Plantation A Legal Thriller

by J M S Macfarlane

  Chapter 33

  Like his father, Rob Ashby was often out of the office, away from spreadsheets and management reviews. He was always meeting business contacts at conferences, golf tournaments, sailing excursions, wine tastings and other events arranged by brokers or other insurers. Often, he tried to get first-hand knowledge of the business he was covering, if such information was important and accessible. This wasn’t practicable for all the business he handled : all the client contact and information-gathering was with the brokers, some of whom could be unco-operative, suspicious and even hostile if they heard that an underwriter was getting too close to their client. Despite that, occasionally, where feasible, he liked to break with convention and go on a tour of the actual machinery, installations, factories, airlines, businesses or buildings he was covering.

  This was why he was going to Athens : he wanted to see for himself the Captain Stratos’ home port. If he was lucky, he’d meet some of the people who knew something about the ship, its owners, crew and master. Other underwriters would have engaged private investigators to dig around for them : that could still be an option for the future. But the situation at that moment was unique – he was facing a crisis.

  Plantation’s future was at stake along with his majority shareholding in the company. He wasn’t the type to sit back and wait for the answers to come to him – that would mean relying wholly on other people. He trusted his own ability to find out the truth and if he failed in the process, he had only himself to blame. In consequence, the usual business conventions, associations and jobsworths all went out the window. He was out to expose a criminal fraud and if he offended certain fine feelings, it was just too bad.

  After a mad dash to book a ticket and get to the airport in time, even though a train strike was to start that night, Ashby boarded a British Europa flight to Athens which was scheduled to arrive at nine o’clock in the evening. As it was a Thursday night, he couldn’t achieve much when he got there.

  As he sat in the business section, the plane was half-empty and looked old and worn-out, compared to the American airlines he’d travelled on. Next to his seat, the plastic window jumped loosely in its frame and the rivets in the wall rattled as the plane headed down the runway. British Europa had been nationalised in the seventies and there were threats to offload it to investors in the next Parliament. He wondered whether BE’s planes would last that long.

  When he arrived half an hour late after being held in a stack over Athens, he cleared customs, hailed a taxi and gave the driver the name and address of the hotel which Tara had booked for him before he left. Hearing the name of the hotel, the driver was dismissive.

  “Nah, nah, my friend, you don’t want to stay there – it’s a dump. I know – because I am an expert on all the best hotels in Athens – and that one’s a dump. I take you to a good hotel – just leave it to me.”

  Ignoring Ashby’s protests that he wanted to go to his hotel, the driver refused to listen or stop the car or let him out.

  “You’re English – I’m right, aren’t I ? You know, you worry too much, my friend – you should take life easier. Hey, we just stop for a moment...” And all the way into town, the driver swung in at the kerbside ‘just for a moment’ to ask strangers at the side of the road, where they were going.

  It appeared to be the local custom for taxi drivers to take multiple fares but still charge each passenger the full fare for the journey. After around ten stops without picking up anyone and bumper-to-bumper traffic, they reached the city centre when the driver suddenly stopped, leapt out of the car and ran inside what appeared to be a hotel, then came back saying “Nah, they’re full up. We go to another.” In the end, he was third-time lucky and the expensive fare naturally reflected all the time and trouble he’d gone to on his passenger’s behalf.

  Once Ashby had checked in and was shown to his room, when the door closed, he looked around and thought to himself : “This place is a dump.” Later he discovered that many taxi-drivers in Athens earned themselves an extra ‘commission’ by taking tourists directly to certain hotels from the airport whether they had already booked a room or not.

  During his visit, it occurred to him that a lot of the buildings he entered or passed had do-it-yourself renovations which seemed to be what everyone did ; no-one bothered about planning approval.

  At any rate, the next morning was a Friday and as he was in continental Europe, he found the offices of the Hermes Transnational Shipping Line, the owners of the Aegean Star, open but none of the directors or managers were in Athens that day. He left his card and a message with a secretary, saying that he wanted to speak to them about the Board of Enquiry a few years earlier. Then he took out his tourist map to find the next place to visit. Either the map or the street signs were in Greek and he could hardly make head or tail of one or the other. In the end, he had to ask passers-by for directions – and not all of them spoke English.

  Before long however, he found his way to the Marine Authority. He was interested in their records about the Aegean Star, the Captain Stratos and Constantinos Christoforou. The office was closed although a junior manager was working on Friday morning. Apparently, their records were mostly in Greek and were usually confidential. Rather than persist, he left his business card and asked someone to ring his office.

  By the time he found the government office in Syntagma Square which held all the national shipping and marine information, it was closed and there was no-one in sight.

  If the location of anyone or anything in the Captain Stratos claim was marked on a grid, the area of the possible sources of data would extend beyond central Athens. Both the Stratos and the Aegean Star had their home port in Piraeus. Therefore, the grid would also include the port. There were respectable odds that someone or something associated with both ships might be found there.

  Applying this reasoning, he decided to go to the port of Piraeus in the hope of finding anyone with knowledge of Captain Christoforou or the two Greek ships. Piraeus was one of the largest ports in the world ; there was a fair chance that someone might have the information he was seeking.

  He grabbed a quick lunch at a roadside taverna and braved the Athens traffic to hail a cab until one of them stopped. An hour later with cars bumper to bumper, he finally reached Piraeus. With his tourist map, he headed for the merchant shipping wharves and away from the ferries servicing the islands.

  For the next three hours he walked along the docks, past the loading terminal where there were vessels from all over the world. Occasionally, he asked a dock worker or seafarer whether they knew Christoforou or the Aegean Star or the Captain Stratos but none of them understood him.

  Finally, when dusk was beginning to darken the sky, he decided to go back. He was tired from walking the length of the docks : what he needed was a drink and something to eat then to head back to Athens and get some sleep.

  Over the next two hours, he lost his way several times after darkness had fallen. Enormous arc lights illuminated the vast loading area of the harbour. At last, he found his way and stumbled back to the ferry terminal. Completely tired out, he went straight into the first bar he saw.

  Ouzo was the local drink. After a second came a third. Then the barman asked him if he wanted a meal.

  “You British – right ? Yes, I thought so. You come back from the islands ?”

  “No – I’m here on business.”

  “Business – down here ? You’re kidding – what do you want here ?”

  “I’m trying to find someone who knows about two Greek ships called the Aegean Star and the Captain Stratos.”

  “Ships ? What do you want to know ?

  “Anything I can find out about them.”

  “Police ? You’re not police, are you ?”

  “No. Do I look like a copper ? It’s about a claim – two of the ships sank and we might have to pay a lot of money for one of them.”

  “Claim money ? What ships were they ?”

  “I want to speak t
o anyone who knows anything about two Greek ships – the Aegean Star and the Captain Stratos.”

  “You got money ? Can you pay for information ?”

  “Yes – I’ll pay a hundred American dollars up front, right now, to meet the right person – but no fairy stories,” and saying this, he laid out a hundred dollar bill on the counter. “It’s yours when I’m satisfied I’ve met the right person. If he has the information I’m looking for, there will be a thousand dollars reward which you can split between you – but – I want definite proof of whatever I’m told.”

  The barman looked at the hundred dollar bill and said “I think I know who can help you – just stay there and I’ll make a call. Don’t move.”

  Ashby yelled after him : “Remember, no fairy stories.”

  An hour later, he was still waiting in the deserted bar. The repetitive jingle of the fruit machine refused to shut up. Then, through the door, wandered an old man with three days growth, white hair and a tanned, lined face.

  “This is Yannis,” said the barman. “He knows everything about Piraeus and every Greek ship which has ever left it – and he knows about those two ships.”