Plague Ship Read Online Free PDF

when they sparked but seemed pleased that the lamp came on. He eased himself into his chair with a groan. He indicated for the two inspectors to take the seats opposite. Ghami used a pen from his shirt pocket to flick the dried-out carcass of a cockroach from the chair before sitting.
    The captain rummaged through his desk, coming out with a liquor bottle. He eyed the two Muslims and returned the bottle to its drawer, muttering in Spanish. “Okay, here’s the manifest.” He handed over a binder. “Like I said, we’re carrying nothing but empty containers bound for Hong Kong.” He set other binders onto the desk. “My crew’s manifest. A bunch of lazy ingrates, if you ask me. So if you want to detain any of ’em, be my guest. These are the Norego ’s registration papers.”
    Ghami thumbed through the list of crew members, noting their nationalities and double-checking their identity papers. The ship’s complement was a mixed bag of Chinese, Mexicans, and Caribbean islanders, which jibed with the men he had seen working on the rudder. The captain himself was from Guadalajara, Mexico, had been with Trans-Ocean Shipping and Freight for eleven years and master of the Norego for six. Ghami was surprised to see that Esteban was only forty-two. The man looked closer to sixty.
    There was nothing here to arouse suspicion, but Ghami wanted to be thorough.
    “It says here you are carrying eight hundred and seventy containers.”
    “Thereabout.”
    “They are stacked in your holds?”
    “Those that aren’t deck-loaded,” Esteban agreed.
    “I do not wish to insult you, Captain, but a ship such as this was not designed to carry containers efficiently. I suspect there is room in your holds where contraband may be hidden. I wish to inspect all six.”
    “Until my steering gear’s fixed, I’ve got nothing but time, Ensign,” Esteban breezed. “You want to go over the whole ship, you be my guest. I have nothing to hide.”
    The office door was suddenly thrown open. A Chinese crewman wearing coveralls and wooden flip-flops jabbered excitedly at the captain in Cantonese. Esteban cursed and launched himself from his desk. His quick movements alerted the two Iranians. Ghami got to his feet, resting a hand on his holster. Esteban ignored him entirely and raced across the room as fast as his extra hundred pounds of flab would allow. Just as he reached the bathroom door, the plumbing made a throaty, wet gurgle. He slammed the door shut, and, a moment later, they could all hear the sound of water erupting like a geyser and splashing against the ceiling. A new, more pungent smell overwhelmed the cramped office.
    “Sorry about that,” Esteban said. “Seng here’s been working on our septic system. I don’t think he quite has it yet.”
    “If they’re hiding anything,” Seaman Khatahani whispered to his superior in Farsi, “I don’t think I want to find it.”
    “You’re right,” Ghami replied. “There isn’t a smuggler in the Gulf who would trust this fat lout or his broken-down scow.” Considering that smuggling along the Persian Gulf was a time-honored and noble tradition, Ghami wasn’t being facetious. He addressed Esteban, “Captain, I can see that your hands are full with simply maintaining your vessel. Your paperwork appears to be in order, so we won’t take up any more of your time.”
    “You sure about that?” Esteban asked, cocking a bushy eyebrow. “I don’t mind giving you the nickel tour.”
    Ghami got to his feet. “That won’t be necessary.”
    “Suit yourself.” Esteban led them out of the office and back along the dim hallways. The glare of the afternoon sun was especially brutal after being in the dim confines of the ship. Backdropped against the hazy horizon behind the Norego, a twelve-hundred-foot supertanker was easing its way northward, where its holds would be filled with crude.
    Ghami shook Esteban’s hand at the head of the gangplank. “If your steering problem isn’t corrected