Morgan Stone - The Russian Factor

“He hasn’t given me the slips yet.”

“Better check your credit card. The guy’s a thief.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve done a little snooping. He’s is a real creep. He was running some kind of scam over in Greece. He’s been laying low here in Turkey until you showed up. I guess you were just too good to pass up.” Tom looked at the boxes. “Anything you paid for and didn’t get from him yet?”

“Plenty.” I showed Tom the list. “And, I’ve already given him cash for that objet d’art smoldering on deck. He claims I’ve only paid for the materials so far.”

Tom groaned. “Come on, you have to get whatever’s yours and then be done with Harvey.”

“What about the boat? What about all the stuff it needs? How’s it going to get done?”

“Harvey’s sure not helping.” Tom waved at the spindly structure on deck. “Find trained folks here. Do it yourself. I’ll help out without skimming a percentage. Marine consultant , what a stinking pile of bull shit! You’ve wasted a lot of time and money on Harvey.”

So much for serendipity!

Sinem had a friend in the mega-yacht business. A friend with a lot of connections. On the way to the friend’s office, I phoned Harvey, confirmed we were square and dismissed him. He didn’t even ask why. He just sounded a bit hurt. Sighing, he asked if he could get his technicians’ welding tools off Shadow and leave the latest shipment of parts down below with the keys I’d given him.

I was feeling like a total schmuck, until we got back to the boat and found all the equipment gone!

I phoned Harvey.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t had time to get over to your boat yet.” His voice had a grating nasal quality, intensified by the phone.

“It’s gone. All the equipment, even the solar panels.” I looked outside. “The welding stuff too. You must have picked it up?”

“ My tools are gone? You left them alone and got them stolen?” He hollered, “You’re going to pay for this! You don’t fuck with me, lady, you hear?” Click.

The thieves overlooked our cameras, jewelry, alcohol and laptop. I connected it to the marina’s Wi-Fi and logged into my online banking site. The credit card was maxed out! “What an idiot!” I slammed the computer shut.

“Harvey?” Anna was in her bathroom confirming the gold chain she left on the towel hook was still there.

“No, me!” I got my cell phone roaming and called the card’s fraud squad. They gave me the when, where and how-much the card had been used. Within the last hour, locally and to the tune of five grand. I was livid. The card was maxed and would remain so until the charges were proven fraudulent. On top of that, the card had to be canceled and I had to wait for a new one.

“In Turkey?” I whined to the investigator. “I don’t know if there even is mail delivery here.” I gave them Gavin’s name and address. He could courier the card to me. In the meantime, I had no credit card and I’d given Harvey all the cash I had. Considering the enormity of what we were trying to accomplish and the stakes we were playing with — our lives — I was furious that an Australian con-man, scheming for a few lousy bucks, would be our undoing.

It was high time to involve the police!

The lightning fast response I got when I spoke to an English-challenged desk sergeant blew my mind. In hindsight, I know it was certain keywords: marina, big old gulet, eccentric Australian, and Russian girlfriend, which got his attention. I was whisked from the packed waiting area into a dingy meeting room, tea was served, and an English speaking lawyer with dark eyes and fiery red hair was brought in.

Someone, whom I presumed to be the chief of police by his impeccable and highly decorated uniform, sat behind the lawyer with a couple of regular officers. I was wondering how to pay the lawyer, when one of the officers started speaking to him in Turkish. He translated and the questioning began.

They showed me photos of Harvey’s gulet and maps of the marina. I pointed out its location. My questions about getting equipment back were ignored. I was shown more pictures of people. Most of them were rough looking types and I didn’t recognize anyone. The cops flipped through their special album until I recognized Harvey’s Russian girlfriend. Bingo! That’s all they wanted from me. Binders slapped shut and the red-headed lawyer and I were left sitting there.

In the back of the room, the officers convened a sometimes heated debate. I didn’t understand anything but hand gestures. The lawyer, not part of the coven, used his own hand gestures to tell me to be quiet and wait. It dragged on. The lawyer loosened his tie. The stuffy room stank of cigarette smoke and sweat. What felt like an eternity later, the officers walked out. One stayed behind to talk to the lawyer in Turkish.

Ceremoniously buttoning his suit jacket, the lawyer explained that I would get my possessions back in a few hours and that I was free to go.

It was late afternoon by the time I got back to Shadow. Anna was down below, pounding out something on the laptop. A glass of Raki — Turkish hard liquor on ice — sweated beside her. “How did it go with the police?” She didn’t look up.

“Fine. They’re going to get our stuff back.” I hated Raki and poured myself several fingers of Jameson — neat.

“Really? Did you have to pay them?” She still didn’t look up.

“No, I didn’t have to pay them. We have a valid claim. There’s been a crime.”

“You are not in Russia!” Anna typed some more, then stopped and finally looked up. “Really? I can not believe they would do anything. Even not in Russia. Something is not right.”

“Whatever…” I started telling her about the lawyer

A hesitant knock on Shadow’s hull killed the conversation. Anna snorted, closed the laptop and stomped into her cabin.

“Not in the mood for company?” I said to her closed door.

“Not now. Email from Mother.”

I stuck my head above deck. Erdem stood a polite distance away on the dock. “I come to offer storage for your parts at my uncle’s place of business. If you agree, I shall instruct officers to leave it there to be safe and secure until you need it.”

“The police are here?”

“Soon, they will be.”

I thanked him, put my whiskey in the fridge, and headed out with Anna to find a good spot from which to watch the ensuing action. A procession of police vehicles converged on the gulet. “Wow, this is amazing.” I nudged Anna. “Wouldn’t see this in Canada.”

“In Russia this happens only when there is a big shishka — pine cone — in town.”

Several police officers rushed up the gangplank onto Harvey’s gulet. Vocal eruptions of Turkish, English, and Russian followed. More police poured onto the boat, and several men cursing in Russian were hustled down the gangplank into a van.

“Ha! That boat’s full of Russians.” I said.

“Shut up. You want those Russians to see us?” Anna pressed her body closer to the grass.

Harvey was screaming in English about being the captain of his ship and maritime law. It didn’t do him any good. Before long, he too was brought out in handcuffs and loaded into the van with the Russians.

“Oye, poor Harvey.” Anna whispered. “Those Russians may not be kind to him.”

I felt a pang of remorse, but mostly incredulity.

The van left, heading slowly toward town along the sea wall.

The chief of police I’d seen earlier got out of an unmarked car, nonchalantly lit up and climbed the gangplank onto the gulet. All we heard for a few minutes was Turkish squawked from police radios until, from a door near the rear mast of the boat, an officer appeared carrying a shotgun across his chest. He was followed by Harvey’s girlfriend in handcuffs, head bent low, blonde hair hiding her face. Several more officers followed her, walking single file along the narrow promenade toward the gangplank.