Often at home, arrested wanderers of the seas are perceived as naive calves who were duped and set up by cunning owners or charterers. Sometimes that is the case. In the Dardanelles, the cargo carrier ordered the 'Mech' to slow down supposedly to take on repair workers, after which it was boarded by a shabby steamer, from which a swarthy, multilingual crowd climbed aboard, including children and pregnant women. But more often the crew knows or guesses about the forbidden transport in advance and understands that this persecuted yet developing business is profitable. By profitability, it is, by the way, in third place after drug and weapons trafficking.
The crew of the boat 'Anna Antoniou II', home port Limassol, who only thanks to incredible luck avoided imprisonment in an Egyptian prison, also knew what they were getting into. This last crew of four - three Odessites and a resident of Transnistria - was sent to the ship in May of last year. The author knows two of the Odessites personally, and even worked with one on the turbine ship 'Sobinov', so the information obtained first-hand is reliable.
At Athens airport, the four were met by a certain Dimitrios, one of the co-owners of the boat. He briefly flipped through the electrician's diploma (he, one of the four, was a newcomer on the 'Anna', but not in the fleet) and returned it. Nothing more was required; the shipowners did not complicate their lives with any certificates. The crew did not sign contracts, and they still do not know the owners' surnames. True, they also had seaman's passports, and they spent money on foreign passports, but on their own initiative - just in case they had to make a run for it. Not in vain did they stock up; an opportunity soon presented itself.
Dimitrios took them to the island of Salamina, where the boat was resting on the slipway - as it turned out, a compatriot. The vessel was a disarmed and sold to the Greeks interceptor whaleboat of the 'Grif' type from the Black Sea Fleet. The chief engineer, who had served as a midshipman on this very 'Grif', carried out a survey of the engine. They repainted the superstructure and packed the propeller shaft bearings. About three weeks later they left the port. They moved at a speed of 20 knots, the boat got onto the planing surface, planed, and shook like on railroad ties. They stood watch in the engine room two at a time. When they were exhausted, the captain announced: 'The ties are over!' - and stopped the diesel, they drifted for several hours, catching up on sleep.
The cargo turned out to be live - in Constanta they took on board a dozen Indian citizens, who were registered as crew members. Again they galloped along the 'ties'. As agreed, they arrived at night at a point on the roadstead near a fishing village about three hundred kilometers west of the Greek port of Piraeus, and delivered the 'cargo' to two fishing feluccas.
They rested in the bay for about ten days, stocking up on water. On shore they met Pontic Greeks, emigrants from Kazakhstan, one named Ivan.
'Are you working for Ioannis and his idiots?' Ivan asked and grinned. 'Keep in mind, they're broke, no money. Instead of standing here idle, you could run to Alex. In Alexandria, 35 Indians are waiting for shipment. I pay two grand for each trip. Deal?'
They found out that Ivan was one of the tough Russian mafiosi; they did not take the risk.
They made three trips to Constanta, each time taking strictly twelve passengers. They communicated in English; each group had an interpreter. Where the feluccas transported the Indians, the crew did not know, had no idea - supposedly to the unfinished dacha of Kulish, one of the owners. In the crew's view there were three owners or partners - Dimitrios, Kulish, and Ioannis. The latter kept the bill of sale for the boat and the entire package of documents. For each trip Ioannis promised a bonus, premium pay, one and a half thousand per round. They carried the swarthy ones using documents with stamps and visas. It is not a sailor's business to check whether they are fake or genuine.
They never got the bonus; they received an order to proceed urgently to Benghazi for fish. They languished in Libya for about a week, but they did not take fish. Ioannis ordered them to go to Alexandria. They had no charts, made their way within sight of the coast, and soon received a new instruction - to go to Damietta, a port under construction at the mouth of one of the branches of the Nile.
On July 16 they were abeam of the Damietta lighthouse and stood on the outer roadstead for two weeks. At this time of year the khamsin blows from the desert; the light little boat was tossed like a roly-poly even at sea state two, the toy anchor (kedge) did not hold, and they were carried into the stormy sea. Drinking water was running out; provisions had run out even earlier. They entered the port on their own. The crew of a neighboring Syrian vessel knew they were starving and brought food.
In the morning, the owner of the agency ship chandler firm, a certain Kafi, came aboard and brought some provisions. If potatoes cost two Egyptian pounds, Kafi wrote $2 on the invoices, although the exchange rate was 3.4 pounds to the dollar. They signed the invoices without looking; after all, it was not they who would pay. They called Ioannis in Greece and said that the ship was about to be arrested for non-payment of port dues. 'We are sending the money, everything is in order,' they reassured them from the other shore of the Mediterranean.
Kafi left for Roz-el-Bar, a resort town near Damietta, but the problems remained. The 'Grif' could take 700 kg of drinking water, while the minimum amount the waterman would dispense was 25 tons. They went from ship to ship with a canister, begging; on a Ukrainian 'fishing boat' they met a classmate from nautical school. The fishermen treated them to herring and offered to take as much as they could carry, but they had to decline; the refrigerator on the 'Grif' did not work, they had run out of gasoline for the engine, and the heat was 42 degrees. The aluminum boat heated up like a frying pan; they covered themselves with wet sheets. They waited for the coolness that came two hours before dawn.
An electrician went down with renal colic, they turned to the port doctor. Two injections, costing $6 at home, came to $150. They continued to beg around the ships. They hired themselves out for date picking. So August and September passed.
They contacted Hellas less and less, saving their last money. Ioannis fed them promises. They called Greece one last time, setting a condition:
"Pay half the salary, and we leave," — there was silence on the line. "Then you won't see the boat!" — and they swore in English.
The ends were cut off. Kafi promised to put them on a plane first on October 12, then said there were tickets for the 19th, but he did not show up that day. On the 19th they went to the port captain. The captain reluctantly opened up, explained that the vessel and crew were arrested until the auction. Every day immigration authorities came, they signed on separate slips of paper, confirming the fact of the hunger strike. The hunger strike was dry, the escalation of the situation did not prevent them from sipping tea with the authorities.
On the 26th, Kafi honored them with a visit, took them to his home in Ras el-Bar, they ate, but refused drinks. The police were still polite, even friendly. They realized they couldn't get out on their own. They got through to Cairo, to the embassy.
The uncertainty was exhausting. Kafi deceitfully wheedled out their passports — "shuras" — needed for leaving the port. Finally they waited for an embassy employee, Valentin Nikolaevich.
"Guys," said the employee, "I came to get you out of here. Sorry it wasn't right away, we're stretched thin: in Nigeria four of ours are under machine guns, there are arrests of ships in other African countries too. You have to know the East, I've been here three years already... One thing I can say firmly: you won't fly out on the 26th. I'll come to you again, I need support."
By the 26th, of course, Kafi had not brought the tickets.
The days seemed endless. A week later Valentin Nikolaevich arrived, they went to the head of the port security service. The diplomat talked for a long time with the Egyptian, who was well-disposed, but the issue was not resolved. They invited everyone somewhere for lunch, even threatened to slaughter a ram.
"We don't leave the office," warned Valentin Nikolaevich, "until they paste stamps in the passports. The authorities insist that two must stay to ensure the safety and operation of the vessel, and my counter-condition is that only the captain will be detained for a month, it will be easier for me to pull him out."
The negotiations dragged on into the night. Finally the authorities agreed to leave one captain, and the departure from Cairo was in the morning.
Already at the airport bar, they asked their rescuer what help he had needed. Valentin Nikolaevich, it turned out, had enlisted the support of a familiar Egyptian general — the East is the East.
The captain returned a month later; Valentin Nikolaevich had pulled him out, as he had promised. Walid recently called the captain, gladdened him by saying that the trial and auction were scheduled for March. A buyer appeared, a certain Konstantinos. Who is he — a straw man or an interested party? Konstantinos promised through Kafi to pay the captain's travel expenses to appear in court. Walid hired a familiar lawyer, the lawyer was promised a fee, 20% of the sum. The crew is owed $18,000 in total, and the approximate value of the "Grif" is $80,000.
What then made the Greek owners send the boat out of sight, and then "forget" about their debts to the crew?
It is not excluded that the Greek police — astynomia — detained some of the illegal passengers of the "Grif", they might have gotten to Ioannis, which is why the boat was so hastily kicked off to Africa together with four witnesses. The probability of this version is strengthened by the telephone conversation with Ioannis, which took place while they were waiting for instructions in Benghazi. Ioannis then let it slip that upon arrival in Egypt the vessel might change flag, name, and accordingly, port of registry. Reflagging requires expenses and is often done for the same purpose for which criminals resort to plastic surgery — so as not to be recognized.
Why did the choice fall on Damietta? Kafi, it seems, is not assigned the last role in this story, or rather, in its final, responsible part, and the path to him from Ioannis and company is surely worn. Kafi will keep an eye on the arrested boat, and then, when passions subside, it will be convenient to buy the "Grif" at a good price through Konstantinos and return it to the owners; Konstantinos is surely not a stranger to them.
The Egyptian police, apparently, also had their own interest. The port police offered cigarettes to the broke crew, but at the same time tried to find out what kind of cargo was in the hold-berth of the "Grif". "Fish," the Odessites answered and poked their fingers at the homemade insulation with which the bulkheads were pasted over. The policemen picked at the insulation, even sniffed it — it did not smell like fish. The Damietta police knew better than anyone that the Egypt-Hellas bridge for delivering illegal migrants was operating. And the need for delivery was acute, to recall at least the proposal of Ivan the Pontic Greek to run to Alexandria in between and transport the impatient Indians or Pakistanis, 35 people in all. And for the fast and unnoticeable delivery of the visa-less, the nimble high-speed "Grif" is the most suitable vessel, you couldn't think of anything better. Had someone from the "Grif's" crew let something slip — then the crew would have been locked up, although the sailors themselves were of no interest to the authorities; it was important for them to get through to the owners in Greece, if possible lure them to Damietta and get a payoff.
The crew, thank God, managed to avoid trouble. The situation of those released early is dire — no salary, no work. Only debts and kidney stones...