Viking Raid

by Matthew McCleery

  Robert Fairchild burst aggressively through the heavy wooden door of the private bank and slid across the freshly washed sidewalk on the leather soles of his battle-worn Gucci loafers.

  After narrowly avoiding a small white pick-up truck with a payload of freshly-cut tulips, he bolted back down Trelawney Street and past the Old Government House where he barely dodged a gaggle of elderly tourists boarding a tour bus. By the time Robert reached the harbor, the lone ferry boat called Trident was preparing to depart.

  “Sorry sir,” the ship’s mate said to Robert over the sound of the gurgling diesel engines and the rising wind. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to board unless you have a confirmed room reservation for the night.”

  “Why?” Robert snarled like an angry animal as he handed the man his ticket and stepped down onto the deck.

  “Because the only hotel on the island is quite small and it’s fully committed tonight for a private party and this is the last ferry of the day. The Trident will tie up on Herm for the evening and won’t return to St. Peter Port until tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m a guest at that party,” Robert lied as he moved toward the deserted bow of the ship, “the guest of honor.” Surprisingly, the crewman did not give chase.

  Thirty gut-wrenching minutes after leaving St. Peter Port, the Trident made a hard landing on the stone quay of the island of Herm, a primitive mile-and-a-half-long swath of land comprised of rugged brown cliffs, verdant green pastures and stunning white sand beaches surrounded by an unbroken expanse of cobalt blue; it was like Eden in the Atlantic.

  “Where’s the Admiral Benbow Inn?” Robert barked at an old ferryman draped in yellow foul weather gear as he disembarked.

  “Top of the hill, sir,” said the man without looking up from the thick braided line he was carefully coiling.

  Robert Fairchild trudged up the steep slope from the harbor toward the highest and driest location on the island where Herm’s modest amount of commercial activity had been established. When he reached the top of the hill, the only hotel Robert could see was called The White House Hotel and Ship Restaurant.

  Robert entered the hotel lobby to ask for directions to the Admiral Benbow Inn but he couldn’t find anyone to ask. It was a sensation that reminded him of his arrival at the Delano Hotel one very long week ago. Robert stood motionless at the reception desk for close to ten minutes before he heard a muffled melody coming from the other side of the hotel.

  As Robert focused on the sound, he recognized the tune of “Happy Birthday” and it was only then that he remembered that it was his own fortieth birthday; too bad he would be spending it alone and sleeping on a street on a tiny island off the French coast. He just hoped that kicking off his forties as a homeless man in a torn and bloody suit wasn’t a harbinger of what was to come during the next decade.

  Robert walked toward the sound of music that was coming from the other end of the dark hallway. When he tentatively moved beneath the arched doorway and into the taproom, he was assaulted by an explosion of light and sound.

  Chapter 30

  Crowley Maritime

  Crowley Maritime, one of the largest maritime companies in America, was founded in 1892 when Thomas Crowley purchased an eighteen-foot Whitehall rowboat to provide transportation of personnel and supplies to ships anchored in San Francisco Bay. Today, the company is run by Thomas B. Crowley, Jr., grandson of the founder, and has 5,300 employees and around $2 billion in revenue.

  “Happy Birthday!” a chorus of voices erupted along with a flood of light.

  At that moment Robert Fairchild believed he had reached the end of his life. He had heard theories about what happens to the human spirit in its final seconds, including precisely the sort of hallucination he was experiencing right then; this must have been his mind’s way of saying goodbye – by briefly revisiting the many people and places that had formed the final chapter of his life. Rather than attempt to deny the dream he decided to soak in every last detail.

  As his blank stare finally began to move around the room absorbing the tableau of characters grinning at him, he immediately realized that he knew almost all of them. Alistair Gooding and Sir Nicholas were presiding over pints of bitter at the polished wooden bar. Next to them was Aphrodite Bouboulinas who was sitting on a high stool with her bare legs crossed and a tanned arm draped affectionately around Mr. Him from Regal Shipbuilding. Mr. Him seemed to be so focused on the beautiful Aphrodite that he appeared not to have even noticed Robert’s arrival.

  Reclined on the leather couch directly in front of Robert were the two elder statesmen Robert had encountered on his odyssey around the world in search of the elusive gas carriers. Captain Spyros was calmly rolling a string of worry beads between his fingers as he spoke with Mr. Cornelius Juhl who was wearing nothing on his feet but pale pink cashmere socks. Sitting in a club chair next to the two octogenarian shipping tycoons was his friend Spyrolaki who was smiling brightly and motioning for Robert to look to his right, which he did.

  Robert Harrison Fairchild had been blessed with many wonderful moments during his forty years of existence. He had felt the agony and the ecstasy, the success and failure, the satisfaction and the frustration that came from being a child, a father, a husband, a brother, a friend, a teacher, a student, a coach, a caregiver and a patient. But when he slowly turned around in that dimly lit English tavern on that remote island in the North Atlantic Ocean, all of those things came together. It was a scene so sweet he would remember it forever – even as he slipped into the darkness of his own final moments.

  Standing in that Channel Islands pub and looking at the people looking at him, Robert Fairchild was finally present. He wasn’t thinking about what he had to do next or where he had to go or the things he should have done or worrying about some boneheaded mistake he’d made or the stuff he wanted to buy or the places he hadn’t gone or the well-being of the people he loved. He wasn’t even thinking about his BlackBerry, even though he hadn’t checked it for at least five minutes. For that one moment everything Robert Fairchild cared about in life was together in that historic room – and it all seemed okay.

  “Happy fortieth honey!” Grace Fairchild shouted with joy as she jumped up and ran to her husband. “We made it to the Channel Islands!”

  “Heel, Black Dog!” Oliver shouted. “Daddy doesn’t want your hair on his suit.”

  “I don’t think daddy needs to worry about that suit,” Grace told her son as she observed the blood stained hole in the knee that had grown so large that much of Robert’s leg was now exposed.

  “Did you say Black Dog?” Robert asked. These were the first words he’d spoken since entering the tavern.

  Before the boy had responded to his father’s inquiry about the name of his new puppy, Robert Fairchild began to make a series of connections, like traffic lights turning from red to green. First there was the Treasure Island Navigation placard in the Piraeus office Blue Sea Shipping & Trading, then the Long John Silver Holdings deal binder in Copenhagen, the LNG carrier at Regal Shipbuilding was called Hispaniola and the banker in Guernsey named Jim Hawkins had directed him to a hotel called the Admiral Benbow Inn where he met a dog named Black Dog. There were six references to Treasure Island, the novel that had inspired Oliver Fairchild to become a pirate, and Robert realized he’d been played.

  “Happy Birthday, Daddy!” Oliver smiled as he quickly scrambled to his feet. He ran toward his father with open arms but immediately recoiled. “Argh, ye smell scurvy, matey.”

  “Garcon, bring this man a bottle of Aquavit!” Coco boomed to the lone barman.

  “And some deodorant,” Oliver said.

  “So, Fairchild, did you have a good trip?” Coco asked with a hearty laugh.

  “Did I have a good trip?” Robert finally repeated the words as he glared at the Norwegian through squinted eyes. “Did I have a good trip?”

  “Yes, sweetie, Coco and I knew it wasn’t exactly a vacation, but was it fun?”
Grace chirped energetically. “We tried really hard to make sure it was fun for you.”

  “Fun?” Robert repeated, stunned.

  “I am so jealous that you got to go to Copenhagen,” she said. “The hotel that Mr. Juhl booked for you looked absolutely fabulous when I saw the photos online,” she said and turned to smile at the Great Dane. “Thanks, Corny.”

  “What is going on here?” Robert asked as his exhausted mind struggled to process so much new information.

  “Ja,” Coco said, “but Robert do you remember when we were at that little hotel in London and you tricked me into putting ten of my VLCCs on charter to Kraken DuBois?”

  “I didn’t exactly trick you, Coco,” Robert said. “I simply articulated the value proposition of exchanging income security for…”

  “And do you remember what I told you that night?” Coco interrupted.

  “You told me that I wasn’t really a shipping man,” he said. “That’s what you said.”

  “Ja, I’m sorry I lost my temper,” Coco said, “but do you remember what else I said?”

  “You told Alistair that you were going to have a surprise party for my fortieth birthday,” Robert said.

  “How did I do, Allie?” Coco asked his banker.

  “You’ve taken this tradition to another level, Coco,” Alistair said.

  “But Robert, I also told you that if you weren’t so old and busy I would enroll you in Cass Business School for an advanced degree in ship financing with Professor Grammenos, because you have so much to learn. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes,” Robert said.

  “And I said something else, too,” Coco said in a serious tone of voice. “I told you that I would be your mentor, in the same way Hilmar was a mentor to me, because everyone deserves a mentor in life.”

  “Yes, but you also said you had decided to give up on me because I was too much work.”

  “Ja, but this was before you came up with the MLP idea,” Coco smiled. “Anyway, because you are too old for graduate school and since Viking Tankers doesn’t have an around-the-world training programs like the shipping banks do, Alistair and I decided to put together our own little mini-course for you,” Coco explained.

  “You did what?” Robert recoiled.

  “I needed to stall Rocky DuBois for a couple weeks while Captain Bouboulinas and I put together a deal directly with Mr. Xing,” Coco smiled. “I also needed to get you out of the picture, which provided the perfect opportunity to have this all-star faculty teach you a thing or two about how the shipping business works,” Coco said and cast his arm around the room.

  “Let’s not forget the work of the Dean,” Alistair added and gestured toward the man standing behind the Captain; he was only person in the room that Robert didn’t recognize. “He is the real star of the show.”

  “The Dean!” Robert shrieked and tugged on his thinning, graying hair with both hands.

  “Robert, I would like to introduce you to Professor Costas Grammenos from Cass Business School in London, England,” Alistair said. “Your friend Spyrolaki is a proud graduate of his program as well.”

  “Hello, Robert,” Professor Grammenos said with a strong Greek accent as he stepped out of the shadows. “I am very pleased to finally meet you,” he said, meticulously pronouncing each word. “You have done nicely so far and you have shown that you do not give up which is very important in the shipping business.”

  “Thanks,” Robert said and shook the professor’s hand. He shot a look of appreciation at Aphrodite for her words of encouragement whispered into his ear at Jimmy the Fish.

  “I know you have learned much from the small curriculum we put together last week,” Professor Grammenos said solemnly, “but I must remind you that we still have more work to do.”

  “We do?”

  “Oh yes. In fact, we will begin to talk about the topic of your thesis over dinner this evening,” the professor said.

  “My thesis!” Robert wailed. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Shipping might be fun, but it’s no joke,” Alistair offered. “That was one of the key points on the syllabus.”

  “Ja, and by the way, your little Oliver is the one who came up with the Treasure Island-naming theme that we used on this project,” Coco said. “We will name each ship for a character in the book.”

  “We do not like pirates,” Captain Bouboulinas said, “but we are so happy that the boy likes reading. I can only hope that my little Spyros will learn from your little Oliver.”

  “Hey, I read more than Aphrodite does,” Spyrolaki retorted as he sat up from his reclined position. “The only thing she reads is Marine Engineering Monthly,” Spyrolaki added, and a smile bloomed on Mr. Him’s face.

  “Me, too!” Mr. Him said. “I never miss an issue!”

  “I hate to break the news to you, Laki, but shopping for Ferraris on your iPad doesn’t count as reading,” Aphrodite smiled at Mr. Him.

  “I have absolutely no idea what you lunatics are talking about,” Robert said with frustration. Try as he might, he just couldn’t piece all the information together.

  “It’s all good, honey,” Grace said.

  “How can it all be good?” Robert said. “The reality is that I tried to find out who owns those gas vessels and I failed. That means the ten time charters will be cancelled, the IPO is dead and I have lost all of Oliver’s money, not to mention my job and the house on Martha’s Vineyard!”

  “Minn Venn,” Coco said as he winked at Grace and Alex.

  “That means ‘don’t worry’, honey,” Grace chimed in. “It’s Norwegian.”

  “Don’t worry? Why shouldn’t I worry?” Robert demanded.

  “Ja, because we already control those fifteen LNG carriers,” he said casually and studied his silver Knut Shipping propeller cufflinks; they were the same ones James Hawkins had been wearing. “We’ve controlled them for months.”

  “You what?” Robert asked and tossed back the first of many glasses of aquavit. “You own those ships!”

  “Captain B. and I teamed-up to buy them from our old friend Mr. Juhl a few months ago – long before you even dreamed up that crazy idea to charter our ships to the Kraken and do the IPO in America,” Coco said.

  “So that’s why you were spending so much time on the island of Chios,” Robert said. “You were with the Captain.”

  “Uncle Coco has spent a lot more time in Kardamyla than I have,” Aphrodite said. “He and Baba lived in that little taverna for more than a month.”

  “Uncle Coco?”

  “Actually,” Spyrolaki said, “he’s our Godfather.”

  “Are you telling me this entire thing was a coincidence?” Robert asked. “You’re telling me you bought those ships before Rocky DuBois even knew he needed them?” Robert asked.

  “There are no coincidences in this business,” Coco said. “There is only timing and patience. Oddleif and I have been studying the gas market for five years and when U.S. export demand looked like it was going to triple, we decided to invest in Mr. Juhl’s ships. I felt it was important for Viking Tankers to be diversified.”

  “Diversified! You told me diversification was just a crutch used by shipowners who lack confidence!” Robert cried.

  “I never said that,” Coco said.

  “Oh yes you did.”

  “Ja, okay, but the gas carriers will really help strengthen our balance sheet by allowing us to have long-term relationships with our clients.”

  “Strengthen our balance sheet!” Robert cried. “You told me a strong balance sheet is the sign of a weak management! And you also told me you didn’t believe in the long-term relationships!”

  “Do you really think that, honey?” Alexandra asked Coco.

  “Absolutely not,” Coco said.

  “You told me you are a hunter, not a farmer!” Robert reminded his boss.

  “Okay, fine,” Coco caved under Robert’s crushing glare, “but even if I d
id say those things that was the old me talking.”

  “The old you?”

  “Do you remember when my friends in Egypt closed the Suez Canal just to get me out of trouble last year and you and Alistair told me to learn from my mistakes and diversify my fleet,” Coco said.

  “I remember saying it, but I don’t remember you listening,” Robert said.

  “He’s always listening,” Alistair interjected. “He has the ears of a bat.”

  “And I’m now in charge of training him to listen,” Alexandra said. “And he’s doing better – not great, but better.” Coco smiled.

  “Besides Fairchild it’s not just me I am responsible for anymore,” Coco said softly and put his hand on the knee of Alexandra who was slowly rubbing her pregnant bump. “I need to be a little more conservative now in order to protect my family,” he said.

  Robert turned to look at Captain Bouboulinas. “But why are you involved with this deal?” Robert asked. “I thought Blue Sea Shipping & Trading was a traditional family shipping company with dry bulk carriers?”

  “Mr. Fairchild, Greek shipowners take advantage of opportunities whenever they arise,” the old Greek said. “For many years the opportunity came in the form of carefully operating older bulk carriers, then it come from ordering newbuildings and now modern tankers for gas appear to look the most attractive based on the fundamentals. I made this investment for my children and their children,” the Captain said and added softly, “if they ever give me grandchildren, that is.”

  “Give it a rest, Baba,” Aphrodite said without taking her eyes off Mr. Him.