The Delta Solution (13 page)

The three pirates stepped over the rails, tossed down their weapons, and climbed down the nets into the skiffs. With a roar from the Yamahas, the raiders took off with their booty, speeding back to the
Mombassa
.

As they left, Ismael Wolde was on the line to Mohammed Salat with the shortest message:
Mission accomplished. Somali Marines coming home with 5 million dollars. Arrive Haradheere midnight tomorrow.

When the same message flashed up on the bulletin board in the stock exchange, you could hear the roar in Nairobi. The village elders smiled as their stocks in the operation doubled in value, and the hospital would get its new X-ray machine.

It was almost 10:30 p.m., and the crowds on the dark streets thronged in and out of the bars. The SUVs roared around the town, horns blaring. Anyone who did not understand that the Somali Marines had triumphed must have been sleeping very soundly.

MEANWHILE ADMIRAL BRADFIELD ordered Captain Corcoran to turn the ship around and head back to Diego Garcia. And even as he did so, Lt. Com. Jay Souchak came in with a signal flashed through from the USS
Roosevelt
, via the Indian Ocean Command Center:
Fishing boat
Mombassa
stands less than one mile off our port quarter. Have our orders changed? Do you want us to sink it now?

Mark Bradfield, who knew
Roosevelt
’s commander extremely well, wondered for a split second if this was a joke. If it was, it was typical of Commander Bill Taylor. But he decided it wasn’t and said to Jay Souchak, “Negative to both.”

“Bit of a waste, sir, dropping 5 mill on the ocean floor,” replied his XO.

“Bit of a drag, Jay, when tomorrow’s newspapers right here in the US come out with a headline that reads:

Jay Souchak laughed. Unlike the dispatch team in the Orion, Mark Bradfield’s cutting wit rarely missed its target. And while he was concerned at the way any US aggression would be treated by the media, he was a great deal more concerned about the real issue: Had the US government, for the first time, negotiated with terrorists?

Fox News would not take no for an answer. And the rest of the media was apt to follow, more slowly, but become more sure-footed in their suspicion that the Pentagon had paid up. Mark Bradfield knew his press office had to put out a statement announcing that the
Niagara Falls
had been recaptured and the pirates had vanished.

He also knew the tigers in the Fox newsroom would immediately ask whether the US freighter had been reclaimed by force or negotiation. If the latter, was a ransom paid? He called for Jay to contact the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. This, he decided, was too big an issue.

General Lancaster was even more concerned. “This is bigger than just a military decision, Mark,” he said. “Because there are political overtones which will not go away. Many people believe we should never pay off pirates because it just encourages them to strike again, as they always do.”

“Then we better stick to our guns, Zack,” replied Admiral Bradfield. “A ransom was paid by the Seafarers Union, which was concerned for the lives of its members. I think we can admit we assisted them in their efforts, but the decision to pay a small ransom to free the men was theirs alone. We did not consider it appropriate to discourage them.”

“Perfect,” said General Lancaster. “Make sure the release refers all future inquiries to the union.”

“Okay, boss,” said Mark Bradfield. “Meanwhile we need to get a plan. Because, trust me, these bastards are going to come calling for another 5 million bucks sometime in the not-too-distant future.”

“I know they are,” replied the general. “The trouble is, our specialist fighting force, DEVGRU, has received almost no training to attack a moving ship from the ocean, not one that’s been captured. Their instinct is always to save as many hostages as possible and then blow the bastard out of the water. We gotta get smaller. And get modern.”

“Leave it to me,” said Mark Bradfield. “I’ll talk to Carlow in the morning. But we can’t go on like this, always getting caught with out pants down every time a group of tribesmen decides one of our freighters is a soft touch.”

“And don’t forget the land, Mark. We may have to go ashore and knock the shit out of one of these pirate towns. That’s what I like about Carlow’s SEALs. They can operate anywhere.”

WHEN THE PENTAGON’S PRESS RELEASE went out the following morning, it was written in undramatic terms. By the evening editions of the newspapers, the story had slipped off the front pages and down the playlist for the news channels. And that’s where it would stay, growing less significant by the day, until the name and address of the late first mate, Charlie Wyatt, was released.

The media and the public had lost interest. And the real seething curiosity now switched to Capitol Hill. Because there, in both houses of Congress, there was genuine concern about the USA’s involvement in the payment of ransoms to pirate gangs off the coast of Somalia.

The successful action of the SEALs in freeing the captain of the
Maersk Alabama
had undoubtedly made matters worse—not because they had been obliged to blow the heads off three pirates but because they had demonstrated that fierce professional aggression against heavily armed amateurs paid off.

There were already rumblings in Washington that the US should cease to soft-pedal the growing problem and get in there and rescue any American vessel that was captured. Most senators were only marginally up to speed on the subject, and they were entirely ignorant about the iron hand of control exercised by the international insurance corporations.

The brokers understood there was an ever-present threat that even the pirates could sue for compensation if one of their number was shot dead. There were lawyers lined up to sue any national government that sent in armed troops that subsequently opened fire. Legal compensation could run into the millions of dollars, and law firms were making it abundantly clear they had no qualms about representing families of bereaved pirates.

And while insurers were happy to cover the costs of stolen cargoes, the cargoes were rarely lost, because all the cards were stacked in favor of paying out the ransom. No one likes a standoff with an insurance company. Least of all shipowners who, despite everything, understood their premiums would rocket upward if the US military started blowing away the tribesmen.

However, the US government remains the most powerful force in the world. All Congress needed was a law that banned foreign nationals from suing the US military in US courts for actions that take place either on the high seas or on foreign soil where the troops were protecting American interests.

And there were Republican senators and representatives all over the country who were about to demand this kind of law be enacted. These same politicians were also demanding that the US
never
negotiate with pirates, or foreign governments that harbored them, and
never
pay out ransom money to terrorists or pirates, whatever the circumstances.

But the sands were shifting. The demand from both the legislators and a riled American public was that not only should the new law be passed, but that the Special Forces go in, every time, and protect American citizens and property.

A groundswell of public opinion and congressional outrage had an energy all of its own. And the worst fears of Admiral Andy Carlow and Commander Mack Bedford were about to be realized. With a posse of journalists waiting outside the US Navy base in Diego Garcia, it had become impossible to withhold the name of Charlie Wyatt any longer. The navy press office was under siege, and the
New York Post
came out with an editorial that demanded:
Who the hell does the Pentagon think it is? Deliberately withholding from the public the name of a brave American merchant navy officer who died at the hands of Somali tribesmen while trying to defend his ship and his crewmates? What God-given right does the US Navy have to hide his identity?

The two-column headline above the editorial read:

This was too much for Admiral Mark Bradfield, who asked Jay Souchak to get Admiral Carlow on the line from SPECWARCOM in Coronado, San Diego. And the conversation was terse.

“Are you announcing the first mate’s name tonight?” asked Andy Carlow.

“No choice.”

“You understand the media will probably go bananas? Guys outside his family’s front door, cameras everywhere, interviews with Charlie’s best friend, ex-girlfriends, school teachers, and Christ knows who else.”

“And that won’t be the worst of it,” replied Admiral Bradfield. “Because right after that, they’ll start ranting about the navy’s reluctance to face up to a real gun battle at sea despite overwhelming odds in our favor.”

“And they are not going to get put off real easy,” added Andy Carlow. “Because they know this is a subject where we have to tread very carefully, and they can say anything they damn please.”

“I don’t expect to come out of this with flying colors,” said Mark Bradfield.

“And I’m kinda braced for them to accuse us of letting everyone down. They’re bound to do that after the
Maersk Alabama
. But I have a plan, and I’m putting it into operation starting tomorrow. It’s a new anti-piracy platoon, geared to the recapture of ships and the attack on pirates who commandeer US ships and property.”

“Hey,” said Mark, “I like that.”

“What I really like,” said Andy, “is that the platoon will have a senior commander, and we can flag him up as a world expert on piracy, a man whose job is to destroy the raiders. It’ll help us shut down noisy politicians and journalists. We just bring in our naval authority on the subject, and his word will count. Right now the media thinks we’re only making excuses.”

“Excellent. Can you get to Washington and brief us in person? I think Zack Lancaster would very much like to see you.”

“Sure. When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“No problem. I’ll leave at 0700, arrive late afternoon.”

“We’ll meet you at Andrews. Return San Diego next day.”

“See you tomorrow, sir.”

“And, Andy, bring your new anti-pirate commander with you. What’s his name?”

“Commander Bedford, sir. Mack Bedford.”

THE SCENE ON THE BEACH in front of Haradheere was a bacchanalian romp. Bonfires burned, goat carcasses were roasted on spits, African beer flowed, and almost the entire town was in attendance on the hot equatorial
night. The most beautiful girls in the town, some married, some not, were dressed in their summer best, heavy on African jewelry, especially necklaces and bangles. In token deference to their Islamic religion—mostly Sunni Muslim—they also wore bright headscarves