Pirate - Duncan Falconer [130]
He switched off the porch light and headed away.
When Stratton stepped on to the beach, he found Downs standing with his hands on his hips looking at the ships like he was deciding what to do next. Stratton could see the hostages all sitting in a group, waiting patiently. They looked more than content to wait all day. They were under the protection of the British military and on their way home. At that moment in time, life for them did not get better than that.
One stared at Stratton in the poor light, certain he had seen the man somewhere before. He asked the fellows either side of him and together they scrutinised Stratton until one of them twigged who it was. The news spread quickly and they were soon all in agreement: it was the one who had escaped and they had thought must be dead.
One of them whistled to catch Stratton’s attention. When he looked at them, the collection of European and Asian faces cracked into broad grins, the first in a long time for some.
Stratton nodded at them, somewhat embarrassed.
‘Brought your own fan club with you this time, did you?’ Downs asked.
‘Well, you know how it is. You reach my level and those are the perks.’
Downs started laughing and Stratton joined him.
‘Is it my imagination or do you suddenly look more chilled?’ Stratton shrugged and looked out to sea.
‘What happened back there in the town when I left you?’ Downs said.
‘I told you. I tied up a few loose ends.’
Downs knew he wasn’t going to get anything more out of his friend and he shut up and looked out to sea alongside him.
By late morning the last of the Somali pirates had been cleared from the ships and the crews allowed back on to their respective vessels. Two of HMS Ocean’s launches had arrived to provide food and water and medical aid for the lads and the freed crews. All of the captured Somali pirates were stripped of their weapons and allowed to leave. The British were keen to avoid the complex legal hassle and publicity that would accompany the abduction of a Somali citizen from his own country even though they had proof of the crimes. A couple of hours after that the anchors were weighed and the ships turned out to sea.
The two glider crews that had gone down before the bomb run turned up at the beach as the sun was getting higher. Downs knew they were inbound because their trackers were still working perfectly and HMS Ocean could monitor their progress. Both pilots’ radios had broken in the crash and their move to the beach rendezvous point had been slow because one of them suffered a broken leg. His partner had carried him over nine kilometres.
They couldn’t resolve one minor issue. Shortly before the bulkers’ anchors were retrieved, one of the SBS lads looking out through a porthole high in the superstructure of the East Asian carrier saw a figure climb through a stern anchor chain hole and dart along the deck and out of sight. Whoever it was had obviously swum to the anchor chain and climbed it to the top.
The SBS lad immediately assumed that a Somali was attempting to stow away. He organised a search but they could find no one. The operative who reported the sighting said he didn’t think it was a local. In fact, unless his eyes had deceived him, the person’s face hadn’t been brown and they had looked very much like a woman.
The squadron arrived back in Poole within three days and after a short debrief they were disbanded to go on leave.
Matt didn’t apologise to Stratton but neither did he try to denigrate him further. His final word on the subject, to anyone who cared to listen, was that Stratton had still tried to kill Hopper but the fact was he had missed. That was a dig Stratton could live with. Most of the service members who had been on the fence about Stratton’s choice admitted they would rather have been shot through the head by him than have it cut off by those bastards.
Stratton left for his home in Lytchett Matravers to be alone and unwind, but within hours Downs