TYING THINGS UP

Episode 51 in the Lymp Duhdashian series

Olympia was sound asleep in a heap in the back of the hire car when Frank pulled into the car park at the Saint Malo marina, where the SeaSwan was docked. Dave was on watch in the wheel house and he flashed his deck lights on and off a few times to acknowledge the arrival. He called down to the cabin to wake Diamond and Pru, who both scrambled out of bed fully dressed.

Much hugging transpired. Everyone was talking at once as they crammed themselves into the warm and cosy cabin. Dave dug into one of his secret compartments and pulled out a magnum of Champagne. He carefully aimed the cork at the steel casing of the stove - perforating SeaSwan was not something he would ever risk! The Champagne must have been through a lot of shaking during several sea voyages, because the cork flew out with gunshot speed and everyone got splattered! Diamond tried to catch the bubbly in paper cups as it gushed, but was not particularly successful. Eventually they were all able to toast the amazing success of Olympia’s Plan and loudly sing a few more rounds of “We are the champions!”

Frank and Khan, who had shared twelve hours of driving from Davos, were sporting stubble and hang-dog tiredness. They were tempted by the two swinging hammocks. Dave sympathised saying “Feel free, jump in!”

The ladies, who had all slept for several hours, were giggling and chattering like schoolgirls. Dave filled his paper cup to the brim with Champagne and resumed his favourite spot on the ketch - in front of the screens with his feet up, in his wheelhouse. He breathed a few deep sighs of relief as he gazed out on rows upon rows of beautiful yachts. The darkest of nights, with a sharp glisten of frost made the whole scene extra special. The gentle tinkle of loose sail rings eventually lulled him into a satisfied doze.

—0—

At Scotland Yard, Dimitri Olenski was having a very hard time explaining why he was found in Diamond’s lounge overlooking Kensington Gardens. The contents of his pockets and the firearm did not tell a pretty story. He was remanded in custody, pending further inquiries which extended to Europol. The deceased Mrs Duhdashian’s keys in his possession were particularly hard to explain. What he did not know, and was not revealed to him, was the contents of Frank Granger’s MI6 report which had been copied to Interpol and circulated through channels. ‘Further inquiries’ consisted of gathering intel about him from many sources and, as the evidence mounted up, his chances of bail were disappearing faster than water down a drain.

The dual identities and passports, the strange circumstances of both Mr and Mrs Duhdashian’s deaths and the unregistered firearm strapped to his armpit were bad enough, but when the police searched his home, the contents of his computer, safe and filing cabinet provided further leads about his activities during his time in the UK. His assets and bank accounts were frozen by morning. Dribbly Dick, aka Dimitri Olenski, was (colloquially) up shit creek without a paddle.

First thing on Friday morning, Frank’s boss was trying to get in touch with him and failing to get through on the phone, so he rang the new recruit for an update on events at the WEF conference in Davos. He found it very hard to get a straight answer from the man and could have sworn he heard girlish giggling in the background during the call. “Where are you right now?” he barked, irritated. There was a brief silence before the rookie responded.
”Erm…. I’m in the digs, Sir. Getting ready to meet up with Frank.” came a slightly muffled response. “Shall I tell him to call you back, Sir?”
”Yes, do that. ASAP.” and he discontinued the call.

The rookie MI6 operative, tied to a luxurious four-poster bed by the wrists and ankles, smiled at his companions, who returned his iPhone to the bedside table and continued with their fun and games. It was not entirely apparent to him what they were up to, due to the sleeping mask they had positioned over his eyes. The two stunning prostitutes only spoke Ukrainian or Russian, but they were filming their antics, photographing his passport, taking a copy of the last caller’s phone number, and posting the results to a friend who spoke English.

Eventually, they dressed and blew kisses at the young MI6 operative, as they departed the hotel room, slipping his credit card into a handbag. For a last minute flourish they wedged the door open with his shoes. A chambermaid arrived pushing her trolley into the room. She froze to the spot when she focused on the bed and hardly knew how to react. “Monsieur?” she said, tentatively and approached. She removed the mask and began to untie the knotted ties, trying to avoid looking at the prostrate young man who was very red in the face.

An hour later, after a nice shower, the new recruit was congratulating himself on the most exciting night of his entire life, until he spotted his wallet lying empty on the coffee table. It was then that he received a text message demanding the pin number of his credit card or the attached video would be sent to the attached phone number - his boss’s phone number. Weighing up the potentialities of the situation, the poor guy typed his credit card pin number, switched off his iPhone and considered resigning from the civil service.

He clearly wasn’t MI6 material. That much was painfully apparent to him.

As soon as the tide was about to turn, Dave guided the SeaSwan out into the Atlantic and headed back to Poole in Dorset at a comfortable pace. Khan and Frank were with him in the wheelhouse and the ladies were preparing a light lunch. They were planning a weekend at Frank’s mother’s lovely thatched cottage, to round off a spectacular week.

Frank reached into his jacket breast pocket and pulled out a small package and his tobacco tin. Khan grinned at Dave. “The Nepalese Temple Ball will have to wait until we are on land. Its way too trippy, man….. But we can smoke the Moroccan or the Skunk. Which would you prefer?”

Dave grinned widely, admiring the contents of the package, and playing eeny-meeny-miney-mo with his index finger, he quipped:

“Aha! So THAT’S why all the big nobs go to Davos in private jets, is it?”

THE END