by Buzz Harcus
"Oh?" Sigmund sighed with a different tone of voice, possibly a new respect for the old man.
"Yah. Use it or lose it," Peter chuckled. "Dat is der philosophy of Harry Martin."
Harry grinned looking over at the First Officer. Was there something in his comment that caught his attention? Did Peter know more about what had happened between Osa and him than he'd led him to believe? Maybe Osa had spoken to him about the incident. Damn!
"Vell, you two are relieved," Sigmund said throwing off a salute "I take charge for der next vatch."
Peter eased the binoculars over his head handing them to Sigmund as Harry released the helm to his replacement, Sven. He'd made up his mind that the sooner he found Osa and apologized, the better he'd feel. Better to have Peter think he was a dirty old man than to find out first hand from Osa.
He made a beeline for the galley. Yessir, he'd apologize as soon as he found her, if she'd let him.
Much to his chagrin, Osa was not there. In fact, she continued to be an elusive, invisible person. Harry soon got the distinct impression she was deliberately avoiding him. How the hell could he apologize when he couldn't even find her? Time and again he found himself analyzing his action. They weren't that bad. Hadn't she ever been hustled before?
Finally, after many attempts over several days, he gave up. The feeling he had sensed about her early on became naggingly clear: she was a prude. She had to be. No female had ever stayed pissed off at him that long after a pass, and all he'd done was steal a kiss and cobb a feel. She had to be a prude. To hell with her!
He turned his thoughts and energies back to other activities: strenuous exercise, letter writing to the kids, and modifying his jacket and seabag to accommodate his potential treasure.
Back in Saginaw spring was close at hand. Soon the snow would be melting, trees budding, grass turning a thick, rich green. Time to get out the old lawnmower. Had they found the Chink yet? And where was Stan? And why the hell do they allow such a beautiful woman aboard ship! It should be outlawed!
That night he confided to Peter that the routine was getting through to him. Did he have any suggestions on how to overcome his feelings of boredom? Peter pondered the question for quite sometime before answering. Had Harry ever completed his tour of the ship? It was important to know every aspect of the ship from stem to stern. It might prove useful one day to have such knowledge of the ship. Harry brightened. Yes, a good idea. He'd start that very day.
As an afterthought, Peter warned him not to stray off limits where Osa's cabin was located. It was definitely off limits. Harry nodded. Understood! Somehow, Peter must have found out, or at least sensed the coolness between himself and Osa. It was just as well. Exploring the ship would be more rewarding than pursuing an old broad.
Promptly, his exploration of the ship began that morning after a few hours of sleep and a hearty breakfast. Descending into the bowels of the ship proved interesting as he moved along the dim-lit corridors of gray painted steel.
His first stop was in the engine room where a cigar-chomping man with an officer's cap cocked back on his head hailed him over wanting to know what he was doing in the engine room. Harry introduced himself and found he was talking to Chief Engineer Gueder Svenson. Yelling above the constant ka-thunk of the engine and the high-pitched noise of the other machinery, the chief proudly showed Harry around his domain, taking pains, as he did, to explain the operation down to the finest details.
"How old is the ship?" Harry called out over the constant roaring sound.
"About tventy-four years old. It is a newer ship, a good ship."
"No danger of sinking?" Harry asked good naturedly.
"No!" Gueder snapped, and then caught the twinkle in Harry's eyes. "Dis is a good ship. Veil constructed. I haf been vis it since it vas christened. It von't sink. It is a good ship. You don't vorry."
"Good. I'm not much of a swimmer and I hate sharks," Harry replied, smiling.
"Ahhh, you tease me," Gueder laughed. He slapped Harry solidly on his shoulders. "You Americans, you luf to tease. Yah."
Harry asked if it was okay just to wander about. Gueder shrugged, it was okay but stay clear of any machinery where the greatest danger was present. He added that the coffee pot was on and suggested he stop back for coffee before going topside.
"Will do," Harry replied, giving a wave of his hand as he headed forward through an open hatchway. He walked along a dimly-lit walkway, almost feeling his way through the darkness between the sparsely placed lights. An inner feeling clutched at him, a feeling of the unknown that was ever pervasive in his mind as he moved along. More than once he stopped abruptly at seeing the shadowy figure of a rat scurrying off into the darkness. He hated rats. For a moment he considered the folly of his exploration, not being so damned adventuresome and turning back. Still, he pushed forward.
Going off on a right angle between two huge grain holds, he dead-ended against the steel plate of the ship's outer skin. It was damp and cold to the touch He pulled out a small penlight and flashed it along the steel wall toward the bilge. As he shivered in the cold dankness ready to retrace his steps, his light beam passed over a gob of what appeared to be putty. He shined the light on the gob. It was jammed tightly against a welded seam next to the outer skin.
"That's odd," he said aloud. Why have a gob of putty here? If the ship were leaking they should have put it in drydock for repairs. Putty sure as hell won't stand up to the pressure of thousands of tons of seawater. As he reached up to touch the wad, a rat suddenly leaped off the top of the putty.
"Christ!" Harry gasped, jerking his hand away, his body repelling backwards in the same movement. His head collided with something solid and he pitched forward onto the deck unconscious.
"Dat vill teach you not to snoop, you American bastard!" a guttural voice snarled. A wrench was still tightly clutched in his hand.
Harry awoke with a painfully throbbing head and shivering uncontrollably. Touching the back of his head gingerly, he felt a good-sized bump. What the hell happened, and then he recalled the rat. Yeah, it had jumped off the gob of putty. He had jerked back, must have smacked his head on a steel beam. He shook his head but a scream of pain stopped him. He knew his eyes were open but it was pitch black, and cold. Where the hell was he? Where were the lights? There had been dim lights before, now nothing. Reaching out, he felt wet, cold steel plating: the outer skin of the ship. Painfully, he rose to his feet, stopping when his head bumped against steel plate.
Standing hunched over, he wondered where the hell he was. His penlight was gone so that meant he had to feel his way around in
the darkness. After bumping into steel walls several more times he concluded he was in an enclosure about five feet by five feet. "I must be in a storage compartment," he muttered. His fingers touched what felt like a handle. Grasping it firmly, he jerked the handle several times feeling it slowly giving each time he jerked until, finally, the door gave way and opened.
Stepping through the small doorway, he saw a series of lights along a passageway. He looked back into the small compartment. "Well, I didn't get there by myself," he muttered, as he briskly began rubbing himself trying to restore some warmth.
"Whoever put me in there had to have a lot of strength to carry me, and to dog down the handle that tight. Apparently someone on board this ship doesn't like me."
Except for the constant throbbing of the engines the area was silent. A smile broke across his face. "I can't believe Osa was that angry." The thought of her felling him caused him to laugh, bolstering his spirits. Not her, he mused, but someone did it. Slowly he made his way back toward the engine room.
"Where's the Chief?" he asked one of the oilers in the engine room.
"Eating. It is our lunch time," he called back, pointing at a clock.
Harry glanced at the clock. It was just after eleven hundred hours. No wonder he was so damned cold; he'd been unconscious for the best part of an hour.
Thanking the man, he headed topside on the
double. Stopping in his cabin for a moment to clean up, he studied himself in the mirror. He didn't look any the worse for wear but there was a definite, painful lump on his noggin. "Well, maybe I'll find out who tapped me when I get to the galley."
The galley was full of noisy, hungry crewmembers. Harry moved through the line selecting his food, glancing about as he did to see if anyone had a look of surprise on their face. It didn't bother him that Osa was not to be seen. There has to be something more than me that's bugging the broad, he thought. Maybe it's her own guilt about her husband getting killed with some young bimbo.
"Helllooo, my American friend," called the Chief Engineer jovially waving Harry to join him. "Come. Come and join us." He patted an empty space next to him. Harry nodded and settled in beside him.
"Und how vas your trip? I tought you ver coming back for coffee?"
Harry looked at the man; there was no sign of surprise. His remark seemed sincere. "I got in deeper than I had anticipated," Harry lied. "Sorry about the coffee."
"You should not go below decks visout permission," a man sitting across from the chief admonished. Harry glanced across at the man; it was the one with the ever-present scowl and deep-set eyes, still cold with contempt. "You could get hurt badly if you don't know your vay around."
"Yes. Yes, you're right," Harry replied. "A person could get hurt if he doesn't watch his step." He deliberately rubbed his hand gently over the back of his head as he studied the man's face. There was no change in his expression. What was it about the guy that made him feel uncomfortable? Why was he so bitter? Harry had to know.
In a controlled demeanor, he extended his hand across the table. "I don't believe we've met, although I've seen you a couple of times. My name's Harry —"
"I know who you are!" the man snapped back, angrily slapping Harry's hand aside. "You are der vun who stole Alex's job from me. Dat's all I need to know about you. You damned American! You should haf been vashed overboard in der storm!"
"Ernst! Stop it!" Chief Svenson jumped to his feet glaring at the man. "He did not take der job from you. Captain Andress hired him for der position. Dat is final!"
"No!" Ernst screamed rising to his feet. "It should haf been my job. I earned it. I haf been vis dis company for tirty years. I deserve it more dan some damned foreigner!"
"Hey, look! I'm sorry about the job," Harry said trying to placate the man. "I didn't know you were in line for the job, but I needed a job too."
"Not on dis ship! Ve haf no place for you on dis ship!"
"Ernst. Stop it dis instant! Dat's an order!" the Chief bellowed.
Glaring at his chief, eyes flashing hatred, Ernst cried, "He is bad!" Turning back to Harry, he said, "You haf brought a curse to dis ship. Mark my vords, somesing bad vill happen to dis ship because of you!"
"Now hold on, pal," Harry snapped, bristling, having taken all the crap he'd take from the man. "I came on board to work. When we reach port back in Saginaw the job's yours. But don't go feeding a line of bullshit to these poor guys about a curse. Even I don't buy it. As far as I'm concerned, if you don't want to be friends, we won't be."
"Ve never be friends! Never! You vill pay, all of you vill pay for dis man being on board. Mark my vords. You vill all die!" He screamed hysterically pounding the table with his fist. "You vill all die because of him!"
All eyes in the room had focused on Ernst. The chief rushed around the table toward the man but Ernst had already grabbed up his tray and was stalking away. "You damned American pig!" he exclaimed over his shoulder. "You vill pay!" He threw his tray down on the dirty dish stand and slammed out of the galley.
Harry looked over at the chief, who stood with a bewildered look on his face. "Whew," Harry said wiping at his brow. "Is he always that pleasant?"
"Don't pay no attention to him," the chief said sitting down next to him. "Ernst is a sick man. Somesing is bothering him. I haf never seen him like dis before. He is a hard vorker but now he don't get along vis anybody no more. He vill never get anyvere on dis shipping line vis dat attitude."
"I don't want any hard feelings," Harry said. "I didn't realize the job meant so much to him."
"I tell der truth. He vas not eligible for der job. Ve told him dat a long time ago. He is better off in der engine room vere he is an oiler. I haf told him dat; Peter has told him dat. He vill not accept it. You can bet I vill talk to him ven I get back to der engine room. He vill be nice tomorrow. You vill see." By the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, Harry knew Ernst would definitely be more agreeable the next day. Maybe then he could talk to the man.
"Come, now," the chief said thrusting his face into Harry's. "You must tell me about dose records of yours, der banjo music. I really enjoyed dem der odder night. Very good. Vat vas der name of dat vun man? Johnny Ford?"
"Yeah. Johnny Ford. The greatest banjoist I've ever heard since Eddie Peabody. A real artist."
That noon, while on watch, Harry reflected on the events of the past morning. Although his lunching with Chief Engineer Svenson was enjoyable, it hadn't proved profitable in finding out who cold- cocked him and locked him in the storage compartment. The most logical candidate had to be Ernst. Chief Svenson had turned out to be a real solid, down to earth guy, even extending an invitation to return for coffee anytime. Harry definitely planned on returning below decks because something was not right down there.
That evening he focused his energies into modifying his jacket. It was beginning to materialize as he had envisioned. There was still sufficient time to get the jacket and seabag done before they docked in Tsingtao. The danger of interruption had passed since they entered the Pacific Ocean for it seemed Peter was spending more and more of his off duty time on other tasks, and less time on the supervision of one, Harry Martin, for which Harry was most grateful.
Yet, as he worked, he had a feeling someone had been in his sea chest rifling through his belongings. Although nothing was missing, there was a feeling that someone was prying into his personal life. Why? He'd never go through another person's personal belongings. It wasn't right.
Chapter 37
SOMETHING AMISS ABOARD SHIP
Coming off duty the next morning, Harry decided to go below decks in order to settle his own curiosity about the putty, maybe even find a clue as to who had cold-cocked him. Breakfast could wait. Anyway, Osa would most likely continue to be invisible. Hell, any other woman would have shrugged it off, told him off, or settled for an apology, which, if she ever appeared, he would be glad to give.
Too, was it his imagination working overtime, for Captain Andress seemed to be avoiding him of late. Had the bitch gone crying to her uncle? His attitude toward her was hardening. The thought that she might be an A-Number One prude bothered him. Shades of his ex-wife.
Taking a moment to grab a larger flashlight from his cabin, he gingerly made his way down several levels by-passing the engine room, and headed directly toward the spot where he had his "accident."
Moving through a series of hatchways and sharp angled bends, he soon found himself on the same walkway where he had discovered the putty the day before. Turning on his flashlight, he shined the beam of light along the wet hull skin, then along the walkway. He had stopped almost at the spot where he'd first noticed the thick wad of putty wedged against the ship's outer skin. His penlight lay on the walkway. Retrieving it, he flicked it on, surprised that it still worked. Sticking it in his shirt pocket, he aimed the beam of his flashlight up along the welded seam stopping when the light shone on the gob of putty. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him for something was sticking out of the putty, a thin rod that appeared
to be a fuse. Could the putty actually be a plastique explosive?
The sudden clatter of metal on metal followed by a curse in Swedish startled Harry. Someone was making their way along the walkway toward him. Not knowing if he was up against a man with a gun, considering the sound of metal striking metal only moments earlier, Harry glanced about for a place to hide; there
was nothing. Below the walkway was the bilge. His light reflected off the water, thinly layered with oil. Quickly he doused the light as the footsteps came closer, plodding along the metal walkway, ever closer.
Quietly, Harry eased over the edge of the walkway and lowered himself into the bilge. Dammit! It was rank, icy cold water. Clinging to the side of the walkway, he ducked back out of sight as a beam of light came swinging down the way.
As the person approached, Harry pressed even tighter out of view. The person stopped directly above him. Glancing up, Harry saw it was Ernst. He was reaching for whatever it was that was stuck to the putty. He examined it, grunted, and then stuffed it in his pocket. "Good," he muttered, then moved back along the walkway from where he had come.
Harry waited for several minutes until he was sure Ernst was out of earshot before pulling himself up onto the walkway. He was thoroughly soaked to the waist, shivering, and he stank of bilge waste. "Shit!" he muttered aloud. He pulled the flashlight from his back pocket. It didn't work. "Shit!" he cursed again. "What the hell is this all about?"
As luck would have it, his penlight worked, and he shone the faint beam onto the wad of putty. Reaching up, he pinched off a small gob of the material and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. There was no doubt in his mind that it was not putty. It had to be plastique explosive. Something was very rotten aboard ship and Peter had to be told.
At the moment, however, he was more concerned in returning to his cabin unseen and getting into some dry clothes. Luck was with him and he arrived back in his cabin unnoticed. Quickly he stripped off the wet clothes, emptied the contents of his pockets on the desk, and then threw his clothes into the shower stall. While
taking a hot, steamy shower, he sudsed off his clothes. Now all he had to do was wring them out and throw them in the dryer.
Dressed in a clean outfit, Harry sifted through the waterlogged contents of his pockets lying on the desk. Money, credit cards and other notes were stripped from his wallet and spread out to dry. Keys, change and a small pocketknife went back into his dry pants pockets. Picking up the small wad of putty, or whatever it was, he examined it closely, rolled it between his fingers and sniffed of it. At the time the Japanese surrendered Tsingtao to the Sixth Marine Division at the close of World War Two, he recalled how the Marines had used plastique explosives to clean out some old Japanese gun emplacements entrenched in the hillside behind the Marine base. It sure looked like the same stuff they had used back then.