The Atlas Murders (13 page)

“Good evening Tyler.”

“And the same to you, what
tidings do you have good sir?”

He sat down and took an
envelope out of his pocket. “Here are the names of contacts in ports you may
call to. Your first port of call from here is Bombay. I have a contact for you
there, and also one for Colombo, Tokyo, and Panama. There are instructions on
how to contact these people but it is information you cannot leave lying around,
especially when your cabin mate’s a prime suspect. So to address this I’m
giving you a simple code which you can use to decipher these names and
addresses. I have here a small copy of the bible and at page forty there are
letters with little dots under them, you start at the first one and count to
ten and apply this to the paper with the encrypted contact names on.”

“Yes Danny, I’m familiar with
the use of this code.”

“Good, now here is a little
secret compartment in the back cover of the bible, pull this little ridge on
the inside of the cover and you can slip a small sheet of paper into the slot.
Not too sophisticated but effective for your needs. I’m sure most of the
crewmen will pick the bible as there last choice to read.”

 “If the ship doesn’t go to
the particular port and I have something urgently to report, will I just post
my report to the contact?”

“Exactly, and they will
forward it on to us. We expect to have your man Denis Troy in hospital sometime
tonight, our team is in place and we have him identified.”

“Great, so I will be joining
tomorrow?”

“No, not so fast. He will
have to remain in hospital for at least twenty four hours before they’ll decide
he’s not fit to sail, then the captain will have to contact head office in
London to report and get permission to sign on a replacement. You will probably
be signing on the day after tomorrow and sailing the following day.”  

Danny stood up and handed
Henry the bible. “I’m off now. I have a little job to do in Fremantle.”

 “Good luck Danny, but when
will I see you next?”

“I’ll be here tomorrow night,
same time.”

Henry continued his letters
to Vincent and Vera; he had a little bit more news to add to each missive. He
then began to read the coded names and addresses Danny had given him; he could memorize
them with a bit of effort, concentrating on one at a time.

The next day passed slowly. He
remembered a passage from his Shakespeare days.

‘If every day were playing
holiday, to play would be as tedious as to work’
.

‘How true he thought.’ He
read the local paper from cover to cover, had lunch, went to his room and
showered for the second time that day. Feeling refreshed he went walk about. He
had a late dinner and was back in his room a few minutes when Danny arrived.

“Anyone at home?”

 “Come on in and join the
party.”

“Great where are the
strippers?”

 “They’ll be here in a while,
what’s new?”

How did the operation go with
Denis Troy, any problems?

“Not a bother, our agent is
brilliant. She’s a real beauty. No man in his right frame of mind could resist
her charm! Our man is in hospital - suspected appendicitis. I just checked an
hour ago. I told the reception I was the chief officer on the ship. I was told
he’ll have to remain under observation for at least three days; especially as
going back to sea would be very serious because if his condition worsened, they
could do nothing for him. You may be joining tomorrow evening. I’ve had a word
with the shipping master in Fremantle and all is in order there.”

 “I thought it was going to
be a male agent?”

 “No, a female in that kind
of situation is always best. That’s not to say one of our men was tracking her
all the way in case anything went wrong.”

Henry was relieved that all
went so easily to plan.

“Can you come for that
farewell drink now?”

 “Yes of course, and how did
you get on with that bit of decoding had you any problem with it?”

“No, I can commit most of it
to memory and just use the bible as backup.”

Danny led the way to the bar
which was beginning to fill up with customers. Henry thought this would be his
last social drink for quite a while.  

Chapter Eighteen

 The next morning Henry was
called to the front desk just as he’d finished breakfast and handed the phone.
Danny was on the line. “Well how is your head this bright and sunny day?”

“Great,” he lied. He had a
throbbing behind his eyes from drinking too much beer the night before.

 “Well Tyler, the news is
you’ll be joining your ship at eleven o’clock this morning, so I’ll collect you
at ten and we’ll drive to Fremantle.”

“Good. “See you then.”

There was a noticeable change
in the weather as they drove out to Fremantle. “Hope you enjoy Bombay, your
first port of call. After that I have no definite idea of your sailing orders.”

 “I’ve read up a little about
the bustling city. Sure to be interesting. I hope by then to have some kind of
profile on my four suspects.”

They drove onto the dock and
could barely see the ship under a cloud of dust rising from the big chutes
pouring the grain into her holds. Danny stopped before the car was enveloped in
the dust cloud. “Well old boy, this is where you get off and start on a new
adventure.” He leaned over and shook Henry’s hand. “The best of British luck
Henry. Keep in touch. When this is all over come back here and I’ll take you
out and show you what a real drinking session is all about!”

“I’ll keep you to that Danny
and thanks for everything. You’ve been a great scout.”

Henry humped his two bags up
the gangway and reported to the chief steward. It was ten thirty, ‘smoko’ (tea
break/cigarette break) time and a steward was passing with a tray laden with
mugs of steaming hot tea.

The chief steward addressed
the steward with the tray. “Gary, come back in a few minutes and show our new
man to his quarters.”

“Ok sir. I’ll be back in a
moment.”

“Come in and sit down,” the
chief gestured to Henry, “I believe you were on one of those Irish ships and
paid off sick and had to be hospitalized.”

“Yes that’s right; I’ve been
ashore for a while.”

“Did you sail second steward
on The Irish Plane, that her name?”

 “Yes, I was second steward,
and they were a good company to work for with well-run ships.”

“That’s news because we
British have the wrong impression that they are some wild bunch of yahoos with
no discipline and prone to drunkenness and rowdyism.”

 “Well nothing could be
further from the truth; they are very strict and dry ships. A tot of rum on a
Saturday night and that’s it. Mind you, we did have a few punch ups in port but
no more than most ships. But once back at sea all is forgotten.”

 Gary Conrad poked his head
into the chief steward’s cabin.

“Take our new man and show
him his cabin. Come back up to me Tyler and I’ll take you up to the old man to
sign on.”

“Hello, my name is Gary
Conrad, I’m your room mate.”

“I’m Henry Tyler, pleased to
make your acquaintance.”

 “Here, let me carry one of
them.” He picked up Henry’s case and went ahead down the stairway to the crew’s
quarters. They reached the lower deck with its pungent air of men who worked,
relaxed and slept in close proximity, Henry contrasted the fresh air of the
chief steward’s cabin with the below deck crew quarters. Gary Conrad opened the
cabin door and went in ahead of Henry.

”This is your one,” he said, pointing
to the top bunk, “and these are your set of drawers and locker.”

 Henry took a quick look
around. The first thing to catch his eye was a large poster size picture of a
naked woman with over large breasts which were marked with an arrow pointing to
each one: yours, and mine.

 Conrad saw him looking at
her. “That’s Lolita and so there are no arguments, we share her equally - one
tit each.”

 “Very well endowed I must
say. Nice viewing on a wet afternoon.”

“I suppose after five or six
weeks at sea on this tub it helps to remind one that there is another species
called women.”

“Yes of course you’re right,
but I’m sure there is no shortage of girly books doing the rounds?”

“Yeah, we’re fed up with the
old ones, should have a bit of fresh viewing when we leave here. By the way,
you know we’re bound for Bombay.”

 “No I didn’t.” Henry feigned
ignorance, “and then where?”

 “Haven’t a clue, could be
anywhere. I better get back on duty; the chief will let you know what duty
you’re on.”

When he left, Henry
suppressed an urge to open his locker and drawers and search for a possible
clue to Shirley’s murder. Hold tight he cautioned himself. He got out his
discharge book and went back up to the chief steward who led him to the captain.

 The captain was sitting
behind his polished desk which was covered with papers. He was writing and
signing documents and putting them to one side.

“I have Mr. Tyler sir, our
new assistant steward.”

“Come in, I should have those
ship’s articles here somewhere.” He sorted through a pile of papers. “Ah, here
they are.”

Henry handed him his
discharge book. “I see you sailed as second steward on The Irish Plane. Her
master is Johnny Poole, a very good friend of mine. How is he keeping?”

“Oh, just fine sir when I
left.” Henry’s whole charade began to crumble. Good grief! how could this be
happening, is all he could think.

The chief steward turned to
leave. “Call in to my cabin on your way below.”

  “Aye-Aye sir,” he replied
in a faltering voice.

The captain laid out the
articles. “Here, sign here. Do you want to send an allotment to anybody, wife
mother or dependents?”

“No sir, I have no dependents.”

“Right Tyler, I hope you
enjoy your time on the Rangoon. We’re bound for Bombay and as yet, no word as
to where from there.”

The chief steward assigned
Henry to serving the officers saloon for breakfast and dinner. Conrad would do
lunches. He was also assigned the deck officers accommodation and the two radio
operators. He took up his duties immediately after lunch and felt confident,
although the captain mentioning he knew The Irish Plane’s captain nearly
unnerved him. It also warned him he would have to be very vigilant and careful
with questions about the ships he was supposed to have sailed on.

During a short afternoon
break he went up the dock road to the post office with the letters he had
written to Vincent and Vera. When he came back up the gangway he met a deck
apprentice hanging up the board with the sailing time on it. The white chalk
read twenty hundred hours. He looked at the young man dressed in his whites and
wondered if he was Oswyn Welland.

The young man turned to him.
“Are you the new assistant steward?”

“Yes that’s me.”

 “I suppose like all the
catering staff you probably don’t know what twenty hundred hours means in
normal time? Well its eight o’clock in the evening in layman’s terms.”

 “Thank you for the information,
and who might you be sir.”

“I’m second senior deck
apprentice. Welland is my name.”

“Thank you, my name is
Tyler.” Henry took stock of this haughty self-important young man and thought
what an attitude he would present to a young girl. He was all of six foot tall
with dark hair and complexion. He could be considered quite handsome. Vera’s
description of the dark French beautiful girl who stole her fiancé was very
evident in this young man.

Henry was lying on his bunk
reading when the droning noise of the loading chutes stopped. It was nineteen
hundred hours. The silence was broken by loud voices coming from deck hands,
lowering derricks and battening down hatches, preparing the ship for sailing.
He though if he had a choice he would prefer to be an able seaman out on deck
doing what he believed was sailors work. Gary Conrad came in with two mugs of
hot tea and handed one to Henry.

 “Thanks Gary.”

 “Were you ever in Bombay?”

“No Gary, I’ve never been
there, have you?”

 “Yeah, once only. It’s not
the greatest port around. There’s plenty of women, cheap too, but you’d want to
use protection, it’s supposed to be a good place to catch a dose!”

Henry gave a false laugh.
“You’ve got your point across, I‘ll try to keep my pants on for the duration.”

 “Sorry, don’t get me wrong.
I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s just a matter of being careful.”

 “Well we’ll just wait and
see. Play it by ear, that’s my motto.”

 There was a slight vibration
as the ship began to move off the quay wall. It was a short run to the open
Indian Ocean and full ahead on a moderately calm sea with a south westerly
swell. The fully laden Rangoon was comfortable plowing a straight furrow on her
north westerly course. Henry finished his tea and decided to go on deck and
view the great ocean and meet some of the crew who were still stowing the
mooring ropes and checking that everything movable was lashed down and secure.
There were a few men standing along the alleyway outside the galley smoking and
looking at the fading shore lights and the flash of the lighthouse. The young
horned moon was creeping up the eastern sky into the clear starry night.

 A crewman walked up to him
and produced a packet of Camel. “Have a smoke, you’re the new man?”

 “Yes that’s me, Henry Tyler,
thanks.”

 He flashed a lighter and lit
the cigarette for Henry. “I’m the second cook and baker. I have to get that bit
in, it’s very important, especially when I have to bake the bread every second
day. How did you enjoy your time ashore in Aussie?”

“Actually, I was in hospital
for the same reason the previous steward,
Denis Troy is now in hospital in Perth; I
had a suspected appendicitis. But when I came out I enjoyed myself. However, I
thought I might be flown home. No chance though, the company’s too tight-fisted
for that.”

“Yeah, all these shipping
companies are the same, tight as a crabs’ assholes.”

Henry hesitated deciding
which way to direct the conversation. “What do you think of our next port? I’ve
never been to Bombay, have you?”

 “No, but I was in Calcutta
and if it’s anything like that it’s a shit hole. Most of these Indian ports are
much the same.”

A call came up the alleyway.
“He’s giving out an issue.”

The second cook turned to
walk away. “I suppose we better go and get a few cigarettes.”

 “Ok,” said Henry. He remembered
from his studying that the bond would usually be opened shortly after sailing
and cigarettes and tobacco were issued to all crewmen.

He followed the crewmen and
got two cartoons of Lucky Strike. He went on down to his cabin and Gary Conrad had
on his transistor radio with a local radio station from Perth playing the
latest pop tunes. He spoke above the noise. “See you got the weed. I didn’t see
you smoking. I thought you were like me, a non-smoker.”

“I’m a very moderate smoker,
replied Henry, “some days I might not smoke at all. Do you mind sharing with a
smoker?”

 “No, every cabin and the recreation
room are constantly filled with smoke - doesn’t bother me.”

 Henry began to undress. “I’m
going to snooze.” He jumped up into the top bunk and pulled over the curtain,
switching on his overhead light, he read for a while and before falling off to
sleep, he thought to himself, that the hunt was on in earnest now.

 Next morning he served
breakfast and took particular notice of Sean Sweeney the junior radio officer
and one of the suspects. He was a slightly built lad with red tasseled hair and
with all the sunshine he still had a fresh freckled complexion. Henry thought he
was one of those Nordic types who never tan. He had an appetite like a gannet,
and the steward in the pantry told Henry when he was serving the junior to give
him an extra helping or he’d only be back looking for seconds. He was very
polite, his pleases and thanks yous were prolific, but Henry observed what he’d
term a shifty eye. He never held eye contact and was constantly brushing his
hair from his eyes with his hand and using the movement to observe other
crewmen and their movements as they came and went for breakfast. He reminded
Henry of some animal he just couldn’t place, and then as he came back with the
second officer’s food the red head turned and the hazel brown eyes met his - ah
yes, a fox!

*****

 Sean Sweeney thoughts
flashed back to the dark dormitory where he slept with thirty other boys. He’d
cover his head to try and block out the loneliness and fear that were his
constant companion especially at night. The light footsteps his worst fear as
the blanket was pulled from his face and there in the semi-darkness the black
clad figure reaching out and taking him by the hand leading him trembling to
the punishment room. This ogre defiled his young body and scarred his fragile
mind, and he was burdened with this terrible stigma that he considered he was
somehow responsible for. His aunt Mary loved him as much as any mother and his
uncle a patient and gentle man, gave him all the attention and love he fostered
on his own son. He’d often say to his wife Mary - who had never told him what she
had seen at the orphanage – “what is it with young Sean, I try to do all I can
like a father but I feel like he’s across the other side of the River Liffey
and we both have outstretched hands but cannot reach one another. It’s not your
or his fault but it’s that blasted place he was in. Those people running it
weren’t fit to look after young boys. What was it Mary, did they beat him?”