The Wrecking Crew (Janac's Games)

by Mark Chisnell

  ‘Look,’ Hamnet jumped in, before hesitating again. Then more slowly, ‘Come and have dinner tonight. It’s the least I can do after your help. I’m staying with some friends at the moment — I’m sure they’d be delighted to have company.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. I’d like that.’ Jasmine smiled with discomforting warmth.

  ‘OK. Maybe if you could get to Bukit Timah MRT station? I don’t have a car.’

  ‘Of course, that’s easy.’

  ‘Good, I’ll meet you there. Seven o’clock?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  Hamnet watched her turn on her heel and walk away, still smiling. She left a trail of turning heads in her wake. He rubbed a hand against his cheek and sighed.

  Joan greeted him back at the office with a resigned smile. ‘I’m afraid Toby’s been held up at the docks — something about a ship disappearing. He won’t be back this afternoon. He suggested that maybe you could do a little reading?’

  Hamnet nodded, with a half-grimace, half-smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Two hours later Joan looked up from her monitor to find him staring blankly into space. She saved the letter she was writing and stood up. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d love one.’

  When she returned, she pulled up a chair beside him and said, ‘It might break things up a little if I spent an hour giving you some idea of what the computer system can do. There’s a lot of detail to learn, but perhaps we could just look at the overall facility. Then the literature might make a bit more sense.’ She nodded at the piles of books and loose-leaf binders on his desk. Relief might as well have been stamped across Hamnet’s forehead in block capitals.

  ‘I’ll log in as me for now. I’ve asked the system administrator to get you a user account and password, but it’ll probably take a week — he’s not very efficient.’

  Her tone left Hamnet in no doubt that inefficiency was only just below devil worship in Joan’s personal morality. He watched carefully as the computer connected and her fingers glided lightly across the keyboard. Too quickly — all he caught of the password was that it finished with something from the top row, over on the right. Not much help.

  For the next hour, Joan guided him through first the Konsan computer system, then the Port of Singapore Authority’s PortNet facility. He was staggered by how much the machine knew and what could be controlled from it. The details of every ship that came into and out of the port — routes, arrivals, cargo plans — were available. Every container in transit, whether arriving and departing by sea or land, was tagged with a bar code. Every crane that picked a container up logged the movement using that code. Hamnet could track any chosen container all the way to its final position aboard a ship. And the ships in the Konsan Line were fitted with a Satcom C system with integral GPS. This reported position, speed and course automatically, every six hours, via the satellite communications network. More frequent updates could be obtained by sending a message to the Satcom C from his own desk. The information came back almost instantly. It took his breath away, how easy it would be to do Janac’s bidding. The decision was truly upon him. Right here was everything he needed to get his son back. Except a password and a little practice on the terminal.

  The door crashed open, and all fifteen occupants of the room looked up. ‘Shit, sorry,’ muttered Toby to the staring personnel as he bustled towards his office. ‘Joan,’ he called over his shoulder as he kicked the door open in front of him.

  ‘I guess I’d better go,’ said Joan.

  Phil returned to the computer and the books with renewed interest. It was six thirty when he suddenly realised that not only would he be late meeting Jasmine, but that he hadn’t warned Margaret about the extra place required at dinner. Joan was still in with Toby, so he logged out of the system and phoned. Margaret was unfazed by having an extra mouth to feed. Hamnet retraced his steps of that morning, running, and hopped on a train, impatient with every stop, with passengers who wouldn’t get on or off quickly. He was hugely relieved when he got to Bukit Timah to find Jasmine still waiting outside the station. She had changed into a simple floral-print dress and was leaning lightly against the timetable at a bus stop.

  He hurried up to her but before he could speak she said, ‘I didn’t know how formal it was. I hope this is OK? It’s my going-through-border-controls dress.’ She smiled and spread her arms to show it off. The dress returned the compliment by showing off her athletic figure.

  ‘It’s . . . perfect,’ said Phil. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. First day at work— I didn’t like to be the first to leave.’

  ‘Only a few minutes.’ She stepped in beside him and they made their way to the house down a quiet, tree-lined avenue. Hamnet made a couple of desultory efforts at small talk while struggling with how to break down the lies he had previously told her. Eventually, after a particularly painful silence, and just before they arrived at the Bullens’, he pulled up. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got a confession to make,’ he said.

  Jasmine looked at him anxiously, saying nothing.

  He drew a deep breath, then went on quickly. ‘What I told you in Thailand wasn’t true. My name’s Phil Hamnet, I’m a merchant seaman, and my wife, Anna — Ben’s mother — was killed by a pirate gang that attacked my ship about seven weeks ago. It’s a long story but I was escaping from them when we first met. When I got back here, the Bullens, where we’re going now, took me in.’

  ‘Your wife — I’m so sorry.’ Jasmine bit her lip, eyes lowered. ‘I’ve got a confession to make as well.’ A hand brushed a strand of hair from her face as she looked back up at him. ‘I read about you in the papers. Then when I saw you in Raffles Place I was curious. So I already knew that what you told me was, umm . . .’

  ‘A lie. Yes, I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to trust anyone at that point. Fresh start?’ Hamnet held out his hand and she took it, smiling.

  ‘It’s already begun.’

  ‘Good.’

  The smell of Chinese cooking was drifting through the house when they arrived. Ben was on his way to bed, and Jasmine cooed and ah’d in all the right ways. Margaret had cooked a spicy meal of chicken and rice, throughout which she gently probed the visitor. If she thought it at all odd that Hamnet should be bringing back attractive young women for dinner, it didn’t show. By the end of the meal, Hamnet knew that Jasmine was twenty-seven and had been born and brought up in northern California, which was where her father still worked in the computer industry. She had completed a postgraduate degree in fine arts the previous summer at the University of California, in San Diego. After waitressing through the fall to save some money, she had left with Lane on a tour of Asia. Her funds were now almost gone, and if she didn’t find a job in the next week or so, she would be forced to return home.

  ‘And what will you do there?’ asked Hamnet.

  Jasmine sipped at her red wine and settled her blue eyes on him, over the rim of the glass. ‘I’m not sure. I’d like to do something with my art, but it’s not at all clear how to make a living from that.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I wanted to stay away until I’d figured it out, so I could go home and get on with my life with some conviction. I guess I need more time.’

  After coffee, Hamnet walked her back to the station. He had already prepared for the parting. ‘This is the Bullens’ number. Give me a call tomorrow evening — maybe I can help you find some work. There are always expat friends looking for domestic help. Would you be prepared to do that kind of thing?’

  Jasmine smiled. ‘Of course, anything. Thanks.’ She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and before he could react she had turned and gone. Hamnet touched his cheek and wondered if the ache in his soul would ever leave him.

  He was still in sombre mood when he got back to the house. Margaret was sitting in the living room, reading. There was no sign of Anthony. The doors onto the patio were still open, and the murmur of the ceiling fans mixed with the chirrup and rustle of cicada social life in the ga
rden.

  ‘Nightcap?’ asked Margaret as he sat down. She had an almost psychic ability to understand when he wanted to talk. He guessed that Anthony had been packed off to bed. He heaved himself back out of the chair and poured two glasses of port.

  As he settled back into his seat, Margaret took a sip and asked, ‘So are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?’ For an instant Phil was taken aback, before she added, ‘Jasmine will make an excellent au pair. I presume that’s why you brought her up here? For me to check her out?’ She smiled, eyes sparkling over her reading glasses.

  Hamnet rolled a mouthful of port over his tongue before answering, ‘I suppose,’ then couldn’t help but smile. ‘Partly. She was on a bus I took up in northern Thailand. She was fantastic with Ben. She saved me on that occasion. I thought dinner was the least I could do.’ He grimaced. ‘You could do. Thank you.’ Then paused. ‘I don’t really know her at all, but she seems nice, and she’s so good with Ben.’

  Margaret nodded. ‘I’d have to agree with you, dear. She’s terribly sweet. And these days you can’t even rely on the agencies to vet people properly. Look at all that trouble they’ve had in America. All you’ve got to go on is your own character judgement. And I’d say she’s just perfect.’

  ‘She needs somewhere to live as well. There’s a spare room at the apartment — it would be good for everybody.’ It was a simple enough decision. He would ask Jasmine about it when she called the following evening.

  The other decision he had all to himself. There was no one to help — and no longer any way to avoid it. Could he trade four ships for his son’s life? Would cargo be the only price, or would Janac demand more? He had no way of knowing, and the eternal questioning — and Ben — kept him awake most of the night. Or rather, fear of the consequences did. For, in reality, he had already decided.

  Chapter 21

  Inevitably, the first deep sleep Hamnet fell into was just prior to Margaret’s wake up call. He slipped back under, was woken again, more urgently this time, and finally struggled through to breakfast with puffy eyes and wet hair. He poured down some coffee before returning to his room to struggle into shirt and tie. When he climbed into the car, Anthony already had the engine running and in gear.

  The advantage of this small panic was that Hamnet had no time to think of anything else. Not so on the MRT. He stood and stared blankly out of the window, stomach twisting and tightening inexorably as if tied to a Spanish Inquisition windlass.

  Joan was at her desk when he arrived. She smiled her welcome and offered him coffee as he sat down. He accepted gratefully and reopened the ring binders he’d been reading the previous afternoon, only this time with more purpose. It was fifteen minutes later when Toby stuck his head through the door.

  ‘Hear about that boat?’

  Hamnet looked up. ‘No. What boat?’

  ‘Bloody thing just disappeared a day out of Manila. Didn’t do the daily report on time. No big deal, but then they couldn’t get her on the radio or the satcom. One of our ships went through the same area yesterday afternoon and searched for eight hours — nothing. That’s where I got tied up yesterday. Sorry about that.’

  ‘Not at all, that’s much more important. What do you think happened?’

  Toby shook his head. ‘An old bulk carrier like that could’ve just broken up. I remember one that did that in Australian waters back in the early ’90s. Then a sister ship popped a hatch cover in a storm and went down with all hands in the Western Approaches a year or so later. Too much dodgy tonnage out there in some of those fleets.’

  Hamnet nodded slowly.

  ‘Nothing more we can do. They’re asking the US navy if they’ll help search. Any questions, just knock. I’ve got the Enterprise coming in this afternoon — worth you coming down there with me.’ And with that Toby closed the door.

  Hamnet gazed with increasingly sightless eyes at the documents in front of him, thoughts drifting away to the lost ship. Had Janac just blazed on without him? A bulk carrier? A cargo of grain or rice didn’t really sound like Janac’s style. Toby was probably right — too much dodgy tonnage out there. As he himself, of all people, should know.

  He forced himself back to work, wading slowly through the documentation. It was a couple of hours later when he turned a page and came to ‘Shoreside Software Systems’. He carried on, marking the sections he would need, the places where he would find the necessary information. It was coming together. Lunch time came and went. Hamnet worked through it, barely noticing he had done so.

  ‘You’re right into this.’

  He jumped.

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone devour this information so seriously,’ Toby continued ‘Notes as well. Quite impressive. What are you looking at there?’

  Hamnet had been so deeply immersed in his work he hadn’t noticed Toby’s arrival at his shoulder. He was taking notes on how to use the software to bring up a cargo-loading plan. Not the most obvious area for a new marine superintendent to be researching. ‘Oh . . .’ he started, looking round, hand twitching guiltily across the page before he got a grip on himself. A kid caught reading a comic by the teacher.

  But Toby was already heading for the door. ‘Come on,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘We’ve got a ship to check in.’ Hamnet swallowed dryly, wet his lips, shut the file and put his notes into a drawer in his desk. He had to run to make the lift.

  He was still berating himself for his casualness as he and Toby climbed into a car. He had to be a lot more careful. He was going to betray the company, do something that would cost it, or the insurer, millions of dollars. Perhaps more. He forced the idea back. He had to do one boat; he had to know. If Janac took it cleanly, with no casualties, no one would be able to blame him for what he was doing. He had made a decision. Now he had to focus on the task he’d set himself, and not get caught. He sat in silence as the car drove down Shenton Way towards the terminal. And if Janac didn’t take the boat cleanly . . .?

  Toby lit a cigarette as they waited at the Prince Edward Street lights. He wound down the window and exhaled the first lungful of smoke. The warm air rushed in and flooded the cool of the car. ‘I never said how sorry I was about your wife, your crew. It was a terrible thing. A ship goes down, like that bulk carrier, and that’s bad enough. But piracy and murder . . ’ He stopped, took another deep drag.

  Hamnet snapped out of his reverie, uncomfortable. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered.

  The lights changed and Toby pulled forward. Hamnet took the opportunity to change the subject. ‘So, Toby, that accent of yours. I’ve been trying to place it.’

  Toby rattled back the answer. ‘Sort of general Home Counties — I went to school in Surrey. Pretty good English for a Chinese, huh? My father, you know, he was a successful businessman, but in those days there were still many doors closed to him. He wanted them open for me, and he sent me over there when I was five. I learnt English at the same time as I learnt Mandarin.’

  ‘Did it work? The doors, did they open?’

  ‘Everything changed anyway — this is a Chinese town now. But it didn’t hurt. I married a nice English girl.’ He smiled.

  Hamnet didn’t want to think about nice English girls. ‘What was that ship carrying?’

  ‘Huh?’ There was a crunch as Toby missed a gear.

  ‘The ship that went down, what was she carrying?’

  ‘Oh, she was under ballast.’

  That, thought Hamnet, settles that. Janac would hardly be likely to raid a bulk carrier full of seawater. And if he had, he really did need some good intelligence.

  The car slid under the expressway and into the terminal, then round to E Road by the East Lagoon, where they duly found the Konsan Enterprise. Hamnet had been through the routine a hundred times before as ship’s master. Now he was starting to learn the job from the other side. Not exactly poacher turned gamekeeper — they were all working for the same company — but he well knew there were always one or two things aboard a ship that the master didn’t want a
nyone poking into too deeply back at head office. The afternoon dragged painfully slowly, particularly as everybody wanted to talk about the lost ship. Hamnet didn’t — losing ships was the last thing he wanted to discuss. He just wanted to get back and do what he had to do.

  It was late afternoon before they returned to the office and he could finally set about completing his research, rather more circumspectly this time. By five thirty he had finished. He knew where to look for the right containers, how to get from there to the ship’s route, and how to keep regular tabs on its position during the voyage. All he needed now was to get on the computer. He didn’t have a password, and even when he did, it would be better not to use it. He couldn’t be sure what kind of checks were made on users. It would be safer to log in as Joan. She’d been here longer, and her broader role meant she was unlikely to attract suspicion, wherever her computer use took her in the system. He stretched and looked over at her ‘Coffee?’ he said.

  She peered at him, surprised. ‘Tea actually, but I’ll make it.’

  ‘No, no.’ Hamnet was already standing. ‘I need a break.’

  ‘Well, thank you. Weak with no milk, please.’

  He walked to the back of the office, where a door led onto a small windowless kitchen. He made the drinks and returned to Joan’s desk. His eyes flickered across the monitor as he put the tea down beside it. A framed photograph of a caged bird caught his eye.

  ‘Is that your pet?’ he asked.

  Joan sipped at the tea. ‘Mmm, Shashi. She’s a cockatoo.’

  ‘Shashi?’ Something tugged in Hamnet’s head. ‘A nice name. What does it mean?’

  ‘It’s a Chinese town. Where my parents come from.’

  ‘Of course. A nice place?’

  ‘Very beautiful lake. Or it was. I don’t know now. No one from my family has been there for forty years. But maybe soon.’

  ‘They were running from the communists?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Many people have been back.’

  Joan nodded and sipped at her tea. Her free hand strayed towards the keyboard. Hamnet got the message.