ensure our passengers and crew remain safe.” The connection was severed.
Rosen got on the computer and started typing. He had his lead. The captured cruise ship, Sultan of the Seas, with at least seven dead, perhaps eight, was being taken to Eyl, Somalia, by pirates.
* * *
Mustafa al-Said decided to feed the passengers at 8:00 P.M. The crew members who cooked and served were ready, so at the appointed moment the captain used the loudspeaker to send the passengers to dinner, deck by deck. He started low in the ship and worked up.
By then Irene and Suzanne were back in their small stateroom, trying to get the marijuana smoke smell out of their hair.
“I didn’t know that stuff stunk so badly,” Suzanne declared. Actually, she felt pretty good—knew she had a buzz on, and was past caring how she smelled.
“There are a lot of things we don’t know,” Irene said philosophically. She too had inhaled a lot of that smoke and was feeling very mellow.
“I wonder why those men didn’t bring their wives on this cruise.”
“Because they’re gay, you twit.” Irene laughed hugely.
The captain’s announcement ended the conversation. Food would be good. Irene and Suzanne locked their small stateroom and hurried up the ladder to the restaurant on the fifth deck.
Under the watchful eye of a pirate with half his teeth missing and the other half stained a putrid yellow-brown, the bar at the restaurant entrance was doing a land-office business. They were serving the drinks free. Anything you wanted, they mixed and poured, then you grabbed it and made room for the next thirsty person behind you.
With a Cosmo in each hand, the two sisters sat at a table that already had a man and a woman at it.
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Twila and Harold. We’re from Arkansas.”
When the introductions were over, the diners began comparing experiences. The Arkansas couple had had a long, boring afternoon. The Arkansas lady’s nose twitched. She had caught a good whiff of the marijuana smell on the sisters. “My heavens, what is that smell?”
“It was coming out of our air-conditioning,” Irene explained. “Terrible stuff.”
“Well, with pirates and all, what can you do?”
Eventually the conversation turned to what might come next.
“These pirates just want money,” Suzanne said. “Someone will bail us out and we’ll all go home.”
“Who?”
“The cruise company or the government or something. The pirates can’t keep us forever. And why would they want to?”
“I am worried about what happens when we get to wherever we are going,” the lady from Little Rock said. “Are we going to stay aboard ship, be taken ashore … what?”
“How much food and water is on this ship?” the husband wanted to know. “How long before the sewage tanks fill up and the commodes stop working? How long can they keep the generators going?”
Neither of the sisters had thought for a minute about those questions, and now they looked at each other and considered.
“We’re in a hell of a pickle,” Irene said.
Suzanne nodded soberly.
“Well, who is going to bail us out?” Irene demanded. “Pay the ransom? I don’t have any money and my kids don’t. Any pirate who thinks he is getting money from me or any of my relatives is wasting his time.”
Suzanne went off to get refills for herself and Irene. The Arkansas couple were sticking to soft drinks, the poor bastards.
“Oh, it will all work out,” the Little Rock lady said when Suzanne got back with the booze. “Harold here worked for Walmart for a lot of years, and he always said everything works out in the end, didn’t you, Harold?”
“Yes,” Harold agreed. “There were days at Walmart—”
“But who is going to pay ransom for us?” Harold’s mate, Twila, asked, interrupting her spouse. She then answered the question herself. “Why, our neighbors at the church. Our congregation always sticks together. Or the government. The people in
Rosen got on the computer and started typing. He had his lead. The captured cruise ship, Sultan of the Seas, with at least seven dead, perhaps eight, was being taken to Eyl, Somalia, by pirates.
* * *
Mustafa al-Said decided to feed the passengers at 8:00 P.M. The crew members who cooked and served were ready, so at the appointed moment the captain used the loudspeaker to send the passengers to dinner, deck by deck. He started low in the ship and worked up.
By then Irene and Suzanne were back in their small stateroom, trying to get the marijuana smoke smell out of their hair.
“I didn’t know that stuff stunk so badly,” Suzanne declared. Actually, she felt pretty good—knew she had a buzz on, and was past caring how she smelled.
“There are a lot of things we don’t know,” Irene said philosophically. She too had inhaled a lot of that smoke and was feeling very mellow.
“I wonder why those men didn’t bring their wives on this cruise.”
“Because they’re gay, you twit.” Irene laughed hugely.
The captain’s announcement ended the conversation. Food would be good. Irene and Suzanne locked their small stateroom and hurried up the ladder to the restaurant on the fifth deck.
Under the watchful eye of a pirate with half his teeth missing and the other half stained a putrid yellow-brown, the bar at the restaurant entrance was doing a land-office business. They were serving the drinks free. Anything you wanted, they mixed and poured, then you grabbed it and made room for the next thirsty person behind you.
With a Cosmo in each hand, the two sisters sat at a table that already had a man and a woman at it.
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Twila and Harold. We’re from Arkansas.”
When the introductions were over, the diners began comparing experiences. The Arkansas couple had had a long, boring afternoon. The Arkansas lady’s nose twitched. She had caught a good whiff of the marijuana smell on the sisters. “My heavens, what is that smell?”
“It was coming out of our air-conditioning,” Irene explained. “Terrible stuff.”
“Well, with pirates and all, what can you do?”
Eventually the conversation turned to what might come next.
“These pirates just want money,” Suzanne said. “Someone will bail us out and we’ll all go home.”
“Who?”
“The cruise company or the government or something. The pirates can’t keep us forever. And why would they want to?”
“I am worried about what happens when we get to wherever we are going,” the lady from Little Rock said. “Are we going to stay aboard ship, be taken ashore … what?”
“How much food and water is on this ship?” the husband wanted to know. “How long before the sewage tanks fill up and the commodes stop working? How long can they keep the generators going?”
Neither of the sisters had thought for a minute about those questions, and now they looked at each other and considered.
“We’re in a hell of a pickle,” Irene said.
Suzanne nodded soberly.
“Well, who is going to bail us out?” Irene demanded. “Pay the ransom? I don’t have any money and my kids don’t. Any pirate who thinks he is getting money from me or any of my relatives is wasting his time.”
Suzanne went off to get refills for herself and Irene. The Arkansas couple were sticking to soft drinks, the poor bastards.
“Oh, it will all work out,” the Little Rock lady said when Suzanne got back with the booze. “Harold here worked for Walmart for a lot of years, and he always said everything works out in the end, didn’t you, Harold?”
“Yes,” Harold agreed. “There were days at Walmart—”
“But who is going to pay ransom for us?” Harold’s mate, Twila, asked, interrupting her spouse. She then answered the question herself. “Why, our neighbors at the church. Our congregation always sticks together. Or the government. The people in
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