Pirate - Duncan Falconer [88]
Stratton bobbed in the water and watched the pirate boat close in. He expected a bullet to the head. At least it would be quick. Arguably better than hypothermia or drowning and certainly better than thirsting to death.
Lotto had been at the front of his boat all of the time watching Stratton, willing the engine to get them closer, waiting for the opportunity that he knew would come to shoot the damned English. The sight of Stratton coming to a sudden stop, he truly considered a gift from on high. He gripped the rifle in his hands and brought it up into his shoulder. Held it there aimed square on to Stratton’s chest. He hoped the first round wouldn’t kill him so that Lotto could get two or three into the man before he died. But then he considered the wisdom of killing Stratton outright at all. Maybe better to let him die slowly in the ocean of undrinkable water. He quickly discarded the thought. He wanted the satisfaction of killing the man with his own hands.
Stratton stared into the end of the barrel coming right at him. He wanted to duck beneath the water but to do that he would have to get the life jackets off. No time. He couldn’t keep ducking and diving for very long anyhow. Didn’t want to add to the Somali’s amusement, Stratton popping up all over the place for a second or two until the bastard finally shot him.
Lotto knew there was nothing else that Stratton could do. He would wait until he had a complete sight picture. Then he would pull the trigger and send a piece of brass-coated lead right through the irritating Englishman. And after that entertainment ended, he would pursue the cargo ship and capture it. It was going to be a good day after all.
But the fishing line hadn’t snapped. It had simply worked its way down from the leading edge of the bow, popped off it, and slid along the keel as it passed over.
The sucking action of the propeller wouldn’t allow the line to sink away. It pulled it into a vortex, towards the spinning blades along with the surrounding water. The twisted line wrapped around the turning shaft and swiftly gathered in the slack.
Stratton was staring at Lotto. The leader had a clear picture of him in the rifle sight. A plate-sized target any half-decent rifleman could hit from where he was, leaning over the front of the boat as it cut through the water towards the operative. Then the reel fastened to Stratton’s chest whipped him around and he took off like a bungee jumper bouncing up from the bottom of his fall.
Just like before. Only this time much faster. The g-force wrenched at Stratton’s neck and his limbs pulled against their sockets as he skimmed over the water like a jet ski.
As before, Lotto could not believe his eyes. He was filled with anger and extreme violence and acted on instinct, firing wildly at Stratton, emptying the carbine’s thirty-round magazine in a desperate attempt to finish him off. ‘Get that man!’ he yelled, ripping away the empty magazine and throwing it down. ‘Give me bullets!’ he shouted. ‘Kill him!’
‘Boss!’ one of his men shouted from where he stood on the port side, pointing at the water beyond the stern of their own vessel.
Other pirates looked in the same direction, awestruck by what they saw. Lotto looked and was equally stunned. He watched the girl come shooting across the water towards them. She sped along the length of the boat, looking terrified, her legs and arms splayed like a spider.
As she looked at him, Lotto realised it was the Chinese girl. ‘Don’t just stand there staring,’ he screamed. ‘Shoot them!’
Every Somali with a gun ran to the front of the vessel and let rip.
On the bulker, the security guards had been watching the pirate boat close in. When Lotto opened fire, they assumed the bullets had been aimed at them.
‘Right,’ Bob exclaimed. ‘They want a battle. We’ll give ’em one. Section,’ he shouted, reliving his days in the Royal Marines