No Place in the Sun (35 page)

‘I didn’t say that.’ Tom wished that the whole lot of them would get out of his face. ‘I just said that I wasn’t going to bloody Medjugorje, that’s all.’

‘No need to swear, young man; show some respect for decent Christian people. It’s ok, dear; you’re in the right place. This is your flight, don’t worry.’

She glared at Tom. ‘Why would you try to put me wrong? May God forgive you; are you a Protestant or a Muslim or what’s wrong with you?’

Tom ignored the woman and eventually she checked in and joined her group. He gratefully took the boarding pass from the woman at the desk and headed for security, moving quickly to get there before the straggling line of pilgrims that trailed behind Father John.

He had an aisle seat in the front row and he boarded late, waiting until the rush had subsided before heading down the airbridge. The plane was chaotic, with some of the cabin staff trying to get the pilgrims to sit down so that they could get the flight under way. This was proving difficult; Father John was moving up and down the aisle, counting his group and checking their names against a list. It was clear that someone was missing.

Eventually she arrived; it was the pious woman that Tom had encountered in the check-in queue. One of the cabin stewards rushed her to her seat and they closed the doors and started on the announcements as the passenger apologized to nobody in particular. ‘Sorry, sorry, were you all waiting for me? I just went into the toilet and said a rosary that we’d all be safe, I didn’t think anyone would mind; we all need prayer, especially at times like this.’

The captain apologized for the delay as he taxied out to the runway. His voice was quickly drowned out by the rising sound of prayers being recited by Father John and his group, a sound that swelled in time with the rising roar of the engines as the airbus accelerated down the tarmac. Tom caught the eye of the young stewardess who was sitting across from him; she raised an eyebrow imperceptibly and smiled slightly. It looked as if this might be nothing out of the ordinary on the Dubrovnik flight.

The sound of hymn singing woke Tom; they were making the descent over the Adriatic. He was grateful for his front row seat; at least he would be off the plane and through passport control before Father John and his followers clogged up the place.

The driver was waiting at the barrier with Tom’s name written on a sheet of paper. ‘Welcome, Mr. Murphy, I am Vladimir. I hope you had a good flight, come this way please.’

Tom followed the young Montenegrin to the waiting Jeep and they drove south from the airport, away from the city. The road was busy but the traffic was flowing freely, and they reached the border in just a few minutes. The border post looked to Tom like a temporary measure, just a few shipping containers painted in United Nations Blue, and a scattering of blue-capped UN personnel keeping a watchful eye on the cars and trucks that passed through the police control. He showed his passport to the border policeman, who stamped it and passed it back with barely a glance.

One of the men in the blue berets approached the jeep and motioned Tom to get out of the vehicle. He looked at the driver for reassurance; ‘Is this normal?’

‘It’s ok, they check a small percentage of persons; they are UN police observers, no problem with them.’

Tom got out of the car and walked towards one of the blue containers with the policeman. He was surprised at the Irish accent when the man spoke to him.

‘Just checking, sir, I noticed the Irish passport when you handed it in. Is the purpose of your visit business or pleasure?’

‘I’m on a short business trip, I’ll be back tomorrow.’

‘Be careful in Montenegro, sir, what nature of business are you involved in?’

Tom wondered at the questioning; maybe the guy thought he was an arms dealer or something. Anyway, he seemed friendly enough, and he was Irish as well.

Tom smiled. ‘Nothing illegal; I’m in the property business.’

‘This isn’t an official comment you understand, just one Irishman to another. Just watch your back, there’s a lot about the property business in Montenegro that’s dodgy and even downright dangerous. Are you carrying a lot of cash, did your contacts tell you to bring cash to buy the property?’

‘No, nothing like that, I’m just an agent, no cash involved.’

‘That’s ok; I see lots of guys lately with briefcases full of money, maybe not all of it legal, heading down to buy land and sites. A lot of them lose it, and don’t ever see any land in return, so I warn them when I see them to keep their eyes open.’

‘That’s decent of you.’ Tom warmed to the young policeman. ‘What else is dodgy about Montenegro, what kind of things go wrong?’

‘Land ownership isn’t as straightforward as you might think, for one thing. A lot of land was taken from its owners during the war, not just in Montenegro but in Bosnia and Croatia as well, and if we get to a restitution process in this region then the title to a lot of it may be worthless. People that buy certain property here may have to give it back at some stage if the rightful owners come back.’

‘But if it has title, from the town hall say, it will be ok?’

‘Not necessarily, a lot of the town halls are crooked, paper may mean nothing if it comes down to a court case in the future. Look, I’m no lawyer, I’m just an observer here, but I’m saying to you what I say to a lot of people in your shoes, just be careful. Not everything is as it seems in this part of the world.’

The man handed back the passport and Tom got back in the jeep. Vladimir raised his eyebrows. ‘Problem?’

‘No, no problem, just a routine check.’

They drove for an hour and crossed the neck of a narrow fjord on a small open-decked ferry, then headed south along a winding tree-lined road that hugged the coast and gave views over some rocky shoreline and the occasional small beach. Ten minutes later the driver pulled off the road into a small town and stopped outside the only hotel.

‘I have booked you a room here; you can eat here also, or there are two restaurants by the shore. I will collect you at seven in the morning as you asked; we will meet my boss and the other promoters of the project at seven thirty.’

Tom dropped his bag in the room and walked down to the small beach. A few cafes and a pizza restaurant were open for business, as well as a shop selling what appeared to be pirated CDs. The latter advertised its wares by blaring the music loudly through a pair of massive speakers, almost drowning out the sound of the two musicians playing in the small bar next door. A couple of small shops sold postcards and an array of inflatable plastic beach toys, but the people wandering up and down didn’t appear to be spending any money.

The waiter in the pizza place almost grabbed him and showed him eagerly to a table. The choices were limited; just pizzas and basic pasta dishes. Everything was cheap but there was nothing to excite the palate; Tom ordered a pizza and a bottle of imported beer and sat taking in the view as the sun set over the small bay.

It was a pretty place, no doubt about that, but would Irish buyers buy apartments here? That was another question altogether. It was a bit off the beaten track, no real reason for anyone to visit the area, but then again that could change. If a project was well packaged, maybe with a bit of guaranteed rental attached, then buyers might be tempted. It would never be Spain though; the place would never be another Costa del Sol, no matter what happened over the next few years. This was the backwoods, even allowing for the fact that it was a summer destination only.

The Irish policeman’s advice worried him a little. Was it really that bad? What kind of problems would be down the line for buyers if the UN or somebody started getting back land for its rightful owners? Tom had heard about the so-called ethnic cleansing, where people were forced from their homes and lands during the civil war. What if they all came back and wanted to move into the apartments built on their lands? Would Scorpio have to compensate them? He didn’t know, but stranger things had happened.

He didn’t like the direction that Tania was taking the business lately. Ever since she started appearing on the TV she was different; it was like she believed her own hype about being the Property Doctor. All this madness about more and more new markets, this was all crazy stuff. What was the point? They were doing fine in Bulgaria and Spain, why divert buyers to crazy markets like Montenegro? At least in Spain and Bulgaria you were reasonably sure of getting paid, and the buyers stood a good chance of owning something; down here, you couldn’t be sure of anything.

The waiter brought the pizza and Tom started to eat; it tasted better than it looked, it wasn’t too bad. He ate most of it and ordered another beer.

He lay awake for a couple of hours; it was hard to sleep with the racket from the music shop. He didn’t really want to be here in this small village in Montenegro; he had plenty to do back in the office and he wasn’t convinced of the usefulness of trying to set up business links here. He thought of the trip tomorrow, on to Rome and then to Beirut; that all seemed pointless too. Why did she want to have a presence in all these places? What was this global domination stuff about? Was she just trying to outdo Harry and the bicycle man and all the other pretenders to the overseas property throne? Tom didn’t have answers, but the whole thing was starting to annoy him.

He thought about his own situation. He was making a lot of money; he could quit now and never have to do another day’s work if he wanted to. He knew that his job involved walking a very thin line between legality and downright deceit; he didn’t have a real problem with that but he knew too that some day it might all fall down around his ears. It was a constant niggling concern that all his customers might come looking for their money back when they realised that they had bought so much rubbish. He wasn’t overly worried about it, after all he was technically just an employee of the company, and the buck stopped with them. Maybe it was time to think about where this would all end though, to consider his strategy in the longer term.

Eventually he drifted off to sleep in the narrow bed. The blaring music started at dawn and he got up and showered; there was no point in trying to lie on with that racket. The breakfast was much as he had expected; some soggy cereal and some hard bread and curled slices of cheese. The coffee was strong and tasty though and it woke him up, so that he was alert and ready to go when Vladimir pulled up outside.

‘Good morning, Mr. Murphy.’

‘Good morning, Vladimir. Where are we going to this morning exactly?’

‘Not too far from here, it was a big hotel in the old days, now it’s closed, empty. My bosses want to renovate, make from it an apartment development, they will meet us there.’

They drove down a side road that led them along the side of a cliff; the road ended at a tunnel and Vladimir shifted into first gear and turned on the headlights. ‘This road is not used any more; it will need to be renovated also.’ The jeep lurched along the rutted road through the rocky tunnel.

They emerged into the sunlight in a small bay, a pretty place with a little beach and a dilapidated concrete building perched on the steep slope above it. Two other four wheel drive vehicles were parked in the small car park and a group of heavy-set men stood around, most of them smoking.

The older man reached out his hand. ‘Welcome to Montenegro, I hope that you had a good journey.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Tom was reminded of the policeman’s advice when he looked around at the group. Apart from the man in front of him who was well past middle age, the others looked strong and fit, and had the appearance of former soldiers. They all shared the same tight military style haircuts, and they stood with feet apart and with hands behind their backs as if they had just been told to stand at ease. He wouldn’t like to be here if he was carrying a briefcase full of money, it would be pretty nerve-wracking.

‘This is our project, Mr. Murphy. It was a hotel as you can see, a very fine hotel in the old days but not so good now.’

‘Nice site right enough.’ Tom liked the look of the little bay with the waves lapping on the small beach. It was idyllic.

‘We will make here a project with sixty five apartments and a small restaurant and a bar; my associate will show you the plans in a moment. It will be a top development, luxury apartments, all with a view to the sea. Very nice. Do you think that you can sell such a project in Ireland?’

‘It’s possible, depends of course on the price and the specification, but everything is possible.’

‘This is what I have heard; in Ireland you can sell anything, it is a rich country, a lot of money there. Come, let us go inside.’

One of the younger men unlocked a side door to the building and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow the others to enter. In the hallway another thick-set man placed a basket on a table and motioned to the others.

‘In the basket please.’

To Tom’s shock, the other men all produced pistols of varying shapes and sizes from inside their jackets. He felt weak at the knees; the policeman had warned him about trouble, but what on earth was going on? Surely they hadn’t lured him here to kill him, what would be the point of that?

It all seemed surreal, and Tom wasn’t sure for a minute if he was dreaming, but then one by one the men deposited their guns in the basket and walked on into the building. The older man placed a small silver pistol carefully on top of the other weapons and motioned to Tom.

‘Your gun please, Mr. Murphy. It is not considered civil to bring your gun to a meeting.’

Tom stammered with relief. ‘I, I don’t have a gun, I didn’t bring a gun, really.’

The older man looked surprised. ‘The other Irishmen who were here had guns; please do not take this as any kind of disrespect, but we must check, you understand. Max!’

The thick-set man stepped forward and frisked Tom quickly and efficiently; he had done this before. ‘Is ok.’

‘Sorry to doubt you, Mr. Murphy, just routine, I hope that you understand.’

‘No problem.’ Tom was still in shock at the display of weaponry; what had he got himself into here?