He had expected to hear Nina call out to him – Are you alright, Sam? But there had been no response from her. Instead, she had joined Purdue in helping Crystal to her feet. Panting wildly, Sam had returned to the others to see if Crystal had suffered any injury.
“Careful, old boy,” Purdue had warned, concerned about Sam’s recklessness. “Your chivalry is admirable, but if you really want to get yourself killed…”
“What?” Sam had stood with his arms akimbo, huffing and puffing from the brief pursuit as security and a local police patrol car had taken up the task of searching the vicinity for the perpetrator. Purdue did not really have anything to finish that sentence with. He had been hoping the journalist would know that he meant it as an admission of friendship, that Purdue would be upset if anything happened to him. He had merely patted Sam on the back in acknowledgment and opened the door for the chatting ladies to get in the car safely.
Apart from that unsavory incident, they had made the rest of their long trip without any unwanted adventure.
There was enough of that coming for all of them, having never been to this South African city before. Although they had traveled in luxury, the flight had been exhausting.
"I just want to go to bed," Nina complained, rubbing her lower back. “You can wake me when you have found the wreck.”
Crystal smiled and nodded, “I feel your pain, Nina. Some barbiturates would come in handy right about now. When will we get to the house, Dave?”
Purdue shrugged and looked at Sam.
“Oh, uh, apparently it is a rather short drive from here along the highway, through the whole city and a few kilometers to the outskirts. The rental car lady said it should take us about thirty minutes max to get there,” Sam reported as he tossed Purdue the keys to the rental car.
“When are we meeting up with Dr. Malgas and his team?” Crystal asked. “My flash drive with the contracts it was in my purse. I will have to redo them at the house before the meeting.”
“Oh, you can borrow my laptop if you want,” Nina offered.
“Thanks, sweetie,” the lawyer sighed. “I hope they don’t show up too early. I’m fucking exhausted.”
“I’ll make sure we set a comfortable time for everyone,” Sam assured them. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed Dr. Malgas’ number. “No time like the present.”
The women scowled at him. Sam laughed, “No, girls, I meant to call, not to have the meeting!” Relief eased their expressions as they sank back in their seats with an exchange of scoffs and chuckles.
Following the GPS’s directions, they drove north along the eastern beachfront, toward the neighborhood where their holiday rental was located. They passed grimy downtown streets under lonely yellow lights that illuminated the vacant parking lots of dilapidated factories to get on the highway that crossed the harbor.
“In the 1950’s my aunt was here to claim land she’d inherited from a relative,” Crystal remarked as they drove up the ramp to the wide highway from where they had a view of the old city center. “I just saw the old graveyard on the hillside. It’s deserted and vandalized with graffiti. My aunt’s photographs were monochrome, but in them this area looked very posh, and the old colonial buildings were in pristine condition.”
In the front passenger seat, Sam was discussing a proper time to meet with Dr. Malgas, just nodding to Purdue every now and then to confirm.
“Look, there is some clock tower!" Nina pointed at the roofless skeleton of what had once been the majestic courthouse, now reduced to a boarded-up attest to the area’s decay. “Oh, what a shame!” Nina exclaimed. “I’m not a religious person, but Jesus, that neo-Gothic church actually has a makeshift clothing store in it!”
“It's evident that the grand parks and kirkyards of the city center have fallen prey to mismanagement and vandals," Crystal remarked, screening through her aunt's photos in her mind. "The pictures she showed us depicted a flourishing First World gem, but I suppose that is what corruption and change of political climate do. Pity.”
Little did the group know that they played witness to the conditions Cheryl had to survive under. They had no idea that one of their colleagues on this expedition actually lived in the run-down buildings with the ornate architecture, offering oral sex and sodomy for less money than they would use to pay a parking meter.
“Alright. He says they will meet us in Bluewater Bay at 10 am tomorrow morning. I gave him the address. Apparently his team comprises of two assistants to do the cataloging and two security men to make sure we don’t get uninvited guests,” Sam grinned.
“Nice,” Purdue said, tapping the steering wheel cheerfully as they left the city limits towards where the highway only had the vast ocean to the east as company. They marveled at the natural beauty of the massive bay area. As the sun surrendered to the night, the fishing trawlers and gigantic cargo ships changed into a collection of pleasant dancing orbs floating on the water. The city flaunted its legendary blue skies and temperate climate to the Scottish explorers, as they drove along the quiet street.
When they finally arrived in Bluewater Bay, most stores had already closed, but they bought something to eat at a local fast food restaurant before seeking out the beach house Purdue had rented for the next few days. As Purdue collected the key from the landlord, they were all grateful that the long travel was over.
“I want the room with the shower!” Sam shouted the moment he laid eyes on the glimmering shower screen in the dark of the first room down the corridor.
“I think they all have en-suite bathrooms, Sam,” Purdue laughed. “Sorry, no special treatment for Pulitzer Prize winners.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Nina said, as she went down the dark hallway to the stairs to find a room on the second floor of the abode that possessed walls resembling a plaster of Paris finish with kitschy framed paintings of shells and starfish, sea urchins and mermaids. “Anything good up there, Nina?” Crystal called as she watched the historian look around the upper floor through a thick Perspex pane that served as a modern banister.
“Aye! Come see!” Nina answered from inside a room where she had just switched on the ceiling light. “It’s quite lavish for a place that usually hosts people who just tread sand and lug fishing gear in, I suppose.”
Crystal raced up the stairs, her long legs easily carrying her skinny body – the body of a master diver. Purdue and Sam used the time to set up their equipment in the living room, which exited right onto the deck that overlooked the road that separated them from the beautiful oceanfront. Two wooden door frames fitted with glass opened up to the outside eastward to the sea. To the north a sliding door opened to the lawn with a fire pit, where they could have a barbecue.
“They call it a braai here,” Sam remarked after he explained the steel grid on the pit to Purdue. "It's a barbecue of sorts. Around here people apparently look for any excuse to throw a braai to spend time with friends outside. At least, that's what Dr. Malgas told me.”
“Well, in this climate it’s perfectly understandable,” Purdue smiled as he surveyed the distance to the beach from where he perched on the low masonry that surrounded the fire pit. “My God, this is a perfect piece of heaven, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” Sam agreed.
“And somewhere just ahead of us is a hidden treasure. I only find it hard to believe that the coast guard or geo-engineers have never noticed it. Admittedly that part of the story is a bit weird to me. What say you, Sam?”
“I agree. But Dr. Malgas has always been a very solid, even-keeled academic. He is not a man to jump at shadows or just embrace hearsay at a whim. To be honest, it was his integrity that had me approach you about this find,” Sam declared.
“You know, that is not as far-fetched a method to prompt decisions as you might think. A lot of my explorations, friendships, relationships…”
“Nazi ships…” Sam jested. “Couldn’t resist,” he shrugged.
Purdue laughed. "Yes, most of my decisions are the product of an equal
helping of logic and intuition. Reputation is more important than anything in business. Therefore, it is always important not to burn bridges without careful consideration."
His eyes pierced into Sam, perplexing the journalist somewhat. Was that a secret message he hid in his words, meant especially for Sam?
“But some bridges left untouched could spell disaster,” Sam replied.
“That, my friend, is where the bloody problem lies!” Purdue avowed. “Sometimes the worst of bridges left could serve as the only path out of a bind…if the enemy is not crossing them, of course.”
“Aye. Gospel truth.”
"Nothing is ever easy when it comes to decisions. No matter what resources one has, no matter how well things are going. One wrong decision can obliterate years of achievement. Has that ever crossed your mind?" Purdue asked. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, scrutinizing Sam's face as if he was interested in his opinion.
Sam was now convinced that Purdue was trying to tell him something. Either that or he was using the discussion to prepare Sam for some revelation.
“Perhaps such decisions should be thrown onto the table among trusted friends, to ascertain the general consensus in that matter," Sam winked. He was trying to keep the conversation from getting weighty and thick, but he maintained a serious tone as not to trivialize Purdue's apparent predicament. "Get a second opinion, perhaps," he shrugged, looking over the waves that were rapidly disappearing under the veil of darkness and reduced to only the burbling sound of a salty breath.
Purdue’s countenance remained unchanged as he looked at Sam, “What if it’s too late for that?”
13
The Eye of the Storm
Turmoil prevailed on the salvage tug, Aleayn Yam. It had been three days since it departed from its home port of Safaga on the east coast of Egypt. Crystal Meyer owned several salvage operations across the globe, especially in locations and countries of historical significance where wreck salvages were common and dives for long lost scrolls and treasures were almost daily occurrences. On the Red Sea, the sun stung whoever stayed out on deck for too long, but the fishermen and dock workers of the coastal settlements were used to it.
There was always work to be done, and hiding from the scorching heat of the climate here would interfere with their productivity. No-one could wait for the day to grow cool enough for comfort –nothing would ever get done that way. The incessant, almost year-round heat was part of the weather of Arabic countries and Africa in general. Most of the people here had grown accustomed to temperatures people from other regions couldn’t bear without falling victim to heat exhaustion.
German master diver, salvor, and maritime lawyer Crystal Meyer owned the small tug operation in Safaga and had summoned the crew to sail south toward Madagascar for a project – the salvage of a World War II vessel, which was supposed to be conducted in secret.
Many tribulations had troubled the tug boat since it left Safaga, but the worst struck just as it navigated into the waters of the Gulf of Aden. A freak storm ensued from the heat of the past day, which had been abnormal even by their standards. But the vessel stayed on its course as best as its crew could, considering the swells and currents that would have put any other ship with a less than competent skipper into serious trouble.
Overhead, the clouds hung heavily even after spewing down torrents of rain into the heavy sea below. Ships and boats barely stayed afloat with every squall and leviathan breakers that battered them, but what disturbed the crew most was the storm itself. It was a rather rare occurrence, like the category III tropical cyclone that had hit the Arabian Sea a few years prior; but unlike back then, there had been no warning of these conditions by the weather stations in Yemen or India this time around. As a matter of fact, this insidious weather system had developed as if some malevolent god under the sea had summoned it.
At least, the latter was what Ali Shabat, skipper of the tug, believed. His bloodshot brown eyes scanned the instruments before him, unable to make sense of what was happening outside. His leathery brown skin tingled with the bite of cold air that had come with the storm as he and his first mate Manni tried to keep the tugboat from crashing into a wave trough.
The crew was terrified, but each man kept to his post while they pulled out the rum and khat for the nerves in the galley. On the tug, there were two engineers and eight permanent crew members, among which two mechanics, who handled countless tasks on the vessel, from cleaning and cooking to manning the cranes and checking the engines.
“Hold course!” Ali commanded his first mate. He left the bridge and ran for the head. In the chaos of the sea storm, his stomach had turned on him. He bemoaned the awful timing of his digestive system as he just made it to the door before the fountain of bile surged.
In the storage cabin, two men held on to the bars of the fixtures placed there for securing cargo. Praying and crying out, they were hoping their pleas would be heard by their god. Hissing and crashing against the hull and tiers of the tug, the sea made certain that screams were futile and that the limits of the ship were tested. One of the men, amazed by the resiliency of the Aleayn Yam, shouted to his crewmate, “Good thing this is a German-built boat!”
“Egyptian engineering is just as good,” the other one scoffed.
“If you say so, Fakur! But can you imagine if this boat didn’t belong to Meyer? It would not have any of the high-tech systems that have helped us to many times,” he argued. Fakur, the other engineer, scowled.
“You’re a fool. Either that or you’re an incurable optimist! How is your beloved German engineering helping us right now, huh? How is it going to keep us from drowning?” he roared, wincing as his knee hit the wall.
“I know.” The other man said, “But whining won’t help us either. We probably won’t survive this storm. It is going to end badly for us, so why dwell on things we can do nothing about?”
“We can do something about it!” Fakur hissed. His leg was aching unbearably. “But nobody has the guts to try and do it.”
“One cannot go against fate,” his companion asserted. “Stop moaning about what you cannot change! You will just get tired.”
"I'm tired already," Fakur admitted, trying to stay upright as a headache from the head injury he sustained when the trouble had first started grew worse.
From there, the two men suffered their fate in silence and stopped arguing over something they had no bearing on. Ali felt dizzy from dehydration, but while the huge tugboat rocked, rose and fell at the whim of the sea, he made his way back to Manni in the bridge.
“I’ve gone to sea more than twelve years now, Ali,” Manni said, looking out over the raw, untamed power of the water, “but I have never felt so close to death before, my friend.”
"Maybe your mother's god is punishing you," Ali replied mockingly. He had a laugh and grabbed the bottle without a label that held the last of the rum they had been drinking to calm their nerves. Manni and Ali had been mariners all their life, but all men were capable of fear when it came to nature and her fury. There was something formidable about the destructive indifference of natural phenomena, especially the sea, where myths and legends remained abundant throughout the ages.
“You’re joking, but you are tempting fate,” Manni warned, taking the bottle from him. “My mother’s god hates me. You know that. Don’t talk about him; not now, not here. It is like speaking out the devil’s name knowing he will come.”
“You are too superstitious, brother,” Ali said. “That is why I am the skipper of this boat and not you. You give in way too easily. I thought you were strong, but now you sound like a woman.”
Manni leered at his friend, but Ali ignored him. He had always hated Ali's indifference, his total lack of respect for the sea and the unseen forces. But he had no choice than to keep working with his childhood friend on this admittedly lucrative path they had chosen to embark on. He could become a laborer, but then his life would be without adventure.
“We are approachi
ng the Equator, Manni. I have not crossed it in over two years, you know?” Ali smiled, revealing his oversized incisors that shone brightly under his brown lips as he checked the instruments where the bearings changed by the second. Manni paid him no mind. So what if it is the first time in two years that Ali was crossing the Equator? It was not a special feat or an unusual thing for sailors, especially those in their line of business.
The lightning did not hit the waters. It merely made the clouds light up. Manni’s heart pounded at the sight of the mighty forces that threw the boat about like a cork in a river.
“Have you checked on the crew?” Ali asked his superstitious mate.
“No, I haven’t. I’ll do that when this storm subsides,” Manni replied. Ali turned to him with an intimidating stare. His teeth had now retreated behind his lips and when he stepped up to Manni the skipper’s 6’4” frame loomed over him. Ali was never one to pull rank, so the first mate nodded quickly and left the bridge to check on the crew.
A few minutes later he reappeared in the door with wild eyes and panic in his voice. His skinny fingers clutched at the doorway as the boat fell deep left into the waves. “Ali! Ali! The engineers are gone! And so is Baashi!”
Ali spun around. “How can they be gone? We are on the open sea, you imbecile!” he thundered over the boisterous rumble of the storm. Baashi was one of his best men and Ali was furious to hear that he was gone. He could not have left the boat unless…
“Overboard? Get the others! Find out when they last saw them and find out where they are! Now!” Ali screamed. They had no time to lose, especially now that they were on their way to a particularly profitable venture in the Indian Ocean. He could not afford to lose any of his men. He would have searched the boat himself, but under these conditions he had to stand attention at the wheel or they would all perish before they even made it into the Southern Hemisphere.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 4 Page 26