The UK police had been cooperative and provided the mobile phone logs for both Jim Blake and Lawrence Anderson. It appeared Lawrence had made a call to the marina, presumably to announce their arrival to collect the sailboat. He had also made several other calls to an unknown mobile phone in Split! Further investigation revealed this to be a prepaid, Pay As You Go phone with no known owner. The technical officers in Split had confirmed that the only way to trace the phone would be to triangulate its position whilst it was being used.
‘Mrs Kovačić, how many mobile phones do you have?’ asked Penny.
It was as though Petra had been stung. She sprang from her chair, almost knocking it backwards in the process.
‘I do not like your tone,’ she blurted out. ‘I invited you here in good faith to help you, but your questions make me sound like a criminal. If you want to ask me any more questions you can do so when my lawyer is present!’
‘Oh, I do apologise if I have offended you,’ said Penny in an apologetic tone.
Inside Penny was delighted with the reaction she received and to have interrupted the slick performance Mrs Kovačić had delivered so far.
‘All of these questions are merely routine and you are not under caution. Please, may I ask you one last question?’
Petra paused and began to regain her composure. ‘One last question,’ she invited.
‘Mrs Kovačić, when Jack Collier and Alessandro Calovarlo retrieved a briefcase that we believe belonged to Jim Blake, they discovered two packets containing significant amounts of US dollars. Do you know where this money came from?’ Penny asked with steel in her voice.
‘Fees and expenses,’ replied Petra tersely. ‘Now, since that was your last question, I would like to get back to work,’ she added as she retrieved a folder from her desk and gave every impression she would commence that work whether Officer Pendleton-Price and Inspector Tomich left the office or not!
Penny slowly got to her feet, put her notes away and began to lean across the desk to retrieve the tape recorder. As she picked it up she asked:
‘The fees and expenses were for consultancy work completed for Pharmaco. Is this correct?’
‘Yes,’ Petra replied abruptly and continued in an exasperated tone:
‘I would like you to leave now. I’ve got a lot of work to do.’
As Inspector Tomich and Officer Pendleton-Price approached the waiting police car he tapped her on the back.
‘Congratulations,’ he said with a smile. ‘You have really got her rattled,’ he added. ‘I’ve discovered that Mrs Kovačić has a formidable reputation and I thought all we would get would be bull sranje. I’m sure you can guess what the translation is into English. What we have to do now is work on the inconsistencies. Following the money trail is often the most productive,’ he added.
Chapter 30
Collision
Nearly six hundred nautical miles to the south crew members of the Panamax container ship, Eastern Star, were starting the midnight to 4.00 a.m. watch. The navigation officer had checked the weather, their position and confirmed their easterly track between Sicily and Malta. He was taking them along the northern edge of the main shipping lane, away from the bulk of the traffic. He had stood around on the spacious bridge until they had cleared the busy ferry route between the ports in Sicily and in Malta. Aloof and without a word he had moved to a simple wood and canvas stretcher on the far side of the bridge, lowered himself onto it and had gone to sleep. Kumar and Rekesh didn’t like the navigation officer – he didn’t do his fair share of the work amongst the skeleton crew.
Kumar and Rekesh were friends and had worked together for a long time. Their families were neighbours in the cramped township outside the Indian city of Alang and they chatted about what they would do on their short shore leave. They automatically scanned the output from the AIS, the Automatic Identification of Ships. It was the computer system that monitored the speed and direction of all ships within range, but no ships were within range. They scanned the readouts of all the other vital signs of the ship; all were normal. They looked through the bridge windows and into the night but there was nothing to see. The sudden, unexpected sea mist combined with the navigation lights created a grey blur around the ship as it sped along at fifteen knots. Kumar suggested they should wake the navigation officer and get permission to reduce speed whilst in the mist; they decided not to do so.
The Eastern Star had been launched from the Jiangsu New Yangzi Shipyard, China in 2010. The forty thousand five hundred and forty-one deadweight tonnes vessel had cost over US$60 million and had the capacity to carry over four thousand twenty-foot-long steel containers. However, overcapacity in the industry, worldwide recession and bigger, ‘New Panamax’ vessels that could negotiate the enlarged locks within the Panama Canal had consigned the ship to the scrapyard. The Eastern Star was en route to the Alang-Sosiya shipbreaking yard in the Indian state of Gujarat.
In contrast, the Gronkowski 34, was a working, general freighter of just over three thousand deadweight tonnes. It had been launched from the Severnaya Verf, the Northern Shipyard, Russia in 1981. The ship shuttled between the Mediterranean and her home port of St Petersburg, stopping whenever there was cargo to pick up or drop off. The owners of the Gronkowski 34 attracted cargo, any cargo, where price was more important than speed; she was currently drifting off the southern coast of Sicily. The engine was running but the ship was in total darkness with the AIS switched off. She was a ‘Ghost Ship’ awaiting a rendezvous.
Major accidents are seldom caused by a single failure; they are the result of a combination of separate errors, miscalculations and sometimes by sheer bad luck. Perhaps the Eastern Star should have been in the main shipping lane and not on the periphery. Perhaps it should have reduced speed as it entered the sea mist and regularly sounded a foghorn. Perhaps those on the bridge should have paid more attention to the radar scan than the AIS. Equally, perhaps the crew of the Gronkowski 34 should have been more vigilant. Certainly, the ship should not have been drifting without lights and all systems, including the AIS, switched off!
At 0214 the Eastern Star struck the Gronkowski 34 a glancing blow on the port side at a point between the rear superstructure and the stern. The stomach-churning sound of the initial impact was followed by a prolonged high-pitched squeal as the two hulls scraped against each other. The Eastern Star swayed to starboard on impact, the Gronkowski 34 was simply brushed aside, pitching sharply to starboard and slewing around violently in the water.
On board the Eastern Star both Kumar and Rekesh were thrown off balanced but quickly recovered.
‘What’s that?’ shouted Kumar in alarm as he hit the emergency klaxon and the characteristic sound “AWOOGA, AWOOGA, AWOOGA” burst through the ship and over the sea for miles around.
For a few seconds the klaxon combined with the high-pitched squeal of the two hulls scraping together. It was a sound to awaken the dead. Then it was just the klaxon and the initial shock was converted into panic.
‘We have hit another ship,’ Rekesh screamed back as he hung onto the bridge console and began a rapid check of the ship’s vital signs; everything was OK.
The navigation officer had been rudely wakened and staggered to the main console. He stared at the VDU displaying AIS data but there was no other ship on the screen. He flicked his eyes to the radar screen and could see the image of a small vessel almost behind them. With one hand he hit the command screen and punched in the signal to stop the ship. With the other he grabbed the phone and screamed the same command to the engine room for a crash manoeuvre. It was vital that they stop the ship as quickly as possible. More calmly he instructed the chief engineer to initiate a check of the propulsion and steering systems as well as the integrity of the hull.
As he glanced again at the radar screen he could see the telltale image of the ship they had hit. He grabbed the phone to the master’s cabin and it was picked up almost immediately.
‘Sir, we have hit another ship a glancin
g blow on our port side. I can confirm that the ship was in darkness and not broadcasting AIS data. I have ordered a crash manoeuvre and am organising an immediate check for damage.’
Neither Kumar nor Rekesh heard the acknowledgement but knew the master would be on the bridge in moments. The navigation officer turned to them with his eyes ablaze.
‘Did you see any navigation lights?’ he demanded.
‘No, no,’ replied both Kumar and Rekesh almost in unison. ‘There were no lights.’
‘What about the AIS and radar screens?’ he asked.
‘I’d checked the AIS display only moments before we hit – there was little traffic around and nothing close,’ added Rekesh.
‘Look!’ said the navigation officer as he pointed forcibly at the radar screen. ‘There, you can see it clear as day,’ he shouted into their faces.
He then turned back to the main console and repeated the check on all of the systems; all appeared to be normal.
‘Listen to me,’ said the navigation officer in a threatening tone. ‘The ship was not displaying AIS data. There were no navigation lights and you failed to see it on radar screen. Do you understand?’ he demanded as he glared at them.
It was clear. There would be no mention that the navigation officer was asleep. All three of them would state that no navigation lights could be seen and the ship was not broadcasting AIS data. They couldn’t explain why it had not been spotted on radar – unless it didn’t want to be seen.
The navigation officer had reported the collision to the Italian coast guard and was making an open broadcast to all ships in the area that a collision had occurred. He was confirming that the Eastern Star was stopping and returning to the impact area when the master burst onto the bridge. He would continue broadcasting this message for the next hour as they tried to follow the path of the vessel they had hit. It was difficult. The grey image on the radar screen had moved directly south and was merging with the numerous grey images of other ships in the main shipping channel. There was no AIS data being displayed. It looked like it was trying to hide.
A ship of forty thousand tonnes cannot stop immediately; it takes time. In fact, it took almost twenty minutes to slow sufficiently to commence a turn and begin a return to the impact site. During this time an assessment revealed that, despite some deformation on the bulbous bow, the Eastern Star had suffered little or no damage – after all, scrap was scrap. Two hours after the collision and despite repeated attempts to contact the vessel they had struck, the Eastern Star abandoned its search.
For the Gronkowski 34 it was a violent blow that caused significant damage. The bulbous bow of the Eastern Star was parting the water just below sea level. If it had been possible to take a video of the collision, and play it back in slow motion, one would have seen the steel plates of the Gronkowski 34 and bulbous bow of the Eastern Star begin to deform as the two ships touched. Then, as they were forced together, the bow of the Eastern Star dug deeper into the hull of the old freighter. It created a long, bright scar in the metal, gouging a deepening trough, before it breached the hull. The massive momentum of the forty thousand tonne ship, travelling at fifteen knots, simply pushed the smaller ship out of its way. The two ships ran side by side for a few more seconds before the bow of the Gronkowski 34 bounced off the side of the Eastern Star. The contact was over.
The master, first officer and helmsman were on the bridge of the Gronkowski 34. Two seamen were posted fore and two aft on lookout. In the swirling sea mist and sound masked by the dull, rhythmic pounding of the engine, the stern lookout saw the Eastern Star too late. One moment Gregor was sitting on a bollard, musing on how he could spend his bonus in St. Petersburg, the next a huge grey shape was bearing down on him. He could see the bow wave and navigation lights. They were going to be rammed! He darted away from the oncoming ship and ran around the stern deck towards Anotoly, the other lookout. Gregor screamed at him, ‘We are going to be rammed,’ as he dragged his crewmate up the stairs to the bridge. They were halfway up the stairs when the ship struck. They were both thrown violently against the stair rail and bent double, but were not flung overboard. In a pile of arms and legs, wrenched shoulders and more than a few bruises, they simply held on until the ship steadied.
The two lookouts on the bow were less fortunate. The impact and violent movement of the ship threw them off their feet. The crewman on the starboard side was catapulted over the side and into the dark water never to be seen again. The man on the port side was slammed into a hatch cover. His head seemed to crack like a ripe melon; he died almost instantaneously.
After hours of staring into the darkness attention on the bridge had waned. The helmsman also saw the Eastern Star at the last moment and called the alarm. The master and first officer tried to brace themselves for impact; the helmsman simply clutched the edge of the console but all three were flung across the bridge like rag dolls and against bulkheads and hatchways. The three of them were stunned and struggled to stand as the Gronkowski 34 was tossed around. They couldn’t see the massive container ship glide past but could hear and feel the vibration as the two ships scraped together. Then the urgent “AWOOGA, AWOOGA, AWOOGA” of a klaxon shattered the night air. The master got to his feet and stared in the direction of the sound and could see the ship moving away from them. He had previously ordered that all electronic equipment be switched off. As a result he never heard the open broadcast from the Eastern Star. He recovered quickly and rang down to the engine room; it took some time for the chief to answer.
In the engine room of the Gronkwoski 34 Boris and Sergei were sitting on small collapsible metal and canvas chairs, next to an equally small collapsible table. In the subdued glow of a battery lantern they were playing chess. They played every day. During a busy watch they would attend to their duties and as they passed the chess board they would note if a move had been made. Sometimes one of them would respond immediately as though it was a tournament and a timer was running. At other times, when more pressing duties had to be completed, they would think through the best move. Tonight there was nothing to do and so they could sit down and play together. The ship had been drifting for almost five hours with the engine merely ticking over. The rendezvous should have been hours ago – they were late. With the ship in darkness it was merely a case of routinely checking the temperatures and pressures and keeping the lubrication levels topped up, an easy watch. Boris picked up his white knight and held it momentarily above its future position on the board. He never placed it on the board.
The dull rhythmic, soporific hum of the engine room was shattered by the violent collision. As hull plates buckled and bulkheads collapsed, Boris and Sergei were thrown across the deck and into a solid guard rail. They were caught in a tangle of arms and legs. As nano seconds passed the deck deformed like a wrinkled carpet, hatches were sprung and both steam pipes and fuel lines were ruptured. The battery lantern was thrown off its hook and shattered on the deck plunging the small corner of the engine room into darkness. A high-pitched whistle rang out as steam escaped from a ruptured pipe. It combined with the dull screech of metal upon metal as the two hulls scraped together. The stench of fuel oil permeated the engine room as it mixed with the steam and sprayed over everything. With his right shoulder dislocated Boris scrambled, crab-like, along the companion way and hit the emergency light button. Dull lights shone overhead. At first he couldn’t believe the transformation. The engine room was bathed in a mist of steam and fuel oil. He could already sense the increased temperature; it was as though he had been transported into a Turkish bath. The machinery and bulkheads glistened as the steam and fuel condensed and coated every surface. The smell of the diesel almost made him vomit. The portside generator had been ripped from the deck and thrust into the air. It was tilting at an extreme angle against the main engine. He turned his head to look for Sergei and could see him grimacing and clutching his side but there was no time to go to his aid. As the ship continued to bounce in the water Boris leaped across the companion
way and hit the lever to stop the engine. It was then that he heard the water gushing into the hull.
Chapter 31
The aftermath
Surprisingly Boris felt little pain, just the lack of strength in his right arm. A quick glance at the ruptured steam pipe was all he needed to decide which flexible coupling was needed to repair it. As the chief engineer and two more engine crew arrived, Boris was struggling to slide a threaded metal sleeve over one end of the ruptured steam pipe. Boris’s right hand, holding a wrench, hung uselessly by his side. His crewmate spotted the deformed shoulder and took the wrench off him and completed the repair. Others improvised the reconnection of the ruptured fuel pipe and generator, even if they were unsure the generator would ever work ever again. The chief returned the call from the master and gave him an update.
Before the Gronkowski 34 had been shut down and commenced its drift the chief engineer had men check that all the waterproof hatches along the length and breadth of the ship were closed and locked off. He now got others to take a sprung hatch off its hinges and shore up the space with baulks of timber. It was going to be a frantic race to prevent water entering the engine room. He had done all he could; it was time to head for the bridge.
On the bridge the master had dispatched his first officer to the rear deck to report on any visible damage. He knew that the ship that had hit them was much bigger than the Gronkowski 34. It would take time for it to assess its own damage, slow down and return to the scene. From the brief view he had of the ship he judged it was a cargoless container ship of thirty to forty thousand tonnes. It was probably a Panamax. He also knew that the master of that ship would be openly broadcasting news of the collision, that the coast guard would have been notified and that others would be converging on the scene.
Missing Presumed Lost Page 18
