by Ron Sewell
“No. My home is in China.”
He rubbed his chin. “Barrow’s a great town. Plenty of work. The shipyard builds nuclear submarines. We also operate three nuclear waste vessels. You can check it on the internet. Those Greenpeace people cause a lot of fuss when one sails or unloads. That’s my opinion, and I’m sure those ships are as safe as brick-built houses.”
"Thank you." She wandered around the museum and enjoyed a cup of coffee along with a fresh cream cake in the cafeteria.
The rain changed to a steady drizzle as she strolled towards the docks. Having viewed the nuclear waste vessels on the internet she wanted to see them. For her the real thing fixed the ship’s strong and possible weak points in her mind. From a distance, the Pacific Grebe was loading.
As she passed through the town, she bought two cheap mobiles.
In her hotel room she texted her contact in Somalia. She expected no one to dissect her text message but evaded certain words.
I have a new position. Staff required. Usual rates and equipment apply. Double pay bonus on completion. Are you interested?
Ship Medium Grain Carrier.
Required.
One Qualified Captain.
One Second officer.
One Third officer
One Boatswain.
Two Crane drivers.
One Cook.
Twenty qualified able seamen.
Six ordinary seamen
Full engineering team.
L L.
Look forward to your reply.
Later she visited the bar and sampled the local beer. On swallowing three mouthfuls of the warm brown liquid, she asked for a straight whiskey. On returning to her room, she checked her messages. Her contact had replied.
Offer acceptable. Ten percent commission on a successful completion of the contract. Please advise location and when delivery date. Abdi-llahi.
She replied.
Tripoli Libya. American Queen. Delivery expected five days. Contact Antarah Hasan on board in my absence. She pressed ‘S end’ and dismantled the phone. The SIM card she broke in half and flushed it down the toilet.
For a while, she stared indifferent at the television screen. Weary, she showered and once dry called room service and ordered a light meal. She played with the food, found her appetite gone. Tired she slid beneath the sheets and closed her eyes.
The next morning she wrote “Gibraltar” on the hotel notepaper.
Dressed in her new pink track-suit and trainers she ran down the stairs. On the hotel steps, she bent, twisted and stretched before jogging. At this moment in her life a good work out was better than sex.
While taking a shower, she took off the bandage. The cut hardly showed. As she dressed, her thoughts fused into an idea and then a plan. The American Queen would sail from Tripoli to Gibraltar. In the old naval harbour, there were cranes to load and equipment to secure two one hundred ton mobile cranes.
For breakfast, she ordered scrambled eggs on toast and a pot of coffee. When finished she let reception know she must vacate her room. She advised the woman behind the desk to donate any refund to a woman’s charity. ***
Late in the evening, she boarded a British Airways flight from Heathrow to Gibraltar. With her flight arriving from Heathrow, Passport Control asked why she was visiting?
“I’m here for a relaxing holiday.”
The man nodded and returned her passport.
Outside she leapt into the first available taxi. “The Rock Hotel.”
“Have you booked?” asked the driver.
“I’m taking a chance.”
“It’s always full.”
“You can always take me to another hotel.” She handed him a twenty-pound note.
He slipped the note into his top pocket, smiled and nodded.
The traffic lights allowing access across the runway switched from amber to green. Ten minutes later the glistening black Lexus halted at the main entrance of The Rock Hotel.
Linda left her luggage, ran to reception, and asked, "Do you have any rooms available?"
A well-dressed man pressed the keyboard and read from the screen. “We have a double with balcony vacant. How long do you wish to stay with us?”
“A few days, could be more.”
“I'll book you in for two days and you can relax by our pool until you decide.”
“Make it fourteen nights, please. One moment, I have a taxi with its meter running.” She ran out and paid the fare.
She stood on the hotel steps as the taxi drove away. At reception, the young man took her credit card details.
“Madam,” said the man. “The dining room has closed but chef can prepare you a meal and we will deliver it to your room.” He handed her the menu.
Hungry, she glanced at the card. “Dover Sole with salad, no dressing and a pot of coffee, please.”
“Thank you. The porter will take your bags and show you to your room.”
Once in her room she unpacked and stared out of the balcony window. The lights of fishing vessels twinkled across the whole of the bay.
Her dinner arrived, and she ate with gusto. Travelweary, she showered, crawled beneath the crisp cotton sheets and slept.
The Docks, Tripoli A cool breeze blew from the sea across the harbour. David, his eyes hidden by sunglasses, wore the uniform of a Libyan Army Colonel. He was deep in thought as he stood next to Rono outside the dockyard coffee house. Then he said, “I’ve set the wheels in motion. If Linda Liu on that vessel my men will find her.”
Rono grinned. “I hope she’s still there.” From the bow to the stern of the American Queen, men from the Libyan army formed a barrier.
David turned to Rono. “It’s time.” He marched towards and ascended the gangway.
Rono returned to his seat inside the cafe, sipped his coffee and watched.
***
Antarah Hasan stood at the top of the gangway with arms crossed as David placed one foot on the deck. “Who are you and why are you on my ship?”
“As you can see, I’m an officer in the Libyan army and I’ve orders to investigate this vessel.” He showed his identity card and handed over copies of official documents. “You can read them later.” He motioned to his team and six armed men ran up the gangway. “Your crew, how many are onboard?”
“They are due to arrive in the next couple of days. There are two of us on board at the moment to maintain security.”
David nodded and smiled. "Men, search the holds and accommodation. Report if you find anything." The soldiers separated into three teams who, at speed, scoured the vessel.
In less than five minutes, one man stood in front of David. In his hands female underwear. “I discovered these in a drawer in the captain’s cabin, sir.”
David pointed to Antarah. “Where’s the woman?”
Antarah shrugged. “I’ve owned this ship for two days. Perhaps the last captain enjoyed the company of young girls.”
He did not raise his voice. “These are new and belong to a grown woman. Where is she?”
Antarah's face flushed a deep shade of red. “How would I know?”
“A woman has been using the captain’s cabin. Who is she?”
A smile spread across Antarah’s face. “Armed men boarded my ship and have found clothes belonging to a whore. I will report your actions to my friends. They are highranking officials.”
David shrugged. “You may try, but it will take you a year to complete the paperwork. My orders are from the government. They believe people smugglers bought this vessel. The information was incorrect. Thank you for your time.”
He turned and swaggered down the gangway. His men followed. A few hundred metres along the jetty he entered the cafe and stood in front of Rono. “This woman is the next thing to a ghost, and she stays one step in front of us. I’ll have the airport checked, but you know she’s gone.”
“You did your best. Thank you.”
“What happens now?” asked David.
“Back to the offi
ce. Perhaps the money trail might lead us in another direction.”
The Rock Hotel, Gibraltar. Linda woke as the sun peeked through the gap in the curtains. She slid out of bed, showered and dressed in her running outfit. Gibraltar was a new experience for her. Her knowledge stretched to the fact Spain wanted it back from the British. From the hotel, she ran at a steady pace to Europa Point and back again. She showered and ate her breakfast on the balcony and enjoyed her view straight across the bay.
From the hotel shop, she bought two lightweight dresses and other items of clothing. Dressed as a tourist in shorts and T-shirt she took a taxi the short distance to Main Street. In a phone shop, she paid for a dozen pay-as-you-go SIM cards for the mobile bought in Barrow. As she sauntered to the seafront, she noticed how construction covered much of the Rock. On a concrete seat next to the main marina, she sent a text to Antarah. My tour takes me to Algeciras
(Spain) tomorrow but I’m having a great time in Gibraltar.See yousoon L. For the rest of the day she toured Gibraltar and relaxed. That evening she ate an early dinner, retired to her room, showered and watched television.
Linda awoke at six. Although she had slept for over eight hours, she did not wish to abandon the comfort of the bed. Showered, she dressed in her black trouser suit and white blouse. After breakfast, she took a taxi to the border. Once through the checkpoint she hailed a Spanish taxi. “The ship repair yard in Algeciras.”
The driver grunted and drove towards the town. Fifteen minutes later, she hopped out of the cab and entered the yard. In English, she asked a worker for the manager’s office.
The young, large-busted woman in the office peered over her dark-framed glasses. She lifted her head and tapped her black-painted fingernails on the desk. In Spanish she said, “There are no appointments planned for today.”
Linda stared at her pure black nails with glitter at the tips. Black lipstick against crystal white teeth made her an amazing sight. “No comprendi.”
The woman shrugged. “The English are lazy and never bother to learn languages. Why are you here?”
“I’m not English. I own a ship that needs alterations. Can I speak to the manager?”
The woman’s attitude altered. “You speak good English but you are not from there.”
She smiled. “China.”
“Can I ask what business you have with Mr Borta?”
Linda nodded. “I told you. I own a vessel that needs a few alterations. If you are not interested, I’ll go to another yard.”
The woman stood. “Please take a seat. The best view is by the window.” She strolled to the other door in the room and entered. Five minutes later, with a flushed face and her blouse ruffled she opened the office door. “Mr Borta is ready to see you.”
Linda stood and marched into the office. Folders and plans of ships littered side tables but Jose Borta’s desk remained pristine.
He wore a threadbare black suit. His baldhead shone in contrast with his flabby, bearded face. He smiled displaying a mouthful of uneven teeth. His eyes undressed her slim frame. In English he said, “I understand you are the owner of a vessel that requires work.”
She sighed. “Can you start work the moment it arrives? I will tell you what I want. Speed is important or I will lose money.”
“Perhaps we could discuss your work package tonight, over dinner.”
“Mr Barta, I do not wish to join you for dinner and sex of any kind is out of the question. Can you undertake the work on my ship or not?”
He stared wide-eyed at her blunt approach and shrugged. “When is the vessel due to arrive? I must insist on a fifty percent deposit.”
“The American Queen will be here when it arrives. Write your bank details on a sheet of paper and the money will be in your company account in two, at worst three days.”
He winced. “Tell me the details.”
After a moment, she asked for a note pad. “I will write my requirements. I would hate to cause any confusion.”
On the pad, she wrote.
1. Obtain two one hundred ton mobile cranes or fixed hydraulic derricks and test. Secure these to the main deck. One forward and the other aft. 2. At the base of hold number two strengthen the hull to support a two hundred ton load with securing brackets.
3. Cut and install watertight door between holds two and three. Locks supplied and fitted.
4. All access hatches to the three holds to be lockable.
She handed him the pad. “I give you three days to complete. Any longer and I’ll deduct ten percent.”
He studied the pad. “This is straight forward and will not cause any problems. I need at least one day’s notice to ensure a berth alongside is available. Can we settle on fifty thousand Euros as part payment?”
“No. I’ll deposit twenty-five thousand Euros in your company bank. The rest on completion. Please do not cheat me. My associates will prevent you living to an old age.”
He stood and placed his hands on the desk. “I’m not sure I need your work.”
“Goodbye, Mr Borta. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time. When I’ve gone, you can fuck your secretary if that’s what it takes to make you feel like a big man.”
He hesitated. “Please. I will undertake your work as instructed. I’m sure you are aware my yard is experiencing a slump in orders.”
She smiled. “I didn’t know but if you do not meet my schedule, I’ll deduct twenty percent. All instructions will come from me. Your bank details please and contact phone number. Land line and mobile.”
He opened his desk drawer and removed a printed sheet. “This will suffice.”
She studied the sheet. “Thank you.”
Borta wiped his brow with a handkerchief and brushed fluff off his jacket. “I need your name for the contract and telephone number in case of problems.
She gave him the relevant information, stood, smiled and left his office. On the way out, she leant over and muttered to the woman, “He’ll fuck you until he finds someone younger. You can fool him but not me. He’ll never leave his wife.”
The woman forced a smile onto her glossy lips.
She strolled out of the yard, and took her time to the border. On entering her hotel, she asked for her key and strolled into the secluded gardens. She lay and slowed down on a sun-bed away from other residents. In her mind, she saw Danny. There was no doubt in her mind she had loved her.
18
The Harbour in Tripoli With a moonless sky, Rono, dressed in his Arab garb, leant back against the wooden slats of the packing cases. He spied on and photographed the American Queen.
Road tankers arrived and filled her tanks with diesel. When the procession ended, it numbered fifteen. He sent a text to the office. Fuel tanks full.
While he ate an apple, provisions arrived. The old man checked each box, sack and container before signing the invoice.
For a few hours, nothing changed on the jetty. Rono dozed until the heavy rumbling of a mobile crane woke him. It screeched to a halt alongside the vessel. For the next thirty minutes, the driver prepared the crane. Sometime later four vehicles arrived. The deck lights blazed and the aft hatch cover opened. Men yanked heavy tarpaulins off the loads on the trucks. The crane driver guided by a man on deck, hoisted and lowered many khaki painted boxes into the aft hold.
Within the hour, the lapping of the sea against concrete disturbed the silence. Rono sent another text. Provisions on board along with crate loads of weapons, or could be explosives. Before you ask, one container fell from the lorry and I used my eyes.
As the sun cast its glow over the dockside, he retreated to the coffee house. Here he drank several cups and ate three Libyan doughnuts with eggs while keeping an eye on the vessel. As was his way, he studied the opposition and made comprehensive notes. Date, time, and weather, along with what happened when and where. For the moment, he had the advantage, but he was aware it could not last for long.
While he sipped coffee, a coach stopped at the bottom of the gangway and men dressed in p
lain clothes alighted. They strolled on board the vessel and vanished into the accommodation section. Yet another text winged its way to the office. Crew now on board. Departure from Tripoli may be imminent.
To his surprise, a green Ford Transit was the next vehicle to arrive. The driver charged up the gangway and raced back ten minutes later. Half a dozen men, wearing blue jeans and white T-shirts, followed him across the gangway. Together they carried cardboard boxes into the ship. Rono strolled by hoping to glimpse something of use. His mind elsewhere, he almost ambled into the path of a speeding motorbike.
Back at his table, he finished his cold coffee. His jumbled thoughts cleared when he saw the van driver climbing the main mast. When he reached the radar platform, he pulled up a cable and began work. For a few hours, Rono’s eyes concentrated on the man as he secured various odd shaped fitments.
Making no sound as he approached, David came and stood with him. “You don’t give up, do you?”
He adjusted his sunglasses and repositioned his hat. “I do my job. That ship will sail. Why? I do not know. Where? I don’t know. At this moment, the driver of that van at the bottom of the gangway is working like a monkey at the top of the mast. Any idea what he’s doing?”
He shrugged. “I could ask.”
Rono grimaced. “Will you?”
“No. When the van drives away, one of my men will follow and at a suitable juncture question the driver. You should return to your hotel and sleep. I’ll stay here and enjoy the sea breeze and a cup of coffee. If something happens, you’ll be the first to know.”
He attempted to speak, but a raised hand silenced him. “If you enjoy acting like a zombie, it’s not my problem but sleep might be a good idea.”
Rono shrugged. “I’ll see you later.” The long night made his thoughts fuzzy. Once in his room he collapsed on the bed and slept.
***
Four thousand six hundred miles away in Cape Town, the sun shone through the office windows. Anna’s fingers caressed the keyboard, while her mind thought of Steven and London. As a lover, he fulfilled her sexual needs and as a husband, he might not be that bad. With ease, she hacked into the First National Bank’s files. She gazed at row upon row of figures as she tracked the route of the money. In each case the funds, which came from the Yemen, followed a torturous and varied route every time. “Money in, money out. The Bank of Italy received eight hundred thousand dollars from our favourite account. I believe they’re setting her up to take the fall if the proverbial strikes the fan.” Eric stood behind her. “Superb research in London. Unfortunately, when Rono checked the vessel our Linda had gone.” He pointed at the screen. “What are those?”