There's also a wall at Titan headquarters with a row of photos of the men who died on the job. That kind of money finances staging grounds in southern Florida, England, and Singapore and pays the salaries of 45 employees who drive Lotuses, BMWs, and muscle cars tricked out with loud aftermarket DynoMax exhaust systems. When the Titan team refloated that container ship in Mexico, the company was offered $30 million, and it's holding out for more. Around the company's headquarters in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, it's known as the $11.6 million bell.īut the rewards have grown as well. When a job went bad in 2004, Titan ended up with little more than the ship's bell as a souvenir. It's a risky business: As ships have gotten bigger and cargo more valuable, the expertise and resources required to mount a salvage effort have steadily increased. If the salvage effort fails, they don't pay a dime. The insurers of a disabled ship with valuable cargo will offer from 10 to 70 percent of the value of the ship and its cargo to anyone who can save it. Salvage work has long been viewed as a form of legal piracy.
And then there's Habib, the guy who regularly helicopters onto the deck of a sinking ship, greets whatever crew is left, and takes command of the stricken vessel. Each has a specialty-deep-sea diving, computer modeling, underwater welding, big-engine repair. They're a motley mix: American, British, Swedish, Panamanian. Now he's the senior salvage master-the guy who runs the show at sea-for Titan Salvage, a highly specialized outfit of men who race around the world saving ships. He helped the Navy transport a nuclear refueling facility from California to Hawaii. He spent his early years captaining hulking vessels that lifted other ships on board and hauled them across oceans. He holds an unlimited master's license, which means he's one of the select few who are qualified to pilot ships of any size, anywhere in the world. He's been at sea since he was 18, and now, at 51, his tanned face, square jaw, and don't-even-try-bullshitting-me stare convey a world-weary air of command. While people are shouting "Abandon ship!" Habib is scrambling aboard. But for Habib, nearly every month brings a welcome disaster. Ship captains spend their careers trying to avoid a collision or grounding like this. Rich Habib, Senior Salvage Master Photograph: Andrew Heatherington
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