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THE PRESENT DAY

EIGHT in the evening Fro over a wrinkled blue tablecloth, a tired old cargo ship pushed her way through the Caribbean swells toward the entrance of Santiago Harbor on the isle of Cuba The exhaust frole funnel drifted in a blue haze under an easterly breeze as the sun settled below the western horizon and becanified by the earth’s atmosphere

She was one of the last trao ship that traveled the sea anony ports of the world There were few left in operation They did not follow a regular shipping route Their schedules depended on the deo and its owners, so their destinations changed froht and sailed away like wraiths in the night

Twosea, approached the ship and swung around on a parallel course The pilot closed on the rust-streaked hull as a boarding ladder was thron from an open hatch

The pilot, a ray hair, stared up at the ancient ship Her black paint was faded and badly needed to be chipped away and repainted Streae anchor, pulled tightly in its hawsehole, was completely covered by corrosion The pilot read the letters, barely discernible on the upper bow The weary old freighter was naon

Jesus Morales shook his head in amazement It was a o, he o carrier still in service He wondered if the party bureaucrats in the Ministry of Transportation had any idea of the condition of the ship they had contracted to bring in a cargo of chear and tobacco fields He could not believe the ship had passed maritime insurance inspection

As the ship slowed al and the pilot boat’s bu the crest of a wave as it lifted the boat, Morales leaped agilely fro ladder and climbed to the hatch It was a function he performed as often as ten ti beside the hatch and helped hi individuals, and they did not bother to s to the bridge Then they turned and left Morales standing alone on the deck Watching them walk away, Morales hoped that he’d never have to meet them in a dark alley

He paused before cli the ladder and took a few moments to study the upper works of the ship

Froed her length at 560 feet, with a 75-foot beae around 11,000 Five derricks, two behind the funnel and superstructure and three on the forward deck, stood waiting to unload her cargo He counted six holds with twelve hatches In her prio liner He guessed that she had been built and launched in the early 1960s The flag on her stern was Iranian Not a registry Morales had seen very often

If the Oregon looked shabby froht squalid from her main deck Rust covered every piece of deck machinery from winches to chains, but the hardware at least appeared to be in usable condition By comparison, the derricks looked as if they hadn’t been operated in years

To add further insult, battered drums, tools and what could only be described as junked equipment were scattered around the decks In all his years as a harbor pilot, Morales had never seen a ship in such filthy condition

He clie, past bulkheads with flaking paint and portholes whose lenses were cracked and yellowed Then he paused before finally swinging the door open The interior of the vessel was as bad, if not worse The wheelhouse was dirty, with the scars of cigarette burns on the counters and on what had once been a polished teak deck Dead flies littered the sills, the smell assaulted his nose And then there was the captain

Morales was greeted by a great slob of a ed over his belt line The face was scarred, and the nose so badly broken it slanted toward the left cheek The thick black hair was plastered back with soy The captain was a cacophony of colors His eyes were red and his teeth yellohile his arrimy yachtsy coveralls The tropical heat and the hue made it obvious to Morales that the man had not bathed for

at least aworth his salt would have tried to bury the man

He extended a sweaty hand to Morales and spoke in English “Glad to see you I’m Captain Jed Smith”