by Mack Maloney
He eventually found one frequency that was clearer than the rest, and just listened. The participants were speaking Hindi, but with a few English words mixed in. After just thirty seconds, he knew it was the Bom-Kats, talking about what had happened less than an hour before. It didn’t take long before he heard the name Emma Simms.
It just reconfirmed his worst fears. Yes, the Bom-Kats knew the world’s most famous actress was aboard the old ship. And like the Somalis who’d snatched her earlier, they undoubtedly knew she would be worth tens of millions of dollars in ransom—and that was after they got through doing whatever they wanted to her.
So, yes, Alpha Squad had foiled the Bom-Kats three times now. But judging from the radio chatter, Nolan was certain the pirates were going to try again. What would happen then? Alpha Squad was out-gunned, out-manned, out of their element, and out of touch—with anybody who could help.
But then one of the crewmen began tapping him urgently on his good shoulder. The man pointed to the eastern horizon where Nolan was heartened to see a bright light approaching. He knew right away that it was not a Bom-Kat boat; it was way too big. The crewman confirmed it; a major vessel heading in their direction.
Nolan started listening to the shortwave radio again. He zeroed in on another frequency. It, too, was filled with a mixture of Hindi and English chatter about the Bom-Kats, and mentions of a disabled freighter coming under attack by the pirates. But the cadence was different and those speaking were using proper maritime radio etiquette—all “rogers,” “overs” and “outs.” The four crewmen listened to the conversations with growing smiles.
“It’s the Indian Navy,” one said finally. “They’ve sent a warship to help us. That’s it—coming our way.”
* * *
THE SHIP WAS in visual range ten minutes later.
Emma remained in the mess hall; Nolan was hoping she was asleep. Gunner and the two wounded Senegals were in the ship’s galley, being cared for by the three less-wounded West Africans. Though he was excited about this development, Nolan did not want to disturb any of them—not until he knew what was really up with this warship.
He asked the Taiwan Song’s crewmen to bring the freighter to a stop. Then, with a fading flashlight, he made his way down to the bow to await the vessel’s approach.
Once the warship was within 100 feet of the freighter, Nolan used the flashlight to signal his location. Someone on the ship signaled back.
He then played his weak beam onto the stern of the vessel and, for the first time, saw the name of the warship.
INS Vidynut …
His heart sank to his feet. What were the chances of this?
The second real gig the newly formed Team Whiskey ever took on was to rescue an Indian Navy warship that had been hijacked by Somali pirates. This warship was a new, ultra-high-tech model, wholly designed by the Indian Navy, in hopes of exporting them to many other countries. The Somali pirates had been about to execute the Indian crew when Whiskey came upon the scene.
Nolan and company were able to save the crew, but only after a battle against the pirates that all but destroyed the new warship. The Indian Navy paid the team their hefty fee, but made it very clear they never wanted to have anything to do with Whiskey again.
That warship was the Vidynut, the vessel that was now pulling up alongside him.
The ship didn’t look much better than the last time Nolan saw it. It had been patched from bow to stern; blotches of new paint were evident all over. The massive deck-mounted rocket launchers that provided the vessel with its firepower were gone. Its futuristic bridge, which had been all but destroyed in the melee, had been cut down by at least ten feet and now looked as ordinary as could be.
Nolan could even hear the ship’s radically designed engines sputtering as it approached.
Captain Vasu Vandar was commander of the Vidynut during the violent hijacking; it had been Nolan who freed him and the rest of his crew during the rescue mission.
Now, Captain Vandar and a coterie of sailors walked to the deck to inspect the freighter. As soon as he saw Nolan, though, he let out a wail.
“Not you!” he bellowed. “Not again!”
Nolan tried to reason with him. “We’re in a bad situation here,” he yelled over to Vandar. “We’ve got refugees on board and we’re being attacked by pirates every two hours.”
“I don’t care,” Vandar yelled back, wagging his finger at Nolan. “You a very, very bad man. You almost sink my ship once—I will not allow you to try it again.”
“We saved your ship,” Nolan yelled back. “And your crew. And you.”
“And my life has been miserable ever since,” Vandar yelled back. “I want nothing to do with you.”
Nolan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“At least take the refugees with you,” he yelled to the ship captain. “Save them at least.”
“Who are these people?” Vandar asked, voice dripping with disinterest.
Nolan explained who the refugees were—a mistake as it turned out, as Vandar almost immediately cut him off.
“These people are Untouchables,” he said. “We cannot have them on this vessel. End of story.”
Vandar signaled someone up on his bridge; the Vidynut started to pull away.
“Wait…” Nolan pleaded with him. “We have a very famous celebrity on board. A movie actress.”
“I’m sure you do!” Vandar yelled back with a laugh. His sailors laughed, too.
“It’s true,” Nolan pleaded with him. “And if you take her, then the pirates will leave us alone.”
“So they can pick on us then?” Vandar called back to him. “No, thank you. This ship has already had enough bad luck experience with pirates.”
With that, the Vidynut’s sputtering engines were revved up and it slowly sailed away.
* * *
NOLAN STAGGERED DOWN below decks, greatly disturbed by the strange encounter with the Vidynut.
He was furious the Indian Navy would not help them. He hated everything about India at that moment: the prejudice, the caste system, rich and poor, haves and have-nots—this in a country that was supposed to be so enlightened?
He found an unoccupied cabin and collapsed atop a pile of rags. He was beyond exhaustion. The last time he’d slept was back on The Immaculate Perception, in a lounge chair, taking turns watching over Batman. But that seemed so long ago, it was as if it had happened to someone else entirely.
With these thoughts bouncing around his head, he surrendered to a fitful slumber and was haunted by feverish dreams. Suddenly, he was back in Tora Bora, with two working eyes, chasing bin Laden. The terrorist was riding a magic carpet, though, and Nolan had a ball and chain attached to each of his legs. Then he was in Indonesia, running down a beach, chasing pirates who were dressed like nightmarish clowns. Then he was in the Caribbean, shooting at whales that had sprouted wings and could fly. Then … he was fighting the renegade SEALs who’d stolen the nuclear submarine, USS Wyoming, but the battle was in the middle of an amusement park.
Suddenly, he was in a movie. He was lying on a deep, feather-bed mattress. Everything was warm and clean and white—and he was looking up at Emma, all gorgeous, huge eyes and flowing blond curls. She was touching his face, trying to tell him something, like: Please let me sleep with you.
But just as suddenly, he was awake. And Emma was looking down at him, and she was touching his face and trying to tell him something. But it wasn’t an invitation for intimacy.
She was saying to him: “Please—wake up. The pirates are coming again.…”
* * *
NOLAN WAS BACK up on deck in seconds, looking out on the eastern horizon, which was blood red with the newly rising sun.
Emma was right behind him.
The Bom-Kats were coming again. They could see at least three dozen vessels heading right for them.
“My God, how many people do they have?” she exclaimed.
“This is India,” Nolan told her. “The
y have access to an unlimited number of bodies, just as long as they’re convinced they’re in for a big payday.”
They had the two AK-47s with a total of twelve rounds between them. That amounted to a couple of very brief bursts from each assault rifle, and after that, the freighter would be practically defenseless.
Nolan’s spirits plummeted as the pirate boats approached. Like some wounded animal, the freighter had held off the wolves three times. But there was just no way they could do it a fourth time.
Emma stayed beside him. “I’m the cause of all this,” she said softly. “They know I’m here. They want me. And because of me, they’re going to kill everyone on this ship—and that’s the exact opposite of what this is supposed to be about.…”
“There’s no way we can change the situation,” Nolan said, watching the pirates with his night-vision scope. The pirates were now about five minutes away from the ship and coming on strong.
“Yes, there is,” she said firmly. “Let them take me.”
He looked over at her. “What?”
“Let them take me,” she repeated. “They want me. They want to hold me hostage. So let them. Someone will pay the ransom. So, I’ll be uncomfortable for a few days, so what?”
But Nolan was already shaking his head emphatically no.
“Not in a million years,” he told her.
“But it’s the only solution,” she insisted. “My life for all of yours? And my people down below? Do the math.…”
“No way…,” he said again.
“But what about the others?” Emma pressed him, meaning the rest of the people on the ship. The wounded Senegals, Gunner and the ship’s crew. “Don’t they have a say in this?”
But Nolan didn’t answer. He didn’t want to think about them. He couldn’t …
The pirates were so close now, he could see the colors of their brightly painted speedboats roaring up to the stern.
The sun was up, the sea was calm. It was a beautiful morning—and certainly no time to die. But there didn’t seem to be another outcome possible.
Nolan was not religious. And he’d been in many tight spots before. But at that moment, exhausted and beaten, he looked to the sky and whispered: “Please … get us out of this.”
And not a moment later, he heard it …
The pirates had surrounded the slow-moving freighter by now and were preparing to send up their grappling hooks. Even worse, these pirates were armed not with knives but with AK-47s. This time they weren’t just fodder employed to expend the freighter’s defenders of strength and ammunition. These were the Bom-Kats’ real fighters.
It was strange, because as this battle was beginning to envelop them, Nolan was still staring into the early morning sky, making sure he wasn’t just imagining things. That his appeal to the heavens had come true.
Then he saw it.
Right above them.
Like an angel …
The Shin-1 flying boat.
* * *
THANKS TO THEIR special forces training, the pilots of the big amphibian were able to read the situation below them right away. The Bom-Kat pirate band was well known in this part of the world; the Stormo pilots knew them by their colorfully painted boats.
It was only through their expert navigational skills that they were able to find the Taiwan Song in the first place. But now they had to save their friends below. They’d picked up weapons and ammunition when they refueled at an Omani Navy refueling base. Just speaking Emma Simms’s name had opened many doors for them.
One of the weapons they’d borrowed from the Omanis was an MK-19 belt-fed 40-mm grenade-launching machine gun. It resembled a small artillery piece and was similar to a Streetsweeper but with much more power and range. It could be fitted to fire huge incendiary shells and even anti-armor rounds. The pilots thought this was the kind of weapon those on the freighter might need for protection.
Now the Stormo copilot quickly unpacked the massive gun and fed an ammo belt into it. Then he opened one of the observation blisters that dotted the side of the flying boat; this one was on the left-hand side.
He stuck the weapon’s huge barrel through the opening and propped it up on his knees. He squeezed the trigger, just for a moment, and was almost knocked backward by the recoil.
But it was workable.
He yelled ahead to the pilot: “Scendere al di sotto!”
“Go lower!”
The huge seaplane went into a steep dive. Only when it reached a heartstopping 200 feet in altitude did the pilot finally pull up above the slowly moving freighter. Leveling off briefly, with a scream of its engines, the amphibian then dipped its left wing. The copilot took aim and began firing the massive gun.
When viewed from the deck of the freighter, it looked like the big plane was crashing. But then Nolan saw the telltale spit of flame come from its lower midsection and understood right away.
He grabbed Emma and pushed her to the deck. The big airplane went overhead seconds later, the huge MK-19 firing intensely.
It was instant madness. The Shin-1 had turned itself into a crude Spectre gunship. And it was chewing up the Bom-Kat fleet. The danger was the pilots really had no way to control where the MK-19’s grenades were going other than moving the plane in order to aim the weapon. Being nowhere as precise as a real AC-130 gunship, some of the grenades were hitting the Taiwan Song itself.
So Nolan covered Emma completely with his body and just held on.
It went on like this for five terrifying minutes. Emma pressed herself very close to Nolan, especially when the Shin-1 passed right over the freighter, the MK-19 firing at an ear-splitting volume.
It was only after Nolan heard the huge gun stop firing that he dared to look up. He saw nothing but burning and sinking pirate boats and floating bodies all around the ship. About half the pirate fleet had been sunk. Many other boats were retreating; many of them were smoking.
Finally he helped Emma to her feet. She looked out on the devastation and gasped.
“My God,” she finally said. “When will this movie end?”
* * *
THE SHIN-1 TIED up to the freighter, which had once more come to a dead stop in the calm morning sea.
Nolan and especially Emma greeted the Stormos warmly; it was well deserved. The two ex–special forces pilots had saved the lives of everyone on the leaky freighter.
The Shin-1 was carrying dozens of boxes of Omani Navy food rations and medical supplies. Also on board were much needed weapons including a dozen M-16s and ammunition, plus the MK-19. The guns and ammo, especially the grenade-throwing machine gun, would help ward off any future pirate attacks. Plus the food was enough to feed everyone on board for at least forty-eight hours.
But as helpful as it was, the delivery of relief supplies didn’t solve their biggest problem.
Once the Shin was unloaded, Nolan called a meeting on the ship’s bridge. The gathering looked like a scene from a hospital emergency ward. While the four original crewmen all had burned hands, treatments contained in the Omani medical supplies would help ease their distress. Then again, it was obvious that the wounds suffered by Gunner and all of the Senegals needed medical attention as soon as possible.
The quandary was that the ship was still at least a day’s sail from the Lakshadweep Islands. And once there, there were no guarantees they’d be allowed to dock or even get anywhere close to the isolated island chain. And even if they were allowed to drop anchor, what then? Arriving unannounced—with a politically volatile human cargo? It might be the story of the SS St. Louis all over again.
So, there really was no other choice. While Emma was adament she would not leave “her people” at this point, Gunner and the Senegals would have to be evacuated immediately. That meant they’d have to leave in the Shin.
“But what about you guys?” Gunner protested on hearing the plan. “We can’t abandon you here.”
True, Nolan and Emma were still in good shape and the ship had been resupplied. But the re
ality was they could have a hundred weapons on board and a ton of ammunition, and there still wasn’t much the pair of them could do if the Bom-Kats attacked again.
But this was the way it had to be, Nolan finally convinced Gunner. His colleague, weakened and his shoulder wound still bleeding and in danger of infection, had no choice but to agree. The Senegals protested as strenuously as Gunner, but in the end, they, too, knew it was the only thing to do.
* * *
IT WAS A bittersweet farewell as the six wounded men were put aboard the Shin-1. The Stormos promised to get them to the nearest medical facility—which, ironically, was the Red Crescent hospital in Karachi, Pakistan, the same place that refused Emma’s request to take in the ninety-nine Untouchables—and then come back and look for them.
It was with mixed feelings that Nolan watched the Shin-1 pull away and go airborne. On one hand, he was glad his friends would be getting the medical treatment they needed. On the other hand, the Taiwan Song was on its own again. True, it had more firepower, but with far fewer people to actually pull the triggers.
But that’s when Alpha Squad got strangely lucky again. Because no sooner had the Shin-1 disappeared from sight than the ship’s dormant radio suddenly burst to life.
One of the ship’s crewmen immediately answered the call. He announced it was for Emma. She got on the microphone and discovered it was her old friend, the Sultan of Oman, the man who owned the Shins, and a whole lot of other things.
She broke down when she heard his voice. He told her—tipped off by the Stormos’ refueling stop at one of his country’s naval bases—the head of his intelligence service had briefed him on her predicament. He’d been trying to contact her ever since.
Emma explained the current situation. She told the Sultan the freighter’s approximate location, emphasizing the lives of the innocent people on board and how she felt responsible for them, and how no one in the area would grant them asylum.
The Sultan told her to worry no longer. “Help is on the way,” he said.
* * *
THIS GOOD NEWS was enough to relax Emma considerably. She actually lay down on the bridge’s cot to rest. She was snoring softly just a minute later.
