by John Schou
Dover in the afternoon, and I tried my mobile phone, but I only received a bad connection to Fred. He told me in Danish that Mr. Smith needed me home immediately, at best with my companions and if necessary without. Then the connection broke irreversibly.
The rest of the day was uneventful. I looked forward to the interruption of the sea-travel the next morning.
5 – Return to Sender
I had planned to get up early, but Liu’s magic potion, which should just pacify my stomach, pacified all of me instead. Anyhow, I had planned to get away from the ship this morning, but as I rushed into the mass, we were still sailing.
Liu had a surprise for me: a fresh croissant. To me, this has always been one of the signatures of French life as I know it from Quebec. I closed my eye and enjoyed it, then opened in reply to a call from Liu, who offered me a second one.
“Delicious – but where have you got it from?”
“From a boulanger in Cherbourg, by strict order of the captain, especially for you.”
I looked out of the window. The French coast was visible far away. “But where is Cherbourg?”
“We left it half an hour ago. There was only one pallet for us which Konstantin and Luciano loaded themselves without help from any harbour authorities. It was the shortest harbour-call I ever experienced. I had hardly time to get back from the baker shop.”
The blood left my face. Mr. Smith’s message to the French police had landed in the false hands and somebody has facilitated express loading of the extraordinary cargo.
“What is suddenly wrong with you, Eric,” asked Konstantin.
Before I could explain, Barbara, Johan and Igor entered. “Do you know that we have been in Cherbourg as we all slept? And that we have become a certain package onboard?” Igor cried upset.
“I just heard Liu tell about it. May I ask you all to come to the bridge? It is an emergency!”
The captain and Luciano looked surprised as the rest of the crew came up to them on the bridge all of a sudden. I thought Johan was the only person who could speak to the captain, but he simply introduced me with, “Mr. Gusto can probably best tell you about the terrible crisis we are in.
And so I told them all about the toxic waste, which had so far killed a man and a dog (“no, not just a dog but your beloved Tom”), about the nuclear waste, the high insurance sum and the probability that we were never expected to reach Dakar. The new cargo from Cherbourg was possibly containing a bomb that should send ship and crew to the bottom of the sea and save some unknown criminals from using much money for detoxifying industrial waste, not to mention the nuclear part of it. And what it will do there is a lecture that I might hold another time, should we survive this emergency.
The captain did not want to believe it, but he was obviously uncertain.
“Let’s search the new cargo,” said Igor. If it is harmless, Eric will probably excuse all the trouble caused. But if there is anything to it ... may I advice everybody to put a life vest on until we have certainty.” He sent Konstantin and Liu away, and they returned with 8 vests. Everybody except the captain put it on, also sort of a demonstration.
“A ship is not a democracy, but I am in doubt myself, so therefore, Mr. Gusto, go and examine the pallet – and better find something. Cordone and Liegoff can assist you.”
Fortunately, the sea was today as calm as the English Channel can be. We opened the aft cargo hold and Luciano and I crawled down. Konstantin should stand up and above us, five noses were pressed against the front screen of the bridge.
The new pallet contained a box of a square-meter at the button and one-and-a-half meter high. The easiest was to liberate it from the fixation, Konstantin had made in the morning. The next was to open – that is draw up the box to see its content, hoping there was not a booby trap releasing the bomb before any curious view could analyze it further. If there had been, I would not be able to write these lines. Instead, we found a detonator, connected to a watch showing twenty-two hours, 37 minutes and some seconds descending. Underneath it were some packages, probably the explosive material for the main load.
I took off the detonator and held up in direction of those at the bridge, but they all shook their head and indicated that we should throw it in the sea. I therefore handed it up to Konstantin. “Be careful, there is a small explosive dose, part of this detonator. Throw it as far away from the ship side as possible.”
He did as I had said. Probably the saltwater caused a fuse in the detonator, because suddenly there was a water column as high as to the bridge, but hardly any other sound.
“If that is a small explosion, I would like to see a big one,” Konstantin said.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that. You just threw the detonator away, and without such, this load is harmless.” I patted fearless on the remaining packages, restored the box and secured the load.
Back on the bridge, I found that also the captain in the meantime had put on a life vest. Strictly, it was not necessary any more, but it was good that he also now understood how serious the matters were.
“Mr. Smith told me yesterday to abandon the ship. However, let us do it in a decent way and not support the gang which planned to sink the ship. If we go back to Cherbourg immediately, we can reach the ferry to Bournemouth at 10 a.m. and leave ‘Frozen Gulf’ in the harbour. They would never let us come in if they knew what we have onboard. We have to get out of the country as fast as possible.”
“With what argument shall we enter the harbour,” asked the captain.
“Keep as close to the truth as possible. There is an important part missing in the device, we got delivered. Let them start wondering about it tomorrow when we are gone. From Denmark, Mr. Smith will sensitize the police what to look for and how to dress while they are doing it.”
So the ship turned back to Cherbourg. Everybody packed while we sailed and we just reached the ferry. In Bournemouth we rented two spacious cars and Barbara and I, both acquainted with driving in the wrong side of the road (I mean, opposite right), brought us to Heathrow. From there we flew to Copenhagen and the same evening, the hotel in Hellerup got seven new guests while I reported to Mr Smith and then went home to get some sleep. I did not call Alice to tell her that the sailor was back in town – I just wanted to sleep.
They call him Master of Disaster. Normally people lose money in various calamities. Not one is bad enough to affect Mr. Smith negatively. Since I have been employed some years with him, I have studied his technique: since the responsible in the big crimes usually cannot be brought to justice, they are at least going to pay for his silence – with one exception (next story).
In this case, I first had the pleasure to inform the French police of the task for the ‘hazmat’ department on a deserted ship in Cherbourg’s harbour. They should also investigate why information from Denmark about explosives to this very boat had not been followed up.
The next morning, we had invited the whole crew, which came by foot from the nearby hotel at a quarter to ten a.m. Juanita had moved all six chairs from the morning room to the central office, where they were posed in two rows. One of the chairs remained empty, except some red roses, representing the deceased sailor. I had already given Mr. Smith a brief report and now, after the formal introduction, used the time to tell them to let Mr. Smith do the speaking. After all, the only option was to get the salary out of the shipping company.
At 10:30 a.m., Mr. Jensen appeared. He looked surprised, but I guess he was well informed at what was going on, otherwise he would hardly come with such a short notice. “Where is my ship,” he started, recognizing the complete crew.
“The crew had to bring it back to Cherbourg harbour, after detecting that they had a bomb onboard,” Mr. Smith began.
“A b-bomb?” stuttered Mr. Jensen, as if he did not know.
“Mr. Gusto rendered it harmless by removing the detonator. There is other stuff on board which is not so harmless, toxic material which already killed a man.”
“And a do
g!” It was the captain who broke his silence to emphasize what he found more important.
“I therefore ordered the crew to return, rather than run any safety risks, and we are all going to find a way out of the crisis, giving the crew its promised salaries ...”
“But those were for bringing the cargo to Africa. Our company is close to a ruin, and now we have ship in the harbour of Cherbourg, which nobody dares to touch. I received notice from the French authorities this morning. By the way, captain Caspersen, you are wanted by the Interpol. You will never sail again.”
“I don’t mind, I should anyhow have retired long ago.” Did I see Johan and Igor nod at this remark? Somehow, their heads moved.
“I have developed a concept, where the company ‘Frozen Line’ will be able to exist further on, so that it can pay off all its former employees. Nobody in this room is served by the company’s demise, but in order to permit it, we must receive our payment as agreed upon.” Did you notice Mr. Smith’s use of the word ‘our’?
“How do you intend to do that? It will cost a fortune to clean up the load of ‘Frozen Gulf,’ much more than its crude value,” Jensen asked.
“That I do not doubt, considering how little you paid for it.”
“It was even too much. There is no big use for coasters anymore.”
“What a pity you did not catch the big insurance, made by Lloyds in London,” said Barbara ironically.
“For which to be paid out eight people should drown,” interrupted Igor
“And immense ecological damage be done,” added Johan.
“Please calm down, honoured guests,” said our host. “But you see, Mr. Jensen, all aspects of the trip are known to the crew, and still they prefer a solution with you, rather than sending you to prison and your firm to bankruptcy, which will also involve the colleagues on Frozen Line’s other ships. In this first round, I represent nine persons, in the second ...”
“But I only see eight persons here,” the accused person interrupted.
“That is because there was another sailor onboard, whose sudden death necessitated the involvement of Mr. Gusto. He was not married, but his parents in Lübeck, to whom I spoke on phone yesterday, are entitled to compensation.”
“What did you tell them?” snapped Jensen nervously.
“Only that their son has died. Their signed request for me to deal with it on their behalf was faxed yesterday evening.”
“I thought you represented ‘Frozen Line’,” gasped Jensen.
“The contract did not mention radiation material or the bomb onboard. However, I might represent your interests further on if you care to listen to the preconditions. Please note that unless we renew this contract, I am obliged to share my present knowledge with the police. But I shall try to defend the interests of your company.”
“Please go on.”
Mr. Smith read up from a paper. “First. The crew of ‘Frozen Gulf’ is paid for seven days duty for the trip from Kiel over Copenhagen to Cherbourg plus transport back to Denmark and one night in the hotel in Hellerup. The payment follows in cash – today.”
“I can offer a cheque for each. The sum is covered at the bank.”
“Second. The death of Mr. Heinz Koller. As an accident at work, it is covered by an insurance, provided it is reported instantly, which was unfortunately not the case. Captain Caspersen will hear some blame on that account, we cannot spare you that, but that must be done. We shall discuss it with Mr. Jensen afterwards.” Perhaps Mr. Smith indicated thereby, that the crew might not be necessary, but if the police was involved, as is generally the case by fatal accidents, they were all being questioned, so their statements should be coordinated.
“Third. The ship in Cherbourg. You must present it to the French authorities and be
