The Tahitian Pearl

by Sean Blaise

  Bae saw the large military inflatable filled with what looked like twenty men head towards him. He looked up at the spotlight shining from the helicopter not thirty feet above his deck and saw a soldier aiming a .50 caliber rifle in the bird. It was absurd. They had enough weaponry to start a full-scale war. All this for his 10, tired, and, mostly hungry, Koreans.

  Bae appraised the boarding team as they came on board. The first man in the center kept his gun down, trying to instill some kind of nonthreatening stance; but his finger was on the trigger. He must be the communicator, thought Bae. Behind him, 15 men were fanned out, the officers’ guns aimed point-blank at his crew. They did standard flanking maneuvers, covering his men in a simple, but, effective, killing zone. If anyone tried something, he had no doubt his entire crew would be a puddled mess in seconds.

  The boarding party leader was large, and serious looking, as he strode up to Bae. The man was the picture-perfect image of an American: large square jaw, broad face, pale white, and with very blue eyes.

  "I'm commander Smith, are you the captain?"

  "Yes. What is the meaning of this?" Bae asked, putting on his best confused face.

  "Routine coalition safety and contraband check,” Commander Smith said.

  "We are a cargo ship, heading for Dubai. Here is manifest and crew list," Bae said, handing over the documents.

  "I understand, sir, we won't be more than a few hours. My men will search the ship now."

  Bae shrugged and waved his hand in a sweeping motion over his ship, "of course."

  Chapter 63

  Abdul started feeling dizzy. He was having trouble breathing. Each of his breaths becoming more labored than his last. He knew enough to realize that the tank was probably filling with CO2 with every breath he exhaled. He had to find the vent, where fresh air flowed into the tank.

  He felt along the wall of the tank, his hands slipping along a slick coating of algae that was growing on the tank walls. He kicked his chained together feet and felt along the wall, in what he believed to be the direction of the outboard side of the tank. The truth was he had no way of knowing.

  His stomach was beginning to get queasy as the vessel seemed to be rocking more violently. The water in the tank began to slosh heavily from side to side, splashing Abdul in the face and making it difficult for him to hold on to the pipe he had found on the tank’s wall. The sloshing and bouncing were making Abdul feel light-headed and he was trying not to panic again. He fought his stomach and continued to drag his body along the tank, pulling himself along, hand-over-hand. He reached the end of the pipe, which was forming a corner in the tank, and looked around. Nothing still, not a lick of light. Being on the side of the tank, where the waves in the tank seemed to reverse direction, he figured he was on one of the tank walls. Whether it was the inboard side or the outboard side of the ship, he had no way of knowing.

  Abdul's head was swimming with each of the waves. He was struggling to breath. He had no idea how much, or how little, time had passed, and he was completely disoriented. Abdul felt his stomach lurch, and he dry heaved a week dribble of bile into the surrounding water. He was weak, beaten, and tired. He hadn't eaten in forever, and he had no idea when his ordeal would end.

  Up on deck, Captain Bae was getting worried. It had been over two hours, and the U.S. Navy boarding party had shown no sign of leaving. They had, as he suspected, found nothing. He knew, however, that his prisoner was probably near death in that tank: if not dead already. The marine who was guarding him was attentive, never taking his eyes off Bae. The guard actually looked eager to get a reason to shoot him. Bae had been patient enough; but it was time to act as he was supposed to act, like an angry merchant captain with a schedule to keep.

  "Call your commander. Enough! Two hours! We are adrift, losing way, I must speak with him."

  The marine gave him a bored look, before reaching up to the microphone on his shoulder and pressing it. A few minutes later, the commander showed his face on the bridge. Bae could see the commander was concerned, and Bae figured he would play it up.

  "Commander, what is the meaning of this? I have a schedule to keep. You have all my papers. They are in order, yes?"

  The Commander looked dubious, "yes."

  "What is the meaning of this? We are not pirates! We are sailors, and this is not legal."

  "Let me stop you, captain. This is completely legal. Your vessel is in international waters, and we are part of an international naval coalition to stop piracy. Do you know why we stopped you?"

  Captain Bae shook his head, playing dumb.

  "We had a pirate attack in this area earlier today. A yacht was attacked. They were able to escape, but we think some pirates might have survived. Your vessel was tracked altering course to the very location of the attack. Can you explain this?"

  Captain Bae’s eyes lit up. He had now found his way out.

  "Yes, commander, I heard the Mayday call from the yacht. We altered course to intercept the position they gave on the radio to render assistance. But we thought we were too late. We found nothing, except this large yellow float. We tried to raise the yacht on radio, but our equipment is very bad, and they must be too far away. "

  "You altered course to help?"

  "Yes, sir, we heard Mayday from yacht, Ivana. They gave their position and we went to them. We only find this float." Bae pointed to the yellow helicopter float they had retrieved, which was laid out on the deck. "No boats, no pirates, nothing, so we continue to port."

  The commander knew the story was plausible. And his men had found nothing but a filthy ship, broken toilets, and terrible conditions. He would have loved to write the ship up for international maritime violations; but he was on a pirate eradication only mission. Find pirates, and their mother ships, and eradicate them. This ship, although a perfect mother ship for Somali pirates to operate from, had real cargo, manifests, and port schedules. It was a cheap cargo ship, just like it appeared to be. His radio crackled in his ear; he could barely make out his lieutenant who was obviously in the engine room. "Sir, there is a hatch, back here near the stern. The engineer says it's the rudder room. Should I enter?"

  The Commander looked around the bridge. They'd already killed two hours, and the helicopters and ships standing by weren't cheap. He'd found nothing. "Negative, round up and move out. Alabama, do you copy? We're extracting the team. Nothing here."

  Captain Bae looked at the Commander expectantly. The man handed the folder with his crew's passports back over to him. "Sir, thank you for your cooperation."

  Captain Bae shook his hand. He shouted in Korean to his first officer to help the men exit his ship. And to get ready to open the ballast tank hatch, quickly.

  Chapter 64

  “Open it!” Bae screamed, standing over the ballast tank hatch. The first officer was struggling on his knees, his knuckles white as he turned the wrench on the rusted heads of the tank hatch bolts. He removed one and then the other, but he still had six to go. Bae was nervous, he dreaded the thought of having to call his boss to explain he’d lost their witness. He’d have to make something up, to protect himself from repercussions, in case the man was dead.

  Abdul thought he heard something. He was struggling to breath, but he felt as though the sloshing of the water in the tank had abated a bit from before. A familiar vibration had filled the tank. It seemed that the ship was moving into the seas again, on a steadier heading. Abdul had his eyes closed and was gasping for air. He felt his head swimming and was struggling to maintain consciousness. The lack of air in the tank was reaching a critical point, but he didn’t know it. His brain function was beginning to subside and soon he would slip into unconsciousness.

  The mate pulled the hatch off and slid it to the side where it landed with a bang. Bae stood over the tank and looked expectantly.

  “Where is he?” he shouted at his first officer.

  The first officer grabbed the portable spotlight and shone it around the tank, until it lit on the man, huddled
in the corner of the tank. He appeared to be breathing.

  Abdul felt the light before he opened his eyes. His eyelids turned a rosy pink, and he opened his eyes. It was a mistake. He instantly felt a stabbing pain in his head as his eyes protested going from pitch darkness to being assaulted by a 20-million candle power spotlight. Abdul turned his head and tried to close his eyes tighter.

  The first officer looked at Bae. “He’s alive, but in the far side of the tank.”

  Bae sighed. He was unfortunately one of the few people who spoke passable English on the Tsung Tao. He motioned to his mate to drop down a cloth on the filthy steel deck, so he wouldn’t foul the knees of his pant legs. Bae leaned over the tank and stuck his head in. The air was stale and sticky. He watched Abdul hiding his head from the light. “Mr. Abdul, please come this way. We apologize for your swim.”

  Abdul said nothing.

  Bae steamed. “As you wish,” Bae said with anger. He raised the radio to his lips and called the bridge. “Fill starboard ballast tank number four.”

  He received an affirmative reply from his officer on the bridge and heard the whir of the ballast pumps winding up. Two massive pumps would flood the tank with over 1000 gallons of seawater per minute.

  “Mr. Abdul, I am filling the tank, please swim here and we will pull you out. Or you can drown.”

  Bae stood up. He handed the spotlight to the mate and smiled. “He’ll come,” he said, in Korean.

  Abdul had heard the threat and he knew he had little choice but to comply. Although he was wearing a life jacket, it would matter little if he was submerged in the tank. There would be no air pocket. He felt the light leave his face, and he opened his eyes. A much softer light was pouring in through the tank opening, which he could see was not 10 feet above him. He felt the whirring of the ballast tank motors and could now see that he was rapidly being lifted towards the top of the tank, which he now realized was only a few feet away. He let his eyes adjust to the light and he felt his faculties returning with the onrush of oxygen that was flooding back into the tank.

  Abdul knew he had to work on his escape. Getting more nails pulled out was not an option. He struggled with his handcuffs a little and found that they had a little give, but not much. He reached down and touched the chains binding his ankles together and found them securely locked together. He knew he’d just have to figure out a way to present himself as useful to the man until they got into port.

  The ballast tank was filling rapidly. Abdul could feel the water shooting around his legs from the tank’s inlet pipes. There was no reason to delay. He had to get to the opening before he drowned. Abdul began to doggie paddle, with his hands cuffed together, while he kicked awkwardly with his chained legs. He began to slide towards the tank opening and away from the wall, when he felt a tug around his ankles.

  The water continued to rise and was only a foot or so away from the tank roof. Abdul turned and kicked his feet again, but felt the chain come tight. He reached down with his hands and grabbed the chain and tugged, when his heart began thumping in panic. The chain that had dangled from his legs was stuck, somewhere down in the darkness of the tank. Abdul raised his head above the water and felt with terror the water rising ever faster. He sputtered out some water and tried to yell to his captors that he was stuck. The water pulled his life jacket higher still, and he felt the top of his head hit the underside of the tank. He reached down again in panic and yanked on the chain with all his might. It didn’t budge.

  Abdul surfaced again with only his face still in the air. He sucked in a huge breath and screamed with all his might, but nothing but a gargled croak came out. He couldn’t dive down to undo the chain because the life jacket, once his savior, was now killing him by keeping him on the surface of the water. He couldn’t remove the jacket because his hands were cuffed together around it. He gasped as he pulled in another large breath his mouth nearly pressed to the top of the tank, the water inches away.

  The first mate looked at Captain Bae anxiously. The first mate looked down and the water was only a few feet away from spilling out of the tank. The prisoner was nowhere in sight. He was afraid of Bae, but his boss’ look said everything. Bae was anxious, too. His plan had been to flush him to the tank opening. But where was the man? He looked around at his men, trying to look self-assured. He did not want to lose their respect by admitting he had made a mistake. The man would surface. He had to. That’s when the tank began to overfill, and seawater flooded around his boots and Bae’s eyes couldn’t help but display his shock.

  Abdul tried to scream again as the water closed over his head. He reached down and pulled with all his might on the chain, and still it didn’t give. Nothing. He tried to surface but there was no air left in the tank. He turned around and saw the light of the tank hatch opening. He tried to swim towards it, but the chain around his legs held him fast. His lungs screamed for air, and he involuntarily sucked in a huge lungful of water. His body screamed in panic and with shock he knew he was dying. It was finally over. He struggled underwater, screaming and sucking in ever more water. A calmness settled over him and he stopped struggling. His eyes were open and unseeing as he slipped into the darkness of death.

  Chapter 65

  Bae let the water wash out of the ballast tank opening for a minute before he realized the man wasn’t coming. He was drowning. He picked up the radio and called his engineer.

  “Empty the tank, now!” he screamed.

  The pumps could be heard changing direction a second later, and the water in the tank began to recede. He turned to his first officer and deckhands. “Go get him you fools!” Bae screamed.

  Two deckhands jumped into the tank like their lives depended on it. The water was already down two feet and they could see the man floating face down at the back of the tank. One of the deckhands reached out and grabbed the man by the life jacket. There was no response. They both pulled and swam towards the tank opening when they realized the man was stuck. One of the deckhands dove down and found the chain, which had lodged itself in between two ballast pipes. He freed it and swam back to the surface.

  The men dragged Abdul, now floating on his back, to the opening of the hatch. The first officer reached down, with another deckhand, and pulled Abdul out. Bae reached down and slapped Abdul, but nothing happened. Abdul was dead. Bae panicked.

  “CPR, you fool!” he screamed at his officer.

  The first officer ripped Abdul’s shirt open and began chest compressions. One of the deckhands began to give him mouth to mouth.

  Abdul woke to his chest being hammered on and a man’s mouth locked over his. He coughed up water and his lungs screamed for air. He coughed, and coughed, violently, while trying to suck in even more air. He wanted every spec of air on earth. He was sure he had died. Tears filled his eyes. Why? Why had he been saved again? He looked up and saw the toothy grin of the fat Asian holding the pair of pliers.

  “You almost got away from me,” Bae said, smiling.

  Abdul felt two hands drag him to his feet and pull him back towards the paint shed. He had a feeling he was going to wish they had let him die.

  Chapter 66

  John cringed when he saw Mr. Clark enter his hospital room again the next day. “Mr. Clark, I’m pretty sure I’ve told you everything that I know,” John began.

  Mr. Clark raised his hand, telling John to stop speaking. Gone was the smile and the causal, friendly look. His face was stern and cold. And although he was a smaller man, John felt more than a little intimidated by him.

  “I know, John. You told me what you knew, and I appreciate it. We’ve had a call; you’re being flown to Berlin on our transport plane. It appears your employer has sent you to the hospital there for more checks, Alexi said he wanted you in a proper hospital. Pretty rude, considering these guys here on board the Enterprise saved your life.”

  Mr. Clark looked down at his hand, which was on the bed post. There was a long moment of silence and John racked his brain for some way to break it.<
br />
  “Mr. Clark, what aren’t you telling me? It seems like you’ve had something on your mind since you first came in.”

  Mr. Clark looked up at John. John could see his mind calculating, deciding, and sizing up John. He finally sighed and reached out his hand and shook John’s.

  “Mr. Otter, I’ve just come to say goodbye.”

  Mr. Clark turned and headed to the door. He paused there and turned back.

  “Your employer, Mr. Otter, is not who he appears to be. Underneath the philanthropy and public relations image, there is a cold and calculating man. He is very dangerous, John.”

  John sat upright.

  “What do you mean, specifically? Or is this just some ploy to make me turn against a man who saved my life?”

  Mr. Clark turned and looked John in the eyes.

  “Did you ever think that the reason your life was in jeopardy to begin with was because of something Alexi had done? You don’t get to be the richest man in Russia, and nearly the world, without stepping on some toes and breaking some fingers, John. You know that. He’s got his hands in all kinds of dirty pies and we know it.”

  “Who is ‘we’, Mr. Clark?” John asked.

  “I think you already know the answer to that. You’re smart. And, from what we’ve heard, you’re resourceful, and a survivor. The navy really could have used a guy with your talents. All I’m saying is, if I were you, I’d get a different job. Alexi is not a man you want to be around if you want to live a long and fruitful life.”