THIS WORK IS COPYRIGHTED. NO PRINTING OR REPRODUCTION OF THE WHOLE BOOK OR ANY PART OF THIS BOOK CAN BE USED IN ANY MEDIA FORM EITHER IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA OR INTERNATIONALLY WITHOUT THE EXPRESSED WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR, DAVID P. REMY.
THE STORY IN THE NOVEL IS A WORK OF FICTION. THERE IS NO INTENTION TO PORTRAY ANY LIVING PERSON OR ACTUAL CIRCUMSTANCE.
ALL AUTHOR AND PUBLISHER RIGHTS RESERVED BY DAVID P. REMY, 2012
Copyright 2012
ISBN: 9781618429605
PROLOGUE
A Dark Dank Day in Denmark
“Guilty on all counts!” proclaimed the jury foreman to the presiding Judge.
A hushed rumble of approval rolled through the observation gallery. The Judge raised his eyes and eyebrows in readiness to pound the gavel for silence. Finding it unnecessary, he advanced the proceedings quickly to the punishment faze. In 1946, the year following the Great War world, trials were executed in a more furious fashion to match the crimes which everyone wanted to get behind them. A hoped for rush forward into a brighter future was the overriding urge.
“In view of the proven horrendous nature of your crime, now confirmed by the guilty verdict of your peers, I have no recourse but to sentence you to prison for the remainder of your natural life. Though a young man, I have a concern that even the expected longevity of your life will not give you sufficient pause to come to the remorse required for your crime against humanity. I hope that one day you will acknowledge the horror you caused those you harmed. I think only God could offer you any semblance of forgiveness. Bailiff, remove the prisoner from this court.”
Rolf S. Stuttgar was not so gently escorted to his holding cell. The very next morning he would be transported to his next and final home at the infamous Clausderham Prison in the dark valley of his homeland. A homeland he had indelibly soiled by the enslavement of his fellow citizens as a collaborator with the Nazis conquerors.
Stuttgar had been the efficient chief manager of hundreds of skilled draftsmen, engineers and shipbuilders at the renowned Mayhem Shipyard in his native Denmark---the country best known for the Bard’s brooding Hamlet and crazed Ophelia. Allowing for the best of explanations, Stuttgar had too quickly succumbed to the persuasive methods of the Gestapo converting his shipyard employees into slave laborers. The shrewd Stuttgar had convinced everyone that he objected and went along with the scheme for the good of his fellow citizens. The truth betrayed his secret desire to share in the power and the imagined glory of the Third Reich…which he felt was surely the regime of his future…a future in which he envisioned himself as becoming a rich and powerful local leader.
Following the unpleasantness of the war, conjoined with the sudden extraction of the uninvited invaders, the collaborators, including one Rolf Samuel Stuttgar found themselves on the loser’s side…as history would record, the wrong side. With the trials aimed at the re-establishment of the former norm, Stuttgar found himself in the dock. Accused of the enslavement of his fellow citizens, the facts accentuated the human horror which this status brought. Harsh realities bearing such unsavory titles as starvation, untreated diseases, rape, bullying, torture and out and out murder. The shipyard work had to go on…at all costs…production before people was the standard operating principle of the day.
The trial investigators procured the overwhelmingly damning evidence from the sordid stories of the survivors. The physical evidence was secondary to these personal accounts. One fact became clear: Rolf S. Stuttgar was not in this alone. Yet, no matter how diligently the police inspectors searched, they were unable to come up with that one bit of damning evidence…a hard copy document which would reveal Stuttgar’s “godfather” in this traitorous conspiracy at the Mayhem Shipyard.
CHAPTER ONE
(PRESENT DAY)
“God, Charlie, your pants are going to fall down if your belly gets any bigger,” Joyce snarled with her well honed snarl. She was behind her husband of forty-something years and had seen the enormous growth in his physique compared to their first days of wedding bliss. Well, growth in his body’s mid-section, to be specific. A forty-six inch belt made of genuine pig leather for two dollars from Bangkok’s outdoor market straining to surround a fifty-two inch, and growing, waist. Other parts belonging to Charlie had gotten smaller. Joyce didn’t care about the size of “that” anymore.
Making the mad scramble to the ship’s grand buffet room was the first mission of any veteran cruiser…acting like starving waifs? The cabins wouldn’t be available for another hour, so there was only one thing to do…eat! Joyce and Charlie struggled to find open chairs as they shuttled about half of the world’s known food groups from the multiple buffet bars to their table.
“There’s a couple seats open,” Charlie trumpeted like a Canada gander heading for his nest. “Slow down, Charlie. First ask those gentlemen if they’re available,” Joyce cautioned.
“I don’t care if they’re available, Joyce, I just want the seats,” he sneered. “These seats open guys?” Charlie’s plate was oozing spaghetti sauce and a fatty piece of what was descriptively labeled “prime rib”. The Chef’s attempt at tongue in cheek du jour.
Having the choice forced upon them and eying the overflowing platters, rivaling the size of TV satellite dishes, rocketing their direction, one of the two guys smiled, “sure, they’re all yours.” It was either that or risk having the slimy mess of delicacies decorates the floor for the overworked food attendant to clean up. Charity was the obvious priority.
A time out for two bites and the investigation began…with cheeks bulging like a gopher… “Where you guys from?”
“The States.”
“Well, ain’t that something. My wife and I are, too. Small world.” He takes another bite.
“Mostly the Midwest,” a bowed head cautiously volunteered.
“That’s nice,” Joyce chimed in. “Lots of Indians there,” she continued with an amazed expression on her face. Now her cheeks looked like a blow fish puffed out by the last mouthful of walnut salad.
“And, you folks?” The conversation was blazing with excitement, now.
Wiping his mouth due to the dripping pasta sauce, Charlie jumped right in, “We’re from Wyoming. Yep. A town called Saddlesore. Bet you can guess why it was named that, hey?” Charlie obviously was the self appointed group leader in charge of conversation in this marriage.
Looking at each other, the guys just shrugged a notch. “Don’t think we ever heard of your town.”
“We’re Charlie and Joyce. I’m Charlie. She’s Joyce,” blubbered Charlie.
“Figured who was who right from the git go, Charlie. Hi, Joyce and Charlie. I’m Lucky.” He began to extend his hand for the customary handshake, but thought better of it as Charlie had half a pint of spaghetti sauce dripping off his fingers.
Laughing, “Well, that’s the first time being introduced was considered lucky,” the Saddlesore duet chortled in unison.
With a chuckle, Lucky wiped his lips, “No, I mean I’m called Lucky. That’s my name.”
Not wanting to confuse this in depth introduction any further, Lucky’s tablemate chimed in, “And I answer when I’m called Led. That’s my name.” Never hurts to be specific with such a complicated bit of banter, he mused.
Sensing that this back and forth had reached its nadir, Lucky and Led excused themselves. Looking at his watch, Lucky shares, “I think it’s about time for the cabins to be available, so we wish You adieu. Nice to have met you. Have a great cruise, Joyce and Charlie.”
“Hey, thanks, guys. You, too.”
As Lucky and Led departed, Charlie leaned over to Joyce and stage whispered, “Hey, Cuddles, I wonder if them guys are one of those modern couples? Seemed like nice guys, anyway.”
&n
bsp; “Oh, Charlie, you’re letting your mind run wild, again. Sometimes I think you watch too many of those liberal TV shows for your own good.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, Cuddles…you always are.” Charlie raised the white flag. The only flag he ever raised to his beloved Cuddles.
****
After a few wrong turns, Lucky and Led found their cabin. Number 4027. A basic inside cabin, but at a good price for the two week cruise. Neither of them had the bucks for a suite, so settled on what they could afford. Cave dark motif. Made for great sleeping.
“Nice, actually,” Led announced. Led was the younger of the traveling duo. By twenty-five years. A bit shorter than the mean, carrying about one hundred sixty pounds, Led was an acceptable example of youthful strength and vitality. His rusty brown hair came with the Daley territory. His name, “Led”, was created from his father’s initials, Lawrence Edward Daley. Instead of the well worn moniker, “junior”, he was gifted with Dad’s initials. Subtle, but served the age old purpose for expressing parental ego.
“Smallish, but I’ve lived in smaller rooms in my boarding school days during my years of training,” Lucky responded. “Knowing you, Led, you’ll be all over the ship day and night, anyway…which I’ll appreciate,” he quickly added with a smile. “That leaves me the room to do my preparations and guarantees whole lot quieter without your whining.”
“You think you’re so funny,” Led fired back as he lightly jabbed Lucky with his elbow. “I’ll have you know that my prowling the ship has a purpose. I’m convinced that I’ll find the woman of my dreams this time. Right here on this ship. Its fate…written in the waves.”
Laughing, “I think that’s ‘stars’. We’ve been through this before, right? The single women on a cruise are looking for lust in all the right spaces…not love. But, I won’t fight fate. If it’s meant to be…
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. But, how’s a young, good looking, hot dude like me going to deny his obligation to share what I have to offer? It’s what I was created to do.”
“Led, you’re a trip and a half. Or, should it be ‘drip and a quarter’?”
“I’m rooming with a comedian. Don’t give up your day job, Lucky.”
“I’m just happy that you have your day job, Handyman.”
Led was a self styled “jack of all trades” and had worked for Lucky at his home off and on over that last six years. Through that mysterious linking of chemistry, Lucky and Led had become friends between all the jobs Led did for Lucky’s home and car and lawn and pool. You get the picture. Led was a gregarious fixer upper.
“Hey, your gigs aren’t all that bad. Just one service a day and two on Sundays. Not the work load to kill anyone, right?” Led teased Lucky about his profession, but had deep respect for it.
“Being a cruise chaplain is very demanding work, Led.” Lucky feigned his most serious facial expression.
“Whatever. I’m just happy that you can bring a guest along. Makes my search for the perfect lady a global adventure. Hey, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Anyway, my stomach’s growling,” he chuckled as he rubbed his slightly bulbous tummy. “See me gone.” Led was gone in a flash. No moss growing under his feet.
With half of the cabin occupants exiting, the room seemed pleasantly more…well…roomy. The stateroom telephone rang startling Lucky from his planning of where to stick all the stuff. His immediate thought was ‘I wonder what Led forgot now.’“Hello.”
“Sorry to bother you, Father Harris. This is Jeanette in Guest Relations. I have a request for your services. We don’t give out your room number. I’ll give you the guest’s phone number. You can return the call at your convenience. Is that alright, Sir?”
Reaching over the bed for paper and pen, both inscribed with the RDC logo, supplied on the desk, Lucky answered, “Absolutely…great…I’ll take down the number…just a sec…OK, I’m ready to write it down.” Lucky scribbled down the number. “And, the name, please?”
“Sorry about that, Sir, but the message doesn’t have a name on it.” And like all busy Guest Relations’ personnel, she clipped the conversation. “Thanks, Father Harris. I hope you have a great experience with us on our beautiful ship. Good bye.”
“Hmm…sure…thanks, good bye.” No name. That’s strange he noted.
Lucky quickly filed the strangeness impression into a separate mental compartment and got to the task of dividing the room’s storage space for him and Led. Really no problem, since Led would live out of his suitcase if Lucky would allow it. Though Lucky was not Led’s physical father, Lucky did feel like a foster father when it came to helping Led. There was a warm and supportive relationship between them.
Led had proven his devotion just over a year ago when Lucky had a serious medical issue which required hospitalization and home recovery. Led was there from start to finish. He showed a lot of caring; a lot of maturity when it was called for. Being a young man, though, he typically needed to broaden the reach of this maturity into other areas…like in the area of true romance. Oh, well, don’t we all have an area or two in which we need to mature?
Anyway, Lucky never forgot that special caring and attention during his illness. Lucky was eternally grateful for this young lad’s friendship. Besides, Led was a damn good handyman, when you could get his focus onto the task at hand and off of women. Good luck with that one, Lucky.
CHAPTER TWO
Royal Danish cruise lines was a world class international company commanding a fleet of premier sailing vessels. Their history was anchored in the historic shipbuilding ports of the far European north lands. The names included a dozen generations of legendary shipbuilding families. Who knows, they may have gone all the way back to Leif Erickson himself. Beginning with a small time ferry boat service between the myriad of the mostly frozen islands, in the usually ferocious North Sea, RDC had grown into what is recognized as a behemoth in today’s cruise industry.
During that shadowy period of the Great World War, all industries of an occupied country were nationalized by the invading Nazis on behalf their massive war effort to conquer the non Arian breeds. The Mayhem ship building company had bragging rights to a consistent philosophy of building the most up to date, cutting edge fleet of ships.
This evolved eventually into their highly successful modern cruise ship line. Today, the Royal Danish cruise lines boasted a litany of named sailing ships, numbering well over twenty, enhancing the oceans and seas of the world. Over 50,000 cruisers a week gleefully paid their hard earned savings to experience a breathtaking joy ride on the seas belonging to RDC. Noting the age parameters of the majority of cruisers, most of them paid out of their monthly pension savings.
“These engines are the most up to date both technically and environmentally,” the Chief Engineer barked as he led the group of special guest cruisers cum earplugs through his lower kingdom.
The spaces in the bowels of the ship were anything but luxurious akin to the passenger level decks, but they were an engineering marvel to the eye…worthy subject matter for the realist painter to bring to canvas. “Please watch your step as there are many short ladders all around these magnificent engines.”
“Ladders?”
Chief Engineer Hans Stydd heard the question. Just another land lubber he joked to himself as he noticed the rather obese lady who raised the question.
“Yes, Madam, a ladder is a set of steps in ‘shipeze’, our rather colorful naval language. Please be careful not to trip on them with your spiked heels. I’d hate to have you confined to your cabin for the trip and miss all those marvelous meals.” A shot across the bow, but she wouldn’t know what that meant either. He really needed to work on his streak of sarcasm.
CE Stydd continued touring his guests through the serpentine paths laced among the variety of pumps, engines, coolers, generators and complimentary machines which brought the ship alive… moving, breathing and supporting the human cargo. “You’ll notice my crew around every corner. They are housed in s
mall office spaces. Take my word for it; they all have a specialty as well as the general skills necessary in case of any emergency. Rest assured that you are on the safest vessel sailing the oceans. Personally, I know every square inch of these caverns. They are my home and this is my life.” Any questions?” said with a hope of dismissal in his voice.
“Yes, just one,” squeaked the same, and still, obese woman. “Does the ship make its own electricity? And, oh, does the crew sleep on board?”
“You’ll notice a long cable running out the back of the ship. Its plugged into a socket back at the port we sailed from.” Everyone chuckled, catching the humor. “And, yes, the crew sleeps on board so they don’t have to commute.” Again, a chorus of chuckles.
In a last attempt to redeem herself, she asked, “Where does the crew eat?”
“Madam, they would love to dine with you, however their job is to help keep the Chefs’ tools of cookery up and running. They’re here to make sure you don’t miss a meal from our galleys. My crew has its own dining room.” She waddled a bit and tugged at her blouse. Great, the shot hit home this time. Practice makes perfect.
With his morning docent duty done, CE Stydd retreated to his office. He was anxious to check his desk phone in case there was a blinking LED notifying him of a voice mail message. With a certain degree of dread, he registered the light flashing its signal of an awaiting message. He nervously reached for the phone and punched in the code for retrieving messages.
****
“Hi Folks, I’m Joey, your Cruise Director. Welcome aboard the beautiful North Star! We are going to have the most exciting fourteen day cruise, I promise you. Thank you for choosing Royal Danish cruise lines for your holiday. I’m all the way from sunny Florida in the United States.” Some claps and whistles.
“My excellent staff has prepared a full schedule of events for each day while aboard beginning with these first six days at sea on our Atlantic crossing.” The CD droned on with the usual introductory spiel twice that night in the lavishly ornate Sapphire Theatre bulging with the 2,150 some passengers making the cruise.
Cruise to Mayhem Page 1
