“How-de-do,” the sailors responded.
Inspector Cardozo thought how wonderful life could be and how his life was not. How he still lived with his parents and took a bus to work every morning. How he looked forward to Thursdays because his mother didn’t cook on Thursdays. Thursday nights he sneaked out for sushi. Simon Cardozo thought about the brand new three-storied super yacht towering above them, with a gleaming streamlined steering tower in front of a shiny helicopter clamped to the aft deck.
Different ways to deal with a lifetime.
What he faced here, Cardozo thought, was a heavenly floating castle for billionaires who were offering his formersuperiors a million dollars to take care of an exciting Caribbean problem.
Small-timer Simon Cardozo wondered about other people’s big time.
“Could this be that houseboat the little fellow was talking about?” Grijpstra asked. “Big, eh, Simon? Must be something to keep that tub clean and going. Nicely turned out though.”
“Careful please,” the boatswain said, helping them step on the gangway that had been lowered by the ship’s automatic hydraulic crane.
Carl Ambagt, dressed in a tailored merchant marine officer’s uniform, welcomed his guests. “Now you believe me? You think the Tax Office owns toys like this? Want the ship’s tour?
“Agile like a shark,” Carl said, “Strong as a whale.” He walked ahead on the deck of sandpapered teak, across the main cabin-suite’s Tibetan rugs, guiding the way through the living quarters for the owners, past a bar room decked out in white marble, a gallery of modern art, a gadget-equipped kitchen.
“Crew’s quarters are below,” Ambagt said. “Furnished oriental style—tatami-matted floors, brightly colored lacquered furniture, lots of fans and gongs and pipe racks.” He indicated a door. “Cup of Chinese tea for the gents?”
“Your mother is aboard too?”
“Who?” Carl asked.
“Is she alive?”
Carl gestured widely. “Do you know that the
Admiraal Rodney
measures three hundred and fifty tons? Cruises at thirty kilometers an hour, sails seven thousand kilometers without taking on fuel? That, if we leave tonight, we could be in the Caribbean in a mere eight days?” He addressed Grijpstra. “Andthat de Gier and yourself will meet us there? On St. Maarten? To start up your quest?”
“No,” Grijpstra said.
“Oh yes,” a gruff voice said. Skipper Peter Ambagt, in a stained admiral’s uniform with bedraggled braid, leaning on a gold tipped invalid’s steel tripod, greeted his guests. In contrast to his diminutive son the man was a giant. Father and son had the same square faces but the skipper’s large nose was bulbous and obscenely purple. His scraggly eyebrows hung down dismally and his long sideburns needed brushing.
“You smartasses are going to recoup our loss on the old tank tub,” Ambagt Senior said, slurring his speech in between hiccups. “I am glad to see you’re here to clinch the deal, Mister Clever.”
“I was just curious,” Grijpstra said. “Your son mentioned your houseboat and we wanted to take a look.”
“Houseboat? Trying to be funny now?” The old man tried to focus his eyes. His unsteady hand pointed at Cardozo. “And you are the fuzz here?”
“Inspector Simon Cardozo,” Grijpstra said.
“And you are in charge here,” Cardozo said, looking at the gold ornamentation on Ambagt Senior’s hat.
The old man, without turning around, addressed the servant standing behind him. “A cold one, my dear.” Ambagt Senior lowered his body into a deck chair. “Carl and I hold Liberian captain’s papers.” His long yellow teeth showed in a wide smile. “That’s in Africa.” He pointed at decorations pinned to his tunic—silver monkey heads, trailing multicolored ribbons. “Issued by the Head Honcho there. He personally pinned them on, just in time, a day before His Excellency was executed.” Hestood to attention for a moment, then noticed his visitors
Inspector Cardozo thought how wonderful life could be and how his life was not. How he still lived with his parents and took a bus to work every morning. How he looked forward to Thursdays because his mother didn’t cook on Thursdays. Thursday nights he sneaked out for sushi. Simon Cardozo thought about the brand new three-storied super yacht towering above them, with a gleaming streamlined steering tower in front of a shiny helicopter clamped to the aft deck.
Different ways to deal with a lifetime.
What he faced here, Cardozo thought, was a heavenly floating castle for billionaires who were offering his formersuperiors a million dollars to take care of an exciting Caribbean problem.
Small-timer Simon Cardozo wondered about other people’s big time.
“Could this be that houseboat the little fellow was talking about?” Grijpstra asked. “Big, eh, Simon? Must be something to keep that tub clean and going. Nicely turned out though.”
“Careful please,” the boatswain said, helping them step on the gangway that had been lowered by the ship’s automatic hydraulic crane.
Carl Ambagt, dressed in a tailored merchant marine officer’s uniform, welcomed his guests. “Now you believe me? You think the Tax Office owns toys like this? Want the ship’s tour?
“Agile like a shark,” Carl said, “Strong as a whale.” He walked ahead on the deck of sandpapered teak, across the main cabin-suite’s Tibetan rugs, guiding the way through the living quarters for the owners, past a bar room decked out in white marble, a gallery of modern art, a gadget-equipped kitchen.
“Crew’s quarters are below,” Ambagt said. “Furnished oriental style—tatami-matted floors, brightly colored lacquered furniture, lots of fans and gongs and pipe racks.” He indicated a door. “Cup of Chinese tea for the gents?”
“Your mother is aboard too?”
“Who?” Carl asked.
“Is she alive?”
Carl gestured widely. “Do you know that the
Admiraal Rodney
measures three hundred and fifty tons? Cruises at thirty kilometers an hour, sails seven thousand kilometers without taking on fuel? That, if we leave tonight, we could be in the Caribbean in a mere eight days?” He addressed Grijpstra. “Andthat de Gier and yourself will meet us there? On St. Maarten? To start up your quest?”
“No,” Grijpstra said.
“Oh yes,” a gruff voice said. Skipper Peter Ambagt, in a stained admiral’s uniform with bedraggled braid, leaning on a gold tipped invalid’s steel tripod, greeted his guests. In contrast to his diminutive son the man was a giant. Father and son had the same square faces but the skipper’s large nose was bulbous and obscenely purple. His scraggly eyebrows hung down dismally and his long sideburns needed brushing.
“You smartasses are going to recoup our loss on the old tank tub,” Ambagt Senior said, slurring his speech in between hiccups. “I am glad to see you’re here to clinch the deal, Mister Clever.”
“I was just curious,” Grijpstra said. “Your son mentioned your houseboat and we wanted to take a look.”
“Houseboat? Trying to be funny now?” The old man tried to focus his eyes. His unsteady hand pointed at Cardozo. “And you are the fuzz here?”
“Inspector Simon Cardozo,” Grijpstra said.
“And you are in charge here,” Cardozo said, looking at the gold ornamentation on Ambagt Senior’s hat.
The old man, without turning around, addressed the servant standing behind him. “A cold one, my dear.” Ambagt Senior lowered his body into a deck chair. “Carl and I hold Liberian captain’s papers.” His long yellow teeth showed in a wide smile. “That’s in Africa.” He pointed at decorations pinned to his tunic—silver monkey heads, trailing multicolored ribbons. “Issued by the Head Honcho there. He personally pinned them on, just in time, a day before His Excellency was executed.” Hestood to attention for a moment, then noticed his visitors
Similar Books
