Anna pulled closer to me, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“Another thing, unlike the Turkish visa they gave me, yours runs out in two months, not three. Two months, Anna! Then you’re going back to Russia no matter what. Your mother doesn’t even have to look for you. If you’re not out of here by then, she can sit back and you’ll be delivered right into her waiting arms.”
“I see, but what can I do?” She slid her arm between my chair and the small of my back. “I’m sorry for everything you have to deal with, one problem after the other. I cannot believe you are still with me.”
“I’m not looking for apologies or soul-searching. I’m looking for a way out of this, with you, obviously, or there’s no bloody point.”
“But Jess, we’ve run out of road. There is only the sea ahead of us.”
“It’s not over yet, in fact, it’s never over.” The conversational trajectory was veering uselessly off course. I pulled up a spreadsheet on the laptop. “Take a look at this. I’ve been doing a little thinking.”
Anna leaned in closer to the screen.
“I can fly a plane, so I thought about buying something small, putting big temporary fuel tanks in it, and flying from here to Canada. A lawyer and officials would meet us when we landed someplace like Halifax. Then, in Canada, I sell the plane, maybe even pocket a few dollars, and we’ll be home free. Light aircraft are really cheap here for some reason.”
“Okay, so you will buy an airplane and fly us across the oceans with it?” Anna struggled to go on in English, gave up, and said in Russian, “Do I understand?”
“You do, but it won’t work. I wanted to tell you what I’ve been thinking, though. No matter how cheap they are, there’s no aircraft I can afford that’s big enough to carry both of us and enough fuel to get us all that way. We’d have to refuel in Europe and you are definitely not allowed to land there. Second, and this is a much bigger problem than mere engineering, the regulations for buying and licensing an aircraft in Turkey are so complex, I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of doing it in the two months you have left.”
“Great, it’s my fault.” Anna said.
“Blame is unintended and unproductive so, on to plan B!” I minimized the spreadsheet with the light aircraft calculations and opened the browser. A website familiar from Odessa graced the screen — yachtworld.com.
“Look at that! The site Alexi’s friend was showing us in Odessa.”
“You mean the store clerk, but that’s the one. I used it to look for boats here in Marmaris, and there’s one heck of a lot of them. This place is yacht-central.”
“You are thinking of a boat? You seemed to hate the idea in Odessa.”
“Look, I think it’s our only chance. There are people here, professionals who sell boats, not idiots like Alexi, and there are boats here that can cross oceans. People sail boats, yachts, across oceans all the time. Heck, they even sail all by themselves around the world without stopping. I can assure you, more people cross oceans in yachts than in small planes like Charles Lindbergh did.”
“Really? I must take your word for it. I know nothing about yachts.”
I scrolled through boat listings instead of telling her I was just about as unfamiliar with yachts as she was.
“The closest I’ve been to a yacht is here and once when I traveled to Turkey with Mikhail. I could see the masts in the harbor. Ironic, huh? Besides, are they not worth a lot of money? You can afford such an expense?” Anna knocked my hand from the touchpad and scrolled the laptop through the listings herself. Prices were six figures and beyond.
I knew what she was thinking. “I can borrow money against my house. Then sell the boat when we get to Canada and pay off the loan.” It sounded risky, but damn, what an adventure! Besides, the losses couldn’t be that great. Anna’s testimony might even be useful in the fight against Menchikovskaya if we or the syndicate still existed by the time we got there. I wasn’t sure what damage she could inflict on them, but it had to be better than nothing. Spreadsheets on the laptop proved I could carry the half-million dollar line of credit for a few months, and realistically, what were the chances I would run it all the way up anyhow?
The next morning we were up and out before the sun got dangerous. It’s how we uncovered the mystery of the world’s biggest — and worst — gamelan orchestra. Frenetically clanging bells happened to be ropes, randomly animated by a breeze, slapping hundreds of hollow aluminum sailboat masts. Following the canal, heading for the waterfront, Anna and I saw a disproportionate number of marine outfitter stores occupying the old Greek, stone buildings. This town, or the part of it in which we found ourselves, was entirely about yachting.
Everything I knew about yachting came from day-sailing with friends on a twenty six foot sailboat in protected waters. To that hands-on experience, I gleaned what I could from a paperback expose of solo round-the-world yacht racing. Before fortuitously finding that paperback, I considered a yacht to be big motorboat owned by someone like Thurston Howell The Third, and upon which martinis and three-hour tours were de rigueur. A sailboat was, well, just a sailboat.
From Google I’d hand scrawled a map of yacht brokerages. We followed it to a square stone building, probably hundreds of years old, festooned with several immense Persian rugs. Just under the eaves GULET YACHT BROKERAGE had been painted in bold lettering. Between the building and the sidewalk a dozen or more rugs were laid out and draped over sawhorses. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for a well-dressed Turkish man to hurry right for us. “Yes, please. Finest rugs, best deals for you today. And, where are you from?”
I stifled a petulant impulse to answer in Russian. “Yes, lovely rugs, but I’m looking for a yacht brokerage.”
Anna forced a smile. She had no idea what to make of the exchange.
“Then, my friends, you have come to the right place. Please do follow me.”
“You sell boats and rugs?”
“Indeed, finest boats and truly exquisite rugs… As I am sure you can see.” A sweeping hand gesture encompassed his rugs with a flourish. He bowed elegantly.
Anna held back. “You go, I will stay here and take some pictures. The rugs and buildings are quite something. I wish to take pictures of flowers, buildings, this place.”
“Ah, I see your friend knows true beauty, and quality! Only the finest will do for this young lady, yes?”
Anna’s jaw dropped.
Sensing he’d lost Anna, the Turk carried right on with me. “You, my friend, shall see my brother about boats and then I will show you the most exquisite rugs in all of Christendom.”
Christendom? I thought.
He clicked his heels, bowed to Anna, and snapped around. I followed him into the building and up narrow stone stairs worn like hammocks. His brother’s lair was a single room taking up the entire second floor. It consisted of dark, massive wood-plank flooring, plaster over rock walls, and open beams and trusses. The rug seller’s brother got up from a desk placed precisely between two symmetrical windows, and introduced himself. Through the open windows, a breeze off the water was starting to stir air that felt as though it was ready to ignite. I learned that a gulet is a large traditional wooden boat with masts and sails, and in modern times, a motor. Looking like 16th-century sailing ships, gulets are prized in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean as charter vessels. The broker pointed through his window to the historic seawall. Dozens of meticulously maintained gulets were tied up, gangplanks down, waiting for customers. Although stunningly beautiful, they were far more boat than I could handle physically or financially.