“I have pictured this ending in a lot of different ways. This wasn’t one of them,” Meyerson replies while staring at the sinking ship.
“I’ve driven people to drink before, but I’ve never driven them to sink.”
Broadfield ponders over all the fishing gear he saw on the Thunder.
“They had enough gear to fish for a long time. A lot of nice wet weather gear,” he says to Meyerson, who is looking at the many Indonesians sitting in the life rafts.
“These guys probably had the best paid fishing job in all of Indonesia, and we ruined it for them. Crime does pay,” he says.
“I have never seen a ship sink before in real life. If anyone wants to say goodbye to the Thunder, then this is their last chance.”
When Hammarstedt returns to the bridge, he sees that water has begun to flood the deck of the Thunder. He picks up the ship’s interphone and makes an announcement for the crew of the Bob Barker.
“Attention all crew. Attention all crew. Looks like the Thunder is going down.”
Then the crew comes up onto the bridge to bid a final farewell to the ship they have been following for 110 days. At 12:52 PM, the Thunder lies down in the ocean. It is as if the hull just rears up. First, the water floods over the section furthest back on the quarterdeck, then it pounds in against the panes on the starboard side of the wheelhouse. The keel rises 80, and then 90 degrees. In a short while only two of the hawse holes are visible, like two eyes taking a final glimpse of the sky before retiring after 46 years of service. The air that is pressed out of the inside of the ship creates a column of water several metres high, like a geyser. As the front part of the bow is swallowed, the ocean turns a turquoise colour. Then the sea silently closes up around the Thunder and seals the ship’s 3.8-kilometre journey down to its grave.
Several of the Indonesians start chanting loudly, almost like football supporters encouraging their team to make one final effort: “Thunder, Thunder, Thunder.” The Spaniards are silent.
“Let’s stay clear of that little spot,” Hammarstedt says to Meyerson.
“Where did the birds go?” Meyerson asks.
“They came over to us,” someone on the bridge says.
“That was the end of the campaign,” Vermeulen states.
“We’ve been staring at that stupid boat for four months. And it is gone. I don’t even know where I’m going anymore. ’Cause all I did was follow them idiots. Now I have to navigate and choose somewhere to go. Put the radar on 12 nautical miles instead of a mile and a half,” Meyerson says.
“I don’t know what to do with my life. I feel like the Grateful Dead when Jerry died.”
“What were they thinking?” Harmsen marvels.
“They weren’t thinking, they were sinking,” Meyerson says.
37
A LAST RESORT
GULF OF GUINEA, APRIL 2015
It is no coincidence that it is the boatswain Giacomo Giorgi who is waiting to receive Captain Cataldo as he climbs up the pilot ladder and onto the low quarterdeck of the Sam Simon. The heavily tattooed and brawny Italian is the most frightening welcome the ship has to offer.
Before signing on with the Sam Simon Giorgi ended his career as a vocalist in a hard-core band by screaming “I’m not afraid today, I won’t be afraid tomorrow” at a dark, rock club in Rome. With Giorgi as head of the welcoming committee, Captain Sid Chakravarty wants to give the pirates the impression that he is completely in control.
When the entire crew of the Thunder is on board, they will be two against one. All day long he has been pondering over what he will do. Should he zip tie their hands? Lock them inside cabins? Shut them out on deck?
For the time being he wants to keep the crew on the quarterdeck and escort the three top officers – the captain, the fishing captain and the chief engineer – to separate cabins.
After Cataldo has been frisked, Chakravarty tells him that he wants to have a conversation with him.
The short and stocky captain of the Thunder with buzz-cut hair and a dark, stubby beard is dressed as if he is on his way to the nearest beach pub: a black T-shirt bearing a Heineken advert, over his right shoulder a small backpack and on his head a purple visor cap with a dragon motif and the word “Singapore” embroidered on the stiff brim.
“What about passports?” Chakravarty asks.
“Pasaporte? No. It was very, very fast,” Cataldo stutters in shaky English.
“Oh? It took six hours to sink,” Chakravarty counters.
“Very, very fast,” Cataldo repeats.
“Can I have your name?” Chakravarty asks.
“Alfonso.”
“Can you write it for me? Help me with the spelling? And can I have your date of birth and nationality, please?”
“What is date of birth?” Cataldo inquires.
Chakravarty’s Spanish interpreter comes to the rescue, and the details are scribbled down on a piece of notepaper. Then Cataldo reluctantly agrees to be escorted inside the ship to a cabin, but before he leaves, he turns to face Chakravarty and waves his arms.
“No camera. OK?”
“I cannot control the cameras,” Chakravarty responds.
That is a white lie, but the Sam Simon captain wants to document everything that takes place. Under his T-shirt he has hidden a small microphone and all of Cataldo’s outbursts are being recorded.
When he enters the cabin, the captain of the Thunder receives an unpleasant surprise. The lock on the door has been taken apart and reinstalled so it is faced the opposite way; Sea Shepherd wants to lock him inside. Cataldo emphatically insists on being escorted back onto the deck.
“Capitan, you cannot lock me inside a cabin,”
