November 1st, 2041
ALANG, INDIA
Be careful what you wish for…. Almost 2 months after fleeing Doha, Oz's breadcrumbs led me to a safehouse made of shipping containers in India, filled with No-Pats armed to the teeth. Amongst them were a former intelligence officer, former doctor, nightclub bouncer, car mechanic... They all tried to hide that side of themselves, the former, but if you looked hard enough, you could find it in every tall tale and wry smile.
"Navin Rao is what you call a people person."
As Specialist Navin Rao, a notorious Indian hacker and ex-MARCOS officer explained it to me, armed Task Forces cropped up in the 30s when moving cargo between the Non-Patriated around the globe became a lethal occupation. In response, world governments cracked down on all No-Pats, treating them as smugglers and pirates. To that, Rao can only shrug, "That's why we always wear eye-patches when delivering food rations to stranded families… Who else is going to help No-Pats, if not other No-Pats?"
Was Rao's spin the whole truth? There was only one way to find out. Of course, this Task Force seemed to be without one key ingredient -- a boat. The fact that we were in Alang, the largest ship breaking yard in the world, provided a clue...
This was going to be a heist.
"Not every ship in Alang is destined for scrap."
Shipping is a simple business. More goods than ships, the price goes up. More ships than goods, the price goes down. In the late '30's, in the wake of the Second Great Depression, the world had nothing to move. To prop up prices, the industry turned to ship breaking facilities like Alang to convert unused and weathered fleets back into high tensile steel. But soon, Alang became famous for something else: magic. How else could you explain whole freighters vanishing into thin air, only to be discovered months later amongst the ever growing No-Pat fleet?
It was the city's worst kept secret. Corrupt businessmen were selling ships intended for scrap to No-Pats on the black market. But the Indian military would soon put a stop to it.
"Navigating the Alang coast is treacherous business."
In the gale-force winds that night, the gunfire sounds like it's coming from every direction. As the Indian Army pursues us, Rao brushes off a glancing wound and takes the helm, piloting us around the black iron corpses of ships that block our escape route.
It's a feat that would have been spectacular on a clear day. But with 25 foot swells and the boat rocking like a sailor on shore leave, it's sheer skill that shakes our pursuers in the graveyard of tankers.
By 1:32 AM GMT, the magic act is complete and we vanish across the 21st Parallel. Our beat up old container ship, unofficially dubbed "The Copperfield", begins her journey as a No-Pat.