Deadly Coast (6 page)

Chapter Six

M/T Phoenix Lynx
At anchor
Harardheere, Somalia

“How many did we lose?” Zahra asked, leaning on the bridge-wing rail as he gazed at
Luther Hurd
in the distance.

“Four holders from here onboard,” Omar replied, “including Gaal.” He shifted the ball of khat to his other cheek and spit over the side, as if the American’s name left a bad taste in his mouth. “Not that it’s a great loss. He wasn’t even a competent cook’s helper. I can’t imagine how he thought he could be an interpreter.”

“And from our core group ashore?”

Omar hesitated. “That’s more troubling. Five more holders—”

“Forget the holders! Any fool can be a holder,” Zahra said. “Did we lose any attackers?”

Omar nodded. “Three.”

Zahra stifled a curse and looked out over the anchorage dotted with captive vessels. He said nothing for a long moment, then shifted his gaze farther seaward, at the two American warships and those of half a dozen other countries, all drawn here by the presence of the
Luther Hurd.
He turned back to Omar.

“What’re they doing, Omar? Al-Shabaab is full of fanatics, but they’re not fools. Why, after months of declaring our business haram, have they decided to take it up themselves?”

“I don’t know,” Omar said. “But they’ve been recruiting for over a week now, and not the standard ‘join the jihad and earn a place in Paradise,’ either. They’re promising holders twice the going rate and offering
four times
the going rate for attackers. In both cases, with half as cash in advance.” He shook his head. “We can’t compete with that. All the groups are losing men to them. Clan loyalty is keeping most groups together, but everyone has some men without strong clan ties, and they’re flocking to the al-Shabaab operation.”

“But that’s just it,” Zahra said. “There is no ‘al-Shabaab operation.’ They’ve captured one American ship, murdered crewmen, and drawn half the warships in the region to our doorstep. That isn’t an ‘operation.’ It’s insanity.”

Omar hesitated. “There’s more, I’m afraid.”

Zahra sighed. “You’re full of good news this morning. What is it?”

“Something strange is going on with negotiations. I was surprised when the initial counter on
Phoenix Lynx
was so low, but thought it a negotiating tactic. But I’ve been talking to interpreters for the other groups, and now I’m not so sure. They all tell me that their negotiations have slowed. In fact, one group was within days of finalizing a ransom amount and the ship owner and insurer suddenly raised objections to the terms of the deal. Terms agreed weeks before. It seems like a concerted effort to stall. What’s it mean?”

Zahra glared out across the water at the
Luther Hurd
. “It means the fanatics have complicated our lives, and that negotiations will be more difficult.” He sighed. “We must become more aggressive, both in pressing our ransom demands and acquiring more hostages to enhance our bargaining position. It will be best if we can coordinate our efforts and move quickly. I will contact the other leaders.”

He shifted his gaze to the warships. “Perhaps, in a strange way, the fanatics have done us a favor. The more warships that collect here, the more freely we can operate out of the other ports and at sea. And Omar, find out more of the fanatics’ plans. Pick out one of our most loyal men to defect to al-Shabaab.” He turned and smiled. “Tell him he can take the fanatics’ money, but not to forget where his loyalty lies.”

M/T Luther Hurd
At anchor
Harardheere, Somalia

Mukhtar stood beside Diriyi on the bridge wing of the
Luther Hurd
, staring across the water at the
Phoenix Lynx
, three miles away.

“You were right, my brother,” Diriyi said, as he gazed in the opposite direction, seaward toward the line of warships. “More arrive every day. But how can you be sure they won’t attack?”

“On the contrary,” Mukhtar said. “I’m quite sure they will, but not immediately. The killings make them wary, and as long as we don’t force their hands with more executions, they’ll talk.” He smiled. “The Americans like to show the world how reasonable they are before they murder the faithful. They’ll talk and talk, and meanwhile, their Navy SEALs will find a sister ship and familiarize themselves with every detail. Then they’ll build a mockup and plan the attack meticulously, and count themselves very clever to have bought the time to do so. And
Inshallah
, by the time they attack it’ll make no difference.” He placed a hand on Diriyi’s shoulder. “I’m counting on you to buy me at least two weeks—four would be better. But if you sense attack is imminent, kill as many of the hostages as you can, then save yourself. Go ashore on some pretext and leave our new recruits to face the Americans’ wrath.”

“As you order,” Diriyi said. “I think my job is less difficult than yours. Are you sure our other recruits can be relied upon?”

Mukhtar shrugged. “They’re motivated by dreams of wealth, which will buy their loyalty as long as needed. Besides, we’ve no choice. The faithful are few, and none of us have experience attacking ships. It made little difference with this one, because we got aboard and attacked by surprise in the middle of the night. But our next attack will be very different.” He paused. “Which brings me to my next question. How’s recruitment going?”

“We’re almost ready. I’ve screened twenty experienced attackers, including two first-boarders, and begun to send them north to Eyl in twos and threes to avoid arousing the infidels’ suspicions. Their satellites and drones are snooping everywhere.”

“Good, good,” Mukhtar said. “Holders?”

Diriyi snorted. “Holders we can have without number at the wages we’re promising. Each day brings another boatload. I’m going to start turning them away.”

“No. Bring them aboard and arm them to the teeth. The more armed men the Americans see aboard, the longer they’ll delay and plan.”

“All right,” he said. “A few more then, but remember, every man aboard means more food and khat we must bring from shore. And with nothing to do, the men quarrel.” Diriyi sighed. “I think I’d prefer to face death at your side than manage this pack of greedy and unruly children.”

“And I’d prefer to have you there, my brother,” Mukhtar said. “But none of the other faithful has enough English to deal with the Americans.”

“Which reminds me. The boat this morning brought our runaway American back to us. I suppose the promise of cash was more alluring than faith.”

“Gaal? Do you trust him?”

Diriyi shrugged. “He’s a fool, like all these American jihadists. They all come impressed with their own sacrifice, and most are so squeamish they faint at the sight of a little blood. And then they expect us to make them leaders. “ Diriyi spit over the side. “I didn’t trust him before he deserted us, and I trust him even less now. I have him under guard, but it just occurred to me that his language skills might be useful.”

Mukhtar stroked his chin. “You may be right, and even if you’re wrong, he’s expendable. But he’s an unknown. We must test him somehow.”

“But how?” Diriyi asked.

Mukhtar smiled. “I have an idea. Bring Gaal to the captain’s office. And have someone bring up the woman.”

Gaal’s mind raced as, hands bound behind him, he was half dragged up the stairs toward an upper deck. At D-deck, he was tugged into the passageway and hustled toward the captain’s office. He tensed involuntarily as Diriyi released his arm and pushed him through the open door.

Mukhtar stood in the middle of the room, and kneeling before him was a slight figure, head concealed by a pillowcase. The kneeling figure was dressed in the khakis of a ship’s officer, and the diminutive frame and body shape left no doubt the captive was female.

“Ah, Gaal. You’ve come back,” Mukhtar said in Somali. “So you find the promise of cash more alluring than that of Paradise.”

“A believer may serve Allah in many ways, Mukhtar. I wish only to use the skills I’ve acquired in His service.”

Beside him, Diriyi scoffed. “From the others who arrived with him, it seems his most recently acquired skill is gutting goats.”

Mukhtar smiled at Gaal. “Not a skill in short supply, I’m afraid, but still, you may be of some use. Of course, given both your background and your recent betrayal, your loyalty is very much in doubt. As I’m sure you understand, we will require some proof of your renewed commitment.”

Gaal nodded, but said nothing.

Mukhtar inclined his head toward the kneeling woman as he drew a Glock from his belt. “This whore is one of your former countrymen. I want you to kill her.” He paused, as if he just remembered something. “Ah. But what am I thinking? We must watch her face while you do it.” Mukhtar ripped the pillowcase off the woman’s head.

The woman looked up, confused and blinking in the light. There was duct tape over her mouth. Mukhtar leaned down and spoke in English.

“You are about to die, whore. I would allow you some last words, but I don’t care to hear anything you have to say.”

Then he straightened and faced away from Gaal as he pointed the Glock down and racked the slide. He turned and held out the gun to Gaal, butt first.

Behind him, Gaal heard the click of a spring knife and felt cold steel against his wrists as Diriyi sliced through the plastic restraints.

“Kill her,” Mukhtar ordered, thrusting the Glock at Gaal.

Gaal hesitated for an instant before taking the gun and pointing it between the woman’s eyes, inches from her head. He said a silent prayer to Allah for her soul and pulled the trigger.

Offices of Phoenix Shipping Ltd.
London, UK

Dugan sat before his open laptop and steeled himself. Anna and Alex flanked him at the conference table on either side, just out of range of the laptop webcam.

“Thomas, you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll join you on the call,” Alex said.

Dugan shook his head. “We agreed I should be the point of contact for the families, and based on the emails and voice mail, some of them already hate my guts. I may as well continue as the face of the company until my credibility is completely shot.” He smiled wanly. “The way things are going, that won’t be much longer. Then you can come in as backup.”

“I think ‘hate’ is a bit harsh,” Alex said. “I’m sure most of the families realize we’re doing all we can.”

“Are you?” Dugan asked. “Well, I’m not, and who can blame them? The friggin’ pirates are calling them on their loved ones’ cell phones, spreading the lie that we’re stalling to save money, and all I can respond with are lies—yes, the negotiations are progressing … no, I can’t discuss the negotiations … yes, we’re hopeful of a breakthrough at any time. Christ! I’m beginning to hate myself.”

“Still,” Alex said, “are you sure a group video call is wise?”

“Hell no,” Dugan said. “But it can’t be any worse than individual phone calls day after day. It’ll be intense, but at least it’ll be over faster than having the same conversation twenty-plus times.”

“And wise or not,” Anna added, “we can hardly call it off now. We’ve had the time posted on the family website for three days, and I emailed the families the call-in number yesterday.” She glanced at her watch, then at Dugan. “And speaking of that, you’ve got five minutes.”

Dugan nodded and focused on the laptop. “Might as well open it up now,” he said, moving the mouse. “So people can sign in and we can start on time.”

He opened the conference call and watched as caller names popped up on the participant list. A few little squares of video flashed on the screen as some participants joined in video mode, but most preferred to listen and watch unseen. At the scheduled time, Dugan opened the call.

“Hello everyone, and thank you for joining the call. As I’ve told you previously, negotiations are progressing. The insurers’ negotiating team is in daily contact with the pirates. I’m afraid I don’t have anything substantial to report, but our best information is the crew is healthy and—”

As Dugan spoke, another square of video flashed onscreen, freezing him mid-sentence. A man sat restrained in a straight-back chair, a car tire draped over his neck. It was Luna, the bosun of the
Phoenix Lynx
. The tire glistened wetly, and as Dugan watched, hands appeared to upend a gasoline can on Luna’s head, the liquid soaked him and his clothes. The hands withdrew as an accented voice narrated.

“We have been patient long enough,” the voice said. “Phoenix Shipping is not bargaining in good faith. This is a small preview of what will happen if our demands are not met promptly.”

A lighted match came sailing into the video, and Luna burst into flames, his tortured screams blaring from the speakers until they were cut off abruptly as Dugan ended the call.

Dugan was still trembling with rage fifteen minutes later. “How the hell did they get on our call?”

“I suppose we might have anticipated it,” said Anna. “We know they’ve been calling the families to put pressure on us. I suppose somehow they found out about the private website and monitored it. When we posted the call time, they must have intimidated one of the families into producing the call-in number.”

Alex nodded, his jaw clenched. “So we provided the audience for their barbaric exhibition. The question is, what do we do? If the families were distraught before, I can imagine their state now.”

“There’s nothing we can do about the families now,” Dugan said. “I doubt any of them will believe a word we say anyway. We’ve got to do something to solve the problem, because this is going to get worse—much worse.”

“I agree,” Alex said. “And it’s not just our ship. The insurance chaps tell me things are breaking down across the board. Apparently, some groups are copying al-Shabaab and adding a demand for the exchange of their own men captured at sea. That’s
in addition
to monetary ransom. That and the fact that no money is flowing mean discussions are becoming more acrimonious.”