King Pirate

by Tom Stern

  “Mister Kelley’s fine.”

  Kelley winked and left the room. Gone. With the files.

  …

  They waited a moment. All three listening to Kelley’s departure through the office. Out of earshot. Then:

  “Excellent work, Anastasia.”

  “We’re making a terrible mistake on this guy, Cuchulain,” Han warned.

  “Anastasia? What do you think?”

  She closed her eyes. Thinking.

  “We’re making a mistake. But for all the right reasons. Han’s right. This guy’s trouble. I say we harness that trouble and aim it at our targets.”

  …

  “You were an insurance investigator?”

  “Yup. Good one, too.”

  Kelley walked next to Anastasia, who was showing him around the IPC offices. His first day.

  “That kind of investigation takes time. You don’t seem like a man who would like detail work.”

  They were killing two birds with one stone. Kelley’s background check had come through. Interpol required a formal interview as well. Ordinarily, Han did the interview in the conference room.

  Not this time.

  Anastasia jotted notes into a PDA as they talked.

  “I had assistants who did the grunt work. All I had to do was pretend I was the asshole, and figure out how I would pull the scam.”

  “Why’d you quit, if you were so good?”

  “They fired me. After a year, it was turning into laying bricks. The cases weren’t interesting anymore. Most people aren’t very smart. They don’t have imagination. Thing is, they think they’re these masterminds, like no one’s ever thought of their brilliant insurance fraud scheme before in the history of mankind. It’s never brilliant. Just stupid. Every once in a while, a cool case came down. But it didn’t happen enough. I started smoking a lot of weed during office hours. Boss had enough. Now that I think about it, I was pushing him to fire me so I could collect unemployment while I decided what to do.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Smoked more weed. Surfed.”

  They came to the Control Room. Anastasia leaned forward for a retinal scan. When she was done, Kelley did the same. The door opened.

  “I’m already in the system,” he said.

  “Provisionally.”

  “I want a badge.”

  Anastasia curled a hand around his bicep. Lead him through the door. Kelley concentrated on the sensation. Making sure he remembered the light pressure of her fingers on his skin. Her warmth. He quietly inhaled her scent.

  The Control Room had a tall ceiling. Soaring like a cathedral, or a war room. Computer terminals were arrayed in a semi-circle. Surrounding a two-story-tall display of the world. The whole thing reminded Kelley of pictures he’d seen of NASA’s Mission Control.

  “What about your military service? Before your civilian life?”

  Kelley lowered his voice, like he didn’t want to disturb any of the people working at the terminals. He didn’t care if they were disturbed. Kelley wanted an excuse to push the bubble of Anastasia’s personal space.

  “You know I was a Marine,” he muttered.

  Anastasia replied in a normal tone. Letting him know they didn’t have to whisper. Or turning it around on him?

  “I mean, your specialty.”

  Kelley dropped the whispering act. “Sniper.”

  “Were you good at that, too?”

  “Better than most.”

  There were fifteen people working the Control Room. None of them older than forty. They were all nationalities. No Caucasians. Anastasia and Kelley stood out in the crowd. Literally: they were both tall.

  “And after you surfed, you joined the Border Patrol.”

  “For a stint.”

  “There’s a flag on your file.”

  Kelley deflected. He pointed at one of the screens. “What’re these rolling numbers?”

  Anastasia followed his finger. “Registration numbers for ShipLok. It’s an emergency tracking system, like a LoJack for ships. If there’s a piracy, the captain can activate the locator link.”

  “You find a lot of ships this way?”

  “Some,” Anastasia told him. “But the pirates are getting smarter. They know where to look for it, and how to stop the signal when they find it. Unless the pirates are new or stupid, it’s little more than an early warning. ShipLok gets us into action that much more quickly.”

  “Cool.”

  “Your Border Guard experience – “

  “I knew I’d hear about that.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Kelley put his hands behind his back as they strolled. Reluctantly rewinding old mental footage. He stopped next to a glowing plasma screen. Lines like sine waves flowed over a multi-colored map of the Asian seas.

  “What’s this?”

  “You’re dodging my question. Won’t look good in my report,” she said, only half-teasing.

  Kelley stared at Anastasia. “Just tell me what it is and I’ll answer your question.

  She relented. “Almost every square foot on Earth is claimed or regulated by someone. A country, a land-owner, whoever. No one owns the sea. The ships are like herds roaming a frontier. All we can do is track and arrest. Like a Wild West that will never be tamed.”

  “You’re pretty up on American history.”

  “It was my minor.”

  “What was the major?”

  “This is your interview, Mister Kelley.”

  “You just perfectly described why I went to sea.” Kelley let her think about that. Closely watching to see if she dug it. No response. “Okay, the Border Guard thing.

  “Friend of a friend scored me a shot at working with La Migra. I was running out of money. I didn’t wanna start dealing. I saw where that road went. I took the job. For a while, I stood in the booth checking trunks and shit. But ‘cause of my insurance work, they pulled me off that pretty quick. Got me into investigation.”

  “How did you get the job, with all of your recent drug use? They don’t test for that in America?”

  “Sure they do,” Kelley said with a grin. “I bought some clean piss from the guy who got me the job. He was cool. We surfed a lot.”

  Anastasia didn’t know if Kelley was kidding with her. Kelley went back into his story.

  “We were mostly tracking down coyote rings. Sometimes kidnappers. Sometimes drugs. We worked with other agencies, FBI, Homeland Security, all those guys. We got assigned to a combined operation with the DEA. They had info on a gang of Salvadoran mobsters. All of ‘em illegals, operating a meth lab out of a warehouse near the border. Most of the guys we went after were a bunch of jokers. Not these guys. All M9, former military. Armed and dangerous.

  “Twenty of us kicked down doors. Managed to take down their look-outs, so we had total surprise on our side. Didn’t matter. They were well-trained, a hard-ass crew. Purely on instinct, they had guns in their hands and went at us. Card-playing one second, shootout the next. It was a war, total chaos.

  “Now that I look back, the DEA could’ve done a better job on recon. Or us, I don’t know. Thing is, the boss had his little girl there. She was visiting, no idea. What kind of a guy brings his kid to a meth lab? Maybe it was Bring Your Daughter to Work Day. Who cares. She was there, in the middle of this crazy fucking gunfight. It was so loud we didn’t even hear her screaming. Like a trapped bunny, it was awful. She wasn’t hit, she was just scared.

  “I had daddy pinned down. He was trying to save his kid. I let up on the gun and made for her. I wanted to get the kid first. To save her. And get this asshole to tell his guys to put down their weapons.

  “He panicked. He took a shot at me.”

  Anastasia listened, rapt. Finally, she said, “Did he hit his own daughter?”

  “No,” Kelley said. “He gave me this.”

  Kelley rolled up his sleeve to show her a puckered bullet wound on his left arm, in the flesh between the bicep and tricep.

  “And,
before I could stop myself, I gave him a bullet in return,” Kelley continued. “I shot him dead between the eyes. Right in front of his kid. By instinct.”

  Anastasia met his gaze. Her breathing was shallow. Kelley could almost feel her fitting the scene he’d just described with the man standing before her. Deciding how she felt about it. Hating herself for being attracted to dangerous men.

  “There was nothing different you could have done,” she said, her accent lilting over the words. Telling him she didn’t mind he was a killer. Now Kelley knew he had one foot in the door. He played the next card.

  “No,” he growled. “You’re wrong. There are plenty of other things I could’ve done. Or, at least, the inquest told me so. But I shot the sonofabitch down, anyway. Daughter or not, he was a kidnapper and an asshole. Maybe the kid’ll be in therapy. I don’t give a fuck. Lots more people won’t suffer because her daddy got sent straight to hell. Maybe she’ll take it as a life lesson. Maybe she’ll come after me with a bullet of my own one day. Either way, I don’t care.”

  Anastasia’s eyes widened. Shining, like a pair of blue suns. Her head lilted back. Exposing her neck.

  “What do you care about, Mister Kelley?”

  Kelley leaned into her ear. This time she didn’t pull back. And he muttered, close enough that she’d feel the vibration of his voice on her tender skin.

  “King Pirate.”

  With that, Kelley turned and walked away.

  Anastasia blinked. Inwardly kicking herself. Not again.

  Her cell phone rang. Rang again.

  “Gonna answer that?” Kelley asked over his shoulder.

  Anastasia nodded, breaking herself out of the reverie.

  Cuchulain. “Do anything necessary to push through Interpol’s clearance. We need to get him in the field as soon as possible.”

  “Agreed,” she simply replied, closing the phone. She stared at Kelley. Before he tears the walls down, she thought. For starters.

  …

  Two weeks later. The IPC conference room.

  Director Han started. “Pirates boarded a tugboat off the coast of Thailand last night. The Atlas. It was pulling a barge loaded with teak logs from Burma.”

  Anastasia was there. Kelley. And several lower-level IPC team members, some of them on loan for training from other international law enforcement agencies.

  The Italian guy from Interpol said, “Why heist a bunch of logs?”

  Han opened his mouth to answer. Kelley beat him to it. “Standard load of teak’s worth about half a million. Treat ‘em right, and they’ll last a thousand years. Even raw, it’s a valuable cargo.”

  The Italian guy, Stronzo, leaned forward so he could talk directly to Kelley across the table. “You did your homework.”

  “Nah, I worked a couple of ships outfitted for lumber. Got a sense along the way for what something goes for, who buys it.”

  Anastasia cut in, “Have you ever been on a ship when pirates raided it for a lumber haul?”

  Kelley shook his head. Slugged coffee.

  Director Han vaguely frowned. Kelley had thrown off the rhythm of his carefully-prepared presentation.

  Cuchulain’s voice reverberated from his hidden aerie. “What do we know?” Coming out: Wha dae weh noo?

  Han. “A single distress call reported they were under attack, then silence. They were bound for Singapore.”

  “ShipLok?” asked another agent, this one from the Malaysian federal police.

  “No such luck.”

  “What do we know about Atlas?” Kelley asked.

  Now Han was in his element: research. “Ninety feet, displacing one hundred tons. Twin diesel engines rated at three thousand horsepower each.”

  “About twelve knots top speed, likely,” Kelley said.

  “That’s right.” Han had been getting to it.

  Anastasia worked to keep the smile off her face. She liked action. “What are the chances the owners set her up to go down for the insurance?”

  “Slim to none,” Han told her. “A very reputable Malay company. This is the first incidence of piracy in five years, fleet-wide.”

  Kelley leaned over to see Han’s laptop screen. Recognized the company. Nodded to himself. He’d worked for them. An above-board outfit.

  The Malay federal piped up. “A junta of generals controls the timber shipments.”

  “Government corruption may be involved,” Cuchulain said. “Anastasia. What do you suggest?”

  “Let’s move now. Intercept Atlas when she makes port.”

  “And where’s that?” Han asked.

  “We’ll factor time passed with top speed, create a circumference, check our information network and – “

  Kelley stood up so he could get a closer look at the map dominating the wall. Heads turned. Everyone watching him. A pregnant beat as Kelley squinted at the map. Poked a pin into the spot where the pirates attacked. Tracing a finger along the route. Finally tapped a small blotch of land off the western coast of Malaysia, near the border with Thailand.

  “Pulau Malak, just to the west of Pulau Singa Besar.”

  Han chuffed, rolling his eyes. “Not the most likely port.”

  Kelley turned to him. “I know. Has a hell of a reef, could sink a ship if the skipper ain’t on the ball. But that’s where they’re headed.”

  “And you just happen to know this,” Han said, eyes flat.

  “I don’t know,” Kelley snapped. “But if we’re talking about a Burmese crew, I do know those guys like to run to these islands. I overhear ‘em while they’re drinking. Even if they’re tracked down, place like Pulau Malak, with a reef or shallows? No government can throw their heavy guns. They don’t have to worry about a carrier fleet showing up on their doorstep.”

  Anastasia. “They’ll be ready to fight if they have to, but it’ll be small arms. RPGs and .50-cals at the most.”

  Stronzo nodded, impressed. “It makes sense. Your instincts are good, Agent Kelley. How many years have you been with IPC?”

  “’Bout two weeks,” Kelley told him.

  A stunned beat among the other agents. Wondering if he was kidding or not.

  A Japanese naval officer asked him, “Have you ever been to Pulau Malak?”

  Kelley nodded. “Not on it, but I’ve passed by several times. Not an easy patch to navigate. We’ll have to hit these guys fast and hard. All surprise. Helicopters would be best, if we got ‘em.”

  Han’s patience finally ran out. “Please assume that we know how to do our jobs, Agent Kelley.”

  Kelley instinctively rose to a fight. “How about we ‘do our jobs’ of catching the fucking pirates instead of sitting around a table talking about it?” His eyes lit with fire.

  Before it could get out of hand, Cuchulain interjected. “Kelley’s right. Let’s work instead of talking. Han, get sat photos as close to Pulau Malak as possible.”

  Han fumed. “You’re basing an investigation on this man’s gut instinct?”

  “Until the facts give us a better target, yes. Anastasia’s to lead this arrest. Let’s go, people!”

  …

  Nine hours later.

  A United Nations business jet, equipped to accept a pre-packaged Assault Team Module, flew ten IPC agents to the airport at Alor Setur.

  Kelley. Anastasia. They sat on opposite sides of the aisle. Pretending not to surreptitiously look at each other as the plane droned on.

  Han spoke to them all. “Our surveillance plane made a positive ID on Atlas twenty miles out to sea on a heading for Pulau Malak.” Han paused, daring Kelley to make a jackass remark. Kelley didn’t feel the need.

  Cuchulain’s brogue growled from Han’s ear piece. Han nodded. “Yes, sir. Anastasia is first in.” He threw a glance at Kelley. “The newbie comes last.”

  …

  The IPC team sat on the plane. Silently. In pitch darkness. They might as well have been in a cave. Listening to the distant sounds of the little-used airport around them as they sat the tarmac at Langkawi
International Airport. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

  Ordinarily, inactivity drove Kelley insane. But a man of the sea has to learn patience, to find a quietude without losing the world. The ocean is vast and lonely. It obeys no man. There are times when the only sane thing to be done is to wait out the ocean’s moods. Kelley applied that now. He sank into a no-mind state. Without active thought, but alive to his senses. He’d spent entire days in this manner.

  A whumping appeared on the aural horizon. Growing louder.

  “Chopper,” Kelley said into the blackness.

  Han dragged his bulk out of his seat. Stood at the head of the aisle to address the team. A misshapen silhouette moving in the dark.

  “Cuchulain’s pulled his contacts. The Malaysian Ministry of Defense sent a platoon of Marines to back us up. We’re hitching a ride with them to the strike point. Gather your equipment. It’s time to go.”

  Kelley sprang to his feet. Tasting copper in his mouth. Heart like an alligator. Hungry for battle. Kelley suddenly missed his time with the Border Guard. It’d been too long since he got to mix it up at this level. Street brawls and stormy seas didn’t even begin to touch this adrenaline high. God, I fucking love this shit, he thought.

  Kelley grabbed up his gear. Crowded into the aisle. Anastasia did the same, brushing up against him. On purpose?

  Han threw open the plane’s door. “Go-go-go-go-go!”

  Kelley did so, gladly.

  …

  Aboard the big military transport chopper. Thundering across a ten-mile stretch of the Andaman Sea. Clawing through stiff gusts of wind.

  A platoon of Malaysian Marines. Small, brown, tough men. Armed to the teeth. Automatic rifles, side arms. Their flat black eyes gleaming like tiny oil slicks in the moonlight. Intense. Focused on what the next few minutes would bring.

  The Marines curiously regarded the more disparate IPC crew. Especially the respect given to the beautiful blonde woman in combat gear.

  She looked like a ghost. Face pale in the low light. Blue eyes hidden under pools of darkness. High cheekbones creating jagged shadows, like a skull.

  Anastasia ran through their mission. Her sharp voice stabbing orders and warnings through the roar of the helicopter blades. Kelley didn’t hear a word. He watched her lips move. Memorizing her tones and subtle movements. Kelley was heading into his first pirate raid, and Anastasia was his entire world.