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“Jesus,” someone muttered under their breath.
“Find it, Mark.” Cabrillo’s voice was like steel. “Whatever it takes, you find that ship.”
“Yes, sir!” the young weapons specialist replied.
“Okay, back to where I was,” Juan continued gravely. “For those of you who don’t know, I was just in Jakarta negotiating to sell the Oregon for scrap.” Normally this would have warranted a sarcastic remark or at least an appreciative chuckle, but everyone was too focused. “Just like Isphording said, the men who own the Karamita Yard are as corrupt as they come. Until yesterday all we had was speculation, thirdhand accounts, and the word of a convicted embezzler. I am now satisfied that Singh is involved with the pirates and maybe the smugglers, too.
“He doesn’t want us to deliver the Oregon for a week, which would give him enough time to dispose of whatever ship is inside the Maus, but we’re going to drop anchor outside the yard in two days. On the night the Maus shows up, we’re going to blow the lid off this entire operation.”
“What’s the plan?” Linc asked.
“That’s what we’re here to discuss. Everyone get together with your department staff and come up with some scenarios. Mark, have you gotten pictures of the yard yet?”
“From a commercial satellite. They’re a year old, and it looks like the place was under construction at the time.”
“Get George to make a few passes in the chopper for some better shots. If the Robinson doesn’t have the range, have him rent another helo in Jakarta. As soon as he’s back, make sure everyone has copies.”
“Check.”
“Linc, I don’t know how many guards the place will have or what kind of weapons they carry, so make sure all your gun bunnies have everything they need, up to and including shoulder-fired missiles.”
“Aye, aye.”
“Doc?”
“I know, I know,” Julia preempted. “I’ll double-check our blood supply and play vampire with the crew if we need more.”
Everyone stood, but Juan wouldn’t dismiss them just yet. There was one more piece of business he had to address. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to be very clear here. This mission has gone far beyond what we were hired to do. So far we’ve put ourselves in danger and come out all right.” He gave Linda a significant look. “You’ve been up against Singh’s hired guns on a one-to-one and know their capabilities. The money we’re making is nothing compared to the risk we face once we enter the breaker’s yard. Actually it barely covers the cost of running the ship.” He got a few grins. “The people under you draw salary plus bonuses. We don’t. We only get paid when there’s a profit.
“Each of you joined the Corporation with expectations of using your unique talents to make money. I’m afraid that there won’t be much on this caper, so if any of you want out until we’re done, you have my permission. Your jobs will still be open after we’re through, and there’ll be no questions asked and no recriminations later.”
He waited for a reaction, his eyes meeting each of his senior staff’s. No one said a word until Max cleared his throat.
“It’s like this, Chairman. We’ve all had a chance to talk about this ever since we started following the Maus. And the truth of the matter is, some jobs are worth more than money. We all pretty much agree we’d pay for the chance to nail these bastards to the nearest outhouse door. We’re backing your play one hundred percent.”
The crew gave a few “hear, hears” as they followed Hanley out of the boardroom.
Juan could only smile his gratitude to his people.
Sporting his Jeb Smith disguise again to foil casual observers on the beach, Juan leaned against the rail of the Oregon’s bridge wing. He’d been there long enough for the coat of scaly rust on the railing to turn his callused palms orange. The sun was a waning fireball setting slowly behind the mountains that rose in the distance behind Shere Singh’s Karamita Breakers Yard. The air was heavy with the smell of scorched metal, industrial solvents, and spilled bunker fuel. While coming north along the Sumatra coast he’d observed pristine white beaches and lush jungle. Most of the land was unspoiled and primeval. But around the yard it looked as though a cancer was eating away at the earth. The beach was a tarry morass, and the sea was the color of dishwater. With the exception of a new warehouse built out over the bay, all the buildings were dilapidated and coated with black dust. He had never seen a more depressing or dehumanizing place.
The massive scale of the buildings, cranes, and pieces of construction equipment rendered the workers almost to insignificance. The derricks towering over the yard swung slabs of steel from the beached ships to fenced-in areas where grimy men attacked them with torches, hammers, and their bare hands. From Juan’s vantage a quarter mile from the beach, they looked like ants devouring the carapace of some giant beetle.
And around the Oregon floated an armada of the damned. The fleet of derelict ships destined to be torn apart at the yard stretched nearly to the horizon. They comprised an archipelago of rusted hulks as haunted and forlorn as the spirits of the dead awaiting entrance into hell. The container ships, oilers, and bulk freighters reminded him of a herd of cattle in the pens of a slaughterhouse. The Oregon’s decrepit state was artful camouflage, but around her was the real thing, the consequence of salt air, raging seas, and neglect.
“Will you look at that,” Max Hanley said, stepping out from the bridge. He wore a pair of grease-stained coveralls. The oil was fresh. He’d just come from the engine room. “Compared to some of those tubs, I’d say the old Oregon looks shipshape and Bristol fashion.”
A deafening roar from inside the large warehouse reverberated across the bay and drowned out Cabrillo’s reply.
“What is that?” Ma
x exclaimed after the noise faded.
“Murph’s new stereo?” Juan laughed. “I think there’s some kind of saw inside the warehouse. I read about them once — big chain-driven machines that can cut a ship like a slicer going through a loaf of bread.”
Max ducked into the bridge to retrieve a pair of binoculars from their cradle under the chart table. After a few minutes, the warehouse’s landward doors cranked open. Small diesel locomotives emerged towing a twenty-foot-thick slice of a ship. The segment had a graceful flare, almost like a sculpture, and had come from near the unknown vessel’s bow. A mobile crane lifted the section into the air once the train engines had reached the end of the tracks. The piece was open in the middle. Whatever ship it had come from had cargo holds rather than decks, most likely a bulk carrier or a tanker.
“Looks like a freighter-shaped cookie cutter,” Max remarked.
