On a blistering hot street in a bustling part of Piraeus, alone at a table for two, Kyriakos sipped his coffee and flicked through a glossy boating magazine. Checking his watch, he glanced across the street and figured his mark would be down any minute now. I was across the street in a Bar, sitting with a line of sight out of their large picture window watching the cool Kyriakos at work. And sure enough, at one minute after 2pm the mark stepped out of the street doorway to his office nine floors above. Weaving his way through the occupied tables, dressed in a very cool linen suit and open-necked white shirt, the mark put his hand on the back of the only seat available and nodded by way of asking Kyriakos if he could take it. A shrug was Kyriakos’ only answer.
The mark had never met Kyriakos: but through a wide network of family and friends Kyriakos knew a lot about him. Married twenty-three years before, now in his mid-50s, he was a successful Marine Insurance Broker. He lived well in a large old courtyard house in the historic part of Athens, had two daughters, one of whom had got married the year before to a guy who’d turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. Their wedding present had been every young Greek man’s dream: a beautiful traditional 12 metre long Trexandiri with a big very-low-hours Caterpillar V8 marine engine. But apart from one single trip lasting only a few hours, the boat had lain tied up round the coast in Korfos gathering sea grass on the hull and shells on the propeller. And Kyriakos knew it.
Taking out his phone, Kyriakos held his finger on a classified ad in the back of the magazine and spoke in Greek; to me. Feigning anger and disappointment Kyriakos banged the table with his fist; apologising to the mark for the outburst.
‘That’s OK. I see you’re trying to buy a boat.’
‘Yes. It’s my oldest son’s twenty first birthday in a month. He’s done so well in naval college. My wife is … well, she’s sick and she just wants to see Alexandros happy before … before she … she goes. Sorry. You know how it is.’
‘Oh I’m very sorry. Yes, I do. I do. It can be awful when things don’t work out. Ti na kanoume? (What can we do?) If it’s his 21st, you’ll want a boat which will last his whole life.’
‘Yes of course. Something like a Trexandiri. My father had a beautiful one which was supposed to come to me along with all his money. But when my father died his brother tricked us. He stole the boat and the money. That’s when we became poor. We lost nearly everything to legal fees and had to start again. Ach, Ti na kanoume?
After two more calls to me, Kyriakos closed the magazine and drained his cup. Now was the moment for the fish to bite:
And right on cue, the jaws came down on the hook: ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of budget were you thinking about? For this Trexandiri.’
Well, being a poor man from such tragic family circumstances, Kyriakos shrugged:
‘We could go up to maybe twenty five thousand euro. But it would be a stretch. Why do you ask? Do you know of such a boat for sale? I really want to buy one before Alexi’s birthday.’
The mark visibly shrank: ‘Ah, only twenty five. Hmm. I actually bought such a boat just over a year ago. For my son-in-law. I sailed it up from Crete. Your father had one so you know. They’re very strong boats and it took the big seas like a duck. But all he’s interested in is night clubs and big motorbikes. He’s no sailor and not a very good husband either. Actually, the boat is still registered in my name and I was thinking of selling it to gather up the money for my other daughter’s wedding.’
Kyriakos’ eyes didn’t even blink nor did any facial muscle twitch as he recalled that morning asking the ‘Nauftilos Clerk’ to see the Register containing a boat called ‘Neraida 2’: a big traditional wooden Trexandiri registered in Piraeus. There properly listed was the owner’s name, his business address and a small detail which Kyriakos found the most interesting; the amount on which he’d paid Purchase Tax (usually about half of the actual price). 20,000 Euro.
When only some minutes later, Kyriakos shook the mark’s hand and put his business card into his wallet, I dropped three euro beside my beer glass and left the Bar.
Needless to say, when we arrived in Korfos for a look at this beauty we alighted the boat separately. I sat on a public bench while Kyriakos asked in the local bakery for the keys. He’d only brought one item with him for this inspection: a strengthened steel spike with a wooden handle. When earlier I’d explained that I’d prosecuted people who got four years for carrying such a thing in the UK, Kyriakos shook his head:
‘No. No. Not here. This is what I need to check that the timbers are as hard as concrete. She’s oak hulled and ribbed. If this penetrates even one millimetre, we go home and look again.’
Sitting on that bench, although a year’s blistering sun had faded her paintwork, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Long and sleek with a high bow, below she boasted two double mahogany cabins, a full height shower, sea toilet, a fridge freezer and the thing which melted my heart – a big but dull brass ship bell. At the sound of that big Cat engine starting up, I wanted to jump aboard but managed to hold my peace. Then I saw something surprising. Astern, Kyriakos was shedding his shirt and trousers. Only in his underpants, he dived into the crystal clear Med with his spike in his hand and seemed to disappear. I didn’t see him again until to my amazement he came walking out of the sea holding his underpants up with one hand and his spike in the other.
‘The prop is too encrusted to take her out for a sea trial, but believe me, the rest of her is in excellent condition. No vibration in the floors at the shaft and no smoke from the exhaust. Like a new pinnie, do you say?
‘A new ‘pin’ is what we say.’
‘Yes, a new pinnie. OK, I think she’s in great shape … or will be with a little work. Now time is ticking. So the mark is getting desperate and we can move in.’
In a matter of days, Kyriakos had pleaded his case well and I was on the phone to my private bank in Edinburgh:
‘Yes, sir. Twenty eight thousand euro. That’s now transferred over to the Greek account which you specified. Now sir, is there anything else I can do for you today?’
