by Ron Sewell
“Any for sale or sold in Libya, Egypt or Tunisia?”
Steven took a deep breath. “Four in Libya, Thirty- four in Egypt and zero in Tunisia.”
“Can you show them on the screen, Egypt first? I must see who they belong to and how long have they been for sale?”
One by one, they eliminated those in Egypt. Most belonged to a scrap yard. The four in Libya fitted the criteria.
“Will my mobile work?”
“With five million pounds of high tech electronics in this basement, it will.
Anna did not speak for a few seconds. “I need pictures of those vessels and details on my mobile. Shift your arse.”
He held out his right hand. “Give me your phone?” From a mass of wiring, he connected the Iphone and downloaded the information. “Write your instructions and send.”
Anna gave a half smile as she sent the vessels’ details to Rono. “We have a man in Tripoli. He can check these out. Any more ships that fit the mould?”
Steven creased his eyes and glanced at his watch. “Time to eat. All work and no fun is a pain in the arse. There’s a great Italian not far from here. How about we sleep on this and hope our brains are fresh in the morning.”
“I have a better idea. Let’s wrestle a steak and a glass or two of wine at the Crutched Friar, then back to your place for a night cap.”
“I reflected on the odds of seeing you again.”
She pouted her lips. “I reckon when this job’s finished, fifty, fifty. That’s unless you catch the girl of your dreams and marry her or something stupid like that.”
“Two years ago I asked you to marry me and you told me to fuck off and you didn’t do commitment.”
“I still don’t but I’m a woman and allowed to alter my mind. Shift your arse, I’m hungry.”
The Crutched Friar lived up to its reputation for good food. With their hunger sated, they returned to his penthouse in St Katherine Docks.
“I ought to have a shower. You can scrub my back?”
There was laughter in his eyes. “Only if you lather mine first.”
She undid his belt. As his trousers dropped to the floor, she started on his shirt buttons. “It’s a deal.”
The fragrance of her perfume tormented as she pressed her lips to his.
He pulled back. “May I say something shameful?”
Her hand caressed his face. “I’m always agreeable to the right suggestion.”
He kissed her. “Let’s forget the shower.”
She pulled him onto the bed. “We're too old for sex on the floor. For me it should be silk sheets and rose petals. This time I' will drive you crazy, and then do it again until you beg me to stop.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “You have such a way with words.”
14
Main Harbour, Tripoli. The first light of the day crept into the sky as Rono left his hotel and strolled towards the docks. He studied the four pictures on his mobile and smiled. The doubts he had about the ship increased. On entering, the smell of fresh coffee from a workers’ cafe wafted on the light breeze. He sat at an empty table.
A giant of a man sauntered across and said something. Rono shrugged and said he didn’t understand in Kenyan.
The man came back with a pot of coffee, a large mug and a loaf of bread straight from the oven. He placed them on the table and held up five fingers.
“Thank you,” said Rono in English as he handed over five Dinars.
“English?” asked the man in well-spoken English.
“Kenyan.”
“Are you a sailor looking for work?”
“Yes, and no, but I’m inquiring after these ships.” He showed him the pictures on his phone.
He pointed along the road. “Ten minutes in that direction.” His eyes lingered on one picture. “This one was sold yesterday.”
“Who to?”
“The on-board security guard told me it was sold to an Arab consortium.”
“Where did you learn English?”
“I was in Manchester University studying law.”
“Why did you come back?”
“My mother and father died from the bombing during the uprising. My brothers and sisters need me to provide for them. Now from my small cafe I serve coffee.”
Rono took a long drink of the dark brown liquid. “This is first class coffee.”
“An old family recipe. Another cup?”
Rono nodded. “Is there a clothes market anywhere?”
The man stroked his chin. “I assume you want new but there’s a second hand market,” he pointed, “a mile in that direction. Don’t accept the price; haggle and you can reduce it by half.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll finish my coffee and check out these boats. I’ll drop by the market later.”
“If you need a guide or information, you only have to ask. The streets are dangerous at night. I urge you to stay in your hotel.”
Rono stood, slapped the man on his back and strolled unhurriedly into the docks. As he passed a ship, he paused, took a few photos with his mobile, sent them to the office and deleted them from the memory. The fourth vessel, like the other three, appeared deserted and ready for the scrap heap. As he strolled back along the jetty, he endeavoured to ascend a gangway. A locked metal gate barred the first and second.
On the third, a man stood at the top. “Can I help you?” he asked in English.
“I’m an investor. Just checking the condition of ships for sale.”
“She’s yours for ten million American dollars.”
“Rather expensive,” said Rono.
“Good value for money. She’s in perfect condition and could be ready to sail at a moment’s notice.”
“Ah, we have a conundrum. I’m hunting for scrap. Sorry I bothered you. My price would be the scrap value.”
“No problem.”
Rono sensed the man’s eyes burning into his back as he descended the gangway. At the bottom, he glanced back and waved.
On reaching number four, he saw an old man loading stores. “Is this ship for sale?”
"No," said the old man as he hoisted a package onto his shoulder.
Rono, without bending, let his eyes travel across the packages. White sheets, a duvet, pillows and pillowcases. Tinned and fresh food.
“You still here?” said the old man.
“I'm told this ship is for sale.”
“And I told you it's not.”
“When was it sold?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Logic told him this man didn’t want to answer his questions. “Sorry to trouble you.” Rono nodded, walked away, and traipsed along the road to the second-hand clothes market.
As he perused the row upon row of stalls, reminders of the past were plain to see. Old buildings with a distinctive Turkish style on one corner of the square. Italian architecture with scars from the Arab spring stood as they had for over a hundred years. Many years had come and gone since a colonial power governed the country. Muammar Gaddafi lasted for forty-two years until in twenty eleven a bullet ended his life.
Rono stood and rummaged through a pile of second hand clothes. After discarding most, he chose a long loose gown with the trousers for the lower body. He also found a cloak to disguise his body and a traditional cap. A pair of leather sandals completed his outfit.
The stallholder stared at him quizzically.
“For a fancy dress party,” said Rono. “I’m going as an Arab.”
The man wrote on a piece of paper, Forty Dinar. Rono grinned and handed over the money.
“You paid too much,” said David as blunt as ever. “Come. Grab your bundle of rags. We need to talk.”
Rono took a deep breath. “How did you know I was here?”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
“You followed me.”
“I don’t have the luxury of time. I have others do the menial work. From the moment you set foot in my country, my men followed you. I stay alive that
way.”
The stallholder shoved the clothes into a plastic bag and handed them across the stall. “Rono took the package and nodded.
David produced a tiny mobile from his pocket. “You are a man who will expose trouble. This is encrypted using an algorithm to my mobile and is impossible to intercept. To summon support press the red button. I cannot guarantee I or my men will arrive to save you from yourself but there’s an outside chance we will.” He gave it to Rono.
“Thanks.” Rono played his ace of spades. “The woman, Linda Lui, is still alive.”
“That is impossible. The camp is no more and my men left no trace of their visit. Believe me, she and her gang of thugs are dead.”
“I’m sure you and your team did a perfect job, but she wasn’t there.”
“Who told you this?”
Rono tapped his nose. “Need to know.”
The man slapped him on the back and laughed. “Perhaps you will tell me where she is now.”
“I’d tell you but I haven’t a clue.”
“Be careful, my friend.”
Rono went to speak but David vanished into the crowd. He sniffed the bundle of clothes. They stank of sweat. In the basement of the hotel, he tossed them in the coinoperated washing machine. Washed and dried the clothes were no better but he didn’t have to suffer the stench.
Later that evening he proceeded on a gut instinct. Dressed as an Arab, he strolled into the docks. In five minutes, he sat opposite the gangway of the American Queen. Three wooden packing cases formed a seat with a backrest. Even at close range, he blended into the background of dockside debris.
It was after two in the morning when he spotted people on the deck. His eyes accustomed to the dark made out the form of a woman jogging. A cold sweat formed on his skin as her picture flooded his mind. He wasn’t sure but his gut told him it was Linda. Satisfied he crept from his hiding place and wandered back to his hotel.
When he awoke, David sat in the one armchair staring out of the window.
“Its good manners to knock.” said Rono as his feet hit the floor.
“Did you locate the woman?”
“Maybe, but I must be sure it’s her. I believe she’s on a ship in the docks.”
“May I suggest you stay in your hotel for the day, relax by the pool and enjoy your lunch. I’ll arrange for the port authorities to inspect a few ships in the docks. A smuggler buys an old ship for a few thousand dollars. They fill them with the unwary for a thousand dollars a head. Hundreds arrive in Malta or even Italy but I believe many of these vessels reach deep water and sink. It’s another version of what illegal slave ships did when the world abolished slavery. If they were in danger, the slaves shackled to a chain disappeared overboard. I can use this excuse to inspect the ship, its crew and the owners. You’ll have your answer tonight.”
“I could be one of your team. I have seen photos of Linda Liu.”
David kept his thoughts to himself. “That will not be necessary. For the moment, I have the advantage. She has never seen me. I’ll get back to you this evening.”
15
Corinthia Hotel, Tripoli At seven in the morning, a white Ford taxi arrived outside the Corinthia Hotel. A blonde woman, dressed in a shortsleeved, white cotton dress, waited. She pointed to her large suitcase.
The driver raced round the front and opened the rear door. Almost bowing he placed her suitcase in the boot.
She gave a cute smile. “I’m late and have a plane to catch. The airport, please.”
The driver glanced in his rear view mirror and calculated his fare. At the airport, she paid his exorbitant price and strolled into departures.
Three hours later the plane landed at Cairo airport. While in transit, Linda Liu swaggered into Gucci. Here she purchased a black trouser suit, white blouses and accessories. With her new clothes in a plush bag, she wandered into Armani. After searching the clothes racks, she chose a dark blue skirt and matching jacket. From her boarding pass, the sales manager read her destination. He suggested she would need a raincoat, umbrella and good walking shoes. She agreed and after trying on several coats selected one along with a stout pair of shoes. The manager gave her the umbrella as a gift.
In the toilets, she discarded her white dress for the trouser suit. Her final act was to dump her blonde wig into the waste paper bin. With her dark hair combed flat, she blended into the London flight queue. Six hours later, she stood inside the terminal building at Heathrow. On a wall map of the United Kingdom, she located Barrow-in-Furness.
She followed the signs and found a taxi driver who took credit cards. “I’m visiting a friend in Barrow. What train station do I use?”
“Euston, love.”
On the way, she chatted with the driver and asked where she could buy a ticket to Barrow-in-Furness. The driver explained the system.
“Can you buy me a ticket and add it to the fare?”
“Sorry, no can do. Tell you what. I'll stop so you can withdraw cash from an ATM. At Euston, you can keep warm in my cab and I’ll buy your ticket. I assume you’re coming back.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem but I have to keep the meter running.”
Linda shrugged.
The taxi halted next to a bank and Linda withdrew five hundred pounds. This she gave to the driver who asked more questions.
At Euston, the driver parked, bounced out and rushed into the station.
He returned and exclaimed, “You should have booked. This ticket has cost you three hundred and fifty quid.”
She shrugged, gave him a fifty-pound tip and took the ticket. “Thank you." The taxi fare she paid with her credit card. “Where do I board the train?”
“Platform four. It departs in fifteen minutes. You’ve plenty of time.”
She smiled, bent and kissed him on the cheek Tired, she slept for most of the three and a half hour journey. At Barrow, the ticket inspector gave her directions to the nearest hotel. At reception, she asked if they had a double room available.
The young man answered without checking. “You’re in luck, we have two. One at the front and a quieter one at the rear.”
“I’ll take the quiet one.” She handed over a credit card. Five minutes later, she placed her suitcase on the folding rack, and hung up her clothes. Later she showered and wrapped in a soft bath towel, relaxed on the bed.
That evening she ate in the hotel dining room. Having enjoyed the food she returned to her room and slept. Refreshed, she awoke at six, showered, and dressed in her dark blue outfit. She decided on a face without cosmetics. The sky filled with clouds and the light rain formed patterns on the windows as it raced from the top to the bottom. She loved rain. It had fallen persistently since she woke. Outside the flowers and leaves drooped under the weight. She had forgotten the sensation, the cool freshness of the air. After the dry heat of Somalia and Libya, it was a novelty.
In the dining room, she sipped her coffee while she waited for her breakfast to arrive. She stared out of the window and followed the drips as they fell from the leaves. The rain relaxed her and unlike the locals, she was in no rush for the clouds to vanish.
After breakfast, she paused at reception and asked the young woman behind the desk. “Can you point me in the right direction of a sportswear shop where I can buy a track suit and running shoes?”
The woman smiled and took her to the hotel entrance. She pointed and gave explicit directions.
. “Thank you.”
Later that morning she left the hotel and strolled towards the town centre. As she trudged along, she studied those who had ventured out. A man wearing an aged parka while the woman with him wore a bright yellow hooded trench coat. They both carried large umbrellas. Outside a pub, men and women stood smoking under a canvas awning. She followed the signs to the centre and found an array of shops. In a sports outlet she bought a pink tracksuit and a good pair of running shoes. In another, she purchased a pair of dark blue jeans, a bright red parka and several T-shir
ts. She paid for everything on her credit card. Happy with her purchases she walked at a fast pace to her hotel.
The attack came out of an alley. The man dragged her into the shadows and slammed her head against a wall. Giddy, she fell to the ground. She smelt the smoke and body odour on his clothes. Pain distorted her vision. He pressed his right shoe hard against her throat and then he ran. Dazed, she leant against the wall and staggered to her feet. Blood trickled down her face. On the ground lay her purse, open, and the cash gone. He had not touched her new clothes. A middleaged woman came to her aid and guided her into Boots the Chemist. The gash across her left eye bled a lot. The chemist, an older man with thick glasses, cleaned, and dressed the wound.
“We must call the police,” he said.
She gazed into his eyes and gave a weak smile. “No bones broken and he must have needed the money. Could someone order a taxi?”
Five minutes later the taxi arrived. She shook the chemist’s hand and thanked him.
He escorted her to the car.
Back in her room, she rested on the bed and cursed her own stupidity. Bored, she decided to explore the town. The rain had abated as she strolled towards the harbour and scanned the sea in front of her. Not far out a Greenpeace vessel with flags flying rested at anchor. A smile formed on her lips as she wandered into the Dock Museum and became another visitor. To her left a guide assisted a young mother with her child’s buggy. He was fifty and a few more, with black hair flecked with grey at the sides. Easy living and good food had produced a large potbelly. Linda paused before she sauntered towards him.
On sighting an attractive woman with no children, a smile spread across his face. “You look like you’ve been in the wars.”
She grimaced. “My fault, I tripped and banged my head.”
“Is there’s any way I can assist you?”
She gave him one of her sweetest smiles. “On my way here I saw a Greenpeace vessel at anchor. Is it here for repairs?”
“Those people cause more trouble than the rest of this town put together.”
Linda shrugged. “Why?”
He paused for a few seconds. “You’re not British are you?”