When Civil Servants Fail

by John Schou

smiled at this detail. The fat man continued, “That was, however, only the formal reason for their action, and please recognize that the authorities have not been informed of the real reason. That gives us some possibilities to repair the damage done, if I may say so, before your shipping company suffers graver losses.”

  “They are already grave enough,” Mr. Jensen uttered.

  Without telling our guest that I had not been informed in advance, Mr. Smith continued. “Mr. Cordone had discovered that among the 400 tons of so-called ‘humanitarian aid,’ there were at least 300 tons of toxic waste.”

  “Actually, there were 350 tons, covered by a thin layer of bags with milk-powder and maize grains,” Jensen added.

  “Thanks for an honest reply. The crew space members have made up some conditions for taking up the travel. At first, there is the need for further goods for humanitarian aid – the ship is anyhow less than half full.”

  “No problem, I would myself suggest it, we have got a relevant cargo which can also go to Dakar,” Jensen said.

  “And how soon can that be delivered?”

  “It is already on its way. If it was only for that, the ship might sail the day after tomorrow.”

  “Very well,” said Mr. Smith, “we may then consider the other conditions. The second is payment of a risk surplus of 100% to the normal salary.”

  “I can offer 50%.”

  “Shall we meet in the middle or possibly at 74% after one week’s hard negotiations?”

  “No, under that circumstance, I agree to 75%, provided they really sail the day after tomorrow.”

  “Thirdly, I can offer Mr. Gusto here as the eight crew member. Of course, he shall be paid as the others. He is not acquainted with hard work, but if I understand it rightly, there is a demand for two persons on the bridge all the time, and there he can do his service. He will then act as a guarantee towards both parties that this agreement will be carried out. Then he shall fly home from Dakar, assuming he can be replaced there. How long will the travel last?”

  “Normally some 10 days. At latest in a fortnight, Mr. Gusto shall be back again.”

  Quite a comfortable sea-travel, to bring European waste along with scarce products for humanitarian aid to Africa. There were certain matters to be discussed with Mr. Smith, but I should better wait until after Mr. Jensen had left.

  “Finally, there is my own fee of 100,000 DKr, to be paid when the ‘Frozen Gulf’ arrives in Dakar. The payment for the captain is, of cause, a matter between the two of you. According to my experience, he should not earn less than his subordinates, or there shall be new troubles.”

  Not bad for little more than an hour’s work. I found it strange that Jensen agreed to it all. He only wanted to hear if all the rebellious sailors would also stick to the agreement. Mr. Smith gave me a small note on which the mobile phone number of Mr. Cordone was written. I called him and connected to Mr. Smith.

  “We have agreed to further 400 ton humanitarian aid, 75% surplus to your wage and finally my assistant, Mr. Gusto, will join the travel to Dakar. If you agree, on behalf of all 6 sailors, the loading can proceed tomorrow and you can sail a day later. If not, my service shall be in vain. Mr. Jensen is here and may later sign the agreement about your wages ... you agree? Then please tell Mr. Jensen directly. Mr. Gusto will bring you a copy of the signed agreement tomorrow at 10 a.m., when he shall see you and the rest of the crew by the ship. Please prepare to load the remaining goods tomorrow. Departure will be the day after.” He handed over the phone to our guest and started talking to a small device from which I a little later would have to type the contract. It was not a large text, but I had to go to my office for the paperwork. As I returned, the two men had just ended their conversation, and they both signed the papers. Mr. Jensen folded his copy and placed it in his right inner pocket of his jacket. Then he said goodbye and left.

  After escorting him to the main entrance, a procedure I always carry out to see that the guests really leave and the door closes behind them, I asked my boss: “What made you so sure that Mr. Cordone would agree to the deal?”

  “Because he had only asked for a surplus of 50% and expected even less.”

  “I still don’t like that I am going to take part in an illegal export of toxic waste to Africa.”

  “I wanted first to see if the shipping company would pay excessive amounts to get the transaction carried out rapidly. Then we still have a week to find out who is behind and get the mission interrupted.”

  “But then you shall not earn your fee,” I busted out.

  “I expect to earn a fee; and I do not expect to earn it from Mr. Jensen.”

  “How much and from whom?”

  He smiled. “I do not know; anyhow, we are not dependant of it.”

  He was right. In his case it was gymnastics for the brain and in my case it was two weeks calm sea travel – at least, that was what I then expected.

  2 – Frozen Gulf

  The next morning, I decided to have a look at my home for the next two weeks, which on that day was to be found in Copenhagen’s free zone harbour, ‘Frihavnen,’ just in walking distance from my own apartment. There was no need to go to Mr. Smith that morning. I had become used to Juanita’s breakfast and made no attempt to compete with it; a single cup of coffee would have to suffice. Besides, it perhaps marked a step down to the quality onboard thus ameliorating the shock. I also tried to find out about my future job by surfing in the Internet, but the information in the pages, I selected, was either too superficial or too specific, so I gave up in less than an hour.

  Then I called my girlfriend, Alice, to tell her that I had changed the job, was now a sailor and incidentally in the harbour, so how about tonight? She was, of course, curious but had something to do then, so she suggested the evening later. I refused to tell her the special circumstances on the phone, thereby awakening so strong a curiosity in her that she agreed to make it possible in her home, in the same part of Copenhagen, at 8 p.m.

  I had plenty of time, but it could not harm to be a little early in the harbour. I had forgotten that I was leaving Denmark as I was stopped in the customs-office. It was necessary to go back and fetch my passport, and suddenly the superfluous time was gone. When I came back, I asked the customer if he knew where ‘Frozen Gulf’ was anchoring. He laughed.

  “Anchoring? Not in this harbour. Ships are moored here. What is your interest in the ship, anyhow?”

  “I am an assistant by a lawyer,” I lied. Detectives are anyhow out of fashion, and perhaps the man never heard about ‘consultant,’ leading to the question what a consultant actually does (in Mr. Smith’s case an embarrassing question, since he let do and does nothing himself).

  “Hmm. A Canadian passport – but you speak perfectly Danish?” he asked.

  “You too,” I stated, although I did not like his dialect – we from the North of Copenhagen do not sympathize with how those from the South Copenhagen speak. “Actually, my mother is Danish, but my father claimed that nowadays it has certain advantages to have a citizenship different from the place where you live.”

  “Your father is not a democrat,” the costumer claimed.

  “No, he is dead now. How did you know?” It was a lie, but it fulfilled its purpose. He changed the theme and explained me, where I would find the ship.

  “It is at least the fourth name it has.”

  “How come?”

  “New owner, new name, old ship.” I began to fear for my leisure trip. But now, other persons neared and the time had passed 10 a.m., to which I could add a quarter until I finally reached my future home.

  “We almost feared you would not come,” Mr. Cordone said.

  “I was suddenly aware of my incompetence as a sailor,” I answered. “But I started studying the matters. I know now where starboard and portside is.”

  “That suffices for your part in our trip. I mean, everybody can shovel coal.” He saw my disappointed face, and then he started to laugh. “Don’t worr
y, neither coal, nor sail are required for pushing the ‘Frozen Gulf’ forward, the ship is perhaps old but can sail all by itself. It has a satellite-aided auto-pilot. You tell it where to go and it almost sails there automatically.”

  “What is then my task?

  “Just being there. The law requires two persons at the time on the bridge. One is the captain or one of the two second officers. You will be there most of the daytime; the others are sharing the less comfortable times. All the crew is very easy, except one. Unfortunately, he is the captain, except for you the only Dane on board.”

  “With me as well. I’m a Canadian citizen.”

  That message pleased him. “A Canadian, we did not have that before. The first officer is a Dutchman, Johan Krueger, the second is the Russian Igor Kreschov; then we have the most important person who keeps us all alive, the cook, Liu something – I anyhow cannot speak out his Philippine surname, even if I remembered it. Then there is the specialist for communication and navigation, an English lady Barbara Anders. Finally, the two responsible for the machine: me, as you know I’m Italian and then my assistant, Konstantin from Latvia; and since the machine largely takes care of itself, we are also dealing with all kinds of physical work under or above the deck. Except for Captain Caspersen, God’s representative on this ship, we use only the first name. Mine is Luciano.”

  “I’m Eric. But tell me, if the other members of the crew are following their assigned duties, who are there, except me, to be second on the bridge?”

  “Everyone has duties there, even the cook. The machine usually runs without problems as long as there is oil in the tank and communication and navigation is part of the job for everybody on the bridge. You are perhaps dreaming about telegraph and sextant?”

  “Ay, ay, sir – I mean Luciano.”

  “Instead, we have Emails and GPS via satellites. We even have an autopilot, so much of the earlier excitement about sailing is gone by now. Strictly it would be possible to sail the ship with half the crew.”

  I decided to write down these entire names although I knew that I would soon know them by heart.

  Crew: M/S Frozen Gulf

  Captain Thorkild Caspersen, Danish

  1st Officer Johan Krueger, Dutch

  2nd Officer Igor Kreschov, Russian

  Chief engineer: Luciano Cordone, Italian

  His assistant: Konstantin Liegoff. Latvian

  Cook : Liu Mai-Pen. Philippines

  Radio: Barbara Anders, English

  Ill defined: Eric Gusto – Canadian/Danish

  “If I get it right, the ship is old but modernized. But what about containers? I thought that was the modern way of cargo transfer.”

  “That has certainly become very widespread, but it is not universal. Besides, this is, as you rightly stated, an old ship. The engine is new and also the navigation accessories are completely up-to-date, but beneath several layers of paint, there may not be so much metal as you would dream about,” Luciano claimed.

  “Is it something you know or something you guess?” I asked.

  “You can talk about knowledge, but I cannot tell you here. The captain is approaching.”

  Indeed, a stout seaman with a bright-blue uniform came down the gangway. He looked rather sour but welcomed me as Luciano introduced me with surname. “Excuse me that my Danish is far from perfect. The language has suffered much from sailing with the United Nation’s most mixed crew for several years. Mr. Jensen told me that you had made our mission possible, even that you have defended my salary without a word from me.”

  I did not want to tell him it was Mr. Smith, no harm if he would be grateful towards me. This was a good occasion to present him for my reservations. “Please take that as a justified compensation for having me onboard. Mr. Jensen told me that I should fill up on the bridge for formal reasons, although I have no idea of my tasks