TUNA LIFE (38 page)

“Sir, we are ready to leave in twenty minutes,” said the captain.

The sailboat was owned by a trust that had no official links to Roman. The plan was to sail to Thailand, where he had several hiding places in which he could stay until the worst had settled. He wasn’t interested in going to prison. Even though they most likely wouldn’t be able to convict him of anything, they would probably be seeking a no-bail charge. And he wasn’t the type to go to prison. Not even for five minutes. He had bad experiences from Moscow. He wouldn’t survive long in prison, not even in a country like Australia. He nodded to the captain. He could move around freely on the boat as long as he remained under deck. They had run through a few drills already. He barely used twenty seconds to hide in the secret compartment. There was little risk the police or the coast guard would take action quicker than that. He glanced up at the TV, as the captain returned to the deck. Channel 9 was filming outside his Sovereign Island house. He turned up the volume. The screen was showing how a swarm of homicide detectives and technicians, clad from top to toe in white coveralls, were setting up a small tent outside his driveway.
What the fuck
, he thought
. What the fuck are they doing outside my house?

“We are now live from Sovereign Island, on the Gold Coast, where police have just cornered off the house belonging to the majority owner of Tuna Life, the successful mobile app company. Not more than a few weeks ago, industry insiders were saying that Tuna Life could be worth upwards of one billion if they decided to do an IPO by the end of the year. But the company has been hit by a string of scandals over the last few weeks. First they experienced a technical glitch in their software, which resulted in the mobile app taking pictures of unsuspecting users. Then Andrew Engels, the CEO, was fired because of the problems, and for lying about his background. And then it all escalated tonight when a string of video clips, insinuating that the majority owner Roman Bezhrev is responsible for a range of criminal activities, including murder, was released directly to all of Tuna Life’s sixty million users. We have now received unconfirmed rumours that the police have discovered human remains inside Roman Bezhrev’s house. It is too early to say whether this has something to do with the missing women case on the Gold Coast, and the police are releasing information very sparingly at the moment. But they have confirmed that they will hold a press conference at seven pm. We will keep you updated throughout the day with any further developments.”

Roman Bezhrev almost had to laugh. This Frank Geitner had really set him up. His Australian life was ruined. His new career as a respected technology investor was now an impossibility. His reputation was tarnished. All the respect he had earned by being rock-hard the last thirty years had been wiped away. He had become the laughingstock of the world. The laughingstock of his beloved Russia. No one would ever look upon him with the same respect again.

Roman’s mobile phone vibrated. Surprised, he pulled it out of his left front pocket. Richard wasn’t supposed to contact him before at least a few days. And Richard was the only one who had this number. It wasn’t possible to trace the phone. But still, it was always better to be safe than sorry. Why would Richard contact him now? Roman looked at the text message that had just come through, and it was as if all the blood immediately drained from his face.

He violently threw his drink at the wall and kicked the chair in front of him. He had always known there would be a risk that his past would catch up with him at one stage, that he would have to face all the bad things he had done. But not this. Not this! He had worked so hard to get where he was in life. Was he supposed to just give up? Run away with his tail between his legs?

With firm steps Roman walked through the cabin, and kicked open the door to the upper deck. Andrej, his bodyguard and the captain looked at Roman with astonishment. “Sir, you need to remain under deck,” the captain said. Roman Bezhrev ignored him.

“Have we identified where the attack originated?” he asked Andrej.

Andrej nodded with his thick neck. “The technicians localised them twenty minutes ago. The attack originated from Nimbin. Do you want me to convey that information to Tuna Life, or do you want to hold onto the information? I can have a team ready in three hours.”

Roman shook his head. “Three hours is too long. This Frank Geitner is about to learn that he has fucked with the wrong person.”

“But Sir, we are ready to cast off,” the captain said. “The police are looking for you. We should get going as soon as possible.”

Roman stared at the captain with fire in his eyes. “The plan has changed. You wait here until I’m back.” Then Roman simply started to walk towards the gangway. Andrej the bodyguard followed obediently. He knew there was no point attempting to reason with Roman. It was not a good idea to leave the boat, but he had no choice. At least Roman had kept his disguise. He didn’t look like a Russian millionaire anymore. Gone were the regular black clothes. Dressed in a blue golf shirt and beige khaki trousers he looked just like any other retiree bitten by the golf bacillus. They had changed cars in an industrial shed Roman rented in Yatala before they got to Sanctuary Cove Yacht Club. It would at least take a few weeks before the incompetent police discovered the silver Bentley with bulletproof windows. Roman didn’t exactly love the two-year-old KIA they now used for transport. But it was efficient. Nobody noticed it. Like a chameleon it became indistinguishable from the rest of the cars on the road. If they started to drive south straightaway they could be in Nimbin in a couple of hours. Roman could be back on the boat, on his way to Thailand and freedom before the sun rose again.

There was only one way Roman could win his respect back.

He had to kill Frank Geitner.

82

“Why do you think Roman will come here?” Andrew asked. “Won’t he be on his way to some secret airport? Getting back to Russia as soon as he can? He’s wanted for murder.”

“Roman will be here. He can’t escape this. I’ve destroyed him. And of course, I have something he wants.” Frank smiled.

“Why don’t we just call the police, let them handle it?” Andrew asked.

“This isn’t a case for the police. They had their chance. For four years I’ve begged them to question Roman. They’ve ignored me. Today, today Roman will finally pay for all his crimes.”

Andrew studied Frank. He seemed so determined, so certain that he would succeed. But did he really have any idea who he was dealing with? “And how are we supposed to defend ourselves? You and I against a bloody army of Russian gangsters. It’s an insane plan, Frank. You can’t go through with it.”

“Come, Andrew. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the gang,” Frank said, and led the way up from the basement and out of the house.

When they were standing out in courtyard Frank asked if Andrew could drive.

“Drive where?” Andrew asked. “I thought you said Roman would be coming here.”

Frank shook his head. “No, he will trace the signals. And when his goons in Russia tell him where the signals end, he won’t get this address. He will get an address in Nimbin.”

“So Roman and his Russian friends will think we’re in Nimbin?”

Frank nodded. “Exactly. And that’s where we are going to be as well. With our friends from the Embassy.”

“The embassy?”

“Yes, the Russians control the drug traffic on the Gold Coast. They dump the price on heroin and other heavy drugs, while increasing the price of hashish and marijuana. Everything to get the users addicted to heavier drugs, to get loyal customers, addicted customers. The good people of Nimbin have for a long time been upset by this practise. They are not against drugs per se, but they are tired of seeing young people getting addicted to heavy drugs. They weren’t hard to ask when I told them I could shut Roman down.”

“So you’re cooperating with drug dealers from Nimbin? You’re helping them to win back market share?” Andrew asked.

“Cooperating is probably not the right word. I’m not a fan of all these prohibitions. The Nimbin-dealers stay away from the heavier drugs; they mainly deal in marijuana and hashish, drugs I believe should be legal anyway.”

Andrew gaped. Frank never stopped surprising.

Frank and Andrew arrived in Nimbin at eight pm. The streets were dark and the whole place almost looked abandoned. Nimbin at night was different than Nimbin in the daytime, Andrew thought. He had never been to Nimbin before he had started doing his weekly expeditions to look for Frank. The first time he went there he had hardly walked five metres down the main drag before some guy in grey tracky dacks, with a beanie pulled down over his ears, approached him with an offer for marijuana. When he had arrived at the Nimbin Museum, he had received three more offers. Andrew had heard stories about how Nimbin was the local hippies’ attempt to create a free-zone in Australia. But he had never expected them to deal drugs so openly. The police station was situated only a few hundred metres away from the main street, but wherever you turned or walked, you could smell the sweet smell of hashish in the air. Nobody was smoking menthol in Nimbin, that was a given. Now, when darkness had arrived, all the tourists were gone. The middle-aged couples had climbed back into their SUVs and returned to the Gold Coast in time to watch My Kitchen Rules on the telly. It was one thing to go for a drive to Nimbin to relive some of the 1960s one missed from one’s youth, but one returned before dark. The regulars of Nimbin didn’t make it a safe-at-night-time spot.

Andrew parked the car in Sibley Street, near the Peace Park. Together with Frank he then walked the roughly hundred metres up to Cullen Street and the Hemp Embassy. The Embassy was really nothing more than a store where one could buy various hemp products and get basic information about cannabis. At least that was what Andrew had believed the last time he visited Nimbin. This time Frank took him upstairs, to the second floor of the Hemp Embassy.

“Do you own the Hemp Embassy?” Andrew asked, when Frank sat down at one of the chairs in the upstairs office.

Frank shook his head. “The Hemp Embassy is a non-profit organisation. It was established back in 1992. These guys don’t do anything wrong, they are doing preventative work. Look at the motto of the town,” he said, pointing at a sign where someone had scribbled down a bunch of statements about love and peace. In between all the nonsense Andrew could read:
Don’t Steal, Don’t Fight, Don’t Be Greedy
. Andrew had seen the same sentences on several signs scattered around in Nimbin. He smiled. It was almost as Google’s motto:
Don’t Be Evil
. Google’s competitors probably disagreed that the company was living by its motto, when it was in a competitive situation. Google was known to use its market power to force smaller competitors out of business, and for disrupting and turning traditional industries upside down and causing hundreds of thousands of people to lose their jobs. Don’t fight, don’t steal, don’t be greedy. Andrew wondered how deep those commandments were rooted in the people who were opposing everything in society.

“Frank is too modest,” said a soft woman’s voice. Andrew turned around and looked straight into the eyes of Yvonne, Tuna Life’s secretary. He hadn’t really noticed before, but she was a very attractive woman. She had long fair blonde hair, and was dressed in tight jeans and a white top. There was something hippieish about her, but in a very different way than the other inhabitants. She was basically too good-looking to fit into the beaten-down village. Everything was so messy and dirty in Nimbin, nothing was clean or good-looking. This woman, Yvonne, she was both clean and good-looking. Very good-looking.

“Without Frank’s support over the last few years, we wouldn’t have been where we are today. Nimbin isn’t just a place where people can smoke weed. A lot of Australians are living in a nightmare of pain and suffering where ordinary medicines have little to no effect. Marijuana and other hemp products provide these people with an opportunity to live dignified lives. I can’t understand why that’s so bad,” she said.

“There are worse ways to spend your money,” Frank chimed in. “But it’s time to get ready. We’re expecting guests.”

“We’re prepared,” Yvonne said, smiling. “The others are waiting for you in the restaurant.”

Frank nodded. He pulled out the drawer and fished out a laptop.

Andrew studied him.

“Today is the day I will get my revenge,” Frank said, before closing the desk drawer, and heading towards the stairways. Andrew followed closely.

Inside Nimbin hotel a bunch of guys were seated around a table. Most of them looked like hippies. Andrew recognised two of them. They had been standing outside Lismore hitchhiking the last time he drove to Nimbin. He had driven straight past them, of course. He hadn’t wanted to dirty the Tesla, and they didn’t exactly look friendly. Frank walked around the table, making sure he personally shook everybody’s hands. They sat there with sawn-off shotguns, sniper rifles, knives and baseball bats. What had happened to the ‘don’t fight‘ motto, Andrew wondered.

“This is our gang,” Frank said. “They know what Roman Bezhrev is responsible for, and they want to make it right.”

Andrew nodded.

“There is only one road into Nimbin. We will have half an hour’s warning when they come. I suggest we quit drinking until this is over.”

The two hitchhikers put down their schooners, as did the rest of the gang. In total they were eight men and one woman, Yvonne, Tuna Life’s secretary. Andrew was glad he hadn’t fired her as planned. Even though she was a terrible secretary she had two hands, and Frank and he needed as many hands as possible. Preferably with a gun attached if Roman Bezhrev was stupid enough to come to Nimbin. And Frank seemed certain he would.

“How can you be so sure he will come?” one of the hippies asked.

“I’ve studied Roman for years. I know what he is going to do before he knows it himself,” Frank replied. “Trust me. He will come, but he won’t be coming alone.”