The Black Tide (33 page)

He searched the drawers and the wardrobes, checked the bathroom. Finally he left, indicating the unshaven one and saying, ‘Hussain will keep watch over you. And if there is something more you have to tell us, he knows where to find me.’

‘Is there?’ Brown asked as the door closed behind him.

‘Is there what?’

‘Anything more you have to tell them.’

‘No.’

‘And it’s true, is it – about the
Aurora B
?’

I nodded, wondering how I could get rid of him, wanting nothing except to get my head down now and sleep while I had the chance. It was more important to me even than food. He moved to the phone, which was on a table between the two beds. ‘Mind if I ring the office?’ He gave the switchboard a number and I went into the bathroom, where the plumbing was uncertain and the dark cement floor wet with water from a leaking pipe. When I had finished I found the unshaven Hussain established on a chair in the little entrance hall and Brown was standing by the window. ‘I think I should warn you, a lot of people are going to find this story of yours a pretty tall one. You realize we’ve no record of a tanker ever having been hi-jacked. Certainly no VLCC has been hi-jacked before. That’s straight, old-fashioned piracy. And you’re saying it’s not one, but two – two tankers boarded and taken without even a peep of any sort on the radio. It’s almost inconceivable.’

‘So you don’t believe me?’

He shook his head, pacing up and down the tattered piece of carpeting. ‘I didn’t say that. I just think it’s something people will find difficult to accept. One, perhaps, but two—’

‘The first one went wrong.’

‘So you said. And you think a bomb was thrown into the radio room, a grenade, something like that?’

‘I don’t know what happened,’ I said, sitting on the bed, wishing he would go away as I pulled off my shoes. ‘I’ve told you what I saw, the radio shack blackened by fire and a hole ripped in the wall. I presume they met with resistance on the bridge, discovered the radio operator was going to send a Mayday and dealt with the situation the only way they knew.’

‘And this happened, not in the Indian Ocean, but when the
Aurora B
was still in the Gulf?’

‘Yes. When she was in the Straits probably.’

‘So the radio contact with the owners, made when the ship
was supposed to be somewhere off the coast of Kutch, was entirely spurious. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? – that it never happened, or rather it was made from a quite different locality and was not the captain reporting to the owners, but the hi-jackers conning them.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Ingenious, and it’s been done before. But usually with non-existent ships or cargoes, and not on this scale, not with oil involved and big tankers. Fraudulent insurance claims, we know a lot about those now, I’ve had instances myself. But always general cargo ships. Small ones, usually old and in poor condition. Four at least I can remember, all single-vessel owners, two of them had only just changed hands. They were all cargo frauds based on forged documents.’ He began describing the intricacies of the frauds, bills of lading, packing lists, manufacturers’ certificates in two cases, even EEC certificate of origin in one case, all forged.

‘I’m tired,’ I said irritably.

He didn’t seem to hear me, going on to tell me a complicated story of trans-shipment of car engines from a small freighter at the height of the port’s congestion when there were as many as 80 ships anchored off Karachi awaiting quay space. But then he stopped quite suddenly. ‘Of course, yes, I was forgetting – you’re tired.’ He said it a little huffily. ‘I was simply trying to show you that what you’ve been telling us is really very difficult to believe. These are not small ships and GODCO is certainly not a single-vessel owner. They are, both of them, VLCCs, well-maintained and part of a very efficiently operated fleet.’ He was gazing out of the window at the darkening shadows. ‘Maybe they picked on them for that reason.’ He was talking to himself, not me. ‘Being GODCO vessels, maybe they thought their disappearance would be accepted – something similar to the disappearance of those two big Scandinavians. They were in ballast and cleaning tanks with welders on board or something. An explosive situation. That’s what I heard, anyway.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with it,’ I said. ‘This is quite different.’

‘Yes, indeed. Quite different. And it doesn’t sound like fraud.’ He had turned from the window and was staring at me. ‘What do you reckon the purpose is?’

‘How the hell do I know? I was only on board the ship a few hours.’

‘And the cost of it,’ he muttered. ‘They’d need to have very substantial backers, particularly to escalate the operation to a second tanker at short notice.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You want to rest and it’s time I was getting back to the office. There’ll be people at Lloyd’s who’ll be greatly cheered to know the
Aurora B
at any rate is still afloat. I’ll telex them right away.’

‘You’ll be contacting Forthright’s, will you?’

He nodded. ‘They’ll have a full account of it waiting for them in their office tomorrow morning. Mr Saltley can then take what action he thinks fit.’ He lifted his head, looking at me down his long nose. ‘If they locate this ship, the one you say is the
Aurora B
, then there’ll be all sorts of problems. Maritime law isn’t exactly designed to cope with this sort of thing. And you’ll be in the thick of it, so much depending on your statement.’ And he added, ‘On the other hand, if she’s sailed and the subsequent search fails to locate her …’ He paused, watching me curiously. ‘That’s why I stayed on, to warn you. What happens if they don’t believe you? If they think you’re lying, then they’ll want to know the reason and that may lead them to jump to conclusions.’ He smiled, ‘Could be awkward, that. But let’s take things as they come, eh?’ He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Have a good rest. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Sleep came in a flash and I woke sweating to a surge of sound, red lights flickering and a wild voice. My body, naked under the coarse sheets, felt battered and painful, my limbs aching. I had no idea where I was, staring wide-eyed at the big fan blades above my bed, revolving slowly to reflect a kaleidoscope of colours and that voice. I sat up. A woman was singing, a high Muslim chanting, and the surging sound was an Eastern band, the shriek of pipes and tam-tams beating.

I pulled back the sheet and stumbled to the window, conscious of the stiffness of my muscles, the ache of a deep bruise in the pelvis, staring down into the courtyard, which was a blaze of light, girls in richly coloured saris, tables piled with food and drink. A wedding? So much tinsel decoration,
balloons and lanterns, and the men loutish and ill-at-ease in their bright suits. The singing stopped. The music changed to Western jazz played fast and the crowd mingling, men and women clinging uncertainly, dancing double time. A bird swirled up like a great bat, the lights red, yellow and green and somebody pointing so that I drew back quickly, conscious that I was standing there stark naked. But it was the bird they were pointing at.

A shadow moved beside me. ‘You all right, sahib?’ It was my watchdog.

I couldn’t sleep for a long time after that, listening to the band and the high chatter of voices, the lights flickering on my closed eyes, and thinking about what was going to happen when they found the ship. Would they arrest her on the high seas? Who would do it – the British, the Americans, who? And what about me? Nobody was going to thank me for handing them such a problem. I wondered what Sadeq would do when the Navy came on board, what explanation he would give. Would he still be flying the hammer and sickle? And Baldwick – I suddenly remembered Baldwick. Baldwick wouldn’t be able to leave without the dhow. He’d still be on board. What would his explanation be, or would Sadeq dispose of him before he had a chance to talk? I could see Sadeq, as I had glimpsed him when I was crouched below the poop, the gun at his waist, the bearded face fixed in what was almost a grin as he sprayed bullets with cold professional accuracy and Baldwick thrown backwards, his big barrel of a stomach opened up and flayed red. Choffel – my mind was confused. It was Choffel whose stomach had been hit. And I was in Pakistan with information nobody was happy to hear … except Pamela and those two sailing men, her father and Saltley. If I was in England now, not lying here in Karachi with a wedding thumping out jazz and Eastern music …

I suppose I was in that limbo of half-coma that is the result of shock and exhaustion, my mind in confusion, a kaleidoscope of thoughts and imaginings all as strange as the lights and the music. Darkness came eventually, and sleep – a sleep so dead that when I finally opened my eyes the sun was high
above the hotel roof and Hussain was shaking me. He was even more unshaven now and he kept repeating, ‘Tiffin, tiffin, sahib.’ It was almost ten o’clock and there was a tray on the small central table with boiled eggs, sliced white bread, butter, marmalade and a big pot of coffee.

My clothes had gone, but the notes and traveller’s cheques that had been in my hip pocket were on the table beside me. Kites wheeled in a cloudless sky. I had a quick shower and breakfasted with a towel wrapped round my middle. A copy of
Dawn
lay on the table.
Founded by Quaid-i-Azam Mohammed Ali jinnah
, it said –
Karachi, 21 Safar, 1400
. The lead story was about Iran, the conflict between the IRP and the left-wing Mujaheddin. I could find no mention of a dhow being wrecked off Gwadar or of anybody being washed ashore there. The bearer came with my clothes, laundered, ironed and reasonably dry. As soon as I was dressed I rang the office of Lloyd’s agents down near the Customs House, but Peter Brown was out and the only other person I knew there, a Parsi, had no information to give me. I sat by the window then, reading the paper from cover to cover and watching the kites. Hussain refused absolutely to allow me out of the room and though I had a telephone call from Brown’s office it was only to say he would contact me as soon as he had any information. I could have done with a drink, but the hotel was under strict Islamic laws and drier than the sands of Baluchistan.

Just after midday Ahmad Khan arrived, the jacket of his blue suit slung over his shoulder, his tie loosened. ‘There is no ship,’ he said in his rather high lilting voice. He was standing in the middle of the room, his dark eyes watching me closely. ‘Muscat report their aircraft have overflown all the
khawrs
of the Musandam Peninsula. There is no tanker there.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘Also, Gwadar report no body being washed into the coast.’

‘Was there any sign of the man who jumped overboard?’ I asked.

‘No, nothing. And no sign of the ship.’

‘I told you they would have sailed the morning after we escaped. Have they made a search along the tanker route?’

‘Oman say they are doing it now. I have told my office to let me know here as soon as we receive a report.’ He threw his jacket on to the nearest bed, picked up the phone and ordered coffee. ‘You want any coffee?’

I shook my head. Just over two days at full speed, the ship could be nine hundred, a thousand miles from the Straits, clear of the Oman Gulf, and well out into the Indian Ocean – a hell of a lot of sea to search. ‘What about other ships? Have they been alerted?’

‘You ask Mr Brown that. I have no information.’

His coffee came, and when the waiter had gone he said, ‘You don’t wish to amend your statement at all?’

I shook my head. ‘No, not at all.’

‘Okay.’ And after that he sat there drinking his coffee in silence. Time passed as I thought about the route the tanker would have taken, and wondered why he was here. It was just on twelve-thirty that the phone rang. It was Brown and after a moment he handed it to me. All shipping had been alerted the previous night. So far nothing had been reported. ‘I’ve just been talking to the Consul. I’m afraid they’re a bit sceptical.’

‘Do you mean they don’t believe me?’

‘No, why should they? I don’t think anyone’s going to believe you unless the tanker actually materializes.’

‘Do you?’

There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘I might if it wasn’t for your story about Choffel. Let’s wait, shall we? If the body turns up, or we get a sighting of that tanker …’ His voice drifted away apologetically. ‘Anyway, how are you feeling now – rested?’

‘Yes, I’m all right.’

‘Good, good.’ There was a pause while he searched around for something else to say. ‘Glad you’re all right. Well, if I hear anything I’ll give you a ring.’ There was a click and he was gone.

The conversation left me feeling lonely and disconsolate. If he didn’t believe me, the little Sindhi intelligence man sipping noisily at his coffee certainly would not. Hussain arranged for lunch to be brought up from the café below, a
spiced rissole, chilli hot, with slices of white bread and some tinned fruit. Ahmad Khan hardly spoke and I was speculating what was going to happen to me when it was realized the tanker had vanished. Obviously, once outside the Gulf of Oman, it would be steering well clear of the shipping lanes. Clouds were building in the white glare above the rooftops and the kites were wheeling lower.

Suddenly the phone rang. It was Ahmad Khan’s office. Muscat had reported both reconnaissance planes back at base. They had been in the air over 3½ hours and had covered virtually the whole of the Gulf from the Straits right down to Ras al Had, south-east of Muscat, and had also flown 300 miles into the Arabian Sea. Of all the tankers they had sighted only five or six had approximated to the size of the
Aurora B
, and none of those had answered to the description I had given. Also, most of the ships sighted had been contacted by radio and none had reported seeing anything resembling the
Aurora B
. All the ships sighted had been in the normal shipping lanes. They had seen nothing outside these lanes and the search had now been called off. The same negative report had been made by seaborne helicopters searching the Musandam Peninsula and the foothills of the Jebel al Harim. That search had also been called off.

He put the phone down and picked up his jacket. ‘I am instructed to escort you to the Airport and see that you leave on the next flight to the UK. Please, you will now get ready.’