THE HARBOR MASTER IN SAINT-TROPEZ WAS MAKING A LAST round on board the Panama-registered ship M/S Maria Bianca. The notorious wreck would at last be sunk. For almost a year, they had been trying to get rid of the rusty monstrosity from the harbor, but without success. If the mayor hadn’t personally got involved, it probably wouldn’t have been possible at all. But the Philippine crew had long since abandoned the boat and the harbor authorities had not found a responsible owner. Nobody had been prepared to pay to break up the vessel, let alone to sink it. But now it had gone so far that the boat had become a sanitary problem and, besides, everyone was afraid that the damned thing would sink in the middle of the harbor. Now at last the old derelict vessel would be towed out to deeper water. But first he would have to check that all the oil tanks were empty and that there was nothing left on board that could harm the environment. He sighed over having to do this dirty work, but the tugs were ready and waiting so it was best that he did it as quickly as possible.
Harbor master Hardy started at the very top and then systematically worked his way down through the vessel. He had reached the middle deck when it suddenly struck him that they ought to salvage the fire extinguishers and life jackets that were still there. They would always come in useful. He went out on the deck and almost tripped over a plastic bucket and a rusty pipe before reaching the chest with life jackets. But, mon Dieu! Those, too, looked in very bad condition. He got hold of the one on top. The cloth was faded, almost rotten, and when he gave it a little pull it immediately tore. He dug down a little deeper in the chest and pulled out another jacket. This had a wide neck, was made of old-fashioned cork and the orange cloth had become faded and was very delicate. He tried pulling that and again the result was that it ripped. No, there was nothing to salvage here and one could just as well forget the fire extinguishers. They wouldn’t be of any use either. He was just about to throw the jacket back into the chest when he caught sight of something that gleamed. It looked like a transponder of some sort. Had the Philippine crew been smuggling technical equipment? He lifted up the apparatus but then saw that it was an ordinary AIS Match Mate that must have been used on board the vessel. It looked rusty and damaged and when he poked it he got rust on his hands. No, damn it, that was worthless, it wouldn’t work anyway. He put it down on the deck and hurried on. Half an hour later, he had gone through the whole vessel and checked everything. Not a single screw on this old heap was worth keeping. He brushed the dirt off his uniform, pulled out his cell and gave the tugboat captain the go-ahead. Then he asked to be picked up.
While the Panama boat was being towed out by the tugs, Hardy drank coffee with the crew on board and played a hand of poker. And a few hours later, when the coast was only visible as a light gray haze on the horizon, he gave the order to sink the Maria Bianca. Two seamen went on board and opened the sea valves, while other crew members detached the towing cables. Then they picked up the two men and steered away from the sinking vessel. Harbor master Hardy and the others went up on deck and stood by the railings for a long time watching as the old heap slowly sank.
“What a wreck, not worth a cent,” he said with a snort. But he was quite wrong about that.
THE LEAGUE OF PENSIONERS HAD HAD A RESTLESS NIGHT. THE cheap hotel they had chosen had been filled with noisy guests who had partied during the night and none of the seniors had got much sleep. Anyway, the members of the gang of pensioners found it hard to relax. When they had heard that the Panama ship would be sunk in the morning, they had packed all their things and were ready to leave for the airport. But first they must activate the transponder. With dry eyes and after an extra cup of coffee, they took a taxi down to the harbor to check out the vessel.
When the taxi had stopped and they had gone out along the quay, they saw two tugs by the derelict ship and realized that they wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Then they walked out to the end of one of the jetties to get a better view of what was happening. To be on the safe side, none of them was using a walker or anything else that might help people identify them, and Anna-Greta and Martha were wearing wigs. Red hair this time. Brains and Rake had dressed in sailing clothes and wore fashionable boat shoes. They blended in well.
“Righto. All we have to do is activate Bielke’s motor yacht, Aurora Four, come!” said Brains with a grin. He held up the remote control and pointed it at the Panama ship. He pressed a few times, checked the batteries and pressed again. But Bielke’s transponder didn’t react.
“Damn it! That’s weird!” he exclaimed in surprise. “I haven’t got any contact. It’s just dead. Oh, God, I can’t get the transponder to respond!”
“Of course you can. It worked earlier,” said Christina.
“Yes, come on now, Brains, try again!” Martha urged. “A lot is at stake.”
“Five hundred million kronor is not exactly peanuts,” Anna-Greta pointed out.
Brains checked the batteries, raised and lowered the remote and tried going to the very end of the jetty to get contact. But he looked angry when he came back.
“Nothing works! I don’t understand the reason for that.”
“Perhaps the reception is poor today,” said Nils trying to look as normal as possible. As if he was innocent and as if five hundred million didn’t mean anything at all.
“But it worked before when I tested it,” Brains insisted.
“Of course, but a lot could have happened since then,” said Nils, cautiously, and when he said this he wasn’t actually lying.
“What if it was the rust paint,” exclaimed Christina, wringing her hands in despair. “What if I have painted away five hundred million!”
“No, no, you didn’t do that,” Rake tried to console her, and he gave her a little hug. “I watched when you painted it, and you were very careful. You didn’t splash paint anywhere.”
They all became silent and stood there a long time, confused and numb, which you could hardly avoid being if you had just lost five hundred million. What should they do now? Tired and dejected they looked out toward the vessel. Up on the deck a uniformed man was talking on a telephone. He waved and then climbed down the rope ladder and boarded one of the tugs. The crew attached towing cables and after a while the two tugs turned toward the horizon. Soon the sound of their engines grew louder, the cables tightened and they started moving off.
“Hmm,” said Brains, “I will go right to the end of the pier and see if I can get contact there.”
He walked as fast as he could and when he got to the very end and again pointed the remote control at the vessel, something happened. It was as if the transponder had woken up after a long, long sleep, and sort of stretched and come to life. At first the signal was weak, but when the vessel turned a little, the apparatus reacted more strongly. Brains cheered. Now the harbor authorities and other vessels could see that Bielke’s motor yacht was leaving Saint-Tropez and going out to sea. There was of course a minimal risk that somebody would discover that the transponder was now on the Panama wreck instead of a luxury yacht, but everybody was fully occupied in towing the old heap out of the harbor and making sure that it didn’t collide with the boats around. Before anyone would have had time to digest the information, Bielke’s yacht would be far out at sea and then, a moment later, it would suddenly vanish. Sunk and off the screens forever. Brains hurried back to the others, beaming with joy.
“Somebody must have moved the transponder because just now I got in contact with it,” he said. “Everything is working. Now let’s go!”
“Did you get it started? Goodness, you’re a genius,” mumbled Nils, looking frightened. So the transponder had not fallen into the sea but had landed somewhere on the deck where he hadn’t seen it.
“Ah, engines and other technical things, they’re easy, but don’t try me on computers,” answered Brains.
“Right then, next stop the airport,” Martha ordered—but not until she had given Brains a big hug and praised him for the most valuable contribution in the history of the League of Pensioners. And while the Panama boat with Bielke’s transponder was en route to its fate at the bottom of the sea, a shocked Nils arranged two taxis. Then they all went off to Nice airport.