Ricky Roskov

  Book 25

  Copyright © Geoff Wolak

  This book is a work of fiction, technically accurate in the detail of geographical locations, and the time period history. It is young adult romance, conspiracy and murder-mystery.

  One small cat

  It had been good to meet Leo’s extended family, and I now had an even larger extended family of my own – which included Mickey the talking cat.

  When I woke he was there, curled up on a cushion on a chair. Out of bed, I glanced back at the twins and whispered to him, ‘How did it go?’

  Mickey lifted his head, yawned wide and stretched as I waited. In his odd Arabic accent, he began, ‘He is beyond rage … and it will take many days to clean his house.’

  ‘Did you read his mind?’

  ‘Yes, and he seeks to make money from dwellings – for himself and his rich friends, and you seek to make such dwellings available for the peasantry. I have seen such men before through the ages.’

  ‘He means to kill me?’

  ‘No, he is afraid of the magistrate and the populace finding out, yet he seeks to undermine your work with the peasantry.’

  ‘Perhaps you can visit him now and then, and see his plans.’

  Mickey nodded before I fetched him some milk, we also had tuna in sandwiches in the fridge.

  After my shower Mickey was gone, as was the tuna and the milk, so I went for a walk alone, the time now being 7am. At the pool bar they handed me a coffee, many guests sat having coffee and snacks as a breakfast, all smiling and nodding at me.

  ‘Sir, we saw a cat earlier,’ came from a pool boy.

  ‘It’s OK, it … belongs to a very rich guest. Feed it if you see it.’

  Ambling down to the beach, a model came out of the water naked, and she was in no hurry to cover herself as I walked past and nodded a greeting, coffee in hand.

  At the stables I sighed, several of the girls topless and throwing water at each other as they giggled, wet teenage boobs swaying. I turned around and ambled back past the empty golf putting area. At the yacht on dry land I saw a curtain opening, so someone was awake – and not at all seasick.

  At the rock pool I peered down at the fish, the baby dolphin now gone, and over at the laboratories I found Simone - the young expert diver - getting out of a wet suit. She locked eyes with me and pulled the wetsuit off.

  ‘Early morning dive?’ I asked, Simone a size six with slight muscles, and a great stomach.

  ‘I conduct a study of the fish here and write report,’ came in her sexy French accent.

  There was no one around, and she was delaying getting dressed, so I lowered a hand and fingered her. She gasped as if about to faint.

  ‘Have you kept my secret, the glowing cross?’ I asked the top of her head.

  ‘Yes,’ she managed to say between ragged breaths.

  I withdrew my finger and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Good girl. Now don’t get cold, get dressed.’

  When she was finally dressed she showed me the sea horses, now in abundance here in Corsica and being shipped abroad.

  I ate breakfast at the pool bar with Rolf and Ingrid, the twins would sleep another hour, but when the gang was finally awake and finally with it we set off in the minibus with a police escort.

  At the entrance to the new Saudi palace, up in Lake Valley, we were halted by alert security staff, and at the huge villa a maid was waiting, as well as a Saudi official in a suit.

  That official welcomed us, my own Lake Valley company’s security staff seen patrolling, and inside I found two of the Saudi men I had met previously but both now dressed casual, kids seen running around like a normal family.

  ‘Ah, welcome Mister Roskov,’ came a loud greeting, coffee poured for us in the huge lounge - now very tastefully decorated, the twins impressed. ‘We met your man, Carter, ex-SAS, a chat about bodyguard work for his fellow SAS men.’

  I nodded. ‘How do you like your new villa?’ I asked.

  ‘The view is most spectacular, and to have a lake with a boat is a great advantage – we never knew it was like this in Corsica.’

  ‘The golf course will open in a few days,’ I reminded them as we all sat, the Rasmussens introduced.

  ‘We do not play, not many of us do, it is you westerners that like to be out in the hot sun.’

  I smiled. ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen, yes. Have you seen much of the island?’

  ‘Not so far, we have been relaxing here, but we will visit your hotel and this Sunrise Villa, a look at the famous Frances House. And we have booked a tour of the Templars’ Caves, they fascinate us, and the museum of course – to see what Broderic stole from Jerusalem.’

  I nodded. ‘Your man, Smythe, has been working hard to get you good housing deals in Britain.’

  ‘We get regular reports, yes, and the new nursing home complex here is causing quite a stir in Europe.’

  ‘Trust me, when it’s open and running, and you see the balance sheet, you’ll want ten more.’

  ‘Of that we have little doubt, the interest in them is extraordinary.’

  ‘You will have to compete with Barclays Bank, and they have deep pockets.’

  ‘Their first nursing home here opens soon?’

  ‘A few months, we have good construction teams these days. And it will cause a shock when shown on French television.’

  ‘Our own nursing home will surpass them,’ came with a grin.

  I smiled. ‘Yours will be much larger, of course. And this villa is the largest that will ever be built here, no others like this will be allowed.’

  ‘So we will hang onto that claim. Good.’

  They showed us the library, now with some books in it, and the cinema room was set-up ready. On the deck above the clean and sparkling pool we peered out at the pontoon on the lake, a sailboat moored ready. And the Rasmussens were excited when they saw a sailboat bending in the wind out on the lake.

  I faced our hosts. ‘What will you do with this place when not visiting?’

  ‘Family and friends will make use of it, our officials in Europe, select guests. When we have a meeting in Europe … we can hold that meeting here - less traffic and fewer reporters than Paris!’

  ‘We can keep the reporters away from you here,’ I confirmed.

  ‘The land and villa was … cheap,’ one of our hosts broached.

  ‘What are friends for?’ I said with a shrug. ‘You invest with me, and that helps the pensioners of Europe.’

  Twenty minutes later we set off as a convoy, and at the Lake Valley caves we stepped down, a time slot reserved for us, and I soon led my guests slowly and carefully down into the caves, my guests shocked at what they found.

  I told them, ‘These were First Century Jews, no signs of early Christianity. And they lived in here for sixty years.’

  ‘Amazing.’

  The watercourses carved into the rocks were examined, the old stone houses, a guide on hand to explain just how people lived in here.

  Back up top, and squinting in the bright sun, we arranged to meet the Saudis later, a tour of my hotel, The Gun Room and my Sunrise Villa.

  On the way back we stopped at the Roskov Leo Hotel, that hotel sat on the south side of the city and away from the beach, and it was just a modest forty-room hotel. The walls were ancient stone with vines, and it was “very rustic”.

  Inside, we found Henri Bouchard and his family - they were having a good look around their new acquisition, Leo and his girlfriend now holding onto just thirty percent of the shares, the balance of the hotel value sold for a steep two million Euro – my loan paid off.

  In the rustic old gardens we sat, drinks served, dated beige columns with vines around us and netting above us, a great place to just sit and to relax.

  Leo came and sat near me. ‘I plan to be involved with the new orphanage you’re creating, if that’s OK?’ He now sounded much older than he looked.

  ‘Of course it is, you can be listed as a benefactor, but you’ll soon have your own family to worry about.’

  ‘Yes, I’m … starting over. Again.’

  ‘Don’t dwell on the past, focus on the future,’ I firmly encouraged. ‘And never stop fighting for what’s right, apart from on weekends of course - time with the family.’

  I stood when Henri came out to us. ‘So how’s your new hotel?’

  ‘It feels like home already, an odd feeling, and we all love the place – so old and authentic. My friends and staff and business associates will all visit, and in winter, the hotel will be busy.’

  ‘Will you retire here?’

  ‘Soon, yes, and my son will take over on the mainland, it is about time I left work behind.’

  ‘My stock market experts tell me … that in August it will be a good time to buy on the British markets, and my experts are never wrong.’

  ‘August?’ He nodded. ‘I will be ready.’

  ‘A good end-of-year rise from the beginning of September. But keep that to yourself.’

  He nodded. ‘My granddaughter seems much better now, no bad dreams, no odd talk of olden times. She is like a new person.’

  Leo went to chat to guests.

  I told Henri, ‘She had two people inside her mind, now just the one – as it’s supposed to be. But Leo will continue to struggle with the past, he never quite recovered from the slaughter of his family here on the island.’ I sighed out. ‘Maybe, someday, he’ll find some peace.’

  ‘How many times did he live?’

  ‘At least ten, and he fought Broderic and hi
s descendants many times. Your family has a claim, a small claim, over Pilgrim Valley and Misery Valley.’

  ‘It has been eight hundred years,’ he said with a shrug. ‘We will not be making a claim. We have my father’s money, we have our family and our health, so … what more do we need?’

  I nodded. ‘A good attitude. Wealth is measured in the faces of those that you see when you wake.’

  Maskal Valley

  In the morning we met Vivandy and his family again at their power yacht, and we were soon powering south around the island, the Rasmussens studying the distant shoreline with me, things pointed out.

  Mandoch Valley beach now appeared to be packed, three apartment blocks open and in use, and Pilgrim Valley looked like a tourist beach.

  At the newly-named Maskal Valley we found a large and oddly shaped ship, that ship beached and tied off, a mess of a construction site on the sand, plus the outline of a part-finished concrete dock on the far left of the bay.

  Going ashore in the dinghy, the head builder met us, and we first had a look at the ship, a large ramp opening onto the sand. A builder showed us his cabin, four bunkbeds found and one toilet/shower, but the ship’s canteen area was large, they even had a TV room and a cinema room.

  Back onshore, and a crude concrete road had been laid out up the valley 500yards, soon to get some tarmac, and we walked up it, a mess of equipment scattered about, JCBs and diggers now here.

  Stacked up before me were hundreds of blue plastic pipes about a metre in diameter, and beyond them sat hundreds of large concrete pipes. The head builder explained that the sewage pipes would be laid first, plus an overflow system for the stream, then the roads and electrics, then finally a few houses.

  And at the head of the valley they had drilled a water well, a good pressure found, and that water would be split between household water, and water to flush away the sewage.

  ‘It’s Mandoch Spring water!’ I told him. ‘It’s worth a thousand Euro a box of bottles!’

  He shrugged. ‘We have to use it.’

  ‘Pump up seawater and use that to flush sewage, I don’t care what that costs, because the spring water is worth a hell of a lot more.’

  ‘We get a pump, yes. And in the cave, people will bathe in it?’

  ‘Some of the water, yes, but we’ll tap it off higher up and sell it.’

  ‘Where it reaches the ocean we can pump it back up and use it for residents – showers and toilets?’

  ‘Yes, if it’s to be wasted,’ I agreed. ‘Have they tested the stream water here in the sand?’

  ‘I do not know, they just test the water in the cave.’

  ‘Have them test the stream water, it may not be the same.’

  In a wooden hut, I stood over large drawings with Vivandy, artist’s impressions studied, and we kicked around ideas.

  There would be two main roads and then branches, rows of apartments around the sides of the valley then houses covering the middle of the valley, two storeys high with red tiled roofs – as with the rest of the island.

  There would also be many precincts of cobbled streets, many streams flowing down to the ocean, many ‘plazas’ of cafes and shops.

  An elderly resident would be able to sit on their balcony and have a coffee, pedestrians seen walking below, or go sit in a café and watch the world go by, go for a swim or peer down at fish in the streams.

  When ready, it would be a fantasy world of attractive houses and safe streets, no crime, medics on hand, a valley insulated from the world. And the houses and apartments here would fetch a high price, a very high price.

  That was good, because we would sell up to five hundred houses and apartments.

  I told the head builder and architect, ‘I want more winter indoor activities, indoor heated swimming pools, places to listen to bands, to dance, reading rooms, cinemas.

  ‘Make the outsides of each recreational building look like a traditional French village, red-tiled roofs, but make sure that the residents have many activities for winter time.’

  The architect pointed at a drawing. ‘Here we can make large indoor swimming pool and café and indoor shops, and it is easy to make say … ten buildings for indoor activities up the valley.’

  ‘Do so, and think about how many residents will use such buildings in January and February.’

  ‘And inside the cave?’ the head builder asked.

  ‘What has the Government said?’

  ‘It is safe, rocks are hard, no falling rocks.’

  ‘So create some suitable indoor activities, and with heating, block the holes high up with glass. Outside, create enclosed walkways to the houses.

  ‘Inside the main two caverns, create a stream with pools, walkways next to them, many bridges, cafes and shops and bars, a nice place to visit for residents but also for visiting families.’

  Heads were nodded.

  I emphasised, ‘All cave buildings inside must be reinforced concrete, should rocks ever fall. Make them very strong.’

  Vivandy put in, ‘There is a place in the cavern where we can put an elevator, and the rocks above have an opening, and outside of it the mountain is almost flat, so it could be a café up there for summer.’

  ‘Excellent idea, do it, but with a quality elevator, big enough for six people at a time or three wheelchairs, and stairs for emergencies – and an escape route across the mountain will probably be a legal requirement.’

  Outside, and Vivandy told me, ‘Myself and my investors, we will invest a hundred million Euro.’

  ‘I’ll invest a hundred and fifty million Euro, so that would be the share split.’

  He nodded.

  ‘And on opening day you get back your money, the houses here will sell in an hour!’

  ‘Then we look at another valley, yes?’ he enthused.

  ‘Why not? But we should also think about a place like this on the mainland. Look for a valley in the southwest of France, opening to the ocean or to a river.’

  ‘I look soon, there are some nice rivers and mountains there, I canoe there when I am a child.’

  ‘And winter there?’

  ‘Sometimes a day of snow, cold, but not like Paris. For two months it is grey sometimes, a short winter.’

  Builders and staff thanked, and we re-boarded the yacht, but when we reached the city we kept going, and to Scorfo Valley - which from the ocean appeared to be a busy tourist resort, and on around to Lozzi Resort.

  Our captain negotiated what was now the narrow and shallow entrance to the bay, a concrete jetty having been created on the south side, and sailboats would be able to moor here.

  Inside the wide bay, we slowly progressed towards the shallows through crystal-clear water, the hotels now displaying glass and white-painted walls, and this place looked like a holiday resort as well – just that there were no tourists yet.

  But as we looked we could see people on the beach, others swimming.

  Moored at the new wooden pontoon and tied off, we walked down that sturdy pontoon and to the beach, security coming out to us – to check who was cheekily mooring a yacht here.

  I could see the huge smooth pebbles sat along the white-sand beach, the water blue and inviting, kids splashing in the water, and security informed us that the beach was now open to tourists, a few cafes and bars open early.

  As we walked inland via a shaded path we found a beach club open, and full it seemed, our heads poked inside.

  Further on we found a food shop open, but it sold all sorts, including sun cream. Beyond it sat a large café, the tourists sat outside shocked to see us. And I knew that all of these facilities were owned and run by my partnership company with Ross Daniels, Rolf a minor partner.

  The tennis courts now hosted two couples playing, the twins keen to play someday soon, and before we hit the line of hotels we found a nice plaza with shops and bars and cafes. One shop sold white cotton outfits for ladies, beach wear, the twins and Ingrid rushing inside and buying a few pricey items.

  Up at the nearest hotel later, shopping bags in hand, we entered the empty hotel, empty of residents, but we found a small army of workers hard at it, the manager rushing out to meet us.

  I shook his hand. ‘How’s progress?’

  ‘Two weeks to open, sir. But we make money with the beach clubs and cafes already, managed from offices behind us, and we have a warehouse here.’