Crude Carrier Read Online Free PDF

English: “Mr. Raiford? I am Third Officer Suk Wan Li. You come please, we go ship.” A clatter of Chinese ordered the hands to stow the luggage.
    With a quiver of noisy engines, the boat settled its stern as it cut through the still water. The huddled buildings of the landing, the pier, the mottled shore vanished into heat haze as the minutes passed. Raiford stared across the iridescent streaks and boils of passing oil slicks. Gradually, out of the blur of horizon, a long, low streak emerged. At one end of the streak, a gleaming island of white superstructure rose. A single stack, squat and straight, trailed a lazy brown smudge to one side. As the tanker grew nearer, he could make out heavy ropes holding her blunt bow to a large float. Bright orange hoses rose out of the water to stubby booms amidships. Beyond and perched on a low smear, a few small, boxy buildings and a complex of silver-painted pipes and valves were mirrored in the sea. The launch slowed; the massive rust-streaked black-and-red steel wall towered like a cliff. An accommodation ladder, tiny against the gigantic hull, dangled down to a platform just above the water. Although Raiford had a vague understanding of the behemoth’s dimensions, he could not help asking, “How big is that thing?”
    â€œThree hundred fifty-four meters in length. Fifty-eight meters at beam. Twenty meters draft. Three hundred twenty-six deadweight tons maximum load—maybe more than two million barrels. Twenty-nine thousand horsepower.” The answers were chanted like a familiar chorus by the white-jacketed officer.
    Raiford translated the figures roughly into feet: just over eleven hundred feet long, two hundred feet wide, and—when loaded—sixty plus feet below the water’s surface. Another class, the ultra large crude carrier (ULCC), was even bigger­. But at a fifth of a mile long, the Victorious was colossal enough, and he understood why his would be the first question of any newcomer.
    One of the sailors grappled the platform with a boat hook; the other hopped out to tie the launch to a cleat. High above, up the long spidery-looking ladder, a tiny human stared down, its face shadowed by the white dot of an officer’s cap.
    â€œCaptain Boggs,” said the third officer. “He waits. You go quick.”

V
    Julie’s computer displayed “1 New Message.” Time stamped 6:03 A.M. , it read “R. aboard AV. Mack,” and a FedEx package from the same source arrived just after noon. Julie glanced through the thick file of documents and placed a call to New York. “Have you heard any more from my father?”
    â€œNothing since his e-mail from the shore facility,” said Mack. “We probably won’t hear much. Not until he has something to report and a chance to do it.” His voice warmed a bit. “He’s probably lounging around the ship’s swimming pool, drinking beer.”
    She smiled at that thought. “He said you promised him a vacation cruise.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s what it will be.”
    She hoped so. Her dad had operated undercover a lot more than she had. On this job, however, he was violating the procedures, as she had reminded him. Granted, they went where the job called, and they both agreed that people shouldn’t get into this business unless they were willing to take chances. But chance had a matter of degree, and that degree should always be minimized. This time, it had not been.
    She focused on the Herberling documents as a means of shoving away nagging thoughts.
    The Golden Dawn file opened with a black-and-white photo­graph of the ship at sea. Six hatches ran from its stubby bow to the rear island. Outside the hatches and tucked inside the ship’s rails were pipes for oil. Three short masts, one at the bow and two behind the third hatch, provided cargo-handling­ booms. A longer pair of booms folded inboard between the sixth hatch and the