Pirate - Duncan Falconer [83]
He decided to stop paddling and stay where he was. The setup looked good enough. The bulker would snag the line in the next few minutes. No one in the bridge would be able to see him unless they had a pair of binoculars trained directly on his position. He estimated that he would be closer to the stern of the carrier than the girl would be.
He watched the oncoming vessel, counting the seconds, the life jackets tied around him, stuffed up under his chin.
He became aware of a distant hum. Engines. He took it to be coming from the oncoming cargo ship. Then he realised the bulker was too far away to produce such a sound.
He turned in the water and saw the pirate mother craft heading towards him. As he stared at it in horror, he judged that it wasn’t in fact on a direct line towards him but to the cargo ship.
Stratton looked between the two vessels to gauge their relative tracks. Both were going to cut across his line but from opposite directions.
And it looked like the pirate vessel would snag the line first. Stratton’s choices were limited indeed. He could think of two in the time he had. He could cut the line and hope the pirates didn’t see him as they pursued the bulker. But then he would be stranded. Or he could try stopping the pirate boat from snagging and take his chances from there.
Only the latter had an element of a possibility to it.
Stratton shot his arms into the air. He waved and shouted, and ripped away his sweater to reveal the bright orange life jackets beneath. He knew the Somali vessel would pass by him considerably closer than the bulker but the eyes on board would be focused on their prey. He untied the outermost life jacket, pulled it off and started waving it around in the air.
Almost immediately, the front of the pirate vessel dipped as its engines decelerated and the nose came around to aim directly at him.
He stopped shouting and watched it approach. An unqualified success, for the time being. He glanced at the cargo ship. It was still coming on. If its crew had seen the pirate vessel and were in any way suspicious, it showed no outward sign of it.
The pirate vessel slowed as it approached. Men gathered in the prow to look at him.
The engines suddenly roared as they went into reverse and the boat came to a stop a stone’s throw from him in the light swell.
The fishing line ran away from Stratton only a couple of metres in front of the boat’s path.
The Somalis had lined the side of the vessel, looking down on him. Stratton recognised one or two of them and suspected from the way they were gesticulating, that they had recognised him too. They looked surprised to see the Englishman. They appeared to be more curious than angry at the sight of him. They could afford to be.
A shout went up and passed to the back of the boat. Then a familiar-looking big man strode along the deck and stood in the prow to look down on Stratton. The tall, strongly built African wore camouflage uniform and dark sunglasses. He looked quite amused with his find. The grin didn’t last very long though.
‘Well, well, well,’ the pirate chief said in his deep voice. ‘You are a slippery fish to hold on to.’
Stratton had no immediate reply. All he could do was look at the man.
‘You have nothing to say!’ Lotto called out.
‘It’s a pleasant morning,’ Stratton called back. It felt like the right thing to say under the circumstances.
Lotto grinned again. He said something to one of his men who came forward and handed him an AK-47 assault rifle. Lotto pulled back the working parts to cock it and as he did so a round flew out of the breach but another was reloaded.
He aimed the end of the barrel at Stratton. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I don’t invite you on board,’ he said.
Stratton glanced at the bulker. It suddenly seemed miles away from the line. ‘I have a deal for you,’ he shouted, not knowing what the hell he was going