Storm Ports

by Robert James Allison

  Chapter Two

  The small, twin-engine, turboprop Cessna Caravan EX slowly circled the island, turned into the wind, and lined itself up to the tiny asphalt runway at the far south end of the island. During the circle Mike got a good look at Keykan. In the center there was a strip of high hills about one mile wide and probably seven miles long which varied in height throughout the length of the island.

  He had done some research on Keykan before he left the states and he knew it was 15 miles long and 10 miles wide with scattered areas of dense population, and as Joshua had told him, its sole economic engine was fishing.

  He could see some houses nestled in the valleys of some of the hills, but most of the populace seemed to be located on the wide strip of land at the base of the center hills to the ocean shore, on either side of the island. Predominantly, the houses appeared, from the air at least, to be simple ranch-type houses built high off the ground, presumably, in case of high water. The houses were small compared to American standards, but probably contained two or three bedrooms from the look of them and each had some palm trees and assorted small bushes or small flower gardens around them. The most populated area likened to a city in the United States was located on the south side of the island and looked as if it might contain 6,000 people. There were no high-rise buildings though and nothing that really looked to be a main business district. He suspected any shops were dispersed along the first two or three streets back from the harbor which was about one mile long and maybe a half a mile wide. The harbor was jammed with small sailing ships of various sizes and shapes.

  The view from the airplane was beautiful. The rolling green hills dotted with palm trees contrasting with the lower lands of sand and long grasses. All against the backdrop of the crystalline blue ocean dotted with white areas undoubtedly caused by the waves inundating the reefs and shoreline.

  The view was tempered though by what he had been told the problem was down here. Almost monthly ships were lost and sailors drowned in that beautiful blue ocean, striving to catch some of those plentiful fish. Just so that they and their family could survive yet another year in a very poor economy that depended solely on exporting fish and importing everything else that was needed.

  Keykan was located over 1,000 miles east of Brazil, the nearest island mass was over 500 nautical miles distant to the north and the Cessna Caravan EX he was on was the only aircraft servicing this island on a regular basis. This aircraft made weekly trips to the next island to the north and then island hopped to Brazil. It was equipped with floats for those islands and places where no suitable landing strip was available. It made one early morning flight up and one late flight down from that northern island, just one day a week, Monday. He was on the late flight down.

  It was about sundown here now and he was very tired after having started before dawn. The connections to Brazil were easy and pretty fast, but after that, it was a long wait to island hop to the island of Keykan. He was well ahead of schedule when he connected to Brazil, but well behind schedule when he connected with the Cessna. In fact, so far behind that he had to run to catch it—and run he had, there was no way he wanted to spend a week waiting for next Monday to come around. Although he suspected that with the right amount of money a plane could be chartered to Keykan. Right now this particular plane was the only plane available to service the islands so far as he knew and it wouldn’t have been back for a couple of days at least, because it serviced a lot of islands other than Keykan.

  The airplane bumped twice, slipped from side to side, and then firmly touched its wheels to the runway throwing the passengers slightly forward when the pilot bore down on the brakes. The Cessna was a ten-passenger plane and it was full. He had gotten the last seat, but it was a small enough airplane that even from the worst seat one could get a pretty good view out the window.

  Finally, the airplane pulled up to a small shack which must have passed for the terminal building and cut its engines. A ground crewman folded down a small stairway to disembark the passengers while a second began unloading baggage and doing what Mike guessed passed down here for sorting it. Every other bag was thrown on a different wheeled cart without regard for whether it happened to match the one before it or not and without looking at any baggage tags.

  Well, he thought, only ten passengers, and only two bags are mine. Shouldn’t be too hard to find the right bags. He chuckled to himself, thinking that not two years ago if his baggage had been treated that way he would have gone in to his tyrant mode, yelled, and raved until it was sorted properly. Also, he thought, with a wry smile to himself, I would not have been caught dead flying a dinky little airplane like this. I would have come in style by chartering my own plane, providing the runway could handle it and if it couldn’t, I would have chartered the biggest, flashiest, and fastest ship I could find. Back then Mike Maltby always arrived and stayed in style.

  Not now though, he pondered, those days are gone forever and good riddance. He could see now that all of his flash and high living did not amount to a hill of beans and he suspected that everyone else around him had figured that out long ago. Just as he walked down the steps and reached the ground to turn for his bags a big black limousine screeched around the end of the little shack and rolled to a stop just short of the baggage carts. A man jumped out of the right-front passenger seat and hurried over to the passengers gathered around the bags trying to figure out which bag was which.

  “Mr. Maltby? Mr. Maltby?” the man said to the crowd in general.

  “Yes. Right here,” Mike responded, not loudly, but clearly audible over the chatter of the other passengers. He was slightly embarrassed though by the attention now focused on him by the crowd and baggage man.

  He didn’t think he had spoken so loud as to make a scene, but the whole crowd went silent as the man who had yelled his name approached him and reached out to shake his hand. He realized why the crowd was so astonished when the man broke out of the crowd and got closer.

  “Good evening, Mr. Maltby. Thank you for coming.”

  “Hello again, Mr. President, I wasn’t expecting such a regal reception. I’m honored,” he said a little lamely with the realization of why the crowd had stopped to stare—it wasn’t on account of him at all.

  He guessed even in a small island country like this, it wasn’t often the president personally waded through a crowd of people, without security, just to greet a visitor. But then he had gotten the impression in Washington that this president was not ordinary. This man was obviously a leader among men. One who would be a leader, even if he were just a fisherman, and not the elected president.

  Mike knew that some men were born to lead and election to office had nothing to do with it. He also realized that some men could never lead, no matter how high the office they held.

  This man was born to be great even if he never left this island. Mike could tell that from the way the people around him acted. They not only respected him as their president and leader, but they loved him. No wonder this man is so concerned about the lives of his people. Some leaders expect their followers to lay down their lives for them, but this leader would clearly lay down his life for any of his people. It was in his face, his walk, his very appearance. Mike envied him. President Joshua Ballinger was a “giver” and all Mike Maltby had ever done was “take”.

  Once the president appeared on the scene it seemed to him that his bags also miraculously appeared, and were whisked away to the waiting limousine. Joshua led him to the limousine and opened the rear door for him, climbing in the back seat himself only after Mike was settled.

  “My driver will take us to the presidential palace where I hope you will consent to be my house guest.”

  “I would be honored, Mr. President,” he responded.

  “Please, feel free to call me Joshua, especially when we are alone. I pride myself in being just one of the residents of Keykan and I like to stay in touch with my people. Much to the dislike of my ministers who are supposed to guard me as we
ll as counsel me. I keep telling them that I need no guards. I have nothing to fear from my people. They gave me my authority and if they wish for me to give it back, they need only ask, but my ministers don’t seem to accept that fact.”

  “They are old fashioned in their protection of you. I can understand that. Is your whole island old fashioned? If you know what I mean?”

  “Yes. The people cling to the old ways very fiercely. They resist modernization. That is part of the problem. My people will not modernize their fishing methods. Everyone still uses the small sail-type fishing boat. Not even large enough to classify as a trawler. A very few have small outboard motors in case they are caught in calm seas, but most just have the sail and oars. None have any navigational equipment, save a small magnetic compass. A very few have radios to receive, but not to transmit.

  “Boats ill equipped such as that are at the mercy of the fog and storms, but I have not been able to modernize the boats. Of course, not much modernization would be possible or affordable. Two-way radios possibly, but battery operated, since most of the boats have no engine to power a generator and those that do are too small.

  “I need a solution that is in keeping with my people’s stubborn refusal to modernize and yet be affordable on their meager budgets and the meager budget of the government. I have struggled with the problem ever since being elected president. Actually, even before that.

  “My father was washed overboard and lost when we were out fishing. I swore then to find a solution. However, the solution eludes me and so I make a desperate trip to the United States to talk with your president, but there is no help in your country. Then I place my hope in a stranger who has honesty and sincerity in his eyes, hoping for the solution I cannot find. Do you think you can help? Or do you not know enough of the problem yet?”

  “I can help, Joshua. I can’t tell you how it will work yet, but I have the solution. Putting it together so that you can afford it may be the trick, but I think I can find a way. Your people are going to have to change some of their attitudes…at least a little bit.”

  “Really. Tell me, please!” Joshua exclaimed.

  “You need a navigational system that looks over horizons and through storms. One that tells your boats where they are and also tells your boats where your harbor is. You need GPS systems in your boats and your people need to learn how to use them,” he responded evenly.

  “Mr. Maltby, I figured that out years ago, but how to make it work in our archaic boats with no money is the problem,” Joshua responded with dismay.

  “That’s where I come in. You need someone who can make things work. Someone who knows the people who can put it together and with a little effort, a way will be found for you to afford it. These things have to be taken one step at a time. They have to be organized. We cross each money and technical bridge as we get there. Don’t try to jump the river all at once by yourself. That’s what you’ve been doing. I’m an expert at putting things together. I used to make a lot of money doing it, but now I do it for other reasons,” he finished with enthusiasm.

  As the limousine rolled along the streets of the main populated area he realized that the pretty ranch houses he had seen from the air were in need of a lot of work. They were lightly constructed affairs and not nearly as neat and clean as they had appeared to be from the air. He started to appreciate what Joshua had said about this being a poor people. From the looks of the houses and streets there was little enough money for living, let alone, for navigational hardware. It was no wonder they continued to fish in little sailboats.

  He doubted there was enough money per household to buy any extra equipment. So another part of the problem had become clear to him. Money problems meant nothing to him. He had lived with money concerns his entire life. Not that he ever needed money—it’s just that he knew how to make it, and avoid using it when necessary.

  After passing through what appeared to be the business district, which was comprised of small one-story, wood-clad buildings with signs advertising various items, the limousine drove up a slight rise and stopped in front of a large three-story house. This was the only structure he had so far seen on this island that was taller than one story.

  This had to be the presidential palace and it looked to be no more than a large house. There was nothing fancy about it, but it was neatly kept and had a variety of flowers and bushes on the front and along the sides. A short circular drive led them to the front door and to the base of a set of steps leading up to the main entrance where two guards in regal uniforms of red, with gold and silver trim, stood at attention.

  Joshua climbed out as one of the guards came and opened the door and he waited until he was out. Gesturing, Joshua led the way up the steps and into the spacious entryway. Across and off to the right of the entryway was a staircase leading up, presumably, to the second and third floors. There were several doors to either side of the entryway which he assumed contained dining rooms, conference rooms, offices, and studies.

  Once inside, Joshua turned to him and said, “You will be shown to your room and given an opportunity to clean up and change clothes. Then please join me for dinner downstairs and perhaps afterward we can talk some more about this problem.”

  A butler took him up the stairs to a spacious bedroom on the second floor with adjoining bathroom and a small sitting room. The room was at the front of the house in one corner and offered a magnificent view of the sea and harbor below. An hour later he was called for and led downstairs to the dining room in the front of the house, also in a corner which offered a good view of the gardens to the side and a glimpse of the harbor below. When he entered the dining room, he was surprised to see candles on the table and coal lamps burning on the sideboards.

  Apparently noticing his surprised look, Joshua explained, “As I told you, Mr. Maltby. We are a poor country and our small power plant is reserved mostly for use during the day to operate our necessary facilities. After dark the power is cut back to operate only immediately necessary functions, which does not include electricity for the palace. That, of course, is because of my personal direction that the palace could use lamps and candles, too. We import coal to burn in our small coal-fired generator on the north end of the island and when fishing is bad coal is less available to us.”

  He was pleased to discover that the dinner was spectacular. He was treated to large cuts of the best prime rib he had ever tasted and he had tasted plenty. Salads abounded and the dinner was finished off with a large selection of desserts. He thought that coal must not be the only thing imported here. He was pleasantly surprised not to have been laden with five courses of fish. Fish was not high on his list of things to eat.

  As if reading his mind, which Joshua seemed to have a knack for doing, Joshua said, “We don’t always eat fish here, Mike. We fish for a living, but we like to eat a variety of foods.”

  “I was thinking just that. You must import some fine beef along with your coal,” he responded amiably.

  “Actually, no. We have some small herds of beef up north in the hills and a few hogs. The lush vegetation of the low hills makes excellent cattle feed and the people sometimes enjoy a change from fish. Some goats live in the wild up on the high ridges, too.”

  “Very resourceful. Tell me how much grazing land do you have up north?”

  “Probably fifteen square miles,” Joshua replied evenly.

  “Well, let’s see if I remember my acreage calculations correctly, that would be about ninety-six hundred acres. At just one cow per acre, give or take a little for sparse vegetation and allowing for grazing rotation so as not to over graze your land, you could easily support a herd of six thousand cattle. Annual production could be as high as three thousand head, but being conservative let’s say two thousand head, times, at least, five hundred dollars per head ‘Free on Board Seller’, depending upon how you marketed them. That would give you a million dollars per year additional income to apply towards navigational equipment.

  “Plus, cattle don�
�t get lost in the fog and storms. Of course, not all of that is profit, but raising cattle by the volume is not all that expensive. I think you could even increase that a bit over time with better grazing habits and refinement of your herd. You might also develop some other marketing technics to give you a higher price per head.

  “You might want to develop channels directly to packing plants and commercial users to cut out the middle man who slices off some profit for himself along the way. Have the freighters take the beef directly to the packing companies,” he finished flatly.

  Joshua just sat there with his mouth open.

  Finally, Joshua found his voice and said, “I’ll admit I had my doubts about you, but I have never met anyone who could grasp a situation like that so readily and lay it out so plainly. We always just raised beef for our own consumption and not much at that. It never occurred to anyone that we could raise enough beef to sell just like we sell fish. You may be the answer to many years of prayer.”

  “I don’t think I’m the answer to anyone’s prayers, but I know business and you could sell beef more readily than you could sell fish. Any kid with a cane pole can supply himself with fish, but it takes a real program to supply volume beef. If what I have eaten tonight is any example, your beef could become world famous. You know Argentina has done quite well selling beef and no one would have guessed that it would be the type of country to raise much beef. I could help you set up the markets and I can find some experts on animal husbandry to get your ranches going. You can plant some corn and feed it to the cattle. There is a better market for grain-fed beef.”

  Joshua just sat dumb founded for a minute and then said, “I think I have definitely under estimated you. You’re no empty braggart. You know figures and business. I’m convinced there isn’t a business you can’t conquer if you put your mind to it. Maybe you really can solve our problem of the lost sailors.”