Roskov book 17, p.20
Roskov, Book 17, page 20
‘There’s a chain of ten pharmacies on Sardinia, so we’ll grab them and send the drugs across once a week on the ferry, and we now dominate wine imports, we took over a chain of wine shops.’
‘Good. And our fat friend, Harry Turnman?’
‘He has a team now, an office, and they’re drilling at the aquifer site on the west coast, roads being made and improved.’
‘And my road at the dam site?’
‘The rough road goes all the way up now, and the new zig-zag rough road can now handle heavy machinery, so sat up next to the dam now are a shit load of cranes and diggers.
‘At the moment they’re drilling holes into the rocks, metal frames to put in, concrete to seal them in, pipes underneath them. Some of the water now goes through those pipes, even got thirty Irish lads up there.’
‘What did we do with the apprentices?’
‘Two hundred men turned up from Belfast, some training needed but not much, and most are young. They joined sixty local lads, and they all have training at Scorfo.
‘Some turn out to be good drivers, crane operators, some turn out to be good at plastering straight walls, some like carpentry. They’ll all get some training, and … when they’re ready they’re ready, and will be hired on full wages.’
‘What does Mandoch Valley look like these days?’ I asked.
‘I got some images yesterday, and the inside of the cave hotel is done apart from some decorating, the nursing home is a shell outline reaching skywards.
‘The shop and pharmacy and offices are done and working already, the beach apartments are making good progress, and the apartment block for local staff is done, but we’re making a second apartment block right next to it.
‘Your special villa has been started, and the row of villas now look like a row of part-finished villas. Oh, the restaurant outside the cave hotel has a roof but it’s just a bare concrete shell at the moment.’
‘Will the beach apartments be ready for summer?’
‘Be ready in six weeks or less, so yes.’
‘And the villas in my holiday complex?’ I asked.
‘Two at the top of the valley are still being worked on, private money and nothing we can do, the rest are ready, the apartments ready. The lido is done, apart from some water and a few screaming kids, the promenade has been done a while, and they built a scuba centre on the promenade.
‘Oh, your Sunrise Villa had some early bookings they said.’
‘Good, some money for me. Anything happening at Demoine’s old place?’
‘You named it Maskal Valley apparently, and they decorated the hotel and cabins, landscaped the valley, a few trees planted, a new road. The main house will be able to take guests anytime now, the beach hotel is ready, the beach got a make-over, walkways and sun shelters.’
‘And plans for a second hotel there?’ I asked.
‘On the drawing board, no men available.’
‘It can wait. And Pilgrim Valley?’
‘It’s always busy, construction work down at the beach end, but the hotels won’t be ready till September time. But the cafes there do a great trade. The new larger museum has copies of the stone tablets plus the translation, as well as huge photos of the underground village you found in the dam site.
‘The underground village now gets paying visitors, and it ain’t cheap from the city, need a jeep down the dirt road. They do organised tours, two a day.’
‘It all helps the island.’
‘Got a queue of people queuing up buy land there, so you’ll make good money selling the plots.’
‘Just need more builders,’ I sighed out.
‘More men coming back to the island, promises of good money to be made. And winter hotel occupancy has been good when it used to be dead. This week it stands at sixty percent, instead of close to zero.’
With an advert for a boat to hire seen in reception, I paid cash, a call was made, and a boat would be down at the beach jetty in half an hour. I figured that they had little else to do.
Leaving Bill and Ted behind, we packed small bags, drinks and snacks taken, sun cream packed, and we finally walked down to the beach and the small wooden jetty just as a forty-foot sailboat tied off.
‘You’re Roskov!’ came from the grey-haired British skipper.
‘I am, and my credit is good.’
‘I didn’t mean that, come aboard.’ He helped us across, and we sat where directed as a young man and woman cast us off and reversed us out to sea.
Turning, forwards diesel propulsion engaged, and we set off whilst bobbing up and down.
‘You’re all over the news,’ the old man told me. ‘Warships here, helicopters.’
‘Bob Tigenheart was a bad man it seems, his fingers in many a bad pie.’
‘I met him a few times, functions at the Williams’ mansion house.’
‘Just goes to show, you never know who you’re dealing with. You were rubbing shoulders with crooks.’
‘Plenty of them around here, yes, but most are just avoiding some tax.’
‘So what does this excursion include?’ I asked.
‘Anything you like, you’re paying.’
‘How long would it take to go right around the island?’
‘It would be after dark when we got back for certain!’
‘So let’s just see some coast, and enjoy the weather,’ I told him.
Rita soon shouted and pointed, dolphins seen in the distance, and I was now seriously considering getting a boat to moor in Corsica.
I faced Rolf as he squinted in the bright sunshine. ‘We should get one like this, in Corsica.’
‘There are many up for sale, owners with little money and in need of a quick sale.’
‘We have some extra money, so buy one, and get a crew, and the hotel can hire it out to guests, day trips.’
‘Great idea,’ Ingrid agreed. ‘When young we sailed in Sweden, and the twins always loved the water.’
We were heading west, the opposite direction to the capital, the skipper naming coves and bays, and houses owned by celebrities. And the two young crew hands were his kids.
Rounding a rocky outcrop, the water black it was so deep, the burst of air had us turn heads, a whale seen close by.
‘That’s an orca, a Killer Whale!’ the skipper shouted. ‘We see them a few times a year.’
The orcas got closer, then very close, rolling on their sides for a better look, Rolf and Ingrid worried.
I asked the skipper to slow down, and he adjusted a sail, the orcas sticking their heads out the water to get a better look at me. Reaching over the side, I patted one on the snout.
‘They’re wild animals,’ the skipper reminded me. ‘Not cute dolphins.’
‘I have a way with animals,’ I told him.
The girls took many snaps as the orcas had a good look at me, before the sail went back up and we caught the breeze again. And this was magical, sailing along quietly, the sun glistening off the water.
As we progressed slowly we saw flying fish jumping clear of the water, we spotted a turtle, and now the twins definitely wanted Rolf to buy a yacht.
Rounding the next headland, I saw the smoke and I stood and pointed, a boat on fire, our skipper starting the engine and shouting instructions, a mayday radio call soon being issued.
With the sails up full, as well as the engine at full throttle, we sped along, and I could see that it was a dive boat ahead of us. And that five divers were in the water at the rear of it.
As we closed in a black man jumped over the side.
‘Girls, go to the front of the boat and sit down or kneel down, we need the space,’ I told them as the sails were pulled down in a hurry.
Manoeuvring alongside the divers, they came up the rear ladder one-by-one as I assisted them, the wind blowing the black smoke the opposite way for now. And the survivors were pink sunburnt tourists with American accents, rings around their eyes from having worn dive masks.
The black man came up last, presumably the local dive organiser. ‘There is a diver missing.’
‘Under the boat?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
A man had discarded his mask so I grabbed it and placed it on, my shoes kicked off, and I dived over the side – a hand on the mask. As I sank, blowing out air, I peered around, soon seeing a small line of vertical bubbles coming up through the black water.
I swam down, wondering how far I could go on one breath, but the burning in my lungs had not started yet. Clearing my ears, I continued down, the water now cold and dark.
Starting to feel the burn in my lungs, I blew air out, placed a hand on my chest and closed my eyes. I imagined my own lungs filling with oxygen, and I immediately felt better.
Kicking, and using my hands at the same time, I reached the diver, a girl in a pink wetsuit, and her eyes were closed. Grabbing her, I kicked hard a few times and we started to rise, the brighter water seen above us, the hulls of both boats seen.
As we rose slowly I placed a hand around the back of her neck and imagined her body, and what might be wrong. There was no water in her lungs, the nasal cavity and throat was clear. It seemed that she had just fainted.
I imagined giving her energy, and the heat in my hand built and faded quickly, her eyes opening.
Her panic also started quickly, so I held her tight, and I held her regulator in her mouth. She gulped air in panic, then realised that she could breathe, so she calmed down as we slowly rose back up to the boats, her eyes locked with mine.
And I was sure that I was supposed to do something, something about divers not coming back up too quickly.
At the rear of the boat I halted under the propeller, her bubbles clearly seen by the crew as I saw the crew faces peering down through the water at us.
I waited a minute and then dragged the girl up, she broke the surface, spat out the regulator and coughed. And I had forgotten how to breathe it seemed.
The black man was staring at me. ‘How long you hold your breath?’
‘I … used her spare regulator.’
‘I see you two minutes no use it.’
‘Must be your poor eyesight,’ I suggested, and when the girl was aboard I clambered up after her, their dive boat well and truly ablaze, a red and white coastguard cutter speeding in to us.
Engine started, and we moved away from the stricken dive boat, a small blast as the fuel went up, the coastguard pulling alongside us, the divers and their kit moved over.
And only now did the girl recognise me, and she screamed loudly. ‘Oh my god! Roskov?’
‘You’re welcome,’ I told her. ‘Next time, stick with your dive buddy, you should be dead.’
The coastguard’s local black men were surprised when she punched a male diver in the face, some harsh language aimed at that man, and they had to separate the pair.
With the dive boat’s captain, and presumably its owner, on the coastguard cutter we untied ourselves from the cutter and started our engine, the dive boat now sinking rear first.
As we powered away, my charter skipper noted, ‘You swim like a bloody fish, that was twenty-four metres of water!’
‘I’m fit, young and healthy. And now sopping wet.’
They fetched me a towel as I stripped down to my underwear, the skipper’s daughter going all giddy around me, and we headed back, but slowly.
The crew made us cups of tea, and I sat with mine in a cool breeze, which dried me nicely.
It took an hour to get back, the ocean enjoyed, the weather was good for us today, and before we hit the jetty I put my damp clothes back on.
Back on the jetty, and Rolf whispered, ‘How did you hold your breath like that?’
‘I gave myself some extra oxygen,’ I whispered back. ‘If someone tried to drown me … I could stay down for hours I think.’
Back at the hotel pool we found Bill and Ted relaxing, and I gave them the story, but I was in need of some clean clothes. Back up in the room, the twins changing with me, the osprey landed, looking for a free meal again.
I ordered room service, salmon sandwiches, and when the tray arrived I made sure that the man never came inside. Salmon taken out of the sandwiches, and the greedy osprey got its feed before I nudged it away.
Agent Crossley knocked on the door ten minutes later, but fortunately we were all dressed. I led her and her colleague to the balcony, cold drinks offered from the minibar, and we sat.
‘Nice view,’ the man offered. ‘But more than I could afford.’
‘Crime pays,’ I quipped.
‘It did for the dirtbags around here,’ he noted.
Crossley began, ‘We’ve made a dozen local arrests - we have an extradition treaty, bank records seized, accounts frozen. And Tigenheart’s records could put a hundred people behind bars, many just for tax evasion.
‘But we also arrested twelve men Stateside, a wider range of crimes including laundering cartel money, so they face a long sentence.
‘One man we arrested, he was staying here at this hotel, that German -’
‘Gunter, yes. His new young trophy wife will have no one to hustle.’
‘She was interviewed.’
‘Just a gold digger,’ I told Crossley.
‘Two men were arrested in Italy, linked in, and linked to Stanulou, so they could face life in prison in Italy.’
‘No death penalty in Italy,’ I commented.
‘What happened at Tigenheart’s house is still a mystery, and he’s not being very helpful there, said he was asleep when the house started to collapse and he ran out.
‘Seven men were incinerated, some sort of advanced accelerant used, but the fires were very localised. It’s as if someone held a flame thrower to them.’
‘And the house?’ I asked.
‘Broke into pieces and fell, as if it was badly built. They can see where it cracked, but can’t see why it cracked.’
‘And this bus you mentioned?’ I feigned.
‘It smashed through the gates, across the gardens, and through the large plate-glass windows. But the damage was not enough to bring down the house. And the bus driver is clean.’
‘I guess your forensic people will figure it out.’
‘We have our hands full, it’s a local matter. Be flying back with Tigenheart tonight, a military flight, tight security – there are many that want him dead, and many a wealthy man that’s crapping himself right now.’
‘Those that live by the sword,’ I quipped.
‘Are you … planning on sharing your intel sources and methods?’
‘Nope, not at all. My sources are my sources, not yours, and my methods involve large bribes paid in cash and a few laws bent and stretched for a good cause.’ I held my stare on her.
‘Well we got a hell of a result, so we can’t complain.’
‘You can complain, and you just did.’ I waited.
‘Just curious, that’s all.’
‘Be less curious, Agent, or I may not have any intel for you in the future; I have to protect my sources.’
She exchanged a look with her colleague and headed off.
Trish called an hour later. ‘Had that American chat show call, they’re offering half a million dollars if you can get there quick.’
‘Tell them yes, but not an exclusive, I want to do a few west coast chat shows as well.’
‘I’ll call them now, and their parent company has a west coast operation so maybe they won’t mind - and want you on the show in Los Angeles.’
‘Sounds good, go find out.’
I walked across to the Rasmussens. ‘I have a TV chat show in the States, maybe two, half a million dollars, so I may fly out today or tomorrow.’
‘It’s good money,’ Rita noted. ‘We holiday here, another four days. You will see Claudia?’
‘Maybe in Los Angeles, depends on her filming schedule. Message her that I may be there in a few days.’
Rolf told me, ‘Your video sales are fantastic, already more than thirty million Euro profit. It has featured on many chat shows around the world, now selling well in Asia.’
Trish called me back, and we had a deal for two chat shows, the second in Los Angeles, my work visa to be refreshed but it was valid for a year anyhow. She would book me a flight up to New York in the morning.
Bill and Ted would not come with me, they could not be armed, so I called Ross Daniels and he would have security men meet me in New York. And my previous Air Marshal, Decker, would fly down to me today.
Checking with reception, and we could hire a boat to take us to some place called Prickly Pear Island - with lunch thrown in, and we would take photos for a few new posters there.
Packed up in a hurry, we met the boat down on the wooden jetty on the beach, but this boat had an engine not a set of sails, so once aboard we sped away, but it was still almost an hour to reach the deserted island.
There was a sailboat seen moored, but the tiny island and sand spit were otherwise empty. Anchored in the sandy bay, we had to get wet as we got ashore, the crew taking hampers and sunshades ashore for us, and we started with Gabrielle and Olga, bikini poses on the sand, the calm blue ocean behind them.
With Rita and Ingrid taking the snaps, and these days quite expert with the digital cameras, Gabrielle and Olga were snapped in and out of the water, sand on arses, sand on boobs, and we re-created many of the poses from Jamaica and Barbados.
Swapping later, it was the twins’ turn, sandy arses and sandy boob photos taken, and I joined in with several snaps, laying between the twins. In one pose I was on my back, elbows locked, looking out to sea, the twins face down but naked, sand on their arses.
Rita then took a series of snaps of me, not least for the teenage girls and the gay men of the world, and she snapped me coming out of the water, a few short videos taken as well.
Walking around and exploring the tiny island, we found interesting flotsam and large crabs, discarded rope, and when the sailboat crew came ashore we held a small party, the crew from Canada - a rich family on holiday, and the teenage kids had learnt to sail at a young age.
They had not seen the local or international news, which meant no questions about the action here, so we chatted about modelling - and hotels in Corsica. Rolf also got some good advice about how to check out a yacht before buying it.
