Hungry as the Sea Page 2

  a loss for words, they had written only of a great hole in the sea into

  which a ship fell helplessly.

  When the hole closed, the force of breaking water would bury her

  completely. Perhaps the Waratah Castle was one which had fallen into

  that trough. Nobody would ever know. - a great ship of 9,000 tons

  burden, she and her crew of 211 had disappeared without trace in these

  seas.

  Yet here was one of the busiest sea lanes on the globe, as a procession

  of giant tankers ploughed ponderously around that rocky Cape on their

  endless shuttle between the Western. world and the oil Gulf of Persia,

  Despite their bulk, those supertankers were perhaps some of the most

  vulnerable vehicles yet designed by man.

  Now Nick turned and looked across the wind-ripped waters of Duncan Dock

  at one of them. He could read her name on the stern that rose like a

  five-storied apartment block. She was owned by Shell Oil, 250,000 dead

  weight tons, and, out of ballast, she showed much of her rust-red

  bottom. She was in for repairs, while out in the roadstead of Table

  Bay, two other monsters waited patiently for their turn in the hospital

  dock.

  So big and ponderous and vulnerable - and valuable.

  Nick licked his lips involuntarily - hull and cargo together, she was

  thirty million dollars, piled up like a mountain.

  That was why he had stationed the Warlock here at Cape Town on the

  southernmost tip of Africa. He felt the strength and excitement surging

  upwards in him.

  All right, so he had lost his wave. He was no longer cresting and

  racing. He was down and smothered in white water. But he could feel

  his head breaking the surface, and he was still on the break-line. He

  knew there was another big wave racing down on him. It was just

  beginning to peak and he knew he still had the strength to catch her, to

  get high and race again.

  I did it once - I'll damned well do it again/he said aloud, and went

  down for breakfast.

  He stepped into the saloon, and for a long moment nobody realized he was

  there. There was an excited buzz of comment and speculation that

  absorbed them all.

  The Chief Engineer had an old copy of Lloyd's List folded at the front

  page and held above a plate of eggs as he read aloud. Nicholas wondered

  where he had found the ancient copy.

  His spectacles had slid right to the end of his nose, so he had to tilt

  his head far backwards to see through them, and his Australian accent

  twanged like a guitar.

  In a joint statement issued by the new Chairman and incoming members of

  the Board, a tribute was paid to the fifteen years of loyal service that

  Mr. Nicholas Berg had given to Christy Marine. The five officers

  listened avidly, ignoring their breakfasts, until David Allen glanced up

  at the figure in the doorway.

  captain, Sir, he shouted, and leapt to his feet, while with the other

  hand, he snatched the newspaper out of Vinny Baker's hands and bundled

  it under the table.

  Sir, may I present the officers of Warlock. Shuffling, embarrassed, the

  younger officers shook hands hurriedly and then applied themselves

  silently to their congealing breakfasts with a total dedication that

  precluded any conversation, while Nick Berg took the Master's seat at

  the head of the long table in the heavy silence and David Allen sat down

  again on the crumpled sheets of newsprint.

  The steward offered the menu to the new Captain, and returned almost

  immediately with a dish of stewed fruit.

  I ordered a boiled egg/ said Nick mildly, and an apparition in snowy

  white appeared from the galley, with the chef's cap at a jaunty angle.

  "The sailor's curse is constipation, Skipper. I look after MY officers

  - that fruit is delicious and good for you. I'm doing you your eggs

  now, dear, but eat your fruit first. And the diamond twinkled again as

  he vanished.

  Nick stared after him in the appalled silence.

  Fantastic cook/ blurted David Allen, his fair skin flushed pinkly and

  the Lloyd's List rustled under his backside. Could get a job on any

  passenger liner, could Angel. If he ever left the Warlock, half the

  crew would go with him/ growled the Chief Engineer darkly, and hauled at

  his pants with elbows below the level of the table. And I'd be one of

  them., Nick Berg turned his head politely to follow the conversation.

  He's almost a doctor, David Allen went on, addressing the Chief

  Engineer.

  Five years at Edinburgh Medical School/ agreed the Chief solemnly.

  Do you remember how he set the seconds leg? Terribly useful to have a

  doctor aboard.

  Nick picked up his spoon, and tentatively lifted a little of the fruit

  to his mouth. Every officer watched him intently as he chewed.

  Nick took another spoonful.

  You should taste his jams, said David Allen addressing Nick directly at

  last. Absolutely Cordon Bleu stuff. Thank you, gentlemen, for the

  advice/ said Nick. The smile did not touch his mouth, but crinkled his

  eyes slightly. But would somebody convey a private message to Angel

  that if he ever calls me "dear" again I'll beat that ridiculous cap down

  about his ears. In the relieved laughter that followed, Nick turned to

  David Allen and sent colour flying to his cheeks again by asking, You

  seem to have finished with that old copy Of the List, Number One. Do

  you mind if I glance at it again? Reluctantly, David lifted himself and

  produced the newspaper, and there was another tense silence as Nick Berg

  rearranged the rumpled sheets and studied the old headlines without any

  apparent emotion.

  THE GOLDEN PRINCE OF CHRISTY MARINE DEPOSED

  Nicholas hated that name, it had been old Arthur Christy's quirk to name

  all of his vessels with the prefix Golden, and twelve years ago, when

  Nick had rocketed to head of operations at ChristY Marine, some wag had

  stuck that label on him.

  ALEXANDER TO HEAD THE CHRISTY BOARD OF DIRECTORS

  Nicholas was surprised by the force of his hatred for the Man.

  They had fought like a pair of bulls for dominance of the herd and the

  tactics that Duncan Alexander had used had won. Arthur Christy had said

  once, Nobody gives a damn these days whether it is moral or fair, all

  that counts is, will it work and can you get away with it? For Duncan it

  had worked, and he had got away with it in the grandest possible style.

  As Managing-Director in charge of operations, Mr. Nicholas Berg helped

  to build Christy Marine from a small coasting and salvage company into

  one of the five largest owners of cargo shipping operating anywhere in

  the world.

  After the death of Arthur Christy in 1968, Mr. Nicholas Berg succeeded

  him as Chairman, and continued the company's spectacular expansion.

  At present, Christy Marine has in commission eleven bulk carriers and

  tankers in excess of 250,000 dead weight tons, and has building the

  1,000,000 ton giant ultra-tanker Golden Dawn. it will be the largest

  vessel ever launched.

  There it was, stated in the boldest possible terms, the labour of a

 
man's lifetime. Over a billion dollars of shipping, designed, financed

  and built almost entirely with the energy and enthusiasm and faith of

  Nicholas Berg.

  Mr. Nicholas Berg married Miss Chantelle Christy, the only child of Mr.

  Arthur Christy. However, the marriage ended in divorce in September of

  last year and the former Mrs. Berg has subsequently married Mr. Duncan

  Alexander, the new Chairman of Christy Marine.

  He felt the hollow nauseous feeling in his stomach and in his head the

  vivid image of the woman. He not want to think of her now, but could

  not thrust the image aside. she was bright and beautiful as a flame -

  and, like a flame, you could not hold her. when she went, she took

  everything with her, everything. He should hate her also, he really

  should. Everything, he thought the company, his life's work, and the

  child. When he thought of the child, he nearly succeeded in hating her,

  and the newsprint shook in his hand.

  He became aware again that five men were watching him, and without

  surprise he realized that not a flicker of his emotions had shown on his

  face. To be a player for fifteen years in one of the world's highest

  games of chance, inscrutability was a minimum requirement.

  In a joint statement issued by the new Chairman and incoming members of

  the Board, a tribute was paid.

  Duncan Alexander paid the tribute for one reason, Nick thought grimly.

  He wanted the 100,000 Christy Marine shares that Nick owned.

  Those shares were very far from a controlling interest. Chantelle had a

  million shares in her own name, and there were another million in the

  Christy Trust, but insignificant as it was, Nick's holding gave him a

  voice in and an entry to the company's affairs.

  Nick had bought and paid for every one of those shares.

  Nobody had given him a thing, not once in his life. He had taken

  advantage of every stock option in his contract, had bartered bonus and

  salary for those options, and now those 100,00 shares were worth three

  million dollars, meagre reward for the labour which had built up a

  fortune of sixty million dollars for the Christy father and daughter.

  It had taken Duncan Alexander almost a year to get those shares.

  He and Nicholas had bargained with cold loathing. They had hated each

  other from the first day that Duncan had walked into the Christy

  building on Leadenhall Street. He had come as old Arthur Christy's

  latest Wunderkind. The financial genius fresh from his triumphs as

  financial controller of International Electronics, and the hatred had

  been instant and deep and mutual, a fierce smouldering chemical reaction

  between them.

  In the end Duncan Alexander had won, he had won it all, except the

  shares, and he had bargained for those from overwhelming strength. He

  had bargained with patience and skill, wearing his man down over the

  months. Using all Christy Marine's reserves to block and frustrate

  Nicholas, forcing him back step by step, taxing even his strength to its

  limits, driving such a bargain that at the end Nicholas was forced to

  bow and accept a dangerous price for his shares. He had taken as full

  payment the subsidiary of Christy Marine, Christy Towage and Salvage,

  all its assets and all its debts. Nick had felt like a fighter who had

  been battered for fifteen rounds, and was now hanging desperately to the

  ropes with his legs gone, blinded by his own sweat and blood and swollen

  flesh, so he could not see from whence the next punch would come. But

  he had held on just long enough. He had got Christy Towage and Salvage

  - he had walked away with something that was completely and entirely

  his.

  Nicholas Berg lowered the newspaper, and immediately his officers

  attacked their breakfasts ravenously and there was the clatter of

  cutlery.

  There is an officer missing/he said.

  It's only the Trog, sir/Dave Allen explained.

  The Trog?

  The Radio Officer, sir. Speirs, sir. We call him the Troglodyte.

  I'd like all the officers present.

  He never comes out of his cave/Vinny Baker explained helpfully, All

  right/ Nick nodded. I will speak to him later.

  They waited now, five eager young men, even Vin Baker he could not

  completely hide his interest behind the smeared lenses of his spectacles

  and the tough Aussie veneer.

  I wanted to explain to you the new set-up. The Chief has kindly read to

  you this article, presumably for the benefit of those who were unable to

  do so for themselves a year ago.

  Nobody said anything, but Vin Baker fiddled with his porridge spoon.

  So you are aware that I am no longer connected in any way with Christy

  Marine. I have now acquired Christy Towage and Salvage. It becomes a

  completely independent company. The name is being changed. Nicholas

  had resisted the vanity of calling it Berg Towage and Salvage.

  It will be known as Ocean Towage and Salvage.

  He had paid dearly for it, perhaps too dearly. He had given up his

  three million dollars worth of Christy shares for God alone knew what.

  But he had been tired unto death.

  We own two vessels. The Golden Warlock and her sister ship which is

  almost ready for her sea trials, the Golden Witch.

  He knew exactly how much the company owed on those two ships, he had

  agonized over the figures through long and sleepless nights. On paper

  the net worth of the company was around four million dollars; he had

  made a paper profit of a million dollars on his bargain with Duncan

  Alexander. But it was paper profit only, the company had debts of

  nearly four million more. If he missed just one month's interest

  payments on those debts - he dismissed the thought quickly, for on a

  forced sale his residue in the company would be worth nothing. He would

  be completely wiped out.

  The names of both ships have been changed also. They will become simply

  Warlock and Sea Witch. From now onwards "Golden" is a dirty word around

  Ocean Salvage. They laughed then, a release of tension, and Nick smiled

  with them, and lit a thin black cheroot from the crocodileskin case

  while they settled down.

  I will be running this ship until Sea Witch is commissioned. It won't be

  long, and there will be promotions then.

  Nick superstitiously tapped the mahogany mess table as he said it. The

  dockyard strike had been simmering for a long time. Sea Witch was still

  on the ways, but costing interest, and further delay would prove him

  mortal.

  I have got a long oil-rig tow. Bight of Australia to South America. It

  will give us all time to shake the ship down.

  You are all tug men, I don't have to tell you when the big one comes up,

  there will be no warning.

  They stirred, and the eagerness was on them again. Even the oblique

  reference to prize money had roused them.

  Chief? Nick looked across at him, and the Engineer snorted, as though

  the question was an insult.

  In all respects ready for sea/ he said, and tried simultaneously to

  adjust his trousers and his spectacles.

  Number One? Nick looked at David Allen. He had no
t yet become

  accustomed to the Mate's boyishness. He knew that he had held a master

  mariner's ticket for ten years, that he was over thirty years of age and

  that MacDonald had hand-picked him - he had to be good. Yet that fair

  unlined face and quick high colour under the unruly mop of blond hair

  made him look like an undergraduate.

  I'm waiting on some stores yet, sir/ David answered quickly. The

  chandlers have promised for today, but none of it is vital. I could

  sail in an hour, if it is necessary.

  All right. Nick stood up. I will inspect the ship at 0900 hours. You'd

  best get the ladies off the ship. During the meal there had been the

  faint tinkle of female voices and laughter from the crew's quarters.

  Nick stepped out of the saloon and Vin Baker's voice was pitched to

  reach him. It was a truly dreadful imitation of what the Chief believed

  to be a Royal Naval accent.

  logoo, chaps. Jolly good show, what?

  Nick did not miss a step, and he grinned tightly to himself. It's an

  old Aussie custom; you needle and needle until something happens. There

  is no malice in it, it's just a way of getting to know your man. And

  once the boots and fists have stopped flying, you can be friends or

  enemies on a permanent basis. It was so long since he had been in

  elemental contact with tough physical men, straight hard men who shunned

  all subterfuge and sham, and he found the novelty stimulating. Perhaps

  that was what he really needed now, the sea and the company of real men.

  He felt his step quicken and the anticipation of physical confrontation

  lift his spirits off the bottom.

  He went up the companionway to the navigation deck, taking the steps

  three at a time, and the doorway opposite his suite opened. From it

  emerge the solid grey stench of cheap Dutch cigars and a head that could

  have belonged to some prehistoric reptile. It too was pale grey and

  lined and wrinkled, the head of a sea-turtle or an iguana lizard, with

  the same small dark glittery eyes.

  The door was that of the radio room. It had direct access to the main

  navigation bridge and was merely two paces from the Master's day cabin.

  Despite appearances, the head was human, and Nick recalled clearly how

  Mac had once described his radio officer. He is the most anti-social

  bastard I've ever sailed with, but he can scan eight different

  frequencies simultaneously, in clear and morse, even while he is asleep.