Pirate - Duncan Falconer [20]
As things stood, while the pirates didn’t know anything about any of them other than their nationalities, Hopper and Stratton stood a chance of being offered up to the British authorities for ransom. But Sabarak only had to find the connection to Al-Shabaab.
Stratton decided to tests the waters. ‘Well, Sabarak,’ he said. ‘It would seem as if fortune has indeed changed in your favour.’
Sabarak looked at him and in the dim light the operative could see the man grin. ‘I am well aware of that,’ the Saudi said.
‘You think you’ll be able to sell your story to these guys?’
‘I’m as confident as you are that I can.’
Hopper leaned close to Stratton to whisper in his ear.‘Remember the rules. Make escape attempts early.’
Stratton looked through the anchor cable eye in the side of the boat beside him and down at the dark, cold water. The half-dozen small boats were empty and being towed behind the mother craft. Could they cut them loose and take one back to the Yemen coast? He doubted it. They would have to overcome a myriad of obstacles before they could even attempt it.
‘Any ideas?’ Stratton muttered.
Hopper had gone through a similar thought process and come to the same conclusion. Hopper leaned his head back against the metal side of the tug.
Stratton lay back and made himself comfortable against a pile of nets. He was cold, his soaked clothes and the chilly night air a bad combination. He decided it was going to be one of those situations when all he could do was wait for the right opportunity to present itself. And when it came he needed to be decisive.
The rhythmic thud of the engines went on and the rolling motion of the boat had a calming effect. After a while he drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He was awoken by a sudden rush of activity on board as several men ran past him. The engines had been cranked up to what must have been full power. Pirates were hauling in the speedboats ready for crews to jump down into.
Stratton sat up and squinted at the sun that had appeared low above the water on the port side. It confirmed to him they were sailing south. And from Yemen that meant directly towards Somalia.
Another man ran past and went up into the superstructure, leaving the door open. They could hear the speedboats revving up and skimming away over the water.
The chief stepped out of the superstructure and went along the side of the vessel towards the front without a glance at his prisoners, talking energetically into a radio. Several more men ran past the group, one of them kicking Hopper’s legs out of the way.
Stratton got to his feet, feeling his muscles stiffen. He looked around the vast, uninterrupted ocean. And he saw what all the fuss was about. Half a mile or so up ahead was a large cargo vessel. The pirates were going to work. He stepped along the deckside to see better. The leader saw him standing part of the way along the deck and shouted at one of his men, who aimed his rifle at the operative, moving the tip of the barrel repeatedly, urging him back to the stern.
Stratton obeyed but remained standing. Hopper joined him to watch the small boats go after their prey. As the mother craft got closer, they watched the half-dozen speedboats, their former craft included, buzz the rear of the ship like a pack of hyenas. It was some kind of bulk cargo carrier nearly a hundred metres long, but it had a couple of significant disadvantages faced with the pirates: the bulker was slow, going little more than ten knots, and it had a low freeboard. The top of the stern itself looked to be only a couple of metres above the water. The bulker’s sides, up until midships, were little more than three metres out of the water. Not enough to prevent pirates climbing aboard. For that the free-board needed to be at least