them, and yet they didn’t want those guys recaptured.”
“Interesting question.”
“Yeah,” Gloria said. “Maybe we were closer than we thought.”
FOUR
APURTO DEVLÁN, MARACAIBO VENSPORT PETROLEUM LOADING FACILITY 39A
Graham stepped down from the helicopter onto the loading deck amidships well forward of the aft superstructure. This was the only place anywhere aboard ship that was clear of the maze of cargo transfer and management piping for a helicopter to land. A young Filipino AB in dark blue coveralls was standing by to help with the captain’s luggage. He handed Graham a hard hat, which everyone wore on deck while in port.
As the crewman was pulling Graham’s things from the storage compartment, a slightly built man, his head shaved, his features dark, came
out of the superstructure and quickly made his way forward. He was dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt and blue jeans.
“Mr. Slavin?” he shouted over the noise of the helicopter’s rotors. His Hispanic accent, which Graham could not place, was very strong.
“That’s correct.”
“I’m Jaime Vasquez, I’m your first officer.” They shook hands. “Welcome aboard, sir.”
The crewman headed aft with the bags, and Graham led Vasquez away from the helicopter, which immediately took off with a loud roar and strong downdraft. Graham had to hold on to his hard hat so it wouldn’t blow away.
“Where is your hard hat, Mr. Vasquez?” he asked in neutral tone once the helicopter was gone.
“We finished our loading procedures last night, and the ship is ready for sea, sir. I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“The AB who came to get my luggage brought me a hard hat. Apparently he’s more mindful of company regulations than you are.” Graham’s Russian accent was credible. He’d practiced for the past few months with a mujahideen from Tajikistan, and he could speak a few phrases. But the lingua franca aboard was English, because the Apurto Devlán, like most oceangoing cargo ships, employed many different nationalities. As long as there were no real Russians among the officers or crewmen he’d have to interact with, he would pass.
“Would you like me to return to my quarters to get mine, sir?” Vasquez asked. He was wary, but the corners of his narrow mouth wanted to turn up in a smile, as if he thought the new captain might be pulling his leg.
Graham fixed him with a penetrating gaze for several beats, but then shook his head. “In the future I expect my officers to set an example for the rest of the crew. At all times. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly. Won’t happen again.”
“See that it does not,” Graham said. He glanced at his watch. It was just eight thirty. “I’ll have my things stowed in twenty minutes. I want you and my officers, including my chief engineer, in my sitting room at oh-eight-fifty. I’ll brief you and then we’ll make an inspection tour. I would like to be under way at ten hundred hours. Precisely. Vy pahnemayeteh myenyah? Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Vasquez said. “May I show you to your quarters?”
“ Nyet, it’s not necessary,” Graham said. “Oh, and bring the crew’s personnel records, if you please. All the records, including yours.”
The Apurto Devlán was 900 feet long at the loaded waterline with a beam of 110 feet. She was rated Panamax, the largest class of ships that could transit the Panama Canal, the limiting factor in her case being her width. Under extreme circumstances, her highly automated systems would allow her to be maneuvered by as few as five seamen plus the skipper. Normally her complement was twenty-four officers and crew, but for this trip she was shorthanded with nineteen crew and officers, which included a cook, a cook’s assistant, and two female stewards, plus the captain.
All the way aft was the superstructure, which rose sixty feet above the main deck, and housed the crew’s living quarters and recreation dayroom,
“Interesting question.”
“Yeah,” Gloria said. “Maybe we were closer than we thought.”
FOUR
APURTO DEVLÁN, MARACAIBO VENSPORT PETROLEUM LOADING FACILITY 39A
Graham stepped down from the helicopter onto the loading deck amidships well forward of the aft superstructure. This was the only place anywhere aboard ship that was clear of the maze of cargo transfer and management piping for a helicopter to land. A young Filipino AB in dark blue coveralls was standing by to help with the captain’s luggage. He handed Graham a hard hat, which everyone wore on deck while in port.
As the crewman was pulling Graham’s things from the storage compartment, a slightly built man, his head shaved, his features dark, came
out of the superstructure and quickly made his way forward. He was dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt and blue jeans.
“Mr. Slavin?” he shouted over the noise of the helicopter’s rotors. His Hispanic accent, which Graham could not place, was very strong.
“That’s correct.”
“I’m Jaime Vasquez, I’m your first officer.” They shook hands. “Welcome aboard, sir.”
The crewman headed aft with the bags, and Graham led Vasquez away from the helicopter, which immediately took off with a loud roar and strong downdraft. Graham had to hold on to his hard hat so it wouldn’t blow away.
“Where is your hard hat, Mr. Vasquez?” he asked in neutral tone once the helicopter was gone.
“We finished our loading procedures last night, and the ship is ready for sea, sir. I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“The AB who came to get my luggage brought me a hard hat. Apparently he’s more mindful of company regulations than you are.” Graham’s Russian accent was credible. He’d practiced for the past few months with a mujahideen from Tajikistan, and he could speak a few phrases. But the lingua franca aboard was English, because the Apurto Devlán, like most oceangoing cargo ships, employed many different nationalities. As long as there were no real Russians among the officers or crewmen he’d have to interact with, he would pass.
“Would you like me to return to my quarters to get mine, sir?” Vasquez asked. He was wary, but the corners of his narrow mouth wanted to turn up in a smile, as if he thought the new captain might be pulling his leg.
Graham fixed him with a penetrating gaze for several beats, but then shook his head. “In the future I expect my officers to set an example for the rest of the crew. At all times. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly. Won’t happen again.”
“See that it does not,” Graham said. He glanced at his watch. It was just eight thirty. “I’ll have my things stowed in twenty minutes. I want you and my officers, including my chief engineer, in my sitting room at oh-eight-fifty. I’ll brief you and then we’ll make an inspection tour. I would like to be under way at ten hundred hours. Precisely. Vy pahnemayeteh myenyah? Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Vasquez said. “May I show you to your quarters?”
“ Nyet, it’s not necessary,” Graham said. “Oh, and bring the crew’s personnel records, if you please. All the records, including yours.”
The Apurto Devlán was 900 feet long at the loaded waterline with a beam of 110 feet. She was rated Panamax, the largest class of ships that could transit the Panama Canal, the limiting factor in her case being her width. Under extreme circumstances, her highly automated systems would allow her to be maneuvered by as few as five seamen plus the skipper. Normally her complement was twenty-four officers and crew, but for this trip she was shorthanded with nineteen crew and officers, which included a cook, a cook’s assistant, and two female stewards, plus the captain.
All the way aft was the superstructure, which rose sixty feet above the main deck, and housed the crew’s living quarters and recreation dayroom,
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