Gold Sharks (21 page)

It was just after first light when the cargo vessel moored at the other side of the basin cast off her lines. The captain ordered a full burst of the bow thruster in order to push the bow away from the quay. The thrusters' hydraulically operated propeller thrashed angrily at the water and gradually the bow moved until it was several metres from the quay. Satisfied that the angle was sufficient, he ordered the main engine slow ahead. The big diesel turbine lumbered into life, pouring its pent-up power into the four to one gearbox to effortlessly spin the heavy stainless steel shaft. Outside the hull, the four-bladed bronze propeller swished around, lazily winding the nylon rope around the shank; the slack was quickly taken in as the shaft speeded up.

The captain knew immediately that something was wrong when the stern of the vessel, instead of moving forward, remained stationary and then gradually moved astern as the propeller winched in the ship on the anchored rope like a giant fishing reel. Suddenly the chain was also dragged into the spinning propeller clanging noisily around the shaft just before one of the dredging boards broke free of the harbour mud and smashed into the flailing propeller, wedging itself solidly between the shaft and rudder support. In the engine room the gearbox screamed in metallic agony and the pressure release valve blew a jet of hot hydraulic oil into the air, spraying the roof of the engine room and everything around it. The engineer shouted and rushed to the emergency stop control. The engine shuddered and stopped. Securely moored by the propeller to the second board, the cargo boat drifted, helpless and silent.

The whole incident had taken a mere sixty seconds.

Soon men were seen running to the stern to look and point into the muddy water. There was much shouting and gesticulating. The alarmed captain was on the telephone to the engineer.

“We must have fouled something Chief. What's the damage down there?” He tried to sound calm.

“Hard to tell but the gearbox could be in trouble. There was a terrible noise from the stern gear. You better organise some divers to check it out while I try to assess the gearbox situation.”

“OK Chief. I'm going to organise some shore lines then I'll get you some divers.” He slammed the intercom phone back on its cradle.

Being late, whatever the circumstances, with a Syndicate delivery was not an option. There was going to be trouble - big trouble - he told himself. He was trembling with rage as he reached for the ship to shore telephone and called Harbour Control.

Across the basin on the tug, John was quietly drinking a cup of tea and munching a piece of toast when the shore phone rang.

“Good morning,” he greeted the expected caller. It was Manuel, who sounded in an unusually good humour.

“I have a little bit of practical diving for you, if you want it,” h said and waited for a moment. “Charge what you like - it's an emergency,” he coaxed the silent John.

“Go on then, tell me what it's all about,” John responded, trying to sound indifferent.

Manuel explained the situation with the cargo vessel on the other side of the basin.

“The vessel single prop has tangled with an unidentified underwater obstacle. They have managed to get a line ashore but remain moored by its prop and rudder. They need to know if you can you do an immediate survey.”

“We can certainly conduct a preliminary survey, then give an estimate of probable external damage. In the circumstances we would require a standard merchant shipping warrant for the payment!” John chuckled under his breath, knowing full well that the vessel was not British registered; in fact it was probably not registered anywhere. “Otherwise we will be looking to the port authority to guarantee payment. Is that OK?”

Manuel knew something of the mysterious vessel and realised that John was being excessively cautious but almost certainly with good reason. It wouldn't be the first ship to run up a massive repair bill, then quietly slip away never to seen or heard of again.

“OK - standard guarantee from the port. I'll prepare the paperwork.” In the circumstances he felt reasonably safe as the ship could easily be held until payment was completed.

John advised Big J of the arrangement, who confirmed his approval.

“In the circumstances I think you had better do this one yourself. I suggest that you take those Chinese two lads who've been getting on well with the underwater welding. It'll be a good bit of practice,” Big J smiled. “I bet Alex will be interested in our findings!”

John knew exactly what Alex needed and the report would be a recommendation for dry-docking; whatever they found!

In fact the heavy dredging board had jammed itself between the propeller and the rudder, the latter finishing up visibly out of line with the shaft. The propeller also appeared to be severely buckled, each blade suffering from the impact of the chain and the metal clad board.

The divers cut away the chain and nylon rope then reported to Manuel who was waiting anxiously in the dive boat moored at the stern of the vessel.

“She's clear now - you can warp her over to the quay,” John called up, pulling away his mask as he spoke. “We've cut her free but she isn't going anywhere with that buckled prop and rudder and they'll have to come off before the shaft can be tested!”

The captain, standing in the stern of the cargo boat, heard John's message and turned angrily away in disgust. After visibly taking control of himself, he looked back and called down to the diver still hanging onto the lifeline of the dive boat.

“How soon to sort it out?”

“Sorry Cap; it's more than we can do underwater; she'll have to be dry docked to get at the rudder stem and I guess that prop will take quite a bit of sorting.”

The captain nodded his head, reluctantly accepting the inevitable.

“Well thanks for trying anyway,” he called down as an afterthought.

A number of heated telephone calls flashed through the ether as the ship was hauled back to the quay.

Captain Marino was Greek Cypriot by birth and he had been at sea for at least forty of his fifty-five years. A proud and diligent man, he had owned and operated this ship for the last three years, thanks of course to a large interest-free marine mortgage provided by his Syndicate business partners. From experience, he knew how violent they could be when things did not run like the proverbial “Swiss Watch”. So this freak accident was going to be a major problem and the knock-on effect hardly bore thinking about, especially as the clients waiting for delivery of the “special” cargo, were highly sensitive and suspicious people to say the least.

Captain Marino was about to call his controller when the red-faced Scottish chief engineer burst onto the bridge. “We're all secure Capt, but some harbour official is asking what our cargo is before they tow us to the dry dock. I gave them the standard wink and a nod but they seemed to be a bit determined!” The chief was still puffing from his hasty climb up to the wheelhouse. “What do you think?” he pleaded anxiously.

The chief had served with Captain Marino for over twenty years and was a partner in the business of running the ship commercially, though not in its ownership of the vessel. Two of the deckhands were Chinese, the other Malay. The warlord in the Philippines had provided the armed guards. “I will provide some reliable professional men to ensure the protection and safe delivery of my merchandise,” was how he had described the hard faced mercenary guards.

“Steady Chief, this would be a bad time to have a heart attack!” The captain patted his friend on the shoulder. “I'll speak to them.”

The captain moved quickly down the companion ladder and approached the two officials standing on the quay.

“Good morning gentlemen,” he greeted them. “Thank you for getting us out of trouble so quickly.” He smiled and shook their hands. “I understand that you would prefer us to unload our cargo before going into the dry dock.” One of the straight-faced officials raised his hand and started to speak. But the captain interrupted him.

“That'll be no problem. We only have a few alloy crates this trip - Chinese made machine tools, going to Australia in competition with those arrogant capitalists,” he laughed.

The officials looked at each other. “What's the weight of the crates?” one asked.

“Oh less than twenty tons!” the captain replied casually.

The officials conferred in Chinese, then looked up.

“We think the lock operator may be persuaded to overlook such a light but important cargo!”

The captain pulled an envelope from his pocket, discreetly folded it and placed it in the older official's hand.

“Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.” He saluted and walked back to the ship as the officials scurried furtively away, the envelope containing the two one hundred American dollar bills burning a hole in his pocket.

Soon afterwards two small tugs arrived and expertly manoeuvred the ship out of the basin and across to the drying dock. By early evening the ship was dry and chocked up in the pumped-out basin. Engineers and other curious spectators peered in amazement at the jumble of plaited nylon, rope, chain and the rusting dredge board jammed between the severely buckled propeller and rudder. It would be many days before the repairs could be completed; they nodded in agreement.

“Well Alex,” John smiled with satisfaction, “is that good enough for you?”

“Nice to be doing business with you again!” He thumped John warmly on the back. “That should give us all the time we need!”

f

In order to complete the deal with Dick and his partner, Oscar telephoned his bank in Singapore and arranged to the transfer the necessary finances to a lawyer in Manila.

“Do you know a lawyer over here? It will have to be a tough one because the mortgagee we are taking out is a local gangster.”

The bank manager was startled “Are you sure you should be doing business with those kind of people?” he warned with concern.

Oscar was adamant. “If the bank recommends a good lawyer surely there should be no problem, should there?”

Privately the manager was not convinced but gave Oscar a name.

“We always use this man for any significant international transaction. He's expensive but considered to be good!”

“Sounds like the man we want; I'd appreciate it if you would ring him and introduce me - then I'll call later today to make an appointment, if that's possible, OK?” The manager agreed to make the call and introduce Oscar but was still concerned about the whole transaction.

“Thank you for all your help, as usual,” Oscar said in an effort to soothe the troubled manager then rang off.

Oscar and Dick presented themselves at the agreed time. The lawyer was a bit stuffy at first, claiming that such transactions were usually handled by one of his clerks! Oscar was patient and thanked him in advance for sparing his time, then explained the transaction. At the mention of the name of the mortgagee the lawyer suddenly became infinitely more interested.

“You're sticking your neck out, you realise that do you?” He waited for Oscar to react then, satisfied that he had their full attention, continued. “These people only make that kind of investment for the benefit of their own interests, so repaying these loans and freeing your friend from his obligations could attract heavy penalties - even retribution!” He raised his eyebrows and glared at Dick who, completely overwhelmed and intimidated by the occasion, seemed to shrink even further into his chair,

Oscar, trying to sound confident and encouraging to the trembling Dick, replied.

“Yes we realise that but we have to take that risk!” He chose not to elaborate until he was more convinced that the solicitor was genuine or as he had so often discovered in the past, an agent of the Syndicate or even the warlord.

“OK then. I'll have a good look at it all and have something, with luck, ready by tomorrow midday.” He looked at his watch impatiently. “Will that be convenient?”

Thanking him, they agreed to call back tomorrow and left the office without any more ceremony. Marion and Annie were waiting outside for the two men.

“We thought we'd wait for you here. Greg and Remi have gone to hunt down a long list of diving equipment.” This included a special gas re-breathing kit which, if available, would help them to extend the dive times required at the sort of depths the submarine was understood to be lying in.

They'd left Sophie to relax on the terrace.

“I'll top up the tan while you lot play treasure hunters,” she'd quite happily said as she waved them goodbye. “The drinks will be ready when you return O Lord and Master!” she'd giggled, bowing mock-irreverently as they left the bungalow.

Annie took the still-bemused Dick by the arm.

“OK mister, we're going on a special mission now,” she winked at Marion and led him away. “See you both later.”

“How did it go?” Marion moved next to Oscar as they started towards the waterfront.

“Let's take the easy way and I'll tell you.”

Brightly coloured Jeepnee Taxis plied back and forth around the busy Philippine capital. Oscar signalled and almost instantly one of the gaily-decorated vehicles pulled up at their side.

“The marina please,” Oscar asked the cheerful driver. Then, taking Marion by the hand, he guided her up into the open-air passenger seats.

“What a confusing place this is.” He looked at Marion. “Here we have some of the most cheerful and friendly people in the world and on the other hand, some of the most evil!” He gazed at her and was genuinely sad.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Marion still held his hand and squeezed gently with compassion. “So, come on, how did Dick respond?” she asked again.

Oscar started to tell her, but even as he spoke the words, the touch of Marion's delicate hand seemed to consume all his thoughts. He was enraptured by her presence, his mind almost frozen in time as he gazed at her. He didn't really want to talk; what he really wanted was to hold her gently in his arms. They both sat in silence as the Jeepnee manoeuvred through the busy traffic. It was some time before he realised that he had stopped speaking.