information.
‘Four decks, six guest cabins, a range of four thousand nautical miles, cruising speed of
twenty-four knots.
’ He glanced over the rim of his glasses at the mighty bulk of Spearhead. ‘That’s fast for its size! Carbon-reinforced hull and superstructure, jacuzzi, sauna, gymnasium, speedboat, jet skis –’
‘Just give me the weaknesses,’ ordered the pirate, who sat cross-legged beside the computer whizz in Oracle’s makeshift operations room. No more than a whitewashed concrete box, the airless room had a red tiled floor, two barred windows and a bare electric light bulb that hung from the cracked ceiling like a withered fruit. The bulb flickered, a slave to the fluctuating output of the compound’s generator, and its pale yellow light dimmed over the two plotting men.
Mr WiFi sucked his teeth thoughtfully. ‘Well, her top speed is twenty-eight knots. That means your boats will be hard pushed to outrun her. So you’ll need to sneak up in the blind spot of their radar –’ he indicated the rear of the vessel on the laptop screen – ‘to have any hope of getting the jump on them.’
‘Leave the battle tactics to me,’ grunted Spearhead. ‘What’s the height to the deck?’
Checking the boat’s dimensions, Mr WiFi frowned. ‘The freeboard is quite high for a yacht, over five metres. That might cause some probl–’
‘Pah!’ Spearhead dismissed, swatting at a mosquito on his neck. ‘I’ve scaled far higher. No problem.’
‘Still, I’d advise taking the
Orchid
from the stern,’ said Mr WiFi, angling the screen for the pirate to get a better view of the yacht. ‘See where the hull slopes over the tender garage. That’s her weakest point.’
Spearhead nodded, his marble-smooth brow shining in the glow of the buzzing light bulb. ‘How many crew?’
‘Ten,’ replied Mr WiFi, pulling up an internal layout of the boat. ‘Their quarters are located in the bow on the lower deck. The bridge is on the upper deck. This plan doesn’t show a citadel, but I’m guessing the best location for a safe room will be either the crew’s quarters here –’ he pointed to an area in the bow – ‘or the master cabin on the main deck. The yacht’s equipped with a satellite Global Maritime Distress and Safety System, DSC radio and EPIRB, so you’ll have to ensure all these are disabled as soon as you board.’
Spearhead snorted. ‘Shame we can’t sabotage them beforehand. So, what about defences?’
Mr WiFi laughed. ‘It’s a
pleasure
boat, Spearhead. No razor wire or water cannon. You won’t be impressing us with your war stories this time.’
‘Where’s the challenge then?’ he said with a sly grin, his teeth appearing like a crescent moon in the twilight.
Mr WiFi peered over his glasses and replied, ‘There isn’t any. Compared to a cargo ship, the
Orchid
’s a sitting duck.’
As Connor and Ling stepped from the gangplank on to the main deck of the super-yacht, a portly gentleman in a crisp white short-sleeved shirt with gold insignia, navy-blue trousers and a peaked white cap greeted them.
‘Welcome aboard the
Orchid
. I’m Captain Thomas Locke,’ he said, tipping his cap respectfully at Ling. ‘This here is my chief officer, Danny Fielding.’
A large bearded sailor with a tanned face, wrinkled by sun and saltwater, saluted in greeting. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he said in a deep gravelly tone.
The captain gestured towards the third man who completed the welcoming party on deck. ‘And this is Brad Harding, our ship security officer.’
Tall with a sharp crew cut, Brad appeared every inch the textbook security officer. He possessed a well-honed physique that threatened to split the seams of his white polo-shirt. With his anvil-like jaw, he looked as if he could chew through steel. When he offered a calloused hand to shake, Connor all too easily felt the iron strength in the man’s grip.
‘I’ve never worked with nippers before,’ said Brad, his
‘Four decks, six guest cabins, a range of four thousand nautical miles, cruising speed of
twenty-four knots.
’ He glanced over the rim of his glasses at the mighty bulk of Spearhead. ‘That’s fast for its size! Carbon-reinforced hull and superstructure, jacuzzi, sauna, gymnasium, speedboat, jet skis –’
‘Just give me the weaknesses,’ ordered the pirate, who sat cross-legged beside the computer whizz in Oracle’s makeshift operations room. No more than a whitewashed concrete box, the airless room had a red tiled floor, two barred windows and a bare electric light bulb that hung from the cracked ceiling like a withered fruit. The bulb flickered, a slave to the fluctuating output of the compound’s generator, and its pale yellow light dimmed over the two plotting men.
Mr WiFi sucked his teeth thoughtfully. ‘Well, her top speed is twenty-eight knots. That means your boats will be hard pushed to outrun her. So you’ll need to sneak up in the blind spot of their radar –’ he indicated the rear of the vessel on the laptop screen – ‘to have any hope of getting the jump on them.’
‘Leave the battle tactics to me,’ grunted Spearhead. ‘What’s the height to the deck?’
Checking the boat’s dimensions, Mr WiFi frowned. ‘The freeboard is quite high for a yacht, over five metres. That might cause some probl–’
‘Pah!’ Spearhead dismissed, swatting at a mosquito on his neck. ‘I’ve scaled far higher. No problem.’
‘Still, I’d advise taking the
Orchid
from the stern,’ said Mr WiFi, angling the screen for the pirate to get a better view of the yacht. ‘See where the hull slopes over the tender garage. That’s her weakest point.’
Spearhead nodded, his marble-smooth brow shining in the glow of the buzzing light bulb. ‘How many crew?’
‘Ten,’ replied Mr WiFi, pulling up an internal layout of the boat. ‘Their quarters are located in the bow on the lower deck. The bridge is on the upper deck. This plan doesn’t show a citadel, but I’m guessing the best location for a safe room will be either the crew’s quarters here –’ he pointed to an area in the bow – ‘or the master cabin on the main deck. The yacht’s equipped with a satellite Global Maritime Distress and Safety System, DSC radio and EPIRB, so you’ll have to ensure all these are disabled as soon as you board.’
Spearhead snorted. ‘Shame we can’t sabotage them beforehand. So, what about defences?’
Mr WiFi laughed. ‘It’s a
pleasure
boat, Spearhead. No razor wire or water cannon. You won’t be impressing us with your war stories this time.’
‘Where’s the challenge then?’ he said with a sly grin, his teeth appearing like a crescent moon in the twilight.
Mr WiFi peered over his glasses and replied, ‘There isn’t any. Compared to a cargo ship, the
Orchid
’s a sitting duck.’
As Connor and Ling stepped from the gangplank on to the main deck of the super-yacht, a portly gentleman in a crisp white short-sleeved shirt with gold insignia, navy-blue trousers and a peaked white cap greeted them.
‘Welcome aboard the
Orchid
. I’m Captain Thomas Locke,’ he said, tipping his cap respectfully at Ling. ‘This here is my chief officer, Danny Fielding.’
A large bearded sailor with a tanned face, wrinkled by sun and saltwater, saluted in greeting. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he said in a deep gravelly tone.
The captain gestured towards the third man who completed the welcoming party on deck. ‘And this is Brad Harding, our ship security officer.’
Tall with a sharp crew cut, Brad appeared every inch the textbook security officer. He possessed a well-honed physique that threatened to split the seams of his white polo-shirt. With his anvil-like jaw, he looked as if he could chew through steel. When he offered a calloused hand to shake, Connor all too easily felt the iron strength in the man’s grip.
‘I’ve never worked with nippers before,’ said Brad, his
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