Somalis. Dripping wet they climbed up on to the pirate mother craft. The Somalis manhandled them down the side deck, which was a mess of rope coils and fuel drums. The pirates shoved them down on the cold, greasy metal deck area behind the raised superstructure that housed the bridge, galley and probably a couple of accommodation rooms.
A powerful-looking, well-fed Somali stepped out of the superstructure on to the deck and surveyed the three prisoners. Judging by the quality of his clothing, the jewellery around his neck and on his wrists, and his authoritative bearing, he was the man in charge.
Stratton watched him, hoping to get an early impression. But the pirate commander’s expression was hard to read. He barked a command and a Somali began to search them thoroughly, then removed their belts and boot laces and tied their hands with nylon fishing line. The Somali handed his finds to the commander, who examined the three wristwatches – two practical timepieces, the third expensive. He flicked to the back of the passports, noting the two sodden ones were British. He eyed his captives again, now with a little more interest.
He handed the items back to the man who had given them to him and walked away along the side of the ship.
The Somali guard made the three prisoners sit among a pile of rolled nets, large fishing weights and stinking fish pallets. The smell cut through the night air. These guys obviously did some fishing, Stratton reasoned, probably just enough to feed themselves. He looked up at the rear of the boat, illuminated by a bright light at the top of the cabin superstructure. He could hear the rhythmic thump of the engines below the deck, the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the craft. Two of the pirates sat outside the back door holding AK-47s, smoking and talking quietly. They had no shoes, they looked unwashed. He noted that some of them wore what might have once been expensive clothing. But hard, constant wearing and no cleaning had taken all the value from them. They acted more business-like than unfriendly and didn’t appear unfamiliar with foreign prisoners.
Stratton couldn’t believe his bad luck. He was a prisoner of Somali pirates on their way, he assumed, to the Somali mainland. This wasn’t going to go down well in London. The incentive to change the direction of events was immense. It was a duty of course, and a matter of self-respect. He had too many reasons to get away from these pirates.
Sabarak hadn’t said a word since the pirates appeared. Which wasn’t what Stratton had expected. But then again, he probably had his own reasons for not wanting them to know who he was. Before Sabarak could do anything, he needed to know a lot more about these Somalis. Most important was what kind of relationship they had with his Islamic brothers, the Al-Shabaab fundamentalists who controlled many parts of Somalia. Not all of the pirates had any great interest in the cause. Most simply saw themselves as businessmen. Sabarak didn’t know where these guys fell yet. So he wasn’t a danger to Stratton for the moment. While he remained unsure he would keep his mouth shut. The Saudi wasn’t guaranteed a positive reception from anyone just because he was an arms trader to jihadists. He’d have to find an interested or sympathetic party and then prove he was who he said he was. That might not be so easy. They would have to know people in common.
Stratton hadn’t learned much about the Saudi during the operational briefing because little was known about him. There had been a comparison made with the background of Osama bin Laden because like bin Laden, Sabarak came from a wealthy Saudi family and at some stage during his education, he developed a keen interest in the Wahhabi way of life. Sabarak’s family made its wealth from retail as opposed to construction. Sabarak chose to hide his extreme beliefs no doubt because bin Laden had not and had been a hunted man even before 9/11. Sabarak enjoyed frequent trips to Europe and America, staying in fine hotels and spending serious money. What you could call the usual Western entrapments: fast cars, state-of-the-art electronics, generally appearing to fully embrace the secular way of life. The guy had clearly plotted to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to take part in the anti-Western cause. He’d made the move at some period in the previous two to three years. As soon as he did, it was always going to be only a matter of time before his head popped up into the sights of Western intelligence agencies. But Sabarak would have been aware of that and he would have prepared as much as he could before he stepped into the light. Stratton wondered how far the Saudi had got in his planning, if he had a clue before his kidnapping that he had actually made the wanted list.
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 five metres clear of the water and the carrier would need to reach a speed in excess of fourteen knots. It hadn’t because it couldn’t.
The bulker began to swerve from side to side, as sharply as it could, creating large waves behind it, sending a churning wake towards the pirate boats. From what Stratton could see, the carrier had little or nothing else in the way of physical defences. No water cannon. No barbed wire or fencing. Short of any surprises, the boat looked like easy pickings.
The crack of gunfire could be heard above the thud of the mother craft’s engines. The pirates were in full attack mode.
