Deadly Coast by R. E. McDermott Page B

old enemies.” The smile faded. “But seriously, this is one of the worst areas in the world for those beasts. You won’t find people frolicking in the surf in Somalia.”
    “I bet that’s right,” said Lorenzo. “I sure as hell—”
    “Excuse me, Captain,” the officer of the watch said from the opposite side of the bridge. “There’s movement on the Luther Hurd . Looks like they’re swapping out the hostage on display.”
    Ten minutes later, Lorenzo lowered his binoculars and watched the lieutenant note the date and time in a three-ring binder, right beside a picture of Jim Milam.
    “OK, that’s Jergens, the chief steward, up there now, and Milam, the chief engineer they just took down, right?” asked Lorenzo, continuing without awaiting an answer. “That’s all the crew accounted for?”
    The young SEAL looked up. “Affirmative, sir,” he said. “They’re rotating all the hostages on top of the wheelhouse. That’s for our benefit. They want us to see the hostages are unharmed, but that any threatening move on our part will result in immediate deaths.”
    “But when the hell are we going to do something about it?” Lorenzo asked. “Every time I talk to that captain, I feel more helpless. I’m a sailor, not a hostage negotiator. Someone from your team should be handling this.”
    “Negative, sir,” the SEAL said. “You’re doing fine. You’ve been here from the beginning and have a rapport. We want them to get comfortable, because comfortable equals sloppy. Our whole mission is intelligence gathering to support planning and training. They’re building a mockup back in Virginia, and our guys are training on possible scenarios. My orders are to go early only if the hostages are in immediate danger and there’s no option.”
    Lorenzo nodded, and turned to stare across the water at Luther Hurd .
    M/T Luther Hurd
At anchor
Harardheere, Somalia
    Milam sat next to Arnett in a corner of the officers’ mess room, watching Traitor fit a collar on Chief Mate Stan Jones. Jones tried to smile as he was led out to take his turn as the display hostage, but managed only a sickly grimace.
    “I hate all of them,” Arnett said under her breath. “But I hate that friggin’ Traitor the worst.”
    “I can’t argue with that,” Milam replied. “Every time I hear that American voice coming out of his pie hole, I want to kill him. I think his name’s Gaal, by the way, or something like that. Anyway, that’s what these other assholes call him.”
    “Well, they’ll be calling the bastard dead if I have my way,” Arnett said.
    Milam nodded as he looked around the room.
    The pirates had him secure the air conditioning days before to conserve fuel, and the room was stifling. The sour smell of body odor and sweat-soaked mattresses assailed his nostrils, and out in the passageway he could hear Somali voices raised in anger. Probably an argument over khat. Such arguments were increasingly frequent now, and all the pirates were on a hair trigger. They ogled Arnett with undisguised lust, and for the life of him, Milam couldn’t figure how she’d avoided gang rape. He turned back to Arnett, speaking softly.
    “These assholes are getting restless. You picking up anything from your little chats with Carney ?”
    “Toothless or Traitor do most of the talking and then put the phone on speaker to prove I’m alive and kicking. Last time, before they could get it off speaker, the Carney ’s captain asked for assurances there would be no more executions. I can’t remember his exact words, but I got the impression he wasn’t talking about our two guys. It was, I don’t know, like he was talking about something more recent.”
    “You sure?” Milam asked.
    She shook her head. “No, I’m not sure,” she said, her voice cracking. She struggled to compose herself. “Look, Jim. If anything happens to me …”
    “Shut up, Lynda. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
    She grabbed his hand and squeezed, her eyes