by Dina Silver
He looked at the door and then back at me. “I have an idea,” he whispered in my ear. “How about I tell you a story about my trip? You love that.”
My eyes teared up. “Thank you.”
He leaned over me and began to speak, his voice low and comforting. “By the time Quinn and I arrived in Phuket, we were exhausted. We’d just endured a long, rainy four-day sail from Malaysia and couldn’t wait to pull into Thailand. We’d heard such wonderful things about the people and the beaches and were eager to set foot on solid ground. When we docked at the marina, we were thrilled with the clean and modern accommodations, and the people were some of the kindest we’d encountered thus far.” He stroked my hair. “Quinn and I decided early on that we’d try and stay there as long as possible, since we knew the next leg of our trip was going to be a difficult one. After about a week, we discovered this wonderful little bar and grill called The Islander.”
I looked up at his face, and he was smiling.
“The very first night we went to eat there I noticed a beautiful young blond woman. She obviously wasn’t a native, and she piqued my interest from the moment I laid eyes on her. The way she carried herself and the way she moved without a care in the world. She held her head high, she smiled at everyone, and she ran around that place working her little tail off. The next night I introduced myself to the owner and asked him who she was.”
My eyes went wide.
“He told me she was an American girl working at the bar part-time and teaching English at one of the local schools.” He paused to wipe the tears that were now streaming down my face. “So I went to find her and to learn more about her, and to see if she liked storytellers. Sure enough, my initial instincts were correct.” He kissed my cheek. “She was even more beautiful close up. And kind. And generous. And above all, brave.”
I gave Grant a nod, indicating that I would do everything in my power to survive. For him, for Caroline, for my mom, and for myself. Our eyes met, and he kissed me one last time.
“That is enough,” I heard the voice of evil say from behind Grant.
We turned to find the leader standing in the room with two men.
“Get out,” he said to Grant, who was quickly dragged away by the others, leaving me alone with the man in the orange shirt. I blinked my eyes and scooted my body away from him toward the wall behind me.
“There is nowhere to run, idiot.”
My heart was pounding in my ears. I said nothing.
“Are you in charge here?”
I shook my head.
He leaned in close and shouted, “Are you a fucking idiot?” His spit sprayed my forehead. “Are you?”
I nodded, certain I was going to die.
“That is right. I am in charge, and I am no idiot.”
He slapped his chest and yelled something in his native tongue. A man appeared with a banana and a bottle of water and handed them to him. The other man left, while the leader stood in front of me and slowly ate the banana, then drank every last drop of the water. Once he was through, he tossed the empty bottle at my head and walked out.
Something that Grant had said earlier occurred to me as soon as the man was gone. I gritted my teeth and sat up, with debilitating pain searing through my head and blurring my vision. I glanced at the door and slid off the bed, positioning myself near the top right corner of the mattress. My knees cracked as I bent down with my back to the bed and shifted the mattress to the side. Sweat was pouring down my face. Once the mattress was moved, I turned around and could see the panel. Next, I stretched my arms as far as I could and positioned my hands so that I could remove the cover. My left shoulder was shaking as I placed my fingers on the red switch and killed the engines.
DAY FIVE
There was mayhem when the engines went down, but I was alone in the master cabin with my hands tied behind my back, so no one bothered to check on me for quite some time. I only hoped Grant and Quinn had not suffered for it.
I awoke that morning to the sound of a speedboat. The room was so hot and devoid of fresh air, and the pillows were drenched with perspiration. There was a lot of activity going on up on the deck above me, and I could hear the men talking and shouting, and it sounded like some of them were stepping off Imagine into a skiff beside us. I shimmied my body to an upright position and tried to look out one of the portholes. Sure enough, I saw four pairs of legs get off the boat. All pirates. My head felt like it’d been repeatedly hit with a cast-iron pan. There was pressure in my left ear, and my headache was so intense that even the slightest bit of light was painful on my eyes.
Beyond the skiff, I could see a small naval speedboat waiting for them. The good news was that they were obviously starting negotiations with the navy, but to what end? We all knew they wanted much more than fifty thousand dollars. Quinn had overheard them talking more in the realm of four to five million. There was no way the United States was going to write that check. It doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. So I was forced to imagine that somehow, some way the navy was going to bargain for our release—and after spending a few days with these people, I couldn’t fathom it.
Once the skiff was untied, I got a better view of the men on board and was surprised to see that the leader was not among them.
I turned toward the door, desperate to know if Grant and Quinn were all right, and thought about calling out to them but instead gently leaned my body back against the wall, kept my eyes closed, and just tried to breathe. Sometime later, a man came in and jammed the tip of his rifle into my chest and knocked the wind out of me. He laughed as I gasped for air.
“Come!” he shouted above my hacking coughs, then hit me again in the same spot.
I saw stars but heeded his command. Grant’s warning was at the forefront of my brain.
Do not argue with them. Be invisible. Do exactly what they say!
I staggered to my feet. My hands were numb, and my shoulders were badly cramped from being inverted for so long that I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from screaming. The men grabbed me by my hair and dragged me into the salon. When I arrived, a muffled sound came from my throat that was so guttural and foreign it sounded like the cry of a wounded animal.
Until Mom’s funeral, I’d never seen a dead body before, but even without obvious wounds there was no mistaking one. Three of the pirates were dead. Lying on the galley floor, one on top of the other. Baashi was among them, and had the stench in the salon been nauseating before, this was otherworldly. Only one of them had any visible injuries—a slash to the throat. The other two, including Baashi, were just lifeless and left to rot.
I was tossed to the floor inches from the bodies, where I sat with my eyes tightly shut until my body went into shock. Rapid breathing. Blurred vision. Cold sweat. My brain rendered powerless when I finally opened my eyes and just stared at Baashi. All I could do was scream. Loud, rasping screams. Why? How? Why had they done this to him? I could hear my voice belting out those questions, but I was not in control of what I was saying. Nor did I care. None of the other pirates even bothered to look at me. I sobbed and rocked my body. The boy’s bare feet were small and calloused, but the rest of his skin still young and soft. His eyes were closed and his mouth open, but he still had a baby face, unlike the others. I shook my head and thought of his mother. It was easier to imagine someone loving this young boy at one time than it was to fathom how anyone could love the soulless men remaining on board. I thought to myself that if they would allow this to happen to him, I was going to die for sure. All three of us were.
Grant and Quinn were brought out a moment later. Both of their faces were covered in stubble, and Quinn had a black eye.
“Shh!” Grant said to me.
I hadn’t even realized I was still shouting.
We all looked at each other and then at the floor. I took a deep breath when I saw the two of them were alive and continued to weep quietly to myself. I’d wept so much in those few days that it was the only thing that gave me comfort. I wasn’
t eating. I wasn’t drinking. I wasn’t working or talking or thinking clearly. I wasn’t safe and I wasn’t happy. In fact, crying was the only thing that reminded me that I was still alive.
“Do you know what happened to them?” I asked Grant as the two of them were told to sit. I didn’t care who heard me anymore.
He shook his head. “Try and relax, Jess. I know it’s a lot to ask. Please just try.”
I closed my eyes and willed myself to calm down.
I looked at Quinn, who was unrecognizable to me. “They’re going to kill us,” I said to Grant. My voice was composed as I contemplated my own words.
But my life had just begun, and I wasn’t ready to die. Was I being punished for being selfish? For wanting more out of life than I deserved? No one ever died from following their dreams . . . or did they? Caroline would be so disappointed in me. She could’ve gotten me another job back home, and I’d be safe and sound, returning DVDs to the library and calling numbers on bingo night at the church. No one in Wolcottville owns an AK-47.
Grant looked away and didn’t answer.
“She’s right,” Quinn said, and began to cough. “If this can happen to their guys . . .”
Three men walked in behind Quinn and dragged the bodies into the master cabin and closed the door as we all watched.
“They don’t care about their guys,” Grant said in a loud whisper. “They care about one thing and one thing only. Money! And if we die, then they don’t get shit, and they have no chance at getting out of here. They are going to try and use us to secure a ransom and safe passage back to Somalia or to their mother ship. If we’re dead, so are they.”
Quinn pondered what Grant was saying and then looked over at me and winked with his bruised eye. And with that one gesture—that one glimmer of hope—all was right in the world.
The boat was silent, and Mom was back. Sitting next to me. I’d stared at the pictures from her honeymoon so many times, I recognized her immediately in her bell-bottom jeans and long blond hair.
“Is it really you?” I whispered, and she just smiled. “It is you. This is the real you, isn’t it? Who you always wanted to be.”
She said nothing.
“What happened?” I asked.
She looked away.
“I’m so sorry you never got what you wanted out of life. I thought you hated me.”
She shook her head.
I lowered my head. “If I make it out of here, I will forever follow my heart and my dreams . . . for you. I will never think twice about it again.” I choked back a sob. “I love you.”
She smiled at me, and I couldn’t wait to tell Caroline that I’d seen Mom again.
Almost as soon as we were told to sit down, we were ushered upstairs into the cockpit, where we sat on one of the benches. The same one where Grant and I shared our first kiss. It was an ugly night. The sky was dark, and ominous gray clouds prevented the moonlight from shining through.
Again, the fresh air smelled of freedom and fear at the same time yet gave me one more reminder that I was still human. Our fate was in the hands of others, and that left me with little comfort. I was somewhat relieved to see the lights of the naval ships that were still in close proximity.
This time the men kept us in the covered cockpit instead of traipsing us out onto the bow like last time. Showboating was over, I guessed—maybe on account of my failed attempt to escape—but I couldn’t figure out why they’d brought us out there. I didn’t dare think they were being kind to us for a moment. The men were speaking in their native tongue, four of them in a heated conversation over something with the leader.
Quinn and I made eye contact. I’d barely seen him in the past couple of days. I managed to force a hint of a smile when he looked at me. His expression back was one of utter sadness and regret. If I could have hugged him, I would have.
Just then two of the men started frantically looking for something. They began tearing through everything in the cockpit, as if there was anything left that they hadn’t discovered or destroyed, looking under the wheel and taking things out of lockers and throwing them overboard. They tore through a stack of remaining papers and travel logs that were tucked next to the console and, without a second thought, tossed Emma and the letter she’d so dutifully guarded into the Arabian Sea.
Quinn and I spun our heads in Grant’s direction. We all saw the same thing. My body slumped forward, and my lungs emptied as I did my best to convey an apology with my eyes. He looked from me to Quinn and then in the tiniest motion shook his head, not wanting us to bring attention to anything. Emma was gone. Miss Woodhouse was floating in the water with a smattering of other papers and maps and journals. I closed my eyes and prayed for her to sink gracefully to the bottom, letter in tow.
What happened next changed me forever.
Aboard a boat named for such hope and promise came . . . the unimaginable.
Chapter 24
The skiff I’d seen earlier was coming back toward us, but only two of the four men that had initially boarded it had made the return trip. The conversation between the men in the cockpit turned heated as our six remaining captors came up from below and walked out onto the uncovered stern of the boat. I kept my head down, just grateful to be away from the salon, and prayed. One of the captors who’d come from below was holding a rocket-propelled grenade and was none too happy that only two of the four pirates who had taken the skiff earlier had returned from the navy aircraft carrier. In fact, he began pointing at them and shouting at the man in the orange shirt as the skiff slammed into the side of Imagine. Obviously, the navy had managed to secure some bargaining chips of its own.
Grant stood. “Let me talk with the navy.”
They looked at him.
“The engines are dead. They have two of your guys. We all want to get home safe, right? Let me talk with the navy.” He repeated. “I can get your men back if you let me speak to them.”
The leader held the sat phone to Grant’s ear as the man with the RPG glared at both of them.
“This is Grant Flynn. Yes, three of us.” He paused and looked at Quinn and me. “Not good.” He paused again to listen. “I want my friends taken off the boat, and I will wire them the money. Yes, I do.”
The leader began screaming at Grant in his native language.
“They want their men back,” he said into the receiver. “I will trade my crew for their men. This needs to happen fast,” Grant yelled as the phone was ripped away from him.
“No trade! Send our men back with a boat. Alone! No one else going anywhere!” the leader screamed into the sat phone before tossing it into the water.
The other man—the one with the grenade—began yelling at the leader and waving his weapon around, repeatedly pointing at the skiff. I began slowly rocking back and forth as they continued shouting at one another. I closed my eyes tightly and prayed for them to come to a resolution. They did not.
Four other pirates ran below while the man with the rocket launcher stepped onto the narrow deck beside the cockpit, raised his weapon, pointed it at one of the two naval ships, and fired.
“Holy shit,” I heard Grant say as he knelt beside us. “They’re firing at the navy. Stay down!”
What ensued was complete and utter chaos.
Immediately after the grenade was fired, gunfire erupted in the cabin below, and the leader drew his automatic weapon and shot the rogue pirate with the grenade launcher, then fired off a round of wayward shots—some below, some on deck, some into the air. The man he’d shot fell overboard and splashed into the water. There were now two pirates in the skiff, unarmed and unsure what to do, and twelve others still aboard Imagine, with only nine of those alive. Grant, Quinn, and I hit the floor of the cockpit, and Grant covered my body with his.
“Stay as low as you can,” Grant said to Quinn and me, and we both nodded. “Do not fucking move! The navy is here. I can see them, and some of the shots are theirs. Stay down!” Grant yelled to us.
Within seconds
a speedboat with Navy SEALs appeared next to Imagine. I could hear the roar of its engines. They were shouting orders through a megaphone, and our captors were running everywhere as the gunfire continued. Several of them—five at least—dropped their weapons and moved to the tip of the bow and sank to their knees with their hands raised in surrender. One Somali who would not relinquish his weapon was shot in the head by a navy sharpshooter and fell into the ocean. The rest of our captors then began an exchange of gunfire with the US Navy.
My body rocked faster. I was crouched over my knees with my eyes closed and Grant covering me, praying. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I repeated over and over. My limbs were beginning to go numb, and I could feel my circulation coming to a halt, but I knew I couldn’t dare sit up. I went to move my leg to better support myself when my knee slipped on a puddle of liquid beneath it. When I opened my eyes, I looked down to find dark red blood pooling beside me. I lifted my head and saw it coming from right next to me, where Quinn’s body was slumped over.
“Quinn!” I screamed. “Quiiiiiiin! No!”
Grant sat upright in an instant; his face went pale. He leapt to Quinn’s side, forgetting his hands were tied, and then spun around and positioned himself in front of me, with his back to me, and shouted, “Can you see the knot, Jess? Can you turn around and untie me with your hands? Now!”
I couldn’t see anything. Tears were blurring my vision.
Grant craned his neck over his shoulder. “You have to try and free my hands! It doesn’t feel very tight. Do it, Jessica!” He was shaking uncontrollably.
I turned around, and with our backs to each other I managed to free Grant. He rushed to Quinn’s side, released his hands, and sat him up. Blood was everywhere. His shirt was covered in it, and it looked like gallons of red paint had been tipped over on the cockpit floor, spilling everywhere.
“Quinn! Hang in there, buddy. Don’t fucking leave me, okay? I need you, man.” Grant’s voice was high pitched and upbeat as Quinn’s head rolled from side to side. Grant tore off his shirt, rolled it into a ball, and pressed it hard to Quinn’s chest. “The navy is here, Quinn. They’re here. We’re being rescued right now, so don’t you dare even think about doing anything else but staying with me. Bridget is waiting to hear from you, and you can call her today, Quinn. Today! The navy will have a phone for you to call Bridget and tell her you’ll be coming home soon. Can you hear me, buddy? Hang in there for her, Quinn. Please!”
