Pirate - Duncan Falconer [19]
Stratton watched him, hoping to get an early impression. But the pirate commander’s expression was hard to read. He barked a command and a Somali began to search them thoroughly, then removed their belts and boot laces and tied their hands with nylon fishing line. The Somali handed his finds to the commander, who examined the three wristwatches – two practical timepieces, the third expensive. He flicked to the back of the passports, noting the two sodden ones were British. He eyed his captives again, now with a little more interest.
He handed the items back to the man who had given them to him and walked away along the side of the ship.
The Somali guard made the three prisoners sit among a pile of rolled nets, large fishing weights and stinking fish pallets. The smell cut through the night air. These guys obviously did some fishing, Stratton reasoned, probably just enough to feed themselves. He looked up at the rear of the boat, illuminated by a bright light at the top of the cabin superstructure. He could hear the rhythmic thump of the engines below the deck, the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the craft. Two of the pirates sat outside the back door holding AK-47s, smoking and talking quietly. They had no shoes, they looked unwashed. He noted that some of them wore what might have once been expensive clothing. But hard, constant wearing and no cleaning had taken all the value from them. They acted more business-like than unfriendly and didn’t appear unfamiliar with foreign prisoners.
Stratton couldn’t believe his bad luck. He was a prisoner of Somali pirates on their way, he assumed, to the Somali mainland. This wasn’t going to go down well in London. The incentive to change the direction of events was immense. It was a duty of course, and a matter of self-respect. He had too many reasons to get away from these pirates.
Sabarak hadn’t said a word since the pirates appeared. Which wasn’t what Stratton had expected. But then again, he probably had his own reasons for not wanting them to know who he was. Before Sabarak could do anything, he needed to know a lot more about these Somalis. Most important was what kind of relationship they had with his Islamic brothers, the Al-Shabaab fundamentalists who controlled many parts of Somalia. Not all of the pirates had any great interest in the cause. Most simply saw themselves as businessmen. Sabarak didn’t know where these guys fell yet. So he wasn’t a danger to Stratton for the moment. While he remained unsure he would keep his mouth shut. The Saudi wasn’t guaranteed a positive reception from anyone just because he was an arms trader to jihadists. He’d have to find an interested or sympathetic party and then prove he was who he said he was. That might not be so easy. They would have to know people in common.
Stratton hadn’t learned much about the Saudi during the operational briefing because little was known about him. There had been a comparison made with the background of Osama bin Laden because like bin Laden, Sabarak came from a wealthy Saudi family and at some stage during his education, he developed a keen interest in the Wahhabi way of life. Sabarak’s family made its wealth from retail as opposed to construction. Sabarak chose to hide his extreme beliefs no doubt because bin Laden had not and had been a hunted man even before 9/11. Sabarak enjoyed frequent trips to Europe and America, staying in fine hotels and spending serious money. What you could call the usual Western entrapments: fast cars, state-of-the-art electronics, generally appearing to fully embrace the secular way of life. The guy had clearly plotted to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to take part in the anti-Western cause. He’d made the move at some period in the previous two to three years. As soon as he did, it was always going to be only a matter of time before his head popped up into