Ghost Ship

by Roger Weston

  The crew lists and background checks showed that most of the personnel were intro level. For many this would be their first sea voyage, and it appeared that they had been rushed through their training for this particular voyage. Jake noticed that there was also a handful that had criminal histories.

  While scanning the Contracts of Maritime Employment, Jake spotted a puzzling pattern. Almost all of the crewmen had Germanic heritage. He also noticed that the Store declarations indicated insufficient stores for a voyage to Taiwan.

  The new refrigeration units were super-cooled cargo containers that had evidently been installed someplace. That kind of set-up didn’t make sense for an ocean crossing or for a casino ship. It could be a trick to inflate the insurance policy as well as Richter’s tax write-offs.

  Finally, there was a letter of intent to purchase the ship. It looked suspicious to Jake. The rough draft was written on Richter Enterprises stationary. It appeared to be a fake letter drafted and re-drafted to satisfy the Long Beach City Council. Jake suspected the buyer was non-existent. The P.O. Box in Taiwan listed on the letter confirmed his suspicions. Probably nobody ever questioned Richter in depth about the buyer.

  Nothing in these papers ruled out insurance fraud, and none of the documents supported Richter’s story of selling the ship to a casino operator in Taiwan. If anything, this evidence told Jake that Richter was going to sink the ship. He needed to take action now to stop the man. The Queen Mary was scheduled to sail in just seven days.

  CHAPTER 27

  Death Valley, California

  January 4

  The cracked earth endured the sun’s unyielding oppression. The dirt road was a lone wanderer abandoned in a cursed land. Off to the side, a corroded refrigerator lay on its back. A lizard flitted behind it when Jake stepped out of his car into the heat. He was studying a rusted horse shoe when he finally saw the dust cloud of an approaching truck.

  A man with graying hair got out of the truck. He was a lean, bearded man with hard, rugged features—hardened by the natural forces of air, water, lean diet, brutal physical regimen, and combat in places where a pit bull couldn’t survive 24 hours.

  “I haven’t seen you since Mom’s funeral,” Jake said.

  Stuart nodded. “I’m sorry about how things turned out. I uh… I think about you and your mother sometimes. It’s hard to know what to say.”

  “Look, Stuart. There’s no hard feelings. You don’t need to say anything. I appreciate that you went to the funeral. I appreciate that you’re here.”

  “If you’re calling me up, it can’t be good,” his former mentor said.

  Jake updated him on the situation.

  “What do you make of it all?” Stuart said.

  “It’s the same guy who sank my dad’s ship, and I’m sure he’s up to insurance fraud again. I need evidence to stop him. I’m thinking of going after him, but I hope I’m not making a mistake.”

  “You need to get your ass to Chile and rain on that dirt bag. I didn’t train you for nothing, did I?” Stuart handed Jake a thick envelope. “I’ve been saving this for you.”

  Jake looked in the envelope and saw a thick stack of green bills. He looked back to Stuart with questioning eyes.

  “In honor of your dad,” Stuart said.

  “Thank you, but it’s not necessary.” Jake handed the envelope back to his mentor.

  Stuart refused it with a wave of his hand. “It is to me. I owe your dad more than you know. I’ve never met a finer person.” He pulled an index card and pen out of his pocket. “One more thing…” He wrote something down and handed it to Jake.

  Jake studied the card, but all it had was a name and phone number.

  Stuart said, “Once you get to Chile, anything you need, he can help you with—guns, explosives, whatever.”

  ***

  Driving through the desert on the way back to Los Angeles Jake passed cactus as tall as ships’ masts as he thought about his dad and what Stuart had told him. Picking up his cell phone, he held it briefly before throwing it on the empty seat next to him. Someone had to stop Richter and Koch from destroying more lives. The branches of another sparse and spindly Joshua cactus came into view. He stared at it for a moment before it disappeared from his sight as he flew down the highway. He couldn’t retreat now. He picked up the phone and called Ashley.

  “What is happening?” she said. “I haven’t heard from you in days.”

  “I’m going to Chile. I’m going to track Koch down and stop him from destroying more lives. I’m not going to let him kill anyone else.”

  “Jake, you can’t be serious. This is crazy. Call the Coast Guard and come home.”

  “No. I’ve got to do this. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t. Look, Wan-Si is sailing the Wolverine back to Seattle. I told him to berth her in Friday Harbor. Why don’t you go there and stay on my boat until this blows over. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Thanks, but that doesn’t sound very safe to me. I’ll stay here.”

  “I had her painted. Nobody will recognize her. It’s the safest place for you. Plus, the Queen Mary is due to sail soon, and I need you to track her. You can also use my single-sideband radio to listen for broadcast shipping news along with following her course on the marine traffic website. Maybe you’ll hear something. Who knows? At least it would be better than hanging around the university.”

  “I don’t think any of this is a good idea. What exactly are you going to do when you find Koch? He’s not going to be too happy to see you.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop him. I’ll come up with something.”

  Ashley took a deep breath, knowing there was no way she could convince him not to go. “Yesterday, while researching Richter I came across an article about a retired jockey who lives in Laguna Beach.” She exhaled slowly. “Maybe he will be able to help.”

  “How is a jockey going to help me track down Koch? I don’t have time for that. Look, I’ve got to get to Chile right away and deal with Koch however I see fit.”

  “Please, Jake.” Ashley caught herself. “Will you at least talk to him? Maybe he has some insight into Richter’s horse racing operation in Chile.”

  “Will you go stay in Friday Harbor so I will know you are safe?”

  Ashley sighed. “Okay, if you’ll visit Lennox, I’ll pack up tonight and take the ferry first thing in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Laguna Beach, California

  January 5

  The Sun World Nursing Home sat on a craggy cliff overlooking the sea. Waves thrashed upon rocks that outlined the indigo ocean. The receptionist offered Jake a cold reception, telling him with an air of exclusivity that she could not give out information regarding any of their residents unless they had given her permission ahead of time. She pushed her narrow glasses up on her nose and pressed her lips together in a tight line.

  “He knows I’m coming,” Jake said. “Can’t you call him?”

  “Not during nap time,” she said triumphantly. “I don’t like to do that.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? I just drove over an hour for our appointment.”

  She fiddled with her multi-line phone. “Fine, I’ll page him this once, but next time you’ll need to be announced.”

  Lennox Ramsey was small gray-haired man, but bigger than Jake had expected given that Lennox was a former jockey and something of a legend at Santa Anita Race Track. Jake found him with his wheelchair parked in front of a television, watching a soap opera.

  Jake introduced himself, and they went through the regular formalities.

  “So you want to talk about international racing, do you?” Lennox said. He glanced at a nurse who was walking past. “Some people think I’m all washed up, but I know more about the game than when I was a player. I’ve got more time, which has allowed me to become something of a racing philosopher.”

  The nurse slowed down. “Lennox is in one of his moods today. If he gives you any trouble, let us know and w
e’ll bring in Nurse Inman.”

  Lennox gave a horrified, almost comical expression. “You win this round. No problem here.” After she moved on he said, “That was close. So what do you want to know about horse racing? I’ve been interviewed by a lot of reporters, but never by a college professor.”

  Jake pulled up a chair. “I guess my main focus isn’t so much in racing as in the players themselves.”

  “What players?”

  “One in particular, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. His name is Charles Richter.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Santiago, Chile

  January 6

  From 12,000 feet in the air, Jake saw the soaring peaks of the Andes standing watch over the city. Thousands of buildings were sprawled out under the snow-capped crest of Sierra de Ramon. As the plane descended the people of the city became visible. They walked in moving crowds that flowed between the city’s skyscrapers like water in a tide pool. Santiago was a multifaceted city with a million nooks and crannies and people of every sort, of every niche and specialty known to mankind. Black taxis with yellow roofs and orange license plates roamed the streets, offering a body a quick exit.

  Hotel Flamingo Roja was a pale-pink landmark with a handful of matching bungalows that stood on twelve acres on the outskirts of town. Most importantly, it was located near a once glorious horse racing track that now stood abandoned. Club Sustantivo may have been neglected, but Jake appreciated the fact that it was currently unused.

  He drove his rented truck past the front entrance of the run-down track and parked by the grandstands.

  He met Pablo Ramos on the bleachers. Pablo was the bankrupt owner of the club. He wore a button-down shirt, neatly-pressed slacks, and greased-back hair. Rhinestones studded his belt, and three gold rings floated on his branch-like fingers. His moist and watery eyes blinked rapidly and often.

  “I’m still not clear why you want to rent the track,” Ramos said.

  Jake looked at the man’s fluttering eyes. “My jockey’s got a new horse, and he needs time to exercise the animal, run it through the paces—just practice, you know, that kind of thing.”

  As Ramos patted his greased back hair, his gold rings glinted in the sunlight. “Tell me about your horse.”

  The smell of Ramos’s cheap cologne insulted Jake’s nostrils. He moved several steps away and looked out over the track.

  “Very fast. Do we have a deal?”

  “I’m not comfortable with the arrangement.” Ramos blinked his eyes several more times and shoved his thumbs under his rhinestone belt. “And I’m not sure what would make me comfortable.” He reached into his pocket, produced a phone, and began texting a message.

  “Come on. Look at the weeds, man. This track’s been out of use for so long that the dirt is rock hard. A horse could break a leg on this. I’ll have to pay to get a harrow out here to soften it up.”

  “I need to feel good about the deal, and you won’t even tell me the names of your horse and jockey.”

  “Will this make you comfortable?” Jake said, handing him a wad of Chilean Peso banknotes.

  Ramos flipped through the stack of money and groaned as if he’d had a bad lunch. “This isn’t much.”

  Jake held out another wad of banknotes.

  The track owner reached out, but Jake pulled the money back. “I want the track ready tomorrow.”

  The man grabbed the money. “Fine.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Hotel Flamingo Roja

  Jake entered his sprawling bungalow and was greeted by a white grand piano, black marble fireplace, and a butler named Ricardo. Jake relieved Ricardo of his duty and then settled into an oversized club chair. There he focused on the task at hand. He had a lot to do in a short amount of time. Now that he was in Santiago, he was anxious to confront Koch and get the evidence he needed to stop the sinking of another ship and the loss of more lives. Jake sketched out a plan as he thought of these things.

  At 11:00 p.m., Ricardo entered the living-room. “You have a guest in the foyer. A little man who says his name is Edgar.”

  “Show him in,” Jake said.

  Edgar Candelario was a slouching scarecrow with wrinkled clothes, a gaunt face, and a patchwork of stubble on a scarred face. His eyes were black and he was as thin as a halibut. In his hand he carried a coffee-stained manila folder and a slim, dog-eared book.

  Jake introduced himself, noticing the burn marks that pocked Edgar’s arms.

  Jake shook his hand then motioned for him to sit.

  Edgar set his book and folder on the table and eased into a voluptuously upholstered chair. The cushion swallowed him, making him look even smaller then he was. Edgar’s eyes darted around the hotel suite and then back at Jake. “So, you’re the director?”

  Jake studied the man. “Something like that. Tell me about your experience.”

  “I can ride and act. I was an extra in Dark at Noon. Have you heard of it?”

  “No, and I’m not a filmmaker.”

  Edgar raised his eyebrows. “Then what are you? The advertisement said you’re looking for a jockey with theatrical experience. I thought I was here to audition for a movie.”

  Jake smiled. “What I have in mind involves acting but not for a movie.”

  Edgar was quiet for a moment. “I’m not interested. Thank you very much, but I think I’ll be leaving,”

  “Tell me about your racing experience. What I need is an experienced jockey.”

  Edgar’s expression became serious. “You’re American, right?”

  Jake nodded.

  “I ran a lot of races there. I came in third in the Tropicana Derby, and would have won if I hadn’t been fouled in the backstretch.”

  Jake waited for more, but it was not forthcoming. “So what happened?”

  Edgar jumped up. “I was fouled. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Did you win any others?”

  “Yeah.” Edgar started for the door. “Lots of ‘em. Who are you, anyway?” His hand squeezed the door handle.

  Jake frowned. “Look, I don’t know the first thing about horse racing. I’m not in the business. I need someone who can help me navigate the players, the horses, and the scene here in Chile. I’m in trouble and need to act fast. There is risk involved, but some dudes are up to no good. I need to put a stop to it.”

  Edgar gazed thoughtfully at the floor. He crossed his arms on his chest. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be straight with you. I was kicked out of horse racing.” Edgar sighed. “You better find someone else. I’m not the person for the job.” He opened the door.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, I was doing real good there for a while…winning races. An up and comer, they said. But when my career took off, I started to party. I don’t even know what happened to me, but I ended up with a big drinking problem. They say I sabotaged my own success.”

  “You still drinking?”

  Edgar looked at the floor then up at Jake. “I’ll work as a groom, hot walker, or an exercise rider—whatever.”

  “I asked you if you’re still drinking”

  “Nope. Been clean for 36 months.”

  “You want to race?”

  “I’d do anything to get back. I’ll clean stalls if it’ll get me back in the game.”

  “Close the door then and sit back down.”

  Edgar’s spine straightened a little as he walked back to the chair. He sank into the big cushions. “I can give you the stats on hundreds of jockeys and horses. I can size up a horse and bring the best out in him.”

  “Is there anything else I should know about?”

  Edgar sighed. He lowered his arms. “Okay, I’ll come clean with you. I’m sober because I did three years in prison for blackmail. I haven’t been on a horse in years. There, I told you the truth.”

  “Blackmail?” Jake said. “I hate blackmailers.”

  “I was desperate. I’d been suspended due to my drinking problem.”

  “What happened?”


  “The guy I was riding for was corrupt. He was running a scam, and after he suspended me I threatened to turn him in. It never occurred to me that he would turn me in. I had no chance fighting him in court. But, you know what? I’m glad he turned me in because he saved my life.” Edgar fell silent. He looked directly at Jake.

  Jake cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.

  Edgar stood up. “I knew you wouldn’t want me if I told you the truth. Look, no hard feelings. I don’t blame you.” Edgar picked up his file and book with his scarred arms.

  Jake stood. “Hold on a minute. You say you want to ride again?”

  Edgar’s eyes widened. “Yes.”

  “Like I said, I’m not in the racing game. But I think you’re just the person for the job. I need a rider to put on a show. Winning is not the goal. Getting me close to the man I’m after is.”

  Edgar was silent for a moment. “I don’t want to do anything that’s going to get me sent back to San Miguel.”

  “Look, the dudes I was telling you about are getting ready to commit a crime in which innocent people will die. I need to stop them. The only way I can get the authorities interested is if I get some evidence and that is what I plan on doing.”

  “How much would the job pay?”

  “Five grand for a week’s work.”

  “I don’t know. Risk going back to the big house for five grand.”

  “You’d be back on a horse.”

  Edgar nodded. “What kind of horse?”

  “All you have to do is give them a half decent run for their money. Make it all look legit.”

  Edgar frowned.

  “You’ll need a cover. That is where the acting comes in. I need you to pretend you’re someone else.”

  “Who would I be riding? Tell me about my horse.”

  “I don’t have one yet, but I’ll be buying one soon.”