1.

THE GHOST FLEET

It was a busy day in the city. As usual I was early to work. My mind is all work. It has become a part of life.
There had been days I wondered what I ever wanted to be. Ambitions, education, certificates filed up at the
back of my mind. I just cant wait to start work, the work which didnt deserve my papers. Well, this is what
happens when you dont stick to what you planned, but it was not always a choice that you can make. Joe, my
college mate, a close buddy, a true friend, introduced me to this job. An accounts job he said but it was nothing
what he said. He didnt lie but just helped me to get into a job, to get a pay, to survive in the busy city. Well he
was right, you just have to do it when the money matters. It has been installed into my mind like a chip that I
have to come up in life, the car, the house, the life . It is all about money.
When my boss patted me on my back ,I came back to my morning. My boss, a Chinese was surprised to see me
waiting at the office doors so early. Hi, you so early, hmm..you will do well in your life son he
acknowledged. Maybe he honestly said it or juts tried to look good as he was later than me. I smiled and
stepped into my office and quickly started my work. A letterhead with ESSO logo was on my table. It was
from my company sports club. I have a game in the coming days. ESSO football team, a cool team with some
good players and it was another challenge to get into the team. The letter was the right motivation to get my
Saturday on the bright note. I put the letter on my inbox tray and started my PC and the green SAP system
appeared. It was an alien system to me but it came good with all my quick learning skills. I pressed the button
with the tag PD to get through myself to the refinery terminal. My ring was quickly answered by the terminal
supervisor at the refinery, ESSOs refinery at Port Dickson, the coastal town.
All the trucks seemed to have loaded the fuel oil to their destination. The boys, the truck drivers, must be
haunting the highway with their screaming engines to all destinations. It was a relief to see all the loads were
out of the terminal. It was a good feeling to continue work. Phone calls, SAP system, deliveries and scheduling
the next day loads kept me occupied. It was an easy task for me. I was just too good at it. As long my boys out
there delivered the scheduled loads and be back to Port Dickson, my work is done. As I was munching my
favourite Cardbury snack, a call from an unknown number appeared but it seemed to be registered at Port
Diskcon. It was a driver, not from my fleet but a diesel delivery truck driver. I never talked to him before,
maybe a first time calling me. I asked him if he wanted to speak to the diesel fleet coordinator, Mrs.Shanti, but
he just wanted to talk to me. His voice sounds agitated, and he was catching his breath. While trying to fix his
sentence. Slowly when I calmed him down he confirmed his truck number. I checked into my system while
engaging with him on the phone. Yes he is from the diesel fleet and his schedules showed he should be at

Benta, at a timber factory far in the jungles of Pahang. Then he spoke. He gave a long story though I kept
cutting down his story. I didnt know how to reply to his story and I just wanted to push this new Saturday
problem to the diesel coordinator but Mrs Shanti was not in at that time. He kept on begging me for help. He
said the loggers at Benta will never let him out alive if they knew what he did. I just went speechless for that
moment. An Indian driver, my own ethnic, struggling to get out of a sticky situation but I just dont know
what to do. Then ,I calmed him down and said, I could not do much. If anything please do call your contractor,
I suggested to the worried driver. I noticed that his truck is owned by Satu Hati Transport, a Indian truck
contractor from Labu Sendayan , Port Dickson. I put the phone down. I could not tolerate a cheating
situation but at the same time my other side had this empathy towards the driver.
After some good 20 minutes I dialed the same number which appeared on my desk phone. He didnt answer.
Twice he didnt answer. I thought it was better to call the haulier contractor Mr Rajendran to inform him.Mr
Rajendran was always nice to me whenever he called me. As a successful businessman , I have this personal
respect for him. He owned 10 double XL trucks. Technical term to describe huge trucks. As I was dialing the
contractors number, the driver called me back. I asked what happened and before I could raise my next
question, he said he was unloading the diesel into the big tank. The diesel is used to oil the gigantic machines to
cut down the lush green environment. I could not imagine the situation at Benta from the drivers words t but
did wonder if they were legally cutting the huge trees. The driver had to cut short the conversation as it was
documentation time for confirmation of load unloading.
After a good half and hour , he called back. I raised my voice and asked what happened to the one
compartment of oil. How did it go missing and how in the world that the loggers didnt noticed the empty
tank. He said softly he paid them some money, paid the person who unloaded the oil. The driver gave him half
of his taking for one compartment of oil which he stole and unloaded elsewhere. I was new to this. How did
the driver did it? After much talking to the driver, I drew up my own assumptions. Seemed like oil theft is a
common thing with drivers. One compartment costs a bomb I thought. Why that much ? When the unloaders ,
the purchasers dont really check the content of the truck, drivers take the chance to unload the oil somewhere
else before loading to the right customer. Cheating is the right word. Dishonesty is another word. Sheer theft
summed up it all. The theory was simple to justify what they are doing, Why not we take a small portion of
that big wealth they have, they will not share with you if ask them, so just take it from them. Sounded like
they really understood Robin Hood and the merry team tale in the Sherwood of Notingham, but there was
nothing merry about what was going on. It was the dark side of the oil supply industry in Port Dickson. I
wanted to ignore it but been born with same colour skin with the majority of fleet drivers there, I was being

chased. I could have just said no but evil forces slowly dominated myself in the name of justice for my fellow
brother. I never knew how hard was it to stick in the truck head while engaging with the inertia of the long
tail full of black gold. A truck drivers job is a tough one.
After days of negotiation on the phone, I agreed to help the driver for more of his dark side of trucking. I was
talked into the plot for the next mission. My mind did not rest and as the day came for the load to be supplied,
I somehow used my systems knowledge and assigned the same truck NBL 5915 to the jungles of Benta. I went
back home with a guilty feeling. I manipulated the truck scheduling to allow the driver to have his meal.
Honesty took a back stage but the justification to do it was far greater than the honesty that I preserved till
that time. I could not sleep the whole night. I kept on waking up in the midst of darkness of my room. It was
the 90s. Handphones were still rare. So I had to wait till the next morning to find out what happened.
As I looked into my SAP system, I quickly typed in NBL5915. Status showed loaded and left terminal at
10pm the earlier day. By now it would have reached Benta or maybe it was still on the way. It was a cold day
for me at work. Quiet, skipped lunch and was just thinking of the truck driver. At the time of clocking off, I
received a call. It was the driver and he happily said mission success. He unloaded only 3 compartments of oil
at Benta logging company and managed to drive almost one compartment of oil back to Port Dickson. Now he
just had to unload it at an unknown location for the exchange of hard cash and submit his chopped and signed
invoice back to the terminal. I tried to imagine the whole thing in my mind. I went back with mixed feelings.
Feelings of a guilty soul. I could not agree with myself that I was talked into this. Once again I had sleepless
nights.
Days passed without any setbacks and the first mission was now dusted away from my desk. My work rate
caught everyone eyes in the office. I made many friends. Walk in customers, colleagues . terminal staff,were all
plenty of praises for me. I slowly became the blue chip in my office. The excitement at work was second to
none. I volunteered to work every weekend , something all my colleagues never did. Family and home are for
weekends but for me the office has become my home. More drivers called me up and people say I could solve
every problem that the distribution centre faced. I knew my mind thinks quick and Im over qualified for the
job. The trucking, the orders, the coordination with the terminal staff, was easy as peanuts. The pressure was
immense but the excitement of solving a problem thrilled me. My value at work slowly increased. As months
passed , more missions were sent. It was not just Benta. JBL 5915 had been haunting many sites. First I
didnt understand why the purchasers never check their ordered loads. Were the drivers so sleek ?? By now the
bond between the driver, Krishnan and me slowly grew. Partners in crime would be the exact phrase.

Moreover, the fear and worry I had in the first mission was not a bother anymore. I had been so cool to just
tag the truck to the desired location, with some manipulation and some tricks I kept away from Mrs Shanti,
the diesel coordinator.Meanwhile,I did notice more drivers called my desk phone and requested for orders.
When I asked Krishnan about the orders, he admitted the requested orders were all cow slaughter. A phrase
used by the drivers to address loads not fully unloaded.
After a year at ESSO distribution department, I knew the whole trick of the dark business at Port
Dickson.The business of the black gold. Port Dickson is a small coastal town. The towns main attraction is
the beautiful sandy beach with resorts and lagoons. The old army base is another landmark someone cannot
miss in Port Dickson. The two terminals are few kilometers off the main road that run parallel with the coast.
Many dont really know about the terminals, one belongs to ESSO and the other is of SHELL. The trucks do
not pass buy the coastal road. The drivers make quick exit to the main highway and speed away to the
destinations. The haulers have huge parking spaces in the deeper remote parts of Port Dickson. Mostly owned
my Chinese tycoons and a few Indians. The drivers are mostly Indians. Thats how it is in Port Dickson. There
is a huge Indian community. Mostly depend on the oil industry but as labourers. Driving about 8 to 10 hours a
day. A hard job for the physical and strong. Not helped by humble the surroundings and a poorly developed
community, the dark side of the oil business is Gods gift to them. The Chinese bosses owned the big fleet. The
Indians, drive the huge machines. They steal for some extra cash. Cash to try to compete with the rich as they
sell the stolen oil back to the Chinese tycoons. No wonder many land stores are always fenced up high with
zinc metals in Port Dickson. The drums and the pumps to suck out the stolen oil were all behind the zinc
metals. It was an old trade. Oil is an expensive commodity and everyone wants a share of it. Everyone thinks
they are Robin Hood, stealing from the large multinational oil company and take it back home to feed their
children. The justification is only word sake. Some already built new houses some bought the trucks from the
owners, some drove nice cars, but the worse ones spend it on drinking and women.
I knew now what is Port Dickson from deep inside, and Im now the center man to make it all happen. I
realized my job is a hot seat. I didnt know what the previous staff at my job did, but certainly made nice of
the seat. The hot seat no one wanted to sit. The pressure to coordinate a network with customers, the terminal
staff, the hauliers, the truck drivers and above all my own ghost drivers. I was the magician who made
everything happened at my finger tips. I managed and manipulated the system. Krishnan introduced more
drivers to share the mission. With the promise to be good drivers, I talked to all of them. Orders were assigned.
Trucks left Port Dickson. They come and load again. Everything was what you swe but the ghost fleet gave
everyone an illusion.

Then the drivers felt that they should meet me. They wanted to show their appreciation.I was reluctant but
deep in my heart I want to know the cash involved. How much do they make?. So far, with so many successful
missions, I was never offered anything in return for my favours. I still thought it was a noble thing to do to
help the poor drivers, Indian drivers, the feeling of brotherhood. After much persuasion, I agreed to meet but
with the condition that the meet should be at my own kingdom, not Port Dickson. So it was arranged so to
meet at the nearest ESSO petrol station near Kampung Pandan. The Desa Pandan station was the spot. I
went there. They were waiting. Three of them, Krishnan, Hardeep and Chandran. All were in their early 40s. I
looked all their faces for the first time. I only talked to them on the phone before this. A quick word of
exchange and I was given a small brown envelope. It was a small gift for me they said. I quickly grabbed it
and with hesitation I thanked them and left. I could see that the drivers wanted to do more for me but I was
not ready. I was worried. My heart pumped so hard. As I walked back home, I was looking around if anyone
would come and handcuff me. The fear of guilt.
When I reached home, I opened up the pack. It was a new mobile phone box. Yes, it was a new mobile phone.
Ericsons latest product. This was the start of the mobile phone era that would change the life of
communications. I knew it could have costed a thousand buck. It was all fixed with prepaid cards. It was new
to me. I dont know if I wanted to use it. I told myself that it was the reward for a hard work to help my
Indian brothers. The same phrase the drivers used to explain the missions. I took it to me. I took the gift. It
was a token of the bond to continue the crime. No, not crime, justice . The Robin Hoods justice.
So I got my share of the dark side of Port Dickson. I was part of it. Somehow when I walked in my office the
next day, I switched off the phone and kept it in my drawer. Not that Im worried to use it but I just hate to
carry it around. I never fancied a mobile phone. Maybe I was new to the technology. Not many had a mobile
phone in the late 90s.
The ghost drivers were happy. I could feel their new zest in life from their strong voices over the phone. They
were more comfortable to call me just to ask if I had taken my lunch. I always liked people who asked about
my lunch. Someone who cared about what I eat, like my mum at home. As more missions launched without
any jinx, I got curious of what would my next reward be. The conversation grew. The drivers started to talk
about the hard cash and always said that some reward had been always kept aside. I could take it whenever I
want. Although I ignored it but I started to feel the heat in me to know how much would my total reward
would be.

Finally I agreed to meet again. This time it was set to be in Port Dickson. When the day came, I have already
taken two days off. A rare thing made all my colleagues wonder but they understood that I needed a break
from work. No one knew I was on the way to Port Dickson. Im not allowed to meet hauliers or drivers, It is a
breach of trust. That was already dumped far away at the corner of my mind. I was excited to visit Port
Dickson. Before I left office, my nearest colleague, a petite lady, fair and sweet in her late thirties, Mrs Shanti
,called me. She passed on a call from the terminal to my line as she was busy. I heard a voice. A sweet voice. I
realized she was a new terminal staff who had been working there for a month now. Had never talked to her
before as she always spoke to Shanti. That evening I talked to her. I was quick to response and before Shanti
could wake up and come over to my desk, I already hanged the phoned. Shanti was curious how come I
responded so quickly. I just said , the girl asked me about a truck which didnt turn up and I said I had already
called the driver. So, solved. Shanti put a weird face and said, Why not you talk a little longer with the girl,
ask her if she had her tea or what, I turned to Shanti, looked at her and said,Hmmm, I dont know, she asked
and I answered, so why ask more. Shanti, who had been like my own elder sister, had even a weirder face
when I said that and said, Kumaran, you should say Hi to the girl, talk to the girl, you had been all work and
work . I paused for while, still arranging my files on my desk and then replied , Ok Shanti akka, I will say
Hi next time I talk to her, sure no problem. Shanti gave a smile but her smile was a little weird,still. She said,
Ok, enjoy your holidays and dont think about work, have fun I smiled and gave her a hug and left the office.
Before I walked off my other colleague, Fadly reminded me of the coming football game.
Whatever Shanti told me about the girl at the terminal was wrapped in a dump file again.Just waiting time to
dump it once I leave the office. Have no interest to talk to any girl, just work nothing more than that, but
would say Hi the next time I talk to her. Just to make Mrs Shanti happy. I didnt want her to think Im antisocial.
Soon, that late evening I was on the commuter train. In my favourite blue courdouray,and East India long
sleeve top, I held on to my vacation bag and anxiously anticipating my visit to Port Dickson. I made a call to
Krishnan, the driver and informed the expected time of my arrival. As the train glided to Seremban, I closed my
eyes.Good peaceful rest after a full month of work. Imagination of what will my rewards be in Port Dickson
still coloured my mind. While the Ghost Fleet waited in Port Diskson