ribbon of decorative lights on a wire that ran from the funnel to the masthead, then down at an angle to the bow.
Toad Tarkington stared through his binoculars at the cruise ship. No one on deck that he could see, but Chosin Reservoir was now just a half mile to port, behind Sultan ’s beam. A destroyer was on Sultan ’s starboard side. It was possible, although not probable, the pirate might jam the helm over and try to ram the warships, so Toad had cautioned the captains to be careful. He also wanted to stay out of range of rifle and machine-gun fire.
The sea had abated and was almost calm. The only wind seemed to be relative, from straight ahead, manufactured by the ships moving through dead air.
Toad wondered what Captain Penney was thinking.
* * *
Actually Arch Penney was thinking of possible ways to kill Mustafa al-Said. The pirate’s murder of three ship’s officers, the helmsman and the bosun’s mates who manned the LRAD had filled him with anger. Rage. He had never before felt such a bitter emotion. He eyed Mustafa again. The man would kill him without remorse or hesitation. If Arch had a weapon handy he would use it on Mustafa and enjoy every single second.
But he didn’t have such a weapon. Perhaps the gods were looking out for him.
He wondered about his wife, who was in his cabin. He thought about calling her, and looked at the telephone, but decided against it. No use letting this asshole pirate know she was aboard and giving him another weapon to use against him.
He checked his watch. The chief steward had called him on the phone and they had talked about serving dinner to the passengers … and pirates. Mustafa had watched and listened to the conversation but hadn’t said a word.
Penney obsessed about the murdered officers and crew, one of whom, a woman, was raped to death. The three raped women who survived the experience were in the ship’s tiny hospital; the doctor had telephoned him and reported. He tried to clear his mind and focus on the current situation. The dead were dead—his responsibility was to the living.
Penney picked up his binoculars and aimed them at the warship on the port quarter. Amphibious assault ship—all he could see was her running lights, and red lights on the flight deck. The lights of helos and Ospreys flitting across the sky. Destroyer on the starboard side. Both ships were much closer than they had been during the day, but were maintaining their station now. Penney wondered if Mustafa was paying attention.
* * *
Peering out the window of the shot-up passenger computer room, Mike Rosen had seen the warships during the afternoon and evening. They were out there, but closer.
He went back to the office and shoved the desk against the door. He had talked to the ship’s steward, the bosun, the doctor, every department head on the list.
He stared at the phone. Should he?
Well, hell, no guts, no glory. He dialed the bridge. Got someone who identified himself as the second officer.
“The captain, please.”
“Who is this?”
“One of your passengers.”
“Kiss my bloody ass, mate.”
“God damn you, shithead! Gimme the captain!”
Silence. The line was still open. Rosen could hear himself breathe. Then a male voice came on. “Captain.”
“Mike Rosen, sir, a passenger. I am in the computer room, and we still have a satellite connection. I’ve been e-mailing my radio station in Denver. Do you have an accurate casualty list?”
“No. I know that there are at least three officers dead, the helmsman, two bosun’s mates and a woman passenger who was raped to death. Someone told me another passenger, a man, was killed, but I don’t know that for a fact. Four or five more have been injured.”
“Is there a message you want to get out to the world?”
“I’m not free to talk.” The voice was lower.
“Our destination?”
“Eyl.”
“Is that in Somalia?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else.”
“We are doing our best to
Toad Tarkington stared through his binoculars at the cruise ship. No one on deck that he could see, but Chosin Reservoir was now just a half mile to port, behind Sultan ’s beam. A destroyer was on Sultan ’s starboard side. It was possible, although not probable, the pirate might jam the helm over and try to ram the warships, so Toad had cautioned the captains to be careful. He also wanted to stay out of range of rifle and machine-gun fire.
The sea had abated and was almost calm. The only wind seemed to be relative, from straight ahead, manufactured by the ships moving through dead air.
Toad wondered what Captain Penney was thinking.
* * *
Actually Arch Penney was thinking of possible ways to kill Mustafa al-Said. The pirate’s murder of three ship’s officers, the helmsman and the bosun’s mates who manned the LRAD had filled him with anger. Rage. He had never before felt such a bitter emotion. He eyed Mustafa again. The man would kill him without remorse or hesitation. If Arch had a weapon handy he would use it on Mustafa and enjoy every single second.
But he didn’t have such a weapon. Perhaps the gods were looking out for him.
He wondered about his wife, who was in his cabin. He thought about calling her, and looked at the telephone, but decided against it. No use letting this asshole pirate know she was aboard and giving him another weapon to use against him.
He checked his watch. The chief steward had called him on the phone and they had talked about serving dinner to the passengers … and pirates. Mustafa had watched and listened to the conversation but hadn’t said a word.
Penney obsessed about the murdered officers and crew, one of whom, a woman, was raped to death. The three raped women who survived the experience were in the ship’s tiny hospital; the doctor had telephoned him and reported. He tried to clear his mind and focus on the current situation. The dead were dead—his responsibility was to the living.
Penney picked up his binoculars and aimed them at the warship on the port quarter. Amphibious assault ship—all he could see was her running lights, and red lights on the flight deck. The lights of helos and Ospreys flitting across the sky. Destroyer on the starboard side. Both ships were much closer than they had been during the day, but were maintaining their station now. Penney wondered if Mustafa was paying attention.
* * *
Peering out the window of the shot-up passenger computer room, Mike Rosen had seen the warships during the afternoon and evening. They were out there, but closer.
He went back to the office and shoved the desk against the door. He had talked to the ship’s steward, the bosun, the doctor, every department head on the list.
He stared at the phone. Should he?
Well, hell, no guts, no glory. He dialed the bridge. Got someone who identified himself as the second officer.
“The captain, please.”
“Who is this?”
“One of your passengers.”
“Kiss my bloody ass, mate.”
“God damn you, shithead! Gimme the captain!”
Silence. The line was still open. Rosen could hear himself breathe. Then a male voice came on. “Captain.”
“Mike Rosen, sir, a passenger. I am in the computer room, and we still have a satellite connection. I’ve been e-mailing my radio station in Denver. Do you have an accurate casualty list?”
“No. I know that there are at least three officers dead, the helmsman, two bosun’s mates and a woman passenger who was raped to death. Someone told me another passenger, a man, was killed, but I don’t know that for a fact. Four or five more have been injured.”
“Is there a message you want to get out to the world?”
“I’m not free to talk.” The voice was lower.
“Our destination?”
“Eyl.”
“Is that in Somalia?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else.”
“We are doing our best to
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