Hungry as the Sea (2 page)

Nick had read the accounts of seamen who had survived that wave, and, at 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 Second’s 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 not 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.