Chapter 9: Stories

“Welcome back. That was quick! Did you succeed?”

“Thanks Tiger, it’s good to be back. This is a great nest you feathered up. I envy you being paid to cool your heels in luxurious exotic surroundings. A quick success? Succeeded only in discovering a nest of lying vipers and digging up the truth.”

“Tell me the tale then, omitting none of the sordid details.”

“Whew! That kinda highfalutin style of talk is unexpected from you, Tiger! Been working at improving your mind?”

“New girlfriend in the city. She talks fancy, so I guess I’m pickin up some of it from her.”

“Good influence on you then. Congratulations. Where did you meet?”

“At the casino, where else? Enough about me, tell me about your trip.”

“Arrived unannounced in Monrovia and went straight to the harbor looking for the ship. Hired a local skiff to take me out to her for a positive identification. Her decks were empty, the containers had been offloaded or already salvaged. I found the emptied containers stacked in neat rows in the container yard. Took photos of every container there and of the serial numbers on the containers. Several photos of the harbor and pier as well. Then I flew my ass back here.”

“I want to see the pictures. Tell me more.”

“The pictures are being developed, I dropped them off in the city. Picking them up tomorrow. You can see them then.

The story is about fraud. Official fraud. Government fraud. The Monrovia city and Liberian federal officials claim the cargo was never delivered. That’s a lie. I have proof with the photos of the empty containers. They demand port fees, dock fees, all sorts of service fees, like shore power and fresh water hookups, sewage and garbage disposal. They demand payment before they will permit the ship to leave. It’s a lengthy list of charges they want paid and all of it lies. That ship isn’t going anywhere, except eventually to a scrap yard. She isn’t docked at the pier. She’s sunk, shot full of holes. A casualty of the recent Liberian civil war six months ago.”

“So what happens next?”

“When I have the pictures back, I’ll fax copies and copies of my report, to the owners and insurers. They decide what to do after that.”

“What do you think they will decide?”

“The owners will collect the insurance on the ship. She is a total loss, no argument. The owners and the insurers will prove to the US government with my photos that the C.A.R.E. relief shipment of foods to Monrovia was delivered, and the freight bill will be paid. The insurance company is out of pocket for the ship, but won’t need to pay out for the cargo. I wasn’t lost.”

“What about the ship’s crew?”

“No way of knowing for sure unless by some miracle they turn up alive, but I suspect they’re all dead.”

“Where to next, Trinidad?”

“No, I think I’ll stay right here. I intend to connect these two companies, see if they can’t help each other. One company has their ship and cargo restrained in port for non-payment and they don’t have the cash to buy themselves out of port. The other company lost their ship, but will soon have a pile of capital. Both are family operations. Maybe they can create a joint successful operation? That’s what I will suggest.”

“Will they pat you anything?”

“Surprise me if they did. Businesses don’t normally pay out when they don’t have to. The insurance companies offered to pay me a small reward if I save them money. I earned the rewards.”

“How mch reward will you get?”

“Probably not much, but they will remember me and want to consult with me about future situations. Retainers, consultation fees, professional witness fees, it could mount up into something nice!”

“Now I envy you. You’re your own boss. Your own business.”

“Wait until I’m successful at it before envying me.”

“What if those two family run outfits don’t join up?”

“Why should I care either way what they do?”

“Curiosity?”

“If they do merge, that’s a potential future client again and other companies will hear about it and build my reputation, so sure, I hope they’re good for each other.”

“Yeah, it could work out good for you.”

“So, tell me about your new lady friend, Tiger. Possible wedding bells there?”

“Oh no, hell no! No weddings in my future. I’m already safely married.”

“Married? You never mentioned it before.”

“It’s an unusual marriage, actually divorced, but remarried her.”

“Not so unusual. Maybe not a lot, but some couples divorce and then decide to get back together again.”

“That’s not what happened. My ex-wife quickly blew her divorce settlement, then got sick, with serious health issues. She can’t afford health insurance. Our kids begged me to help her, so, I remarried her only so she can ride on my company health insurance. I’m single in all ways that count, except, I’m not an eligible bachelor.”

“How many kids?”

“Two, a boy and a girl, both grown, both finished college. They have good careers.”

“Any grand kids?”

“Nope. My kids are sour on marriage, and claim they’ll never marry.”

We sat together in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.

“Well, I think I’ll call it a night. Where are Warren and Francine?”

“Gone. Soon after you left this morning, a recruiter came by and they drug up and went with him.”

“A recruiter for what?”

“For an oil company. He offered Warren an opportunity to be captain on a supertanker. I offered to go too, but he didn’t want me, just Warren.”

“Warren isn’t licensed as a master. He’s a Chief Engineer!”

“That’s why they want him. They intend to send him to some school, and when he graduates, he comes out with a Mooring Master endorsement on his Chief’s license.”

“Oh! Where does he go after getting the endorsement? Singapore?”

“Yeah! How did you know?”

“That’s where they keep a fleet of tankers anchored storing oil.”

“Have you been there, seen it?”

“Yep.”

“Boring job?”

“Equivalent to going to jail for money.”

“Speaking of hiding out,...”

“When were we speaking of hiding out?”

“Well, you said you envied my job cooling mt heels in luxury, and Warren and Francine are going to Singapore to laze around aboard a supertanker for a fat salary, and you are camping out here without a salary, the topic just naturally comes up.”

“Does it? Maybe because I’m tired, I don’t recognize the logic, but you are speaking of hiding out?”

“My new girlfriend calls tiger town my hidey-hole.”

I just nod for Tiger to continue.

“She suggests we can make extra money on the side renting to people needing a temporary hide-out. What do you think?”

First inclination is to warn Tiger off from putting up dangerous outlaws on the lam. Might not necessarily be felons. Bad guys probably, but maybe they’re bigshot bosses? Never arrested or convicted, but need private security. Maybe legitimate business men.

Agencies in West African major cities have compounds to put up visiting business men. Basically, they offer fortified hotels with gates and guards. Why not offer the same service, on a smaller scale?

“That idea might be a winner, Tiger. Let me sleep on it. Maybe tomorrow we can discuss it in more depth. Goodnight.”

Later, I’ll return to Tiger’s proposed hide-out for hire scheme. Another more important event needs telling first. A scarce week after I returned, Mr. Tynsall himself, arrived in Abidjian and the sleaze-ball agent brought him to Tiger town for an emergency conference. His emergency! Mr. Tynsall came to plead for my help.

The pipeline company associate of Mr Tynsall received all the insurance payout for the havoc the pirates did to Speedy. They arrived aboard with a project manager, a surveyey team, a four point captain, and an unlicensed engineer. Now, I have known some fine engineers who never bothered getting a Coast Guard license. This engineer wasn’t a good kind. The survey team was installing their electronics on the bridge. Specialized electronics with secret pipeline maps available only to pipeline survey companies, and super accurate position plotting equipment. DGPS. Regular GPS can tell you where you are with an accuracy of a couple hundred feet. DGPS uses ground stations in conjunction with the satelights, and are accurate within a few feet. Add a laser target on a stationary object, like a nearby oil platform, and accuracy within inches is attainable.

The new engineer spent considerable time familiarizing himself with Speedy’s engine-room. Tracing pipes with a flashlight beam, and finding and identifying what dozens of different valves did. Speedy was on shore power, via a heavy electrical cable from a dock source.

According to Mr. Tynsall, the engineer fired up a generator and didn’t know enough to switch frequency control to auto. Frequency on US vessels and homes is sixty cycles. In Europe and Africa, other places, it’ s fifty cycles. To get the cycles up to the desired sixty, the engineer manually revved up the generator diesel to a very high rpm. And, high voltage as a consequence. When he threw the switch to bring it on line, he destroyed all the recently installed survey equipment on the bridge, exploding components like firecrackers, and also blew up a transformer on a pole at the dock.

The furious dock master demanded they leave his dock. Immediately. The engineer cranked the starboard main engine, then called the project manager and captain to the engine-room insisting they see something odd.

The rear of the engine was turning, and the front isn’t. These 16-149s are actually two 8-149s bolted together with a spliced crankshaft. The crank is obviously broken. Something I warned could happen if the cutlass bearings weren’t replaced back in Houston. It could also be the fault of this idiot engineer. Who knows if he used or even knows the proper procedures in starting the engine. He proved he can’t even run a 6-71 generator without destroying the electrical system. Anyway.

The association and joint project with the Pipeline company is broken too. Kaput! They’re keeping all the insurance money, fixing nothing aboard Speedy, and canceling all contracts and connections.