Island shirt.
The wind rushed up from the shore, whipped through the grasses and rattled their stems against his legs. The granite outcrop, worn and rounded over millennia provided George a comfortable perch from which to survey his territory and from where he could now see Warwick stumbling towards their meeting.
Behind Warwick, the estuary flowed slowly over its bar, flashing diadems of sunlight and a bit further off, George could hear the clank of the lines and stays as his sea-hardened fleet readied itself for the tide.
Down on the harbour front, Angela’s hi-viz coat strobed between the pickets of the fence as she walked towards the post office, he checked his watch, she was late. A smile creased his face with memories of their encounters. She was an aggressive lover that one, she’ll be a good ally now, not the treacherous conspirator he’d feared. He had decided that the best way to secure her allegiance was to groom her in the deviations she hankered after, and to tease her with the promise of illicit riches. He’d known that the recordings of their private performances, if ever leaked, would shame her and the money would bind her. George was confident the double hook of reward and shame would ensure she’d stay loyal.
Ange was the latest addition to his many and varied allegiances on this island. His web of dominion was cumbersome but with all the hooks in place he maintained a tight control of the Island. Through friendships cultured over years, by generous lending, blackmail and the promise of riches, his grip over the island formed a community linked through him in a matrix of obedience.
For this next play, more than any previous, it was imperative he kept air-tight control. Billions of pounds were at stake, and that was just his share of the mega trillions that would flow globally via this unassuming outcrop of rocks and villagers..
When it came to the mob’s attitude to him and to his grandiose scheme, he had succeeded through dogged determination to quash concerns of his ‘Island mentality’. In fact he alone had managed to convince the underworld players that introductions to mind-numbing amounts of Mediterranean wealth could only be done safely, quietly and efficiently through the contacts, ports and financial portals of his home territory.
It had taken just a few words on the ears of the Mediterranean magnates to align their greed to his plans. He’d gained their trust over years of wintering and maintaining their super-yachts in his safe ports. Many a time he had made less than legal arrangements on the quiet for them through his enterprises on this Island. It wasn’t any leap of brilliance to see these people had huge assets locked in Greece and Italy that needed to be shipped, sold or re-homed before the Euro was lost to either the drachma and lira or to Euro puppet governments. George’s genius was recognising that with his island’s brokers, dealers, banks, post and constabulary all under his power, and his nautical capacity, he held a unique solution to a massive logistic problem.
By coordinating the collection of goods and bullion from faceless owners, with the covert distribution to unknown buyers, gross profits were assured. All George needed to do was mediate between the underworld heads of the Russian and Asian markets, and his sellers, the superrich Greek and Italian players, politicians and officials.
It was on the high seas using his combination of non descript fishing boats and high speed, armed and protected superyachts where the master plan had its strength. He would arrange the deals with the owners, sell to the best bidder and do the exchange without either party facing off. What he needed was the trust of both sides and the total control of his island structure, and he had juggled these three elements to perfection.
George was all too aware the risks were high in monetary value as well as in longevity. One sour deal, one identity leak, one gap in secrecy, and fortunes would fall. Mob bosses expect success and are practiced at eradicating life-forms that show any chink of ineptitude. It was because of mob expectations that, at every meeting, George had worn his machismo and certainty like an island shirt at a funeral, flashing his confidence in their faces. It was a false confidence but he delivered it wrapped in such huge temptations their greed washed away doubt. He’d done deals before with these guys but never on this scale, never with so much at stake.
“Shit, George” puffed Warwick, “do we have to meet up here?”
“Quit bitching Rick, you just haff ta get fitter. Did you bring it?”
‘Sure, but I gotta tell ya mate, you’re being a bit too paranoid, meeting up here. No one is ever going to eavesdrop on you, even in town.”
“Don’t you believe it. Trust no-one, that’s my motto.”
“Pfft! I thought it was ‘Own everyone’, any way… This here is the master unit. Warwick held up what looked like a fat smart phone. It’s your full scramble encryption, random password, multi-channel communication hub. Each boat is keyed F and its number, the yachts Y, land based contacts - reversed initials. It uses GPS to map every vessel, zoom for global overview or inch-perfect navigation to pick up points. The guys all love ‘em. We’re all tested and we don’t register so much as a blip on frequency monitors. I got clean scans from our FSB, ASS and MI6 moles. This comms system, George, it’s the fuckin duck’s nuts mate, I’ve outdone myself.”
“Ÿeah, well it’s only what I ordered from you Rick, you’ll get your fair share if its proved in action”.
“So when do we kick off for real then? The lads are itchin’, they’re all set to roll any time you want.”
George smirked, “Time is now Rick, we’ve moved the first lot today, first paid up client, first shipment, it’s already on it’s way out of Piraeus”.
The name Papandreou was the first of the clients George had on his list. The next one off the rank was the more scary Cesare Geronzi, he was on his yacht and leaving Trieste tonight. The stream of high profile names from Ionian and Aegean ports were flooding in.
Every cloud has a silver lining and George was ready to gather every gram of silver from this approaching Euro storm. He gloated at the greed of the corrupt and, slapping Warwick’s shoulder, grabbed the handset and made his first billion dollar call.
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