‘You said rescue was on its way,’ cried Amanda. ‘Then where is it?’
Her perfect blue eyes stared accusingly at Captain Locke, while the rest of the crew looked to him for leadership and reassurance. Emily and Chloe sat numb and silent at the dining table, their two plates of rice and boiled fish barely touched and now stone cold.
‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know,’ admitted the captain, peering through the small porthole and seeing only empty ocean. ‘But it can’t be far off,’ he added with false hope.
From the stairwell, the spitting hiss of the cutting torch grew louder with each passing minute.
‘Shouldn’t we arm ourselves?’ said Scott.
‘With what?’ asked Chief Officer Fielding.
‘Kitchen knives, flares, anything.’
‘No,’ overruled Captain Locke. ‘If the pirates breach the bulkhead, fighting will be futile. It’ll only result in more bloodshed.’
‘Are you suggesting we simply surrender?’ said Amanda.
The captain offered a resigned shrug. ‘We’re left with little other choice.’
The pirates’ angry voices now invaded their supposedly impregnable citadel. There was a huge clang as the door fell to the floor, followed by an unnerving silence. Everyone’s gaze turned towards the forbidding stairwell.
Chloe clutched on to her sister as the soft pad of bare feet was heard descending the stairs. The dark muzzle of an AK47 appeared first, followed by the jug-eared pirate. His eyes, bulging and bloodshot, flicked round the room, while his finger twitched nervously on the assault rifle’s trigger.
‘Gacmaha madaxa saara,’ he barked, jerking the gun’s barrel towards the ceiling.
Guessing the pirate’s meaning, Captain Locke raised his hands obediently and the rest of the crew followed suit. Three more armed pirates descended the stairwell, quickly surrounding the hostages. One searched the crew’s quarters and dragged out a groaning and pale Jordan, dumping him on the floor at their feet.
‘Dhaqaaq!’ said Juggs.
Captain Locke furrowed his brow. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Move,’ the pirate repeated in English, gesturing with his AK47 to the stairwell.
Captain Locke looked to his crew and the girls, trying to maintain an air of calm authority. ‘Do as he says. The pirates won’t harm us. They need us alive for the ransom nego–’
The butt of the AK47 collided with the captain’s jaw, splitting his lip. Blood sprayed across the dining table. Emily flinched away and Chloe let out a shocked yelp.
‘No speak!’ said Juggs, shoving the stunned captain towards the stairwell.
‘Here, for your face,’ said Spearhead, offering the captain a cloth napkin from the salon’s dining table. ‘Sorry, my men can be overzealous at times.’
Warily accepting the napkin, the captain dabbed painfully at his swollen and bleeding lip. Then he straightened himself to his full height, which by no means could match the towering pirate. ‘I’m Captain Thomas Locke, in charge of the Orchid and responsible for this crew and guests. And you are?’
‘Spearhead,’ he replied, thumping his chest with a clenched fist. ‘And I’m now in charge.’
He took the captain’s hat and placed it on his own head.
Powerless to do anything about the theft of his hat, Captain Locke said, ‘You do realize a search-and-rescue team is on its way. But if you leave now you can escape punishment –’
Spearhead let out a booming laugh. ‘I think you’re mistaken, my friend. No one is looking for you.’
The pirate surveyed his hostages, who huddled on the cluster of white leather sofas under the watchful guard of his gang. The news of their hopeless situation hit them hard. Sophie began to weep. Kieran buried his face in his hands. Chloe started sobbing in her sister’s arms, while Emily turned pale and started to tremble.
Spearhead frowned. ‘Where’s the boy?’
‘Do you mean the stowaway?’ Captain Locke replied, jutting his chin in Cali’s direction. Cali was in the corner with an older buck-toothed lad, armed with a revolver.
‘Not him, I mean the white boy,’ said Spearhead.
‘Connor’s dead,’ cried Chloe, daring to look the pirate in the face, her tearful eyes flashing with anger.
Unmoved by her fury, Spearhead raised an enquiring eyebrow at Cali. ‘Is this true?’
Glancing over, Cali gave a single nod and pointed at Juggs. ‘He shot him.’
Spearhead glared at the accused pirate. Juggs mumbled something and Spearhead snorted. ‘No matter. The boy was of little value to us. Whereas you two –’ he turned to Emily and Chloe, baring his bone-white teeth in a leering grin – ‘are valuable property. Along with yourself, Ms Ryder.’
Spearhead’s gaze raked over the model as Amanda’s expression flipped from fear to shock. ‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded.
Laughing, Spearhead advanced menacingly towards her and the girls. ‘There’s a great deal I know about you, about Chloe and, of course, about you, Emily.’
Geoff stepped into the pirate’s path. ‘Leave them alone.’
Spearhead eyed the engineer with disdain. ‘Oh, I’ve no intention of harming them. But I can’t say the same for you.’
Geoff stood his ground a brave moment longer, then reluctantly moved aside.
Amanda braced herself for the worst. The girls shrank back from the pirate as he crouched beside them.
‘Don’t worry, Emily,’ soothed Spearhead, brushing a calloused finger along her soft cheek. ‘If your father pays up, you’ll be back home in no time.’
Standing and addressing the captain, he ordered, ‘Set a course for Hobyo.’
Captain Locke hesitated before replying, ‘But we don’t have enough fuel to reach Somalia.’
Spearhead’s hand lashed out like a viper, his knuckles catching the captain hard across the jaw.
‘Don’t ever lie to me again,’ snarled Spearhead as Captain Locke reeled from the blow, his split lip gushing fresh blood. ‘I know for a fact this yacht has a range of four thousand nautical miles. Start the engines, NOW!’
Connor’s eardrums almost burst at the sudden roar of the Orchid’s twin diesel engines kicking into life above him. The bilge rumbled like thunder and the stagnant water rippled with the yacht’s vibrations. Covering his ears, Connor now understood why Cali hadn’t ventured any further than the first compartment. His bones rattled as the propellors began to turn and the yacht got under way.
But this was good news, he realized. The chief officer had said one would need a computing degree to pilot the Orchid. And, with the crew secure in the citadel, Connor very much doubted that any of the pirates had the necessary skills or knowledge. Which could only mean one thing: they’d been rescued!
Wading through the oil-slicked water to the far end of the compartment, Connor found the hatch in the ceiling. He pushed it open and popped his head out. The engine room was glaringly bright, noisy but empty. Clambering on to the metal decking, he felt sheer relief at escaping the bilge’s dark, tight confines. Even the engine room’s diesel-tinged air was a joy compared to the stench of the bilge, and his throbbing headache and nausea soon began to fade.
Having been cooped up for several hours, though, his limbs were stiff and sore. He shook some life back into them, then strode over to the bulkhead door. Shouldering his Go-bag, he eased the door open and entered the service corridor.
No one was around as he made his way to the access door leading to the main stairwell and lower-deck bedrooms. He checked the girls’ rooms first, discovering them both to be empty and their personal belongings ransacked and scattered all over the floor.
At the foot of the stairs Connor paused, experiencing a strong sense of unease.
Where is everyone?
His bodyguard instincts urged him to remain cautious as he climbed up to the main deck.
From the direction of the salon, he could hear music playing. A thumping party beat. Connor smiled to himself. They were c
elebrating. He almost rushed in to join them when he heard an unfamiliar voice shout above the music, the words indistinguishable but definitely not English.
He froze to the spot. He’d misread the situation. The pirates were still in control.
The salon door suddenly opened and Connor dived into Mr Sterling’s study. A pair of pirates, jabbering away, passed right by, oblivious to him. Both of them had AK47s slung across their backs. As they entered the galley, Connor caught a glimpse of the steel door to the citadel. It lay on the floor like a discarded cardboard cut-out. Next to it were two gas canisters and a blowtorch. In an instant he knew what had happened.
His thoughts went to Emily and Chloe. Where are they? Are they hurt? Alive even?
Then he became aware of his own predicament. He had to get back into hiding, fast. If the pirates found him, there was no telling what they would do. And he’d be no use to anyone if he was captured.
But first he had to locate the girls. Confirm they were still alive.
As the two pirates raided the galley for party supplies, Connor crept back into the corridor and across to the door leading to the outer deck. Through the porthole, stars gleamed in the night sky. At least he’d have the cover of darkness to move about in. Once again, though, Connor wished his Go-bag wasn’t bright yellow. Yet he couldn’t leave it behind. He might need the protection of its liquid body-armour panel at any moment.
Out on deck, the breeze was cool and sharp, helping to focus his awareness. Keeping to the shadows, he listened out for any pirates, but heard none approaching.
The salon’s floor-to-ceiling windows were obscured, both a blessing and a curse. Although he wouldn’t be seen, he was forced to go to the glazed bay doors at the far end to look for the girls. With the aid of his night-vision sunglasses, Connor checked the route was clear, then headed towards the Orchid’s stern. As he passed the salon, the music pounding from within, the windows suddenly became transparent and he was caught like a rabbit in headlights.
On the other side, the pirates were laughing, drinking and dancing. The Orchid’s crew, numb with shock, had huddled on the leather sofas as if marooned. Amanda was gyrating to the music amid the pirates. But by the look on her face this wasn’t out of choice. Then the windows went obscure again.
Connor dropped to the deck, praying he hadn’t been spotted. The windows continued to flick between obscure and clear, a pirate inside finding the optical trick astonishing and hilarious at the same time as he repeatedly pressed the switch. By some stroke of luck, he’d been looking the other way and the darkness had concealed Connor from anyone else.
During the strobe-like flashes of the room, Connor continued to search for the girls. He saw Cali behind the bar, pouring out a steady stream of drinks for the celebrating pirates. At first Connor couldn’t believe how reckless the pirates were being – getting drunk and making themselves vulnerable. Then he noticed that four of the men, positioned strategically round the room, weren’t joining in with the drinking. They were keeping a watchful guard over their hostages, maintaining total control of the situation.
Eventually Connor spotted Emily and Chloe in the far corner of the room, separate from the rest of the group and overlooked by their own personal guard.
Connor despaired. How can I, one lone boy, fight back against a gang of fully armed pirates?
He may have trained as a bodyguard, but he wasn’t a soldier like his father. He’d learnt to protect, not kill. And these were bloodthirsty men. They’d already proved their willingness to go to any lengths to achieve their aims by murdering Brad in cold blood. Who knew what they had in store for the hostages next.
With dismay, Connor turned away from the scene, realizing he didn’t have a hope in hell of rescuing the girls single-handedly. Then he heard Charley’s voice in his head: Whether you think you can, or think you can’t – you’re probably right.
One look at the sheer terror and despair on Emily and Chloe’s faces spurred Connor to act. He was their only hope. And, although the odds were stacked against him, it was his duty to protect the girls … no matter what it took.
Connor stabbed at the buttons on the radio in the crew’s quarters. But it remained stubbornly silent, its screen dishearteningly blank. He’d noticed the front panel had been removed, but he had replaced it, hoping that by doing so the unit would become operational again. No such luck. The only other radio he knew of was on the bridge – along with the satellite phone – and the pirates were occupying that area.
Putting down the dead receiver, Connor reassessed his options. He’d planned to get in contact with the coastguard and update them on the Orchid’s situation and their location. But, with the citadel’s radio broken, he feared there wasn’t any search-and-rescue operation in progress at all.
Connor returned to the idea of using the tender to make an escape. He could load it with extra fuel and provisions then, somehow, free Emily and Chloe and – of course, the tender! That had a VHF radio in the cockpit.
Realizing that, even if he did make contact, he might have to hold out for a while, Connor first hunted round the crew’s quarters for food supplies and anything else that might prove useful. He filled his Go-bag with biscuits, dried fruit, tins of tuna fish and bottles of water. He also found a lighter, a penknife and a flare gun, complete with a spare set of flares. Then he crept back up the stairs to the main deck.
Passing through the galley, the place now littered with bottles and rubbish, Connor peeked into the main corridor. The music was still pumping loudly, but there were no pirates in sight. Then the salon’s door burst open and the pirate with jug ears came staggering out. He lurched to one side, reached for the wall, missed and fell into an open cabin. Connor heard him vomiting all over the floor.
Seizing the opportunity, Connor dashed to the stairwell and down to the lower deck. He stopped short outside Chloe’s room when he heard a rustling sound. A lone pirate was rifling through her belongings, pocketing any jewellery and valuables still left. While the thief was admiring a diamond ring that he’d discovered, Connor crept past towards the tender garage.
The door was still open. After a quick look inside, Connor entered, locked the door and hurried over to the tender. He clambered into the cockpit and located the radio and GPS unit. Switching them on, he was relieved to see a green light and their screens illuminate. Flipping up the safety cover on the radio, he pressed the red DSC Distress button and held it for five seconds, then waited for confirmation of a response.
Nothing registered on the screen.
Connor checked his watch as fifteen seconds went by, then thirty, without any response.
He picked up the hand-held receiver, switched the radio to Channel 16 and pressed the Transmit button.
‘Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,’ he said as loudly as he dared into the mic. ‘This is motor yacht Orchid, Orchid, Orchid. Mayday Orchid. Our position is –’ he looked at the GPS unit and saw it was still searching for a satellite connection – ‘mid-Indian Ocean. We’ve been hijacked by pirates. We require immediate assistance. Over.’
Releasing the Transmitter button, he prayed someone, anyone, would answer. But all he got was static.
He tried again. Nothing. And again.
Connor was almost beginning to despair when he noticed he’d forgotten to switch the radio to high power. Cursing his own haste, he sent out the Mayday call once more, now at full transmission power.
The radio crackled and hissed.
Then a voice burst from the speaker: ‘ORCHID … MANGYARING ULITIN.’
The words echoed round the garage and Connor grabbed the radio’s volume knob, twisting it virtually to zero in his panic.
‘Orchid … mangyaring ulitin,’ came the voice again.
Connor had no idea who the person was or what language was being spoken. It struck him that he could even be talking to one of the pirates. But that was a risk he’d have to take.
‘This is Connor Reeves. I’m on board the Orchid. We’ve been hijacke
d by pirates. We need help urgently. Over.’
The radio squelched and spat. ‘Orchid … maaari kong … bahagya marinig mo …’
The signal appeared to be getting weaker.
‘I don’t understand,’ Connor hissed desperately. ‘Do you speak English? Over.’
The radio whistled amid a wash of static, the voice barely louder than a whisper.
‘Hello?’ persisted Connor. ‘Can you hear me –’
Behind him, the bulkhead door thunked as the lock disengaged. Cutting the power to the radio, Connor lay flat in the bottom of the tender. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges and he heard the soft pad of bare feet enter.
‘Iska warran?’ said a man.
Connor stayed stock still, not even daring to breathe. He sensed the pirate approach the tender.
‘Iska warran?’ repeated the pirate, now less certain.
The pirate was no more than a couple of metres from him. Connor’s eyes searched the bottom of the tender for a makeshift weapon. But everything was neatly stowed away. He could try to reach into his Go-bag for either the Dazzler or flare gun, but he feared any movement would alert the pirate to his presence.
After what seemed an age, the feet padded away and the bulkhead door closed.
Connor let out a long sigh of relief and lay there a moment recovering. Once convinced the pirate had gone, he sat back up and switched on the radio.
‘Hello! Are you still there? This is motor yacht Orchid. Over.’
The radio hissed steadily but no one answered.
‘I demand the Seychelles coastguard launch a search-and-rescue mission now,’ Mr Sterling shouted, his face flushed with anger on the video-conference screen.
‘I’ve tried, but after two false alerts they’re understandably reticent to expend their resources on a wild-goose chase,’ Colonel Black explained, keeping his tone even as he sat behind the mahogany desk in his office. ‘Furthermore, both distress calls have been cancelled by the Orchid herself.’
Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2) Page 21
