A Time to Slaughter by William W. Johnstone Page B

sea to the oncoming sloop. “Hurry, Najid, there is no time to be lost.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Commander Sherburne put the speaking-trumpet to his mouth and yelled, “Belay the long gun, Mr. Wilson, and report to the quarterdeck.”
    Lieutenant Wilson arrived breathless and before the captain could speak he said, “The wind is dropping, sir. I believe I can hit her stern and disable her steering.”
    Sherburne passed his telescope to Wilson. “Look. On deck.”
    Wilson was not by nature a profane man, but he swore loud and long. “The fiends. No Christian man would do such a thing.”
    â€œVery effective though,” Sherburne said. “Don’t you think?”
    â€œI still believe I can reach out to her with the long nine, Captain. If I disable her steering, she’ll wallow like a sow.”
    â€œAnd if you miss, what then, Mr. Wilson? I rather fancy dead women all over the deck and questions to be answered when we get back to port.”
    â€œI await your orders, sir,” Wilson said humbly.
    â€œWe’ll overtake her and then you can try the long gun,” Sherburne said. “We’ll need to be close to avoid hitting the women.”
    Wilson saluted. “I understand, sir.”
    Sherburne glanced at the graying sky and the slowly dying light as the afternoon shaded into evening. “You may pipe the hands to dinner, Mr. Wilson. It will be yet a while before we can risk a shot with the nine.”
    â€œA most singular situation, Captain,” Wilson replied.
    â€œIndeed, Mr. Wilson, most singular,” Sherburne agreed. “And I fear it will get even more so if darkness overtakes us.”
    Â 
    Â 
    â€œShe’s holding her fire, lord,” Hassan Najid pointed out.
    â€œYes,” Sheik Abdul Basir-Hakim murmured. Then after some thought, “Her captain wishes to get closer before he risks a shot.”
    â€œBut he’d kill the women,” Najid said.
    â€œPerhaps.” Hakim grabbed Najid’s arm. “Put the woman in the bridal dress at the stern where she can be seen. The Americans might try to disable our rudder but with her there, they’ll think twice.”
    Najid rushed off to carry out the sheik’s order, and for the hundredth time that afternoon, Hakim stared at the sky. The wind was falling and the sloop was gaining fast. He needed the darkness. Why wouldn’t it come?

    â€œDamn it, Captain, where did that come from?” Lieutenant Wilson pointed to the wall of blue-gray fog rolling toward the stern of the Kansas and her prey with the sullen persistence of a rainsquall.
    Sherburne said nothing.
    Wilson stepped to the rail and looked back to the stern, where the sloop’s fast-spinning screws churned the water to a V of white foam. “The fog is closing in on us fast, Captain.” His voice rose in agitation.
    â€œGet for’ard to the long gun, Mr. Wilson. Try a shot across the schooner’s bow. Maybe we can convince them that lowering sail would be a sociable thing to do.”
    Wilson saluted. “Aye, aye sir.” He hurried forward, calling on the gun crew to ready the nine-pounder.
    The port rail was lined with idlers who were watching the beautiful ship in the distance and exchanging opinions on how the captain would handle this latest crisis. The opinion of the majority was expressed by a red-bearded, Scottish seaman who said, “I say the cap’n should blow that slave scow into matchwood, women an’ all, afore the haar gets here.”
    Mutters of agreement were drowned out by the roar of the long nine. A moment later an exclamation point of sea and foam rose twenty yards off the schooner’s port bow.
    â€œDamn them,” Sherburne said. “They’re not slowing.” As far as he could tell there were almost fifty women on deck, lined up along the starboard rail and one, the bride from the village, lonely and vulnerable at the stern.
    Did the