‘Of course you are,’ said Scott, shaking Cali like a bag of bones. ‘You signalled for them to attack. And now my friend’s been shot.’
‘Stop!’ cried Emily, rising from the sofa. ‘It’s not Cali’s fault.’
Scott turned on her. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little coincidental that this Somali boy appears at the same time as the pirates?’
‘He’s trying to escape the pirates,’ explained Emily. ‘His father was killed by them.’
Scott rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘And you believe his sob story? He must have sent them our coordinates.’
‘No! No! Not true!’ cried Cali, struggling in Scott’s grip.
Captain Locke held up his hand to calm the situation. ‘Let’s hear the opinion of our security officer before jumping to conclusions.’
Brad stared hard at Cali, then answered, ‘This far from Somalia, the pirates have to be operating from a mothership – unless they’re on a one-way mission, which could explain their reckless determination. As regards targeting the Orchid, Cali may well be responsible. On the other hand, it might just be bad luck that we crossed paths with the pirates.’
‘So are we safe now?’ asked Amanda, who sat in a leather chair, nursing a large gin and tonic. At some point she’d managed to apply make-up, although her eyes were still glassy with shock.
Brad studied the shotgun in his hand, then glanced towards the open ocean at their stern. ‘It’s highly unlikely the pirates will make another attempt. But I’ll feel more comfortable when we’re in safe harbour.’
‘And how long will that be?’
‘Another forty-eight hours,’ announced the captain.
‘What about Jordan?’ asked Sophie. ‘Kieran may be a first-aider, but he’s no doctor.’
‘It looks worse than it is, Soph,’ replied Brad. ‘I’ve checked the wound. The bullet passed straight through. But you’re right; he does need medical attention.’
‘Our plan is to cas-evac Jordan as soon as we’re within helicopter range,’ explained the captain. ‘We’ve retracted our distress signal, but requested medical help to be at the –’
‘Sorry for interrupting, Captain,’ said Chief Officer Fielding, rushing in from the bridge, ‘but we’ve picked up a Mayday call.’
‘From the pirates, I hope,’ laughed Chef, who was busy behind the bar mixing up more of his speciality cocktails in case the pirates returned.
‘No, a Dutch yacht,’ replied the chief officer, his expression short of humour beneath his beard. ‘Engine failure due to a fire. Four people on board. They’re requesting urgent assistance.’
‘How far are they from our current position?’ asked the captain.
‘They’re nine nautical miles south-east.’
‘Surely you can’t be thinking of going to their rescue?’ said Kieran. ‘We have enough problems of our own.’
Captain Locke gave him a stern look. ‘I’m well aware of that. But we’re legally obliged to help.’
‘Can’t another vessel respond?’ asked Amanda.
The chief officer shook his head. ‘There doesn’t appear to be anyone else in the vicinity.’
‘Then set a course for the stranded yacht,’ the captain ordered.
‘But the pirates!’ exclaimed Scott.
‘Exactly. And, if they’ve picked up the distress call too, they’ll be like vultures on carrion. So keep a sharp lookout.’
Connor scanned the horizon, the binoculars pulling the furthest waves into detail. Small white crests like feathers rippled on the ocean’s surface, but there were no pirates in sight. The empty sea was almost as disconcerting as it was reassuring.
Connor focused on the Dutch yacht drifting a couple of nautical miles to their port bow. Roughly half the size of the Orchid, the sleek pearl-white boat was still an impressive sight. There was no one on deck, giving the unsettling impression of a ghost ship. Yet, with only four crew, Connor realized they’d all be below, dealing with the engine fire.
The atmosphere on the Orchid herself was tense. While the majority of the crew stood watch or carried out their duties on the bridge, Chloe and Emily sat in the sky lounge playing a silent and seemingly endless game of cards. Kieran kept a close guard over Cali as he tended to Jordan. And Sophie waited on Amanda in the salon, the model on her third gin and tonic as she flicked aimlessly through a pile of glossy magazines.
In the lull after the attack, Connor remembered the text message he’d received. At first he’d been surprised his phone had a signal so far out at sea. Then he saw the text had been delivered via Amir’s SOS app, which allowed short bursts of satellite communication. He’d replied with a simple message:
ALL CLEAR. BUT RESPONDING TO
ANOTHER YACHT’S MAYDAY.
Brad appeared on the upper deck and joined Connor at the aft rail. His shotgun rested on his shoulder, the weapon now a permanent accessory. ‘The captain’s just hailed the yacht. Any sign of the pirates?’
Connor shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘They’re probably still licking their wounds,’ said Brad, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.
As the Orchid made its final approach, Connor could make out the name on the side of the hull: Sunriser. A man wearing a white peaked cap and jacket appeared on the yacht’s main deck and waved. Brad raised his hand in acknowledgement.
The Orchid decreased speed and came alongside the disabled vessel.
Captain Locke stepped from the bridge and saluted the other captain. ‘Ahoy there! Captain Locke at your service.’
The Dutch captain returned his salute. The man’s face was haggard, his eyes sunken and a few days of stubble coated his chin. Considering they’d come to his rescue, the Dutch captain didn’t look very pleased to see them. He bowed his head. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘What have you to apologize for?’ said Captain Locke, his brow creasing in puzzlement. ‘We’re only too happy to come to your assistance.’
But the answer emerged from the yacht’s dark interior: a mighty warrior of a man armed with an AK47.
Connor could scarcely believe his eyes. It was the pirate who’d tumbled from the Orchid’s stern.
Brad instinctively brought his shotgun down to fire.
‘DON’T!’ shouted the pirate, pressing the barrel of his rifle to the Dutch captain’s head. ‘I’ll kill him.’
Brad faltered in his attack. The Dutch captain stood motionless, what little colour was left in his face draining completely away as his life hung in the balance.
‘Throw your weapon over the side,’ the pirate ordered Brad.
Connor could see Brad weighing up the options. His first duty was to protect the crew and passengers of the Orchid. But he couldn’t be held responsible for the death of an innocent man either. With great reluctance, Brad tossed his only weapon into the sea.
A roar of outboard engines suddenly cut through the air as two skiffs powered out of the yacht’s shadow and surrounded the Orchid.
‘We underestimated you,’ said the pirate. ‘I won’t do so again.’
He spun the AK47 towards Brad and blasted him in the chest.
‘That’s for killing my cousin,’ snarled the pirate, ceasing his burst of violence.
Brad slumped to the deck, blood pouring from multiple wounds. Connor rushed to his side, but could see the damage was catastrophic.
‘C-c-citadel,’ gasped Brad.
Connor tried to pick him up and drag him to safety.
‘No …’ Brad groaned, gripping Connor’s hand with the last of his strength. ‘Get the girls –’ His eyes rolled back in his head, his body shuddered then fell deathly still.
‘Brad!’ cried Connor, trying to revive his friend and mentor.
Another gunshot rang out, its deafening blast making Connor cower in terror. He glanced over the rail. The Dutch captain lay at the pirate’s feet, his body twitching, blood pooling round his head. In the water below, a skiff docked alongside the Orchid, grappling hooks and ladders latched
on like claws, and pirates surged up the ropes.
This is going to be a slaughter, Connor realized with horror.
With their comrades killed in action, the pirates wanted more than just to hijack – they wanted revenge.
Having no time to mourn Brad, Connor sprinted along the far side of the yacht. The rest of the Orchid’s crew knew the drill and were already running for their lives.
Connor burst into the sky lounge.
‘What’s happening?’ Chloe shrieked, their cards scattered across the table. ‘We heard gunfire.’
‘Brad’s been shot. Pirates.’
‘No … not again. It can’t be happening,’ cried Emily, collapsing to the floor at the sight of Brad’s blood smeared over Connor’s clothes.
‘Back to the citadel,’ said Connor, pulling the distraught Emily to her feet and grabbing Chloe by the wrist. He bundled them down the stairs as fast as he could.
They met Kieran and Scott dragging Jordan out of the guest bedroom. Sophie was dashing ahead with Amanda down the corridor.
‘Where’s everyone going?’ asked Cali, running after them.
‘Safe room,’ cried Emily, almost tripping over her sister’s heels. ‘Come with us.’
They passed the staircase leading to the lower deck. Outside they could hear urgent shouts, the language strange and unintelligible to Connor’s ears.
‘Hurry!’ urged the captain, who was waiting at the entrance to the galley. He shepherded Amanda and Sophie through the narrow doorway and towards the crew’s quarters.
But, as Kieran and Scott tried to manhandle the injured Jordan through, a bottleneck formed and panic ensued.
‘Not you, pirate boy!’ said Scott, kicking Cali away.
The boy tumbled to the floor and was trampled underfoot. Emily tried to help him up.
‘Leave him,’ said Connor as he pushed her on, Emily and her sister being his sole priority.
Chloe screamed as a devilish face appeared at a nearby porthole. A gunshot went off. Like a pack of baying dogs, the pirates’ whoops and cries could be heard closing in. Connor noticed the door leading to the outside deck start to open. Realizing they’d never all make it to the citadel in time, he shoved Emily and Chloe into the captain’s arms and rushed back down the corridor.
‘NO!’ barked the captain.
But Connor was committed to the sacrifice. He launched himself into a flying kick just as a large head with jug ears poked inside. Connor’s foot struck the back of the door, slamming it against the frame and crushing the pirate in the jamb. The pirate howled in pain and fury before retracting his bruised head from its vice-like grip. Connor threw his weight against the door and turned the latch lock. The pirate could be heard hammering furiously on the other side.
‘Come on, Connor,’ said the captain, holding the galley door open for him.
Connor could see Emily and Chloe were through and heading for the safety of the citadel. He was the only one left – aside from Cali, who was struggling back to his feet. As he ran for the galley, a burst of gunfire erupted behind him. Connor heard the lock shattering and the door being kicked open.
‘Joogso!’ shouted the pirate. ‘Istaag ama waan ku tooganayaa.’
Connor had no idea what the man was saying, but he wasn’t going to stop for anyone.
‘STOP! He kill us!’ cried Cali, holding up his hand and getting in Connor’s way.
Glancing over his shoulder, Connor saw the jug-eared pirate levelling his AK47 at him. As the pirate depressed the trigger, Connor shoved Cali aside but was too late to save himself. A bullet clipped his upper arm, spinning him round. A second bullet struck him in the chest and he tumbled down the staircase, landing in a heap at the bottom and lying there, silent and motionless.
Captain Locke sealed the bulkhead door. There was a clunk as the heavy-duty lock engaged. The door wouldn’t be opened again for anything but rescue.
‘Where’s Connor?’ Emily asked as the captain descended the stairs into the crew’s compact living quarters. The combined kitchen-diner was cramped with nine crew and three guests. Kieran and Scott were settling the groaning Jordan in one of the tiny bunk beds, while the others huddled round the small dining table. An atmosphere of barely restrained hysteria hung in the air.
Captain Locke addressed the survivors, his expression solemn. ‘Connor didn’t make it.’
‘What do you mean, he didn’t make it?’ said Emily, rising from the bench and clutching the table for support. ‘He’s still out there. So’s Cali. We have to open the door.’
The captain rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘No. I saw Connor get shot. He’s dead.’
Emily sank back on to the bench. ‘This can’t be happening …’
She stared mutely at the cabin wall, tears welling in her eyes in silent grief. Overwhelmed by the sudden loss, Chloe gave a grieved cry, then fell forward and buried her head in her arms.
‘What about Brad?’ asked Sophie in a tiny and hesitant voice.
Captain Locke sadly shook his head. Sophie collapsed into sobs, Kathy pulling her into an embrace, letting her friend weep on her shoulder.
From the stairwell, the harsh clank of metal on metal rang out. All eyes turned fearfully towards the sound.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Captain Locke. ‘They can’t get through.’
‘So what now?’ asked Amanda, her lips thin, the make-up no longer hiding the strain. ‘We’re trapped.’
‘We sit tight and await rescue.’
‘From who exactly? He said –’ she pointed to the chief officer almost as if in accusation – ‘there aren’t any other boats in the area.’
‘NATO’s navy task force,’ replied the captain, trying to maintain his composure and authority while reeling inside from their desperate situation. ‘Danny, send out a Mayday on the radio. See who you can contact.’
The chief officer nodded and went over to the small console in the corner of the room.
‘I won’t lie to you,’ said the captain, leaning forward and resting his palms on the table. ‘Rescue could be anything from a day to a week away. We may have to prepare for even longer. The key thing is to remain focused and positive. Chef, I want you to make a full inventory of our food and water supplies. Geoff, check our power situation and what reserve batteries we have access to. Kathy and Sophie, I need you to organize the bunk rooms and a sleeping rota. Kieran, take stock of our first-aid supplies and attend to Jordan with –’
‘Captain,’ interrupted Danny, his tone grave. ‘The radio’s dead.’
Captain Locke frowned. ‘Have you tried all the channels?’
The chief officer nodded. ‘I even checked the battery connection.’
‘Let me have a look,’ said Geoff, the engineer getting up from the table to inspect. After testing a series of buttons, he opened up the front panel. He glanced over his shoulder at the captain, a dark look in his eyes. ‘Somebody’s sabotaged it.’
Scott punched the wall in fury. ‘That little rat of a stowaway! If I ever get my hands on him again, I’ll wring his scrawny neck.’
‘So we’re … cut off from rescue?’ uttered Amanda, clasping her hands tightly together to stop their trembling.
‘Not exactly,’ said Chief Officer Fielding, managing a reassuring smile through his beard. ‘I triggered the EPIRB distress beacon as I left the bridge.’
‘Shut that thing down,’ ordered Spearhead, pointing to the flashing light atop the EPIRB unit.
Big Mouth rushed across the bridge to the bracket-mounted beacon and searched for the button that Mr WiFi had shown him on the laptop diagram. The emergency instructions meant nothing to him, but he found the red circle and pressed it. The light went dead.
Spearhead picked up the radio from the comms unit. Mimicking the BBC World Service presenter to whom he’d listened while learning English, he said in a gruff British accent: ‘All Stations, All Stations, All Stations. This is motor yacht Orchid. Our position is …’ He paused briefly, checking the GPS. ‘South 2�
� 41' 42", East 62° 54' 19". Alongside Dutch yacht Sunriser. Engine fire extinguished. No further danger to crew. Cancel our EPIRB distress alert. I repeat, cancel our distress alert.’
Spearhead waited for a response. He received nothing but static.
This was good news, for it meant there were no other ships in the immediate vicinity. Any Mayday calls the Orchid might have made by radio would have fallen on deaf ears. But he understood that the EPIRB worked differently and wasn’t limited by range. Before leaving on their mission, Mr WiFi had explained that the unit transmitted a signal every fifty seconds via satellite. The yacht’s identity and position would have already been received by a Maritime Rescue Coordination Centre, who’d have forwarded the data to the Seychelles or Kenyan coastguard. Once a satellite picked up an EPIRB signal, this whole process could take less than a minute.
Spearhead knew he and his men were racing against the clock. The authorities would have their position to within three nautical miles and would soon be launching a search-and-rescue operation. Either the distress alert had to be cancelled or they needed to be long gone by the time any rescue team arrived.
He broadcast the message again. Still no response. Replacing the handset, he spotted the satellite phone further along the console. This would guarantee cancellation – if he could find the right number. As he reached over for the receiver, Spearhead noticed Big Mouth plonking himself in the captain’s chair and planting his feet on the control panel.
‘Get off! I’m the captain round here,’ Spearhead snarled, jabbing a thumb at his chest.
Big Mouth unwillingly eased himself from the leather seat as Juggs stormed on to the bridge. ‘The crew have holed up in the bow.’
Spearhead spun on him in irritation. ‘Well, break the door down.’
Juggs shrugged ineffectually. ‘We can’t. It’s steel. Locked from the inside.’
Spearhead scowled. This problem would cause a serious delay. Without the Orchid’s captain or his crew, he couldn’t sail the super-yacht – not with his knuckle-headed men, anyway. Spearhead cursed himself for shooting the Dutch captain, but his bloodlust had got the better of him. Then he remembered the equipment he’d spotted in the loading bay of the Dutch yacht.
Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2) Page 19
