John Schettler - 9 Days Falling, Volume I

“I see,” Elena was pleasantly interested, still showing no undue concern. “You’re suggesting I divert my at sea shipments to American ports?”

“Perhaps. I can get a very good price for you—very good. You take Princess Royal home, what do you get? A hundred pounds on the barrel. The Crown is very consistent, yes? But by the time your shipment gets round the Cape of Good Hope you could get very much more in an American port. Very much.”

“No disagreement here, aside from the fact that Fairchild serves the interests of the Crown at the moment.”

“Ah…” Salase grinned, a little hesitation in his manner now. He reached for the glass of wine the waiter had just delivered, giving the moment a little air.

“The Crown has many interests,” he said. “Also many servants. Much can happen in troubled times.” He ate an olive, and a bit of cheese, dabbing his thick lips with the monogrammed table linen napkin.

“One should always remain open to the possibilities—particularly when financing is so very hard to come by. Yes?”

That last remark had hit a nerve, MacRae knew. He was hinting at the big payment coming due on the Argos refit at Bank of London. Fairchild didn’t like people nosing into her banking arrangements, but her features were as placid as the bay at Larnaca, where the sun was setting now and casting a lovely glow on the water.

“And what good fortune!” Salase smiled again. “You have lots of empty ships that need filling.”

“I didn’t know you were so privy to our shipping manifests.” It was clear that he knew a lot more than he was hinting at, the berthing status of her ships could be viewed on the Internet by any inquiring soul, but she wanted to give him a gentle nudge in the ribs just the same.

“Oh, pardon me,” he feigned an apology. “My nose is as big as my ears. I can’t help hearing things, and I’m always keen to smell out a new opportunity for profit, yes?”

“Well it’s very clear that you smell one here.” The tone of Elena’s voice shifted a few points to starboard. She was leaning into business now, the pleasantries over. “Do go on, Mr. Salase.”

“Well,” he said, also sounding a bit more serious now. “These tankers you have at sea…They left port three days ago, but nothing was mentioned of their destination. I couldn’t find them on any of my registry schedules for the big ports you service.”

“Imagine that,” Elena said flatly.

“Oh, I will imagine,” Salase came back quickly. “I’ll Imagine they might be close at hand, but when I looked for them on the flight in there was no sign. Just this beautiful vessel I am privileged to visit here now.” He waved his hand expansively. “Lots of empty tonnage out there somewhere,” he finished. “I may have a contract for you.”

MacRae glanced at Fairchild, and she at him, ever so briefly. Salase couldn’t see it, but it was clear to the Captain that his boss was interested.

“Well,” Elena began, “assuming these ships were close by, and assuming they were still empty, or had any chamber room available to take on more product, then what would we be talking about?” Elena was holding her cards close to her trim, yet ample chest, but still ready to draw.

“It’s all in the weather,” Salase beamed, then lowered his voice, eyes wandering with a casual, conspiratorial glance from the Captain to his Executive in Chief. “We picked up a communication from the American Chevron operation in the Caspian Region.” He was all business now. “They have more trouble than you’ll ever read about on the news wires. A call went out for mercenaries.”

“My, this is getting interesting,” Elena gave him her most engaging smile, and it had just the effect she intended. The excitement in his eyes was obvious as he continued, hoping he had a good chance of closing a lucrative deal tonight.

“More even,” he began. “We’ve received formal requests for any spare tanker capacity in the region. They want it as soon as possible. And here you have these ships close at hand. How fortunate.”

Fairchild looked at him, her eyes bright. “Yes, how very fortunate, Mr. Salase.”

Whoknows what is good or bad, thought Elena Fairchild. Yes she was fortunate to have all this spare conveyance in a very convenient spot that night because she knew all about Chevron’s call for tanker support. It was, in part, the reason she had Princess Marie and Princess Angelina at sea, and the reason why Princess Irene was slipping through the Suez canal tomorrow night to join them, though Salase must have known at least that much. She also knew that her vessels represented 80% of any spare tanker capacity within 2000 miles at the moment. Her network had intercepted the Chevron radio phone call days ago, and it was clear that the move could net her a tidy contract here.

But the old Taoist proverb rankled at her…who knows what is good or bad? These ships represented the heart of her entire enterprise, and the oil centers of the world were getting very dangerous these days. Salase was up to something here, and so she decided to tease him a bit.

“We’re nearly twelve hundred miles from the Caspian superfields, and the last time I looked there was no direct sea route.”

“And of course you can’t accept shipments from Ceyhan at the moment after that pipeline attack at Erzurum. They just shipped off everything they had bunkered there, and now it will be some time before any more oil gets through. Most unfortunate. That limits options. The situation is very dangerous now, but may I make an informed guess that this ship is a security vessel, and that you also have a security contingent aboard? Helicopters?”

“Mr. Salase, there’s an American carrier battlegroup in the Atlantic and heading east to the Med even as we speak. Lots of helicopters, sailors, not to mention about a hundred lethal strike aircraft.”

“Ah, yes, one of their presidential ships, if I am not mistaken.” He addressed the remark to Captain MacRae, who nodded in the affirmative.

“CVN Roosevelt ,” MacRae said quietly.

“Yes, yes, well I wouldn’t count on Mr. Roosevelt handling this job. As significant as the Chevron operation may be, there are, how is it said… bigger fish to fry.”

“These days fish are usually fried in oil,” Fairchild quipped, her point obvious. Then she leaned in, with even more obvious seriousness in her tone. “Alright, Mr. Salase, I have three empty tankers with two and a half million barrel capacity between them four days from any number of terminal ports in the Middle East or the Med. And I have the ship you are dining on this evening, to make sure they arrive and conduct their business without any problem from the Iranians or anyone else. And yes, I have helicopters as well. We won’t be making a purchase, you understand, just providing conveyance of the oil, and security. What’s the offer?”

“I knew you would see the opportunity inherent in the current situation,” Salase exulted. “I have a firm offer, but you need not worry about the Iranians. This is from a basket of Caspian regional operatives. All negotiations have been managed by my firm in Alexandria. We can offer you a conveyance premium of forty dollars a barrel.”

“The Caspian Consortium? That means a trip to the Black Sea, and soon, before the pipeline through Georgia gets shut down like the BTC line. I’ll want ten dollars a barrel on top of that for the risk,” she said immediately, catching him just a bit unprepared.

Salase shrugged, feigning difficulty. “That will not leave me very much on the margins.”

“Come, come now, a good middle man has any number of ways to pad his invoice. Fifty a barrel for conveyance and security premium. What’s the terminal destination?”