Conspiracy at Desert One
By Bernace Charles
A month had passed. Walker filled the days with polishing the manuscript.
It was late in the evening when he stood within the office of a shipping
company. The office stood along a dock of Portsmouth, England. There, he
presented a set of papers taken from the safety deposit box in Paris, Texas.
The papers were seaman's papers and used for employment in the Merchant
Marine. The last work listed was that of an oiler on a tanker making a
voyage from Port Lizabeth, South Africa to Southampton England six years
in the past.
Walker was wearing a well-worn navy-blue sweater and corduroy pants.
His hair looked unkempt and he was holding an English brand of cigarette.
A day earlier, after checking a copy of "Lloyd's Shipping Index"
Lin Thi drove Wes and Roya to Portsmouth. A ship docked at a Portsmouth
quay named the "Essex" was soon leaving for Galveston, Texas.
Wes said, "I need the work." The words came in a Cornish accent.
A man of the port authority gazed on the papers and said, "Sorry
. . . they logged the crew this morning."
Walker took a piece of paper and wrote a single word on it. He pushed
the paper to the man opposite him. Frank Donovan read it before saying,
"Be on the dock at nine p.m. The Essex leaves port at five a.m."
Walker left the building and returned to the BMW. As he entered he said,
"It's set. We need to be back at nine."
Roya asked, "How did you arrange it?"
"Don't asked questions I can't answer. I also plan to stay alive.
I managed passage for both of us."
Lin Thi shook her head at the way Wes came to know those living on the
outer edge. She asked, "Can you trust them?"
"The man's sister died at the hands of British troops in Belfast.
I trust him. The beard threw him, but he came round. Let's go. I'll buy
Lin Thi turned the car off the dock and drove back into the center of
the city. It was five p.m. >>>
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