Plague Ship Read Online Free PDF Page A

cap.
    “Captain, I am Ensign Muhammad Ghami of the Iranian Navy. This is Seaman Khatahani.”
    “Welcome aboard the Norego , Ensign,” the freighter’s master replied. “I am Captain Ernesto Esteban.”
    His Spanish accent was so thick that Ghami had to go over each word in his head to make sure he understood. Esteban was a few inches taller than the Iranian sailor, but the extra weight he carried hunched his shoulders and curved his back so that he and Ghami appeared almost the same height. His eyes were dark and watery, and when he smiled to shake Ghami’s hand his teeth were yellowed and crooked. His breath smelled like curdled milk.
    “What seems to be the trouble with your steering gear?”
    Esteban cursed in Spanish. “The bearing froze up. Fourth time in a month. The cheap owners”—he spat—“won’t let me have it fixed in a shipyard so my men have to do. We should be under way by tonight, maybe in the morning.”
    “And what is your cargo and destination?”
    The captain slapped one of the shipping containers. “Empty boxes. They’re all the Norego is good for.”
    “I don’t understand,” Ghami said.
    “We’re transporting empty containers from Dubai to Hong Kong. Full containers get shipped in, unloaded, and pile up on the dock. We take them back to Hong Kong, where they are reloaded.”
    That explained why the ship was riding so high in the water, Ghami thought. Empty containers weighed only a few tons each. “And what do you carry on your return trip here?”
    “Barely enough to cover our costs,” Esteban said bitterly. “No one will insure us with anything more valuable than boxes of nothing.”
    “I need to see your crew manifest, cargo manifest, and the ship’s registration.”
    “Is there some kind of problem?” Esteban asked quickly.
    “I will determine that after I have seen your papers,” Ghami said with enough menace to make certain the disgusting man complied. “Your vessel is deep in Iranian waters, and I am fully in my right to inspect every inch of this ship if I see fit.”
    “No problema, señor,” Esteban said with oily smoothness. His grin was more grimace. “Why don’t we step out of this heat and into my office?”
    Bandar Abbas sat tucked in the tightest curve of the Strait of Hormuz, the narrow entrance to the Persian Gulf. Summertime temperatures rarely dipped below a hundred and twenty during the day, and there was little wind. The metal decking beneath the men’s feet was quite literally hot enough to fry eggs.
    “Lead the way,” Ghami said, and swept his hand toward the superstructure.
    The interior spaces aboard the Norego were as dilapidated as her outside. The floors were chipped linoleum, the walls bare metal with large swatches of peeled paint, and the fluorescent lights mounted to the ceilings buzzed loudly. Several of them flickered at erratic intervals, casting the narrow corridor in stark shadow.
    Esteban led Ghami and Khatahani up a tight companionway with a loose railing and onto another short corridor. He opened the door to his office and gestured for the men to enter. The captain’s cabin could be seen through an open door on the opposite side of the office. The bed was unmade, and the sheets that spilled onto the floor were stained. A single dresser stood bolted to the wall, and the mirror above it had a jagged crack running from corner to corner.
    The office was a rectangular room with a single porthole so rimed with salt that only murky light came through. The walls were adorned with paintings of sad-eyed clowns done in garish colors on black velvet. Another door led to a tiny bathroom that was filthier than a public washroom in a Tehran slum. So many cigarettes had been smoked in the office that the stale smell seemed to coat everything, including the back of Ghami’s mouth. A lifelong smoker himself, even the Iranian naval officer was disgusted.
    Esteban jammed the bare wires of a desk lamp into an outlet next to his desk, cursed