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Chapter 16
Alang Harbor, India
The hulls of long-dead ships rose from the mudflats like ruins in the distance. On a stiflingly hot afternoon, with the sun gently sinking into a sea of haze and humidity, Kurt and Joe stood on the open-air balcony of a small three-story structure that acted as the offices and control center of Bharat Salvage and Steel, one of more than a hundred companies that owned space on Alang beach, where they broke down and recycled some of the largest ships in the world.
There were other ship-breaking centers around the world, Chittagong in Bangladesh and Gadani in Pakistan, but Alang had been the largest and most active for a long time. Over the last forty years at least ten thousand ships had met their ends here. Supertankers, ocean liners, warships. On any given day nearly two hundred ships sat on the beach, most in the process of being ripped apart by workers with acetylene torches, saws, and hammers.
Bharat Salvage and Steel had eight vessels on its section of the flats, and a stretch of mud open in the middle awaiting a ninth. A large bulk container ship was closest to them. Most of its superstructure wasgone, along with large sections of the port-side hull plating, which left a perfect cross-sectional view into the hull itself. Each deck was laid bare for them to see, complete with its structural supports, bulkheads, and fittings.
Next to it was what remained of an aging car carrier. Men with acetylene torches were cutting through the hull plating section by section. As Kurt watched, a section as large as the side of a barn bent away from the hull and snapped off, falling six stories into the wet mud. The man who’d made the final cut was seen scrambling to get out of the way. He swung along the side of the hull on a cable, dodging the five-ton section of steel by no more than a few feet as it went past.
Beyond that ship was an unrecognizable vessel—just fragments, really, like the bones left over after vultures had picked a carcass clean. Its bow stuck up like a sail while its hull was gone and an army of workers, who looked like ants, scored the interior, breaking down its boilers, engines, and anything else that was too heavy to remove in one piece.
A tanker namedKhalilsat beside it, and next to that a small coastal freighter with its stern already removed. Finally, Kurt spied theSoufrieresitting in the mud, untouched so far, but with every door and hatch wide open.
Kurt addressed the owner, a man named Virat Sharma. “Very impressive,” he said, adding, “One salvage man to another.”
It was a blatant attempt to make a connection with their host. But considering that most Americans who came to Alang brought cameras to document the harsh and dangerous working conditions, Kurt figured it was important to show the man a different side.
“Thank you,” Sharma replied. “We are the best breakers on the beach. Despite what the reporters say, we conform to the rules of the Hong Kong treaty on large-vessel recycling.”
Treaty or not, the beach was strewn with debris. Hundreds ofspent acetylene cylinders, stacks of unusable junk—insulation and electrical wiring and asbestos and fuel oil—all oozing in a toxic mix.
“You do what you have to,” Kurt said. “As do we. And what we’d like to do is make a brief search of one of your ships.”
“And what exactly are you looking for?”
“That’s between us and the owner.”
“All these ships are mine now. That makes me the owner.”
“I meant the owner of the misplaced property,” Kurt clarified.
Sharma nodded and moved around in the office, crossing a thick rug and leaning against a large, industrial metal desk. “And what makes you think I have your ship?”
“Because we tracked it here,” Kurt said calmly. He nodded out the window. “That big tanker. TheKhalil.”
Joe heard the name, thought it sounded wrong, but maintained a straight face and said nothing.He was there to play the role of Kurt’s tough-looking enforcer, with sunglasses on, sleeves rolled up to reveal his biceps, and a scowl on his face.
“If you’ll allow us to access the ship,” Kurt continued, “we’ll conduct our search and be on our way.”
Sharma eyed them suspiciously. He appeared even more concerned than before. “What is it you’re looking for?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, either,” Kurt replied. “But my government is very interested in recovering it.”
“Are they?” Sharma said. “And yet I haven’t received any type of official request that I know of.”
“You’ll get one eventually,” Kurt promised. “But, one salvage man to another, it would be better formeif I find these items before the politicians get involved. And if you’re willing to help, I’ll make sure it’s better foryouas well.”
“Ah,” Sharma said. He was smiling now, with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “So there’s a reward.”
“Nothing official,” Kurt said. “But the money will find its way to you.”
Sharma leaned on the desk, pursing his lips, remaining silent while appearing to calculate the possibilities. Finally, he reached under the lip and pressed a hidden button. A few seconds later the office door opened and a pair of hulking men came in. Each of them appeared capable of tearing a ship apart by hand.
“These are my bodyguards,” Sharma said, unprovoked. “Though occasionally they do other things. Today, they will guide you out of the yard and back to your hotel. There will be no search.”
“You’re kicking us out?”