His companion ship ran a parallel course and was in position. They had the Victory in a classic trap. No matter which way she turned, the fast boats could easily intercept regardless of what the captain of the cruise ship attempted.
The Victory’s evasive measure of turning toward the coast was expected. Abduwali had seen it before. The first inclination of every sea captain was to race toward solid ground.
“Sorry, Captain. You’ll never get there,” the Somalian said to himself before addressing his team. “Fire on the bridge.” He gave the same instructions to the other boat.
Automatic gunfire erupted again as the glass windows on the bridge shattered. The men fired their AKs until their magazines were spent, and then expertly replaced them with another. They were wearing tactical vests with half a dozen or more full magazines secured in MOLLE pouches if needed.
The lights inside the bridge went dark, resulting in a spontaneous eruption of cheering by his men. The Victory suddenly veered left, causing Abduwali’s companion boat to pull back on the throttle. The Victory kept turning left as if intentionally creating a circular pattern. Had the captain and others on the helm been killed? Was the ship out of control? Abduwali furrowed his brow. He’d never thought of this eventuality.
The bridge was completely dark except for the illumination coming from the control panel. The two seamen assisting Garland and Charles were unknowingly given a death sentence by their captain. He’d instructed them to watch over the port and starboard sides of the ship to give him a position on the pirates. They were killed instantly by the rounds tearing through the glass.
Charles was grazed by a bullet, but it was the flying glass that killed him. A large shard of the shattered window crashed inward and stuck in his neck, severing his carotid artery. Blood gurgled out of his neck as Garland knelt on the floor of the bridge to help him. He was dead within seconds.
The Victory’s sudden lurch to the left returned its course seaward. The ship kept turning, and at over twenty knots, the momentum was forcing it to list onto its starboard side. The engines were howling at the redline under the strain of the sharp turn.
Garland gathered himself and took control of his ship. He had an idea. Sometimes, a safe harbor was not necessarily the answer. He course-corrected and pointed the Victory back out to sea, directly toward the approaching storm. Then he made an announcement to his passengers. They were told to lock themselves in their cabins and prepare to be boarded. Crew members were to immediately arm themselves and take up defensive positions. Any attempt to board the cruise ship should be met with appropriate force.
Another burst of gunfire sent bullets flying throughout the bridge. He ducked for cover to avoid getting killed. Then the landline phone rang at the helmsman’s station. Garland crawled along the floor and fumbled in the dark until he could reach it.
“Hallo,” he said into the mouthpiece, using his Oxford English.
“Who is this?” the woman asked.
“Captain Garland. We are under attack and in imminent danger of being boarded. I have had three members of my crew killed by automatic gunfire.”
The woman on the line was calm. “Captain, we are tracking your position due east at twenty knots.”
“Okay? Well, yes. That is correct.”
“Sir, I am Angela Bardwell with Lloyd’s of London Loss Mitigation. I will be your point of contact from this point forward.”
“Did you not hear what I said?” He shouted his question, as more gunfire could be heard outside the ship.
“We are aware of your situation, Captain. I am instructing you to tell your crew to stand down, and you are to surrender the Victory to the hostiles.”
“What? Are you crazy? You want me to let them on board?”
“That’s right, Captain. At this point, we are trying to save lives. You and your crew are not capable of handling this situation alone. Order them to stand down, and then bring the ship to a halt. Please confirm.”
Garland shook his head in disbelief. Why couldn’t she have called before three good lads lost their lives?
“Confirmed.”
Chapter Six
Mid-July 1944
Wewelsburg Castle
Büren, Germany
Heinrich Himmler was born in 1900 in Munich, Germany, the son of a schoolteacher. He served in the German Army toward the end of World War I, and afterwards, he bounced around various jobs, including a brief period as a chicken farmer.
During his involvement with the Nazi party in the early 1920s, he became known to the rising star and the party’s propaganda leader—Adolf Hitler. Himmler’s loyalty to the Nazi party and his keen awareness of security matters resulted in his appointment as the head of the Schutzstaffel, or SS, and Hitler’s personal bodyguard.
After the Nazis rise to power in 1933, Himmler became the head of the political police in Bavaria. An astute observer of human sociology, he manipulated his position to create a state within a state by expanding the SS and establishing its autonomy within the Nazi party as an enforcer in the form of a paramilitary organization.
By June 1941, when Germany invaded the Soviet Union, Himmler was considered the right-hand man of Hitler. He not only controlled the police but the political administration of the occupied territories. During this time, he forced more than a million residents out of Poland, to be replaced with German settlers.
Himmler demanded a residence that was befitting his stature, and over a period of several years leading up to World War II, he leased and renovated the historic, early-seventeenth-century Wewelsburg Castle. Situated atop a hill in Northeast Germany overlooking the Alme Valley, the triangular structure had fallen into disrepair.
Himmler saw the property as perfect for his residence and a facility to teach the Nazi ideology to young SS soldiers. The castle, filled with spiritual artifacts from around the world, was believed by Himmler to have
