you can think about when sixteen people have lost their lives?"
"You're right. I am really sorry for them, but let's get real. This stuff's going home with me."
"Not to my home it's not. Or to my caravan which I'm letting you use. Or to Tammy's, just remember that. You can bloody well go out this morning and bury the stuff in neutral ground, and don't tell me where. I want nothing more to do with that shit."
After that exchange of words, they were silent all the way back to Strathdee.
81
2 am. Carla and Paul lay in bed together in each others arms.
“What are we going to do now, my love?”
Paul thought for a minute, then said, “I don’t know. I don’t know where this is going. I wish I did. I don’t think we’re ever going to see our money again. I don’t trust that Ronnie. I think he is fooling us. I think we have to make a plan B.”
“How do you mean a plan B?”
“We’ve run out of money. We need to find jobs and somewhere else to stay. I hate staying here with him around. I wish we’d never taken that money. We can’t even go back to France, they’ll track us down for their money.”
Carla pulled him closer. “Something will turn up, my darling. But let’s see tomorrow if we can get jobs, maybe in the hotel, or the garage,” and then she went,
“Ssssh, he’s coming back.”
They heard Ronnie come in, make coffee, then eventually go to bed.
Tamara was still awake when Frank came into their bedroom.
“Nice evening?” she asked sleepily from her pillow.
“Yes love. It’s always nice to see an old friend.”
“Who is this ‘old friend’, and what is his name?”
Frank was caught off guard. “Oh, em, just someone we used to know. Peter. Peter Clayton. He was only in town for one night. It would have been a shame to miss him.
He’s a right character. Laugh? I’ve never laughed so much in a long time. What a guy!”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve been seeing women, haven’t you? Floosies. Dirty stinking floosies. I know when you’re lying,” and she sat up erect in the bed.
“Don’t be silly, my darling, of course we haven’t. You are my world my precious, I would never do anything like that,” and he went to move closer to her.
Before he could take one step, Tamara grabbed a book which was on the bedside cabinet and threw it at him with all her might while shouting, “Lies, lies, LIES! I know you’re lying, I can see it in your eyes. How can you do this to me?” And she started to cry.
Frank didn’t know what to do. He tried to get close to comfort her but she started to beat his chest with her fists shouting, “You NO cheat on Tamara. No no NO! You bad shit-face, you pig! Pig, pig, dirty PIG!” And she started to slip into Russian. He had to do something drastic.
“Tamara, my love, Tamara, calm down, please. You know I’ve never lied to you, ever, but tonight I have,” and before he could continue she grabbed the alarm clock and hurtled it right at his head, yelling at the top of her voice in Russian, “Damn pig. Dirty lying pig. You're the shit!” He didn’t know what she said but he guessed it was something bad, very bad. It certainly sounded like it. “You sheet face, peeg, peeg sheet,”
she continued shouting, and ended in Russian with, “You're an ass pig. Ass full of bloody fucking pigs, you're a shit face.”
82
He knew this was bad. He heard the 'F' word in there. Tamara never swore.
Luckily he ducked and the alarm clock took a chunk out of the wall, and then shattered into five pieces scattering itself all over the floor. “It wasn’t a woman,” he shouted,
“you’ve got it all wrong. It wasn’t another woman. Let me explain, my love.”
“Explain? EXPLAIN? You lied to your wife. Your wife of how long? Huh?
Twenty years, that’s how long. Your wife who loves you. You’ve got five minutes to explain, and that’s me being generous. And it better be good,” and she got out of bed and sat expectantly on the dressing table stool with her arms folded and her legs crossed.
Frank bravely started to explain. “We were to see a man. Someone we knew.
Well, we weren’t actually going to see him as such, but we were supposed to see his van and leave something in it for him. But it wasn’t there, so we couldn’t leave the package for him. Then we heard on the radio that he had been killed in the helicopter crash today.
There you are, my love.”
“See a man? Leave a package? What the bloody hell are you involved with? What package? Is it what I’m thinking it is?”
“What are you thinking, my love?”
“Drugs. Shitty drugs? Yes?”
“Well... yes... but they’re not ours. They’re his. We brought them back from an oil rig into the country for him as he’s changing a large sum of money for Ronnie.”
“Ronnie? Bloody Ronnie? I might have known he was behind this. You tell him to get out of here now, do you hear?”
“Well, it’s not actually Ronnie’s money, my dear. It originally belonged to the young couple Carla and Paul. They acquired it from someone who was arrested for people trafficking in France and Ronnie said he would launder it for them.”
“What? WHAT? W H A T? You have got to be bloody joking!” Then in Russian,
“This is incredible. Just fucking incredible!”
“In English please, my love. I don’t understand you.”
“It’s unbelievable, but I believe you, you prick. I thought you had more sense than that. Get out.”
“Get out?”
“Yes, get out of my bedroom, get out of MY house. You’re not sleeping here tonight. OUT!” This was serious. Very. Frank went downstairs and heard her shout, “And don’t think you’re sleeping on the sofa. I want you out, NOW!”
He went out the front door into the cold night air, and headed over to the Strathdee FM
studio complex which consisted of two Portakabins back to back, with a sign made out of a yellow car number plate on the door saying Strathdee FM. The overnight deejay Clive Johnson was on the air once again proving that a human being could exist with no sleep at all. Clive had his own small farm which he ran during the day until sunset, and then he spent every night on Strathdee FM still sounding chirpy and wide awake. As Frank came through the door, he looked up, “Aye-up, what brings you here at this early hour?”
“Slight disagreement with the wife,” Frank answered sheepishly. “I’m sleeping here tonight,” and he went into the office and proceeded to make himself comfortable on the couch. Another end to a less than perfect day.
83
Morning dawned. Another day which had all the makings of a perfect day in Strathdee. Birds singing, crisp sunshine, the Breakfast Show on Strathdee FM, and Archie moaning about all the bird poo on his newly polished truck cab. Sunday was his day for cleaning and polishing his baby to concourse condition. He brought a supply of beer with him for elevenses and lunch, and then he retired to the back bar in the Station Hotel for an afternoon's beer sampling and barmaid chatting-up. His wife was happy to stay at home with an old black and white movie on TV.
Frank awoke with an aching head. He crawled off the sofa, rubbed his eyes, and poked his nose through the studio door. Jerry Mac, the latest addition to Strathdee FM’s staff was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, either getting all of Aberdeenshire’s residents out of bed also bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, or giving them good reason to kill him.
Either way, he loved the job and it came over in his show. “Hello, big boss man, where did you spring from?” he asked.
“Don’t ask, Jerry, it’s a long story.”
“Oops! OK then, I’ll leave it at that.”
Just then, the outside door opened and Tamara stepped in. Frank got a shock as she looked into the studio, and he stepped back. “Can we talk?” she whispered.
Taken aback, Frank ushered her into the office and they sat down on the couch.
He stayed silent to see what she was going to say.