Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2)

by Bradford, Chris

  As he hurried her down the stairs, he caught a glimpse of the skiffs cutting like sharks’ fins through the waves. He could make out the pirates, bristling with weaponry. This was the nightmare scenario they’d planned for yet prayed would never happen.

  The Orchid slammed hard against the swell. The impact was bone-shattering. Emily lost her footing and Connor barely stopped her tumbling down the stairs.

  ‘Keep hold of the rail,’ he urged as they descended the final staircase to the lower deck.

  Rushing along the corridor to Chloe’s room, they could see the walls vibrating from the thrum of the engines. Connor hammered on the door. ‘Chloe! Chloe! Open up!’

  ‘What is it?’ came a sleepy reply.

  With no time for discretion, he threw open the door. She sat bolt upright, clutching the bedding around her. ‘Sorry, but this is an emergency. Grab some clothes. We need to get you to the citadel fast.’

  ‘Citadel?’ said Chloe, staring wide-eyed and confounded at him.

  ‘Safe room,’ explained Connor. ‘We’re under attack from pirates. Now hurry.’

  Too stunned and terrified to protest, she bundled some clothes into her arms and allowed herself to be herded into the corridor. Connor pushed the two sisters along and up the stairs. At the bulkhead to the crew’s quarters, they met Amanda being escorted by Brad.

  ‘Stay in there until I give the all-clear. Understood?’ said Brad.

  Amanda nodded mutely, her angelic features pale with shock. Connor ushered Chloe and Emily in after her, then turned to follow Brad.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Chloe cried, a look of abandonment on her face.

  Connor hoped his nerves didn’t show as he replied, ‘To fight off the pirates.’

  Standing on the main deck, Connor clutched the rail, the wind whipping at his face and hair. Below him, the water rushed past like a surging torrent and the Orchid left a huge foamy wake in her trail. But fast as she was, the pirates doggedly closed the distance: 400 metres … 300 metres … 200 metres …

  ‘Those are powerful engines,’ remarked Brad. ‘They’ve got to be doing over thirty knots.’

  He spoke into the two-way radio. ‘Captain, you need to fishtail.’

  There was a crackle of static. ‘We’ll lose speed,’ came the reply.

  Brad pressed the Transmit button. ‘We won’t outrun them in a straight sprint. We need to make it difficult to board.’

  ‘Understood.’

  A second later, the Orchid lurched off-course, veering hard to port. Connor gripped the rail, then was thrown against the chrome bar as she cut back towards starboard. Each switch sent a heavy wash in the pirates’ direction. The skiffs rode them like bucking broncos, seawater breaking over their bows and sending spray high into the air. The pirates clung to their seats, in danger of being tossed from their craft. But, like a waterborne wolf pack, the skiffs hounded the Orchid on all sides. As one fell back, another took its place.

  Connor’s mouth became dry, a mix of adrenalin and fear. He licked his lips, but tasted only saltwater. He could feel his heart pounding and imagined this to be like the blind rush of panic a fox felt during a hunt.

  A skiff came level with the Orchid’s port side. A pirate waved an AK47 for them to slow down.

  ‘He’s got to be joking,’ said Brad, turning to Connor. ‘Have you got the flares ready? Looks like we’ll be needing them sooner rather than later.’

  Connor nodded and primed a flare gun. The other deckhands were stationed round the boat, ready to fend off any attempt to board.

  Seeing that their prey had no intention of stopping, the pirate levelled his AK47 and fired indiscriminately at the Orchid. Connor ducked, sheltering behind the gunwale as the deadly zing of bullets whizzed over their heads.

  ‘They’re trying to kill us!’ cried Jordan, cowering on the deck further down.

  ‘Warning shots,’ Brad replied. ‘To scare us.’

  ‘Well, it’s working!’

  Taking the flare gun from Connor, Brad waited for a break in the hail of bullets, then stood up and fired back at the skiff. A red blaze zoomed through the air. The pirate dived into his boat as the flare streaked across his bow, almost knocking him into the sea. But this single attack didn’t deter him. He immediately rose and retaliated with another burst of gunfire. Bullets ripped into the fibreglass hull. The Orchid’s crew cringed in terror behind the gunwales, their hands covering their heads.

  The Orchid swung hard to port, forcing the attacking skiff to back off.

  However, another skiff immediately came up on her starboard side. Brad and Connor rushed across. A pirate crouched in the skiff’s bow; on his shoulder was the long drainpipe-like barrel of a rocket launcher. Connor flashed back to the shaky video from Alpha team’s briefing and felt a chill run through him … This time he was a part of it.

  Brad snatched up his radio. ‘Captain, skiff to starboard. Ram them.’

  ‘Too risky.’

  ‘They have an RPG.’

  The skiff had pulled level with the bridge and the pirate was taking aim.

  ‘I see it,’ replied the captain. ‘Oh my –’

  His transmission cut off as the pirate launched the rocket. It scorched through the air, blazing a trail towards the bridge. Connor watched in wide-eyed horror as the RPG shot out of view and exploded.

  The buzzing woke Amir. He yawned and glanced at his watch – 03:30.

  Why had he set his alarm so early?

  As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the alarm continued its incessant buzzing. He reached over to switch it off and promptly fell to the floor. Dazed, Amir looked round the darkened briefing room and at his upturned chair. Of course, he wasn’t in bed. He was on night duty, supposedly monitoring Operation Gemini.

  The buzzing grew more urgent and Amir scrambled up to his desk. On the glowing computer screen a red alert icon was flashing. Clicking on the pulsing box, he stared at the few stark lines of text, then grabbed his phone.

  ‘What is it, Amir?’ Charley answered drowsily.

  ‘Distress call from the Orchid.’

  There was a moment’s silence as the words sank in, then she replied, ‘I’ll be right down,’ her voice now sharp and alert.

  A short while later, Charley wheeled herself through the door, in a T-shirt and jogging bottoms.

  ‘What information do we have?’

  Amir nodded to his computer screen. ‘The Orchid sent out a DSC distress signal at 0625 hours, Seychelles local time. It gave her position as two hundred and forty nautical miles east-north-east of Mahé.’

  ‘Do we know the actual problem?’

  Amir swallowed anxiously. ‘Pirates.’

  Charley looked at him. ‘Seems like you’ve lost your bet with Ling.’ She scanned the brief message on Amir’s computer, then asked, ‘Any communication from Connor?’

  Amir shook his head. ‘The distress signal was picked up by the Seychelles Maritime Rescue and Coordination Centre. Since the Orchid’s out of range for VHF radio and mobile phones, a satellite call is the only possible option. But there’s no mention of it in this report.’

  Charley picked up the phone. ‘I’ll contact the Seychelles coastguard for an update. In the meantime, wake Colonel Black, then see if you can get through to Connor via your SOS app.’

  The ball of fire, smoke and shrapnel flashed like a comet in the dawn sky. For a brief moment, Connor thought the captain and all on the bridge had perished. Then Captain Locke’s voice burst on to the radio.

  ‘They missed!’ His relief was evident.

  ‘They meant to,’ replied Brad. ‘But the next one won’t.’

  There was a pause as the captain weighed up the threat of a second RPG against the risks of ramming.

  ‘Prepare for collision course.’

  Connor and Brad braced themselves. The Orchid sheered off to starboard just as the pirate skiff was closing in. The boat’s pilot, totally unprepared for such an aggressive manoeuvre, tried to veer away. But it was to
o late. The two vessels collided at high speed. The skiff’s bow crunched against the yacht’s superstructure, shattering on impact. There was a horrible screeching as the skiff scored a line down the Orchid’s hull. Then, like flotsam in a storm, the skiff was flipped over by the churn from the Orchid’s propellers, and the pirates and their weaponry were dumped in the sea.

  ‘That’ll make ’em think twice,’ said Brad as they watched the capsized skiff recede into the distance.

  But, like stirring up a hornets’ nest, the ramming only seemed to enrage the pirates more. Powering past their stranded companions who clung to the wreckage, the four surviving skiffs swarmed towards the Orchid.

  ‘Why don’t they give up?’ asked Jordan.

  Brad gripped the rail. ‘They must be desperate. Nothing to lose.’

  The radio on his hip crackled into life.

  ‘We have a problem,’ the captain announced. ‘Our speed has dropped. One of the screws must have been damaged in the ramming.’

  Brad turned to the crew. ‘Everyone. Prepare to repel boarders.’ He handed the empty flare gun to Connor. ‘Hold the fort. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Before Connor could question him, Brad disappeared inside the salon.

  Connor peered over the gunwale. The skiffs were closing in on all sides as the Orchid lost headway. A ferocious burst of gunfire assaulted the upper deck. A window imploded and he heard a scream from one of the two stewardesses stationed in the sky lounge as lookouts. Praying neither had been hurt, Connor reloaded the flare gun, at the same time wondering what the point was. A flare was a feeble match for an AK47.

  But it was all he had.

  As soon as the gunfire ceased, he knelt up by the rail and took aim at the nearest skiff. The lurching of the deck made it virtually impossible to fix his target. A tall, jug-eared pirate trained his AK47 on him. But Connor squeezed his trigger first. The flare whooshed from the barrel. A bright-red ball of flame shot across the waves … and fell short.

  Connor briefly saw the flare extinguish itself in the waves before diving to the deck as a hail of bullets peppered the stern gunwale.

  So much for his attempt at fending off the pirates.

  Brad reappeared by his side, now in possession of a stainless-steel 12-gauge pump-action shotgun. ‘Time to fight fire with fire!’

  Connor stared in disbelief at the fearsome weapon. ‘I thought you said guns were illegal.’

  Brad checked the chamber, then clicked off the safety catch. ‘Only in port,’ he replied with a grim smile and took aim over the gunwale.

  The blast of the shotgun was deafening. Connor held his hands over his ears as Brad fired again and again. Then he dropped back down beside him.

  ‘Did you hit anyone?’ asked Connor as another strafing of bullets cut into the Orchid.

  Brad shook his head. ‘I’m trying to knock out their engines,’ he explained, rapidly reloading.

  On the port side, Jordan and another deckhand, Kieran, threw a storage net into the sea to entangle the outboards of an approaching skiff. But, as they were launching the net, a clatter of gunfire punctured the air. Jordan was thrown backwards. Blood splattered across the salon’s glass doors.

  Connor rushed to his aid. Jordan slumped to the deck, groaning, blood pouring from the bullet wound in his shoulder. Kieran ripped off his T-shirt and handed it to Connor.

  ‘Apply pressure. I’ll get the first-aid kit.’

  As Kieran ran inside, Connor pressed the balled-up T-shirt against the wound. Jordan cried out.

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ assured Connor, not knowing what else to say. ‘I promise you, I’ve had worse.’

  Even through the haze of pain, Jordan managed a weak smile of disbelief.

  Connor’s phone bleeped from inside his polo-shirt pocket. He ignored it.

  Blasts like thunder echoed off the blood-smeared glass as Brad fired his shotgun in angry retaliation. But the pirates showed no sign of retreat. Bullets ripped through the air and the roar of their outboard motors buzzed like angry wasps.

  ‘Did the net … stop … them?’ asked Jordan through clenched teeth, as Kieran reappeared with the first-aid kit.

  Looking to the stern, Connor spotted the net floating away on the Orchid’s wake.

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head in dismay.

  Without warning, a grappling hook latched itself to the port-side rail. Connor saw the line go taut. The pirates were boarding the Orchid.

  Connor shouted a warning to Brad, but the repeated blasts of the shotgun had temporarily deafened him. Leaving Kieran to tend to Jordan, Connor ran to the rail. A pirate was attempting to scale the knotted rope, the bucking skiff making his progress slow, but certain.

  Connor pulled the flare gun from his hip pocket. He took aim, then realized it was unloaded. He fumbled for another flare from the clip, but in his hurry he dropped them. They scattered across the deck. He frantically retrieved one. Snapping open the breach, he pushed the flare home then clicked it shut. Just as he went to take aim again, the chef rushed on to the deck, wielding a flaming bottle of vodka.

  ‘My own special pirate cocktail!’ he shouted as he launched it at the skiff below.

  The bottle shattered across the bow, spreading a sea of flame along the wooden skiff. The pirates screamed and scrambled away from the blaze. In his panic the pilot veered sharply, jerking on the grappling rope and catapulting his comrade into the ocean.

  Then a wave broke over the skiff, dousing the fire. The pirates, quickly recovering from the shock attack, made another approach. They powered towards the Orchid, leaving their fellow pirate to drown.

  But the chef had plenty more bottles where that one had come from and reappeared moments later with two more Molotov cocktails.

  On the starboard side, Brad fired his shotgun again. This time he hit his mark. The outboard engines of the targeted skiff sputtered and choked, smoke spewing from their exhausts. But the pilot had also been caught in the hail of buckshot. He slumped over the tiller of his outboard and sent the boat swerving off-course.

  ‘Two down!’ said Brad grimly as he sheltered behind the gunwale.

  Despite their losses, the pirates refused to give up. Two of the skiffs now made simultaneous attacks on the Orchid’s bow. The crew up front called for help and Brad and Chef rushed to their aid. But, with everyone committed to the port and starboard attacks, no one noticed the stern assault by the third skiff.

  Only Connor heard the clang of a grappling hook on the rail. He spun round to see a colossal pirate, an assault rifle strapped across his back, standing on the skiff’s bow like a figurehead. The ease with which he rode the turbulent waves was unnerving. Beckoning his pilot to move closer to the Orchid’s stern, the pirate was preparing to make his leap.

  Connor had only one shot. He couldn’t afford to miss this time.

  The flare rocketed the short distance and struck home. Just as he had planned, it landed beside the fuel canister for the outboard. The pilot shouted in terror and jumped over the side as a spark ignited the diesel. Showered in flaming fuel, the other pirates leapt for their lives. The skiff then exploded in a massive fireball, a plume of black smoke rising into the air like a mushroom cloud. Connor shielded his eyes from the blast. And, when he looked again, the skiff was sinking rapidly beneath the waves.

  But the pirate who’d leapt from the bow still clung on to the rope. Like some monster of the deep, he hauled himself up through the rushing water towards the Orchid’s stern. Connor couldn’t believe the man’s strength, or his crazed determination.

  The hook was pulled tight against the rail and Connor had no hope of wrenching it free. He raced through the salon to the galley. There, he grabbed a fire extinguisher and snatched the carving knife from the block. By the time he’d sprinted back, the pirate had reached the stern and was now clambering up the tender garage’s huge bay door.

  Pulling the safety pin from the extinguisher, Connor let loose a jet of white foam, turning the hull slick and
oily. The pirate scrambled to make purchase with his feet and thumped hard into the fibreglass hull. Foam glistened off his rippling torso and rivulets of water ran down his smooth bullet-shaped head.

  Yet still he held on.

  Discarding the empty extinguisher, Connor took up the knife. The pirate snarled like a wild beast when he saw Connor furiously sawing at his rope. With grim determination, the pirate climbed hand over hand. The rope started to fray, but Connor knew he’d never cut through in time. The pirate was already halfway up. Then the Orchid struck the swell hard, the pirate lost his footing again and slipped down to the waterline. Only his Herculean strength prevented him from losing all grip on the rope.

  The pirate heaved himself back up as Connor continued to slice frantically at the fraying fibres. The pirate’s fingers reached for the deck. The rope finally parted … and Connor watched the man tumble back into the foaming sea.

  ‘This is definitely a new breed of pirates,’ said Brad as the Orchid’s crew recovered in the salon.

  After their joint attack failed, the pirates had finally given up their pursuit and the Orchid had escaped, bullet-ridden but unbreached. Jordan had been moved to a guest bedroom, his wound dressed and painkillers administered. Kathy, the second stewardess, was being treated for minor cuts from the shattered window.

  ‘I’ve never known so many skiffs hunting together as a pack, or seen such firepower,’ Brad continued as he paced the room, his shotgun still in hand. ‘Their outboards were brand new too, top of the range.’

  ‘But how did they even find us?’ asked Connor, standing near Emily and Chloe who huddled together on one of the sofas. ‘It’s not as if we’re in the transit corridor or cruising the Somalian coast.’

  ‘That’s a fair point,’ agreed Captain Locke, looking to Brad for an answer. ‘We’re almost as far from the mainland as we can be.’

  ‘Why not ask him?’ said Scott, seizing Cali by the scruff of his neck.

  Cali stared back in wide-eyed alarm. ‘I-I know nothing. I not pirate,’ he protested.