a loss for words, they had written only of a great hole in the sea into
which a ship fell helplessly.
When the hole closed, the force of breaking water would bury her
completely. Perhaps the Waratah Castle was one which had fallen into
that trough. Nobody would ever know. - a great ship of 9,000 tons
burden, she and her crew of 211 had disappeared without trace in these
seas.
Yet here was one of the busiest sea lanes on the globe, as a procession
of giant tankers ploughed ponderously around that rocky Cape on their
endless shuttle between the Western. world and the oil Gulf of Persia,
Despite their bulk, those supertankers were perhaps some of the most
vulnerable vehicles yet designed by man.
Now Nick turned and looked across the wind-ripped waters of Duncan Dock
at one of them. He could read her name on the stern that rose like a
five-storied apartment block. She was owned by Shell Oil, 250,000 dead
weight tons, and, out of ballast, she showed much of her rust-red
bottom. She was in for repairs, while out in the roadstead of Table
Bay, two other monsters waited patiently for their turn in the hospital
dock.
So big and ponderous and vulnerable - and valuable.
Nick licked his lips involuntarily - hull and cargo together, she was
thirty million dollars, piled up like a mountain.
That was why he had stationed the Warlock here at Cape Town on the
southernmost tip of Africa. He felt the strength and excitement surging
upwards in him.
All right, so he had lost his wave. He was no longer cresting and
racing. He was down and smothered in white water. But he could feel
his head breaking the surface, and he was still on the break-line. He
knew there was another big wave racing down on him. It was just
beginning to peak and he knew he still had the strength to catch her, to
get high and race again.
I did it once - I'll damned well do it again/he said aloud, and went
down for breakfast.
He stepped into the saloon, and for a long moment nobody realized he was
there. There was an excited buzz of comment and speculation that
absorbed them all.
The Chief Engineer had an old copy of Lloyd's List folded at the front
page and held above a plate of eggs as he read aloud. Nicholas wondered
where he had found the ancient copy.
His spectacles had slid right to the end of his nose, so he had to tilt
his head far backwards to see through them, and his Australian accent
twanged like a guitar.
In a joint statement issued by the new Chairman and incoming members of
the Board, a tribute was paid to the fifteen years of loyal service that
Mr. Nicholas Berg had given to Christy Marine. The five officers
listened avidly, ignoring their breakfasts, until David Allen glanced up
at the figure in the doorway.
captain, Sir, he shouted, and leapt to his feet, while with the other
hand, he snatched the newspaper out of Vinny Baker's hands and bundled
it under the table.
Sir, may I present the officers of Warlock. Shuffling, embarrassed, the
younger officers shook hands hurriedly and then applied themselves
silently to their congealing breakfasts with a total dedication that
precluded any conversation, while Nick Berg took the Master's seat at
the head of the long table in the heavy silence and David Allen sat down
again on the crumpled sheets of newsprint.
The steward offered the menu to the new Captain, and returned almost
immediately with a dish of stewed fruit.
I ordered a boiled egg/ said Nick mildly, and an apparition in snowy
white appeared from the galley, with the chef's cap at a jaunty angle.
"The sailor's curse is constipation, Skipper. I look after MY officers
- that fruit is delicious and good for you. I'm doing you your eggs
now, dear, but eat your fruit first. And the diamond twinkled again as
he vanished.
Nick stared after him in the appalled silence.
Fantastic cook/ blurted David Allen, his fair skin flushed pinkly and
the Lloyd's List rustled under his backside. Could get a job on any
crew would go with him/ growled the Chief Engineer darkly, and hauled at
his pants with elbows below the level of the table. And I'd be one of
them., Nick Berg turned his head politely to follow the conversation.
He's almost a doctor, David Allen went on, addressing the Chief
Engineer.
Five years at Edinburgh Medical School/ agreed the Chief solemnly.
Do you remember how he set the seconds leg? Terribly useful to have a
doctor aboard.
Nick picked up his spoon, and tentatively lifted a little of the fruit
to his mouth. Every officer watched him intently as he chewed.
Nick took another spoonful.
You should taste his jams, said David Allen addressing Nick directly at
last. Absolutely Cordon Bleu stuff. Thank you, gentlemen, for the
advice/ said Nick. The smile did not touch his mouth, but crinkled his
eyes slightly. But would somebody convey a private message to Angel
that if he ever calls me "dear" again I'll beat that ridiculous cap down
about his ears. In the relieved laughter that followed, Nick turned to
David Allen and sent colour flying to his cheeks again by asking, You
seem to have finished with that old copy Of the List, Number One. Do
you mind if I glance at it again? Reluctantly, David lifted himself and
produced the newspaper, and there was another tense silence as Nick Berg
rearranged the rumpled sheets and studied the old headlines without any
apparent emotion.
THE GOLDEN PRINCE OF CHRISTY MARINE DEPOSED
Nicholas hated that name, it had been old Arthur Christy's quirk to name
all of his vessels with the prefix Golden, and twelve years ago, when
Nick had rocketed to head of operations at ChristY Marine, some wag had
stuck that label on him.
ALEXANDER TO HEAD THE CHRISTY BOARD OF DIRECTORS
Nicholas was surprised by the force of his hatred for the Man.
They had fought like a pair of bulls for dominance of the herd and the
tactics that Duncan Alexander had used had won. Arthur Christy had said
once, Nobody gives a damn these days whether it is moral or fair, all
that counts is, will it work and can you get away with it? For Duncan it
had worked, and he had got away with it in the grandest possible style.
As Managing-Director in charge of operations, Mr. Nicholas Berg helped
to build Christy Marine from a small coasting and salvage company into
one of the five largest owners of cargo shipping operating anywhere in
the world.
After the death of Arthur Christy in 1968, Mr. Nicholas Berg succeeded
him as Chairman, and continued the company's spectacular expansion.
At present, Christy Marine has in commission eleven bulk carriers and
tankers in excess of 250,000 dead weight tons, and has building the
1,000,000 ton giant ultra-tanker Golden Dawn. it will be the largest
vessel ever launched.
There it was, stated in the boldest possible terms, the labour of a
man's lifetime. Over a billion dollars of shipping, designed, financed
and built almost entirely with the energy and enthusiasm and faith of
Nicholas Berg.
Mr. Nicholas Berg married Miss Chantelle Christy, the only child of Mr.
Arthur Christy. However, the marriage ended in divorce in September of
last year and the former Mrs. Berg has subsequently married Mr. Duncan
Alexander, the new Chairman of Christy Marine.
He felt the hollow nauseous feeling in his stomach and in his head the
vivid image of the woman. He not want to think of her now, but could
not thrust the image aside. she was bright and beautiful as a flame -
and, like a flame, you could not hold her. when she went, she took
everything with her, everything. He should hate her also, he really
should. Everything, he thought the company, his life's work, and the
child. When he thought of the child, he nearly succeeded in hating her,
and the newsprint shook in his hand.
He became aware again that five men were watching him, and without
surprise he realized that not a flicker of his emotions had shown on his
face. To be a player for fifteen years in one of the world's highest
games of chance, inscrutability was a minimum requirement.
In a joint statement issued by the new Chairman and incoming members of
the Board, a tribute was paid.
Duncan Alexander paid the tribute for one reason, Nick thought grimly.
He wanted the 100,000 Christy Marine shares that Nick owned.
Those shares were very far from a controlling interest. Chantelle had a
million shares in her own name, and there were another million in the
Christy Trust, but insignificant as it was, Nick's holding gave him a
voice in and an entry to the company's affairs.
Nick had bought and paid for every one of those shares.
Nobody had given him a thing, not once in his life. He had taken
advantage of every stock option in his contract, had bartered bonus and
salary for those options, and now those 100,00 shares were worth three
million dollars, meagre reward for the labour which had built up a
fortune of sixty million dollars for the Christy father and daughter.
It had taken Duncan Alexander almost a year to get those shares.
He and Nicholas had bargained with cold loathing. They had hated each
other from the first day that Duncan had walked into the Christy
building on Leadenhall Street. He had come as old Arthur Christy's
latest Wunderkind. The financial genius fresh from his triumphs as
financial controller of International Electronics, and the hatred had
been instant and deep and mutual, a fierce smouldering chemical reaction
between them.
In the end Duncan Alexander had won, he had won it all, except the
shares, and he had bargained for those from overwhelming strength. He
had bargained with patience and skill, wearing his man down over the
months. Using all Christy Marine's reserves to block and frustrate
Nicholas, forcing him back step by step, taxing even his strength to its
limits, driving such a bargain that at the end Nicholas was forced to
bow and accept a dangerous price for his shares. He had taken as full
payment the subsidiary of Christy Marine, Christy Towage and Salvage,
all its assets and all its debts. Nick had felt like a fighter who had
been battered for fifteen rounds, and was now hanging desperately to the
ropes with his legs gone, blinded by his own sweat and blood and swollen
flesh, so he could not see from whence the next punch would come. But
he had held on just long enough. He had got Christy Towage and Salvage
- he had walked away with something that was completely and entirely
his.
Nicholas Berg lowered the newspaper, and immediately his officers
attacked their breakfasts ravenously and there was the clatter of
cutlery.
There is an officer missing/he said.
It's only the Trog, sir/Dave Allen explained.
The Trog?
The Radio Officer, sir. Speirs, sir. We call him the Troglodyte.
I'd like all the officers present.
He never comes out of his cave/Vinny Baker explained helpfully, All
right/ Nick nodded. I will speak to him later.
They waited now, five eager young men, even Vin Baker he could not
completely hide his interest behind the smeared lenses of his spectacles
and the tough Aussie veneer.
I wanted to explain to you the new set-up. The Chief has kindly read to
you this article, presumably for the benefit of those who were unable to
do so for themselves a year ago.
Nobody said anything, but Vin Baker fiddled with his porridge spoon.
So you are aware that I am no longer connected in any way with Christy
Marine. I have now acquired Christy Towage and Salvage. It becomes a
completely independent company. The name is being changed. Nicholas
had resisted the vanity of calling it Berg Towage and Salvage.
It will be known as Ocean Towage and Salvage.
He had paid dearly for it, perhaps too dearly. He had given up his
three million dollars worth of Christy shares for God alone knew what.
But he had been tired unto death.
We own two vessels. The Golden Warlock and her sister ship which is
almost ready for her sea trials, the Golden Witch.
He knew exactly how much the company owed on those two ships, he had
agonized over the figures through long and sleepless nights. On paper
the net worth of the company was around four million dollars; he had
made a paper profit of a million dollars on his bargain with Duncan
Alexander. But it was paper profit only, the company had debts of
nearly four million more. If he missed just one month's interest
payments on those debts - he dismissed the thought quickly, for on a
forced sale his residue in the company would be worth nothing. He would
be completely wiped out.
The names of both ships have been changed also. They will become simply
Warlock and Sea Witch. From now onwards "Golden" is a dirty word around
Ocean Salvage. They laughed then, a release of tension, and Nick smiled
with them, and lit a thin black cheroot from the crocodileskin case
while they settled down.
I will be running this ship until Sea Witch is commissioned. It won't be
long, and there will be promotions then.
Nick superstitiously tapped the mahogany mess table as he said it. The
dockyard strike had been simmering for a long time. Sea Witch was still
on the ways, but costing interest, and further delay would prove him
mortal.
I have got a long oil-rig tow. Bight of Australia to South America. It
will give us all time to shake the ship down.
You are all tug men, I don't have to tell you when the big one comes up,
there will be no warning.
They stirred, and the eagerness was on them again. Even the oblique
reference to prize money had roused them.
Chief? Nick looked across at him, and the Engineer snorted, as though
the question was an insult.
In all respects ready for sea/ he said, and tried simultaneously to
adjust his trousers and his spectacles.
Number One? Nick looked at David Allen. He had no
t yet become
accustomed to the Mate's boyishness. He knew that he had held a master
mariner's ticket for ten years, that he was over thirty years of age and
that MacDonald had hand-picked him - he had to be good. Yet that fair
unlined face and quick high colour under the unruly mop of blond hair
made him look like an undergraduate.
I'm waiting on some stores yet, sir/ David answered quickly. The
chandlers have promised for today, but none of it is vital. I could
sail in an hour, if it is necessary.
All right. Nick stood up. I will inspect the ship at 0900 hours. You'd
best get the ladies off the ship. During the meal there had been the
faint tinkle of female voices and laughter from the crew's quarters.
Nick stepped out of the saloon and Vin Baker's voice was pitched to
reach him. It was a truly dreadful imitation of what the Chief believed
to be a Royal Naval accent.
logoo, chaps. Jolly good show, what?
Nick did not miss a step, and he grinned tightly to himself. It's an
old Aussie custom; you needle and needle until something happens. There
is no malice in it, it's just a way of getting to know your man. And
once the boots and fists have stopped flying, you can be friends or
enemies on a permanent basis. It was so long since he had been in
elemental contact with tough physical men, straight hard men who shunned
all subterfuge and sham, and he found the novelty stimulating. Perhaps
that was what he really needed now, the sea and the company of real men.
He felt his step quicken and the anticipation of physical confrontation
lift his spirits off the bottom.
He went up the companionway to the navigation deck, taking the steps
three at a time, and the doorway opposite his suite opened. From it
emerge the solid grey stench of cheap Dutch cigars and a head that could
have belonged to some prehistoric reptile. It too was pale grey and
lined and wrinkled, the head of a sea-turtle or an iguana lizard, with
the same small dark glittery eyes.
The door was that of the radio room. It had direct access to the main
navigation bridge and was merely two paces from the Master's day cabin.
Despite appearances, the head was human, and Nick recalled clearly how
Mac had once described his radio officer. He is the most anti-social
bastard I've ever sailed with, but he can scan eight different
frequencies simultaneously, in clear and morse, even while he is asleep.