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.”
“Exchanges? Christ! Why the hell is that an issue?” Dugan asked. “Most captured pirates end up in Kenyan prisons and back in Somalia before the ink’s dry on the paperwork. It’s a joke.”
“Not entirely,” Anna said. “Captured pirates are increasingly being bound over for trial in Yemen and especially neighboring Somaliland. And given centuries-old animosity between the clans in what are now Somali and Somaliland, Somali pirates aren’t going to escape from a Somaliland prison quite so easily.”
Dugan shrugged. “That doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference so far, and this is going to end badly. I think we all know that. Sooner or later, the US Navy or Special Forces or someone is going to take back the Luther Hurd—public opinion in the US won’t allow anything less. But there are hundreds of other captives, on two dozen ships scattered up and down the Somali coast, and when the Luther Hurd is free and the money dries up, you know what’s going to happen.”
Alex looked distressed. “Perhaps all the navies acting in concert—”
“Can what?” asked Dugan? “Mount a simultaneous rescue operation of two dozen ships? If that was going to happen, it would have happened months ago. Hell, Alex, no one was willing to take that risk when there were a few crews held captive and rescue was possible. No one’s going to step up to the plate now that hundreds of lives are at stake. I doubt even the US would risk attacking the Luther Hurd if there was an option. These al-Shabaab assholes are clearly out to provoke a confrontation, and will murder as many crewmen as necessary to get one.”
Alex sighed. “You’re right, of course. As much as we all hated paying these murderers off, ransom was the only practical recourse to safeguard the crews. I shudder to think what will happen now that we can’t give them what they want.”
Dugan nodded. After a moment, he spoke.
“Suppose we do give them what they want?”
“What? How, Thomas? The government isn’t going to allow ransom. What else do we have they want?”
Dugan smiled. “Oh, we don’t have it yet. And they don’t know they want it yet. But they will, they will.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s take a little cab ride. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Embassy of the Republic of Liberia
Fitzroy Square, London, UK
Given the nature of the visit, both Dugan and Alex had prevailed upon Anna to absent herself. As he looked around the richly appointed conference room, Dugan wondered if he should be here himself. A question made moot by the arrival of the Honorable Ernest Dolo Macabee, Foreign Minister of the Republic of Liberia, who bustled in and took a seat opposite them across the table.
“May I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen?” he asked. “Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?”
Dugan looked at Alex, who shook his head.
“No, we’re fine, Mr. Minister, thank you,” Alex said. “And thank you also for seeing us on such short notice.”
Macabee made a dismissive gesture. “Not at all, Mr. Kairouz. I’m just glad you caught me in London.” He smiled. “And I’m always happy to see you and Mr. Dugan. I always find our discussions agreeable.”
To say nothing of profitable, thought Dugan.
“Now,” Macabee said, “how can I be of service?”
Alex glanced at Dugan again, seemingly hesitant, and then began.
“We’d like to discuss the issue of piracy,” he said. “Specifically in Somalia.”
Macabee nodded as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “A serious issue. Not only in Somalia but increasingly in West Africa as well. We, of course, decry these barbarous acts, and are fully supportive of international efforts to end the blight of piracy wherever it exists.”
“What we’d like, Mr. Minister,” Dugan said, “is some clarification of the Liberian position regarding the penalties for piracy and enforcement of anti-piracy laws. The Liberian statutes seem a bit …” Dugan smiled. “Shall we say, vague.”
The Liberian returned his smile. “I think of them as flexible, Mr. Dugan. After all, no law can anticipate the circumstances of every incident.” He shrugged. “Alas, the point is moot. My poor country lacks resources to enforce criminal laws on an international basis. But what, may I inquire, is your interest?”
Dugan looked at Alex, who extracted a small notepad from his breast pocket, scribbled a figure on it, and slid it across the table to Macabee. The Liberian picked up the pad and peered at it at arm’s length, before fumbling in his shirt pocket for a pair of half-lens reading glasses with expensive tortoiseshell frames. He donned the glasses and stared down his nose at the note.
“Your interest is quite … substantial,” he said at last.
“And available for deposit in the offshore bank of your choice,” Alex said.
Macabee smiled. “Once again, Mr. Kairouz, how may I help you?”
“As Mr. Dugan indicated,” Alex said, “we’d like to know your country’s position on piracy.”
Macabee’s smile widened. “My dear Mr. Kairouz, what would you like it to be?”
Chapter Seven
Offices of Phoenix Shipping Ltd.
London, UK
Alex pecked at the keyboard, studying the spreadsheet as Dugan and Anna looked on.
“Are we going to have enough?” Dugan asked.
“It’s tight,” Alex said. “Between Macabee and the projected costs of the operation, we’ll consume our entire cash reserve, to say nothing of loss of the ship. I’ve got to find some contingency funds somewhere.” Alex sighed. “And then hope like bloody hell I can convince the insurers to make us whole later.”
Dugan nodded, as Anna spoke.
“Not to change the subject,” she said, “but what about Ward? Have you filled him in on this bloody insanity? If not, I’m going to have to, I’m afraid. Besides, he has the best intel, presuming he’s inclined to share instead of having you two locked up as dangers to yourselves and others.”
“I’ll call him later,” Dugan said, “after I’ve—”
“Now, Tom. Or I will,” Anna said, holding up her cell phone.
Dugan glared at her, then sighed and punched Ward’s number into the phone on the conference table.
“On the speaker, please,” Anna said sweetly, and suppressed a smile as Dugan jabbed the speaker button.
“Are you nuts?” Ward asked, ten minutes later.
Dugan looked at Anna. “I get that a lot.”
“Seriously,” Ward said. “You can’t go around making up your own laws, even if it is the high seas.”
“They’re not our laws,” Dugan said. “They’re laws of the sovereign Republic of Liberia, and Phoenix Lynx and well over half the hostage ships fly the Liberian flag. It’s all legal.”
“Laws you influenced and—”
“Give it a rest, Jesse,” Dugan said. “The US and UK and every other nation tries to influence other countries’ policies all the time. How else did corrupt shitholes like Yemen and Somaliland become so cooperative about taking captured pirates when no other countries want to get involved?”
“Those were government-to-government deals, and you know it. Not greasing some minister’s palm.”
Dugan scoffed. “Which means there were a few more layers and some fancy bookkeeping involved before the money got in some minister’s pocket. The US probably paid about a hundred times what we did, so there’d be a bit left to spread around to make the common folk happy. I think you’re just pissed because we’re better at this than you bureaucrats.”
“Dammit! You’re jeopardizing an ongoing operation.”
“Am I?” Dugan asked. “As I see it, our failure won’t hurt you a bit, but if we’re successful, it will damn sure help you. On the other hand, a rescue op on the Luther Hurd alone, followed by the continuation of the ban on ransoms, leaves over three hundred seamen in the hands of very pissed-off pirates. Isn’t that about the size of it?”
Ward didn’t answer, and the silence built.
“Look, Jesse,” Dugan said, “I know you’re doing what you have to do, and no one wants to see you get Luther Hurd back more than I do. But what I’m proposing won’t hinder that at all. And as I see it, it’s our only chance at getting everyone back. All I’m asking is that you provide us as much intel as possible.”
Ward still didn’t speak, and Dugan began to think he’d hung up.
“Anna?” Ward said, at last.
“Here,” Anna said.
“What’s your take on this?” Ward asked.
Anna sighed. “My take is that Tom and Alex are both certifiable, but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong. I can’t see any other solution.”
“All right,” Ward said. “I guess when you get right down to it, everything they’re proposing occurs well beyond the jurisdiction of either the US or UK anyway, so there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. I’ll tell you what I know, such as it is.”
“Great,” Dugan said. “We can start now. What can you tell us about their organizational structure?”
“Best we can tell,” Ward said, “there are between fifteen hundred to two thousand active pirates, divided into gangs, roughly along clan lines. The gangs form alliances and work together as necessary, but that changes relatively frequently. For your plan to work, you’ll have to spread your net pretty wide. I have a chart that shows the various clan relationships. I’ll email it to you.”
“Thanks,” Dugan said.
Alex spoke for the first time. “Agent Ward? Did I understand you to say there may be as many as two thousand pirates at sea?”
“No, two thousand total,” Ward said. “And I emphasize that’s an estimate. Ninety percent of those guys are holders, with the rest attackers. They’re sort of the rock stars of pirates, for want of a better term. They’ve had some military training. They take all the risks and get much larger cuts of the ransom. Also, each group has a first-boarder, the first one aboard the ship. He gets an even bigger cut of the ransom, and sometimes a bonus.”
“Basically, the varsity,” Dugan said.
“Yeah,” Ward said. “Evidently they’re arrogant pricks. They’re excused from holding duty and spend their off time ashore, chewing khat and bragging. A lot of them have escaped from Kenyan prisons or been caught at sea and disarmed and released. They’re pretty contemptuous of the Western navies, but seem terrified of the Russians.”
“Understandable,” Dugan said. “I doubt the Russians worry overly much about due process.”
“They don’t care about bad press, either,” Ward said. “That’s pretty much the sum of my intel on the pirates.”
“You left out the most important point,” Dugan said. “Time?”
“Honestly? Not a clue. But as long as al-Shabaab isn’t murdering people, the navy’s holding off to refine rescue plans. The more complacent and
sloppy the pirates get, the better for us.” Ward paused. “But understand this, Tom. If an opportunity presents itself, we’ll take it. In two minutes or two months, and regardless of what’s going on with your plan.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else. Thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome,” Ward said. “Now you can return the favor. You know Ray Hanley, right?”
“I doubt there’s anyone in the industry who doesn’t. Why?”
“Because he’s been crawling up my ass daily about the lack of progress of getting his people back, supplemented by calls from what seems like every elected official in the great state of Texas. I also have it on good authority that he’s inquiring about Somali interpreters and airstrips in Kenya and Somalia.” Ward sighed. “He’s about to do something stupid and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s a force of nature.”
“And you’re telling me this why?” Dugan asked.
“Because your harebrained plan is orders of magnitude better than whatever harebrained plan he’s concocting,” Ward said. “And yours has the added advantage of taking place a long way from my plan. Let’s invite him to your party.”
“He’s not exactly a team player, Jesse. He doesn’t want to lead the band, he wants to be the band. Besides, why join us? Our focus isn’t Luther Hurd.”
“No, but I can sell it to him as a necessary diversion, and if I don’t do something, he’ll screw things up for both of us,” Ward said.
“I don’t know,” Dugan said, “Hanley can be—”
“Agent Ward, this is Alex Kairouz. Tell Mr. Hanley he is most welcome to join us.” Alex shot Dugan a pointed look. “And tell him to bring his checkbook.”
Ray Hanley, force of nature, arrived in London the very next morning on a nonstop redeye from Houston, all five foot seven and 180 pounds of him. He sat now at one end of the conference table, an unlit cigar jammed in the corner of his mouth, as he glared at the speaker phone in the middle of the table. Dugan sat at the opposite end of the table, and Alex and Anna flanked them on either side, all listening to the latest intel update from Ward.
Deadly Coast (A Tom Dugan Novel) Page 6
