M/V TARABULUS PRIDE
“Captain, what can we expect at Gibraltar?” Hurtubise had informed himself of the basics of maritime traffic control but there had been no time for details. He had to trust Zikri on matters of seamanship.
The Libyan skipper looked forward, visualizing the exit to the Atlantic, somewhere beyond the mist and haze. He turned to a map on the chart table. “We are here,” he said, tapping a position opposite Bizerte. “About four hundred miles out of Misratah, day before yesterday.”
Hurtubise shook his head. “What is that in kilometers?”
Zikri rubbed his stubbled chin. “Ohhh … maybe seven hundred.” He grinned at the landlubber. “There are nautical miles and statute miles. We do not bother with statute—that’s for the Americans.
“Anyway, we are making a little over ten knots—say, eighteen kilometers per hour. At that rate we reach Gibraltar in about ninety hours. When we approach the eastern end of the strait, we contact traffic control. Most ships identify themselves, but the international convention permits corporate security.” He grinned broadly. “Very considerate, yes? We file a discreet report that avoids public announcement. After that, we monitor Tarifa Radio for traffic information. As long as we stay in one of the shipping lanes, there should be no problem.”
Hurtubise viewed the map with practiced eyes, noting the geographic geometry. “Are there other ways to track us?”
“Well, there is satellite coverage that helps with traffic control. I think about two hundred ships pass the strait every day. It can get very crowded: the narrows are only eight miles wide.” He looked at the Frenchman. “Twelve kilometers.”
“How good is the satellite coverage?”
Surprise registered on Zikri’s face. “You mean for identification?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I do not know for certain. But I doubt that a ship could be identified beyond its length and maybe its beam. That is, width. Certainly not by name.”
“Mon capitaine, do not be so casual about the Americans with their statutory miles. They have satellites that can show a golf ball.”
The Arab shrugged. “Maybe so. But I believe it is a very great problem to position a satellite to cover a moving object, like a ship. Besides, how could they pick us out of hundreds of other vessels in a given area?”
“Maybe they can’t. But I want to take no unnecessary chances. Once we are past Gibraltar, I want the crew to start repainting.”
“Well, yes, we can do that. Not the entire ship, as I explained before. But we can use a different color on the upper works, and change the name on the stern.” Tikri regarded his colleague. “We will need your men to do the work as fast as possible.”
“Of course. They’re not here for a sea cruise.”