Pirate

by Duncan Falconer

  The Cruiser bumped up on to the tarmac highway. Ramlal turned left and they headed north-east along the coast. It looked like the weather was closing in. The coastal highway did not hug the sea but paralleled it a couple of hundred metres away. An unending wall appeared on their right side, eight feet tall, a large property boundary made of concrete block and plastered and painted. It was a typical Yemeni construction. Stratton had heard of their love of walls. It was a national trait. He believed it. Even if there was nothing yet built on a property, or anything likely to be for years to come, they’d still build a wall around it.

  The wall gave way to a view of the sea once more and the smooth two-lane highway stretched away from them towards Oman. The road was in good condition like it had been built not too long before. Stratton slid down a little in his seat, leaned his head back and got comfortable. As he was about ready to shut his eyes, a light reflected off the wing mirror on his side. He looked at the distant globes.

  Headlights.

  Stratton stared at them, his natural suspicion tingling. He hadn’t been aware of any vehicle behind them when they joined the road. It must have come from a nearby house. The timing bothered him more than anything else. He wasn’t a great fan of coincidences.

  As they took a gentle bend, a second pair of headlights appeared close behind the first. That was enough to make Stratton sit back up. Harmless or not, it had to be proved it was safe before he could ignore it.

  He considered the possibility that it was local security forces. They’d be interested in a lone car at night on these roads. Yemen had been placed on a state of alert after the increase in terrorist activity in recent months. He would rather avoid the authorities. He had the right paperwork and the numbers to call but the Yemenis would take for ever to confirm his right of passage. Particularly with his unconscious passenger. It would interrupt the final exfiltration phase from the country.

  But as Stratton watched the vehicles he knew this was trouble.

  He could feel it.

  Everyone else in the car was by then on the same train of thought. Ramlal had hardly taken his eyes off the lights since he had seen them. He was at one-forty kph, which was standard cruising speed on these roads. He added another ten without noticing.

  Hopper and Prabhu looked through the rear window.

  ‘Trouble,’ Hopper mumbled.

  ‘I think so,’ Stratton said.

  ‘Tenacious buggers, the Chinese,’ Hopper said.

  ‘Clearly not easily discouraged,’ said Stratton.

  The two vehicles, smaller, faster 4×4s, had been moving at their top speed and once they closed the gap they slowed to match Ramlal’s. It pretty much confirmed the suspicion that they were aggressors. Ramlal pushed on the accelerator but the Cruiser didn’t have the power to do much more. He couldn’t pull away from them.

  The lead pursuer then accelerated and looked like it was going to ram them.

  ‘Gun!’ shouted Stratton, Hopper and Prahbu at the same time as a man leaned out of the passenger window with a pistol in his hand.

  Ramlal swerved the vehicle, reducing the gunman’s arc of fire. But another gunman leaned out of the other side.

  Ramlal swerved again but he had been bracketed. The first guy fired, the round punching into the back of the Cruiser, erasing any possibility of them being overzealous highway or army patrol.

  Now both shooters fired. No windows had been hit. They were trying for the tyres. Ramlal forced the Cruiser left and right, its tyres screeching.

  Another stretch of long wall on the coastal side of the highway came to an end, revealing a broad stretch of ground that shelved gently down to the ocean five hundred metres beyond. Lights flickered a couple of kilometres in front near the beach. A village.

  ‘Get off the road!’ Stratton shouted.

  Gripping the wheel like a vice, Ramlal swerved the vehicle to the edge of the tarmac and dropped it down on to the dirt shoulder. The lead pursuing vehicle followed like it was being towed behind them. But the dust kicked up by the Cruiser was vast and immediate, acting like a smoke screen between them.

  As the Cruiser sloughed along the rutted shoulder, the second 4×4, still on the road, drew up alongside. Another man leaned out of the rear window and took aim with a handgun.

  ‘Ramlal!’ Stratton urged, as he aimed his gun past his driver’s head.

  Ramlal cringed and braced himself for the shot. But he didn’t wait for it because he had to swerve to avoid a massive boulder right in front of them on the shoulder. The gunman fired at the Cruiser, hitting the door and doorframe. Stratton fired back turning the car’s rear passenger window white.

  Up ahead the shoulder was becoming rocky. Ramlal steered hard left, up the shoulder, back on to the highway. All inside hung on, except the Saudi. Sabarak was bouncing up and down like a rag doll. His head struck the roof as the Cruiser flew up on to the road and he opened his eyes with a gasp.

  Ramlal aimed the front corner of the Cruiser at the rear quarter of the other 4×4, just behind the tyre. As the two vehicles brutally connected the Cruiser sent the 4×4 into a violent swerve as its back wheels tried to overtake the front wheels. On the second fishtail, they succeeded and the vehicle spun a full hundred and eighty degrees, its wheels smoking, coming to a stop facing backwards.

  By now Sabarak, who had almost regained full consciousness, looked every bit like he was living a nightmare.

  Ramlal had the old Cruiser up to its limit but the other 4×4 was more powerful and moved alongside. Stratton recognised the front passenger immediately through its open windows. It was the Chinese Secret Service officer. He had a semi-automatic in his hand and aimed it past Ramlal at Stratton. Another Chinese agent in the back held a sub-machine gun out the window.

  The officer indicated with the pistol for Ramlal to pull over.

  Ramlal glanced at his boss. He would do nothing without the OK from Stratton.

  Stratton scanned the road ahead, searching for options. He had to assume the Chinese agent would rather not risk harming the Saudi or he would have done so by now. Like Stratton, no doubt the man’s orders were to bring Sabarak in alive.

  The other 4×4 had recovered and was closing on them. Stratton had limited options. He could try and pick them off while driving. Or he could have Ramlal stop and they could shoot it out. But the odds weren’t in his team’s favour and he wasn’t about to risk the lives of any of his men for some low-life Saudi git.

  The Chinese agent had probably worked out the same scenarios and appeared content to give Stratton time to come to terms with them.

  Stratton looked up along the highway that cut between a distant hillside. He looked at the village on the coast. He looked back at the Chinese Secret Service officer with the semi-automatic. Then at Ramlal. There was another option.

  ‘Right turn coming up,’ he said. ‘Brake hard so they miss it.’

  ‘Hajur, sab,’ Ramlal said.

  The Gurkha saw the turn coming up and waited for the last possible moment. Ramlal slammed on the brakes and the Cruiser pitched and slid towards the bend, all four wheels smoking. Then he released the brakes and took the turn as the first 4×4 shot ahead and the one in rear swerved hard to avoid a collision.

  The Cruiser bumped furiously over the edge of the tarmac and down on to a sandy track, and accelerated hard along it.

  Stratton looked back and saw the pursuing vehicles manoeuv -ring to follow. He focused ahead. ‘When we get to the village, Hopper and I will jump out with our man,’ he said.

  ‘You want me to stop?’ Ramlal asked.

  ‘No. Keep your speed. Maybe slow a little as you pass the first houses,’ Stratton added, having second thoughts.

  Stratton looked around at the Saudi who was wide-eyed with everything going on. He saw for the first time that the man was younger than him and somewhat athletic. ‘You want to be a British prisoner or a Chinese one?’ he said.

  The Saudi didn’t ponder the question for long.

  ‘Keep the
m in pursuit of you for as long as you can,’ Stratton said to Ramlal. ‘If they start to shoot, pull over and show them your empty hands. Don’t fight back. I don’t think they’ll harm you when they discover we’re gone.’

  ‘We would rather make a run for it into the darkness,’ Ramlal said.

  ‘We’ll give you lots of time before that,’ Prabhu assured him.

  Stratton realised the Gurkhas didn’t want to surrender to anyone, let alone a bunch of Chinese. Too great of an indignity. He regretted asking them. ‘Sorry. You’re right,’ he said. ‘Remember to toss the keys.’

  Stratton opened his door slightly as the vehicle bumped heavily along the track. Hopper opened his directly behind Stratton and kept it open with his leg.

  ‘Past this first house!’ Stratton shouted.

  Everyone braced. Hopper took a good hold of Sabarak while Prabhu grabbed him from the other side, giving him a look that stated unequivocally he was going out the door.

  ‘Stand by!’ Stratton shouted, looking back at their pursuers to gauge the distance. He was pleased to see the dust they were kicking up had obscured the 4×4s completely.

  As Ramlal drove at speed past the first house on the edge of the village, Stratton shouted, ‘Go!’, and hurled himself out of the Cruiser.

  He landed hard on his feet, which he kept together as if for a parachute landing, spun on to his back and shoulders and rolled several times in the dirt before coming to a dead stop against the wall of the neighbouring house.

  The Saudi didn’t fair quite as well. Hopper jumped out holding on to him while Prabhu shoved him with all his strength. More by luck than design, Sabarak ended up directly under Hopper. Every bit of air was forced from the Saudi’s lungs as he hit the ground with the combined weight of Hopper and himself. When he finally came to rest, he remained where he was, unable to move. And had it been up to him, he would have stayed there. But Stratton and Hopper grabbed him under the arms and dragged him away from the track behind the house as the two 4×4s bounced past through the dirt.

  Stratton watched the tail lights disappear.

  ‘What’s the plan from here?’ Hopper asked.

  ‘I’m working on it,’ Stratton said, scrutinising Sabarak. The guy was sitting up holding his chest and looking like he might go unconscious again.

  ‘On your feet,’ Stratton said. ‘I’ll make this simple for you. I only have to get you back alive. No one said anything about unbroken. If you make life difficult for us, Hopper here will break your legs. He likes doing things like that.’

  Hopper gave Stratton a glance that appeared to question the claim. When Sabarak looked at him, he adopted an expression that wholeheartedly supported the threat.

  ‘Get up,’ said Stratton.

  Sabarak got unsteadily to his feet.

  ‘Stay right behind me,’ Stratton ordered.

  The three of them walked quietly between the houses. Hardly any had lights on but that didn’t mean they weren’t occupied. It was hard to tell. The locals were very poor. They used their minimal resources sparingly. That meant going to bed and getting up with the sun to avoid using all their fuel on lighting.

  The men arrived at a high wall, part of the harbour’s perimeter, that kept them from the water. They went left and followed it to a large metal gate. The harbour entrance. It wasn’t locked and they made their way on to a broad concrete jetty. A man-made boulder mole went out to sea at a right angle to the jetty and after a couple of hundred metres turned a sharp corner and ran on a few more metres, where it ended to face the end of the opposite mole a hundred or so metres away. This was the sea entrance.

  They paused to survey the scene. The walkway was dimly illuminated by a spread of lamps. Dozens of small craft were moored to the inside perimeter or to each other. Mostly fishing boats of varying sizes, from little row boats to thirty-foot sailing boats. There were a handful of powered metal tugs, all of which could have done with a lick of paint. A building set back from the jetty and surrounded by the perimeter wall advertised itself as a fishery in English as well as the local dialect. They could see no sign of life other than a couple of scavenging dogs.

  ‘Nice evening for a boat ride,’ Stratton said.

  Hopper noted the gloomy skies.

  ‘All we do is follow the coastline to Salalah,’ Stratton said. ‘What can go wrong?’

  Hopper rolled his eyes at the effort to tempt fate. ‘Would be nice if we could find something with a bit of speed.’

  ‘And comfort.’

  Hopper moved to the edge of the jetty to look down on the boats. ‘What about that one?’ he said, pointing at a long skiff with twin outboards.

  Stratton felt a twinge of guilt about taking any one of them. ‘These people struggle enough to make a living without us coming along and nicking their livelihood,’ he said.

  ‘Right. What are those over there, by the entrance?’ said Hopper. He jutted his chin towards the mole entrance and a couple of low-profile, sleek black semi-rigid inflatables.

  Stratton’s interest in them was immediate. They didn’t look like fishing boats, more like some kind of security or military craft. And they looked fast. Hopper kept a hold of the Saudi and the three stepped along the concrete path at the base of the mole. They came to a building at the end, in the corner of the mole. The sign above the door said it was AUSTIN OIL TERMINAL SECURITY. The boats had twin 250 outboards bolted to the transoms.

  ‘We don’t feel guilty about borrowing one of these, do we?’ Hopper asked.

  ‘We don’t. Check out the fuel. We need around forty litres. I’ll look into starting this one up.’

  ‘Give me a hand, Sabarak,’ Hopper said, pulling the Saudi with him.

  Stratton climbed down into the first boat and looked at the controls and battery housing. It appeared to be in good order.

  By the time Hopper and Sabarak returned, both straining to carry a couple of large petrol containers each, Stratton had prepared the wires behind the ignition lock on the coxswain’s consul. ‘We’ll need water,’ he said to Hopper. ‘Hand those down to me,’ he said to the Saudi, who obeyed tiredly.

  Beams of light suddenly flashed across the top of the mole. A second later they could hear the low rumble of vehicle engines and tyres on gravel.

  ‘I suspect our Chinese friends have discovered the ruse,’ said Stratton. ‘Hurry up, Hopper.’

  Stratton connected two wires then struck them with a third and they sparked and the starter motor turned over. They were spared the drama of having to wait for the engines to gun to life. The sound was loud and immediate and the two-stroke engines gave off a lot of smoke. Stratton released the stern line.

  Hopper pushed Sabarak down into the semi-inflatable and jumped down himself, carrying a couple of bottles of water. ‘I hope the tap water’s potable,’ he said as he untied the bow line.

  Stratton straddled the jockey seat and reversed the long and powerful craft away from the jetty. As he did so, a 4×4 slewed up to the harbour gates, followed by another, their headlights shining through the barred entrance. A figure got out of the first vehicle and pulled the gates open. The two 4×4s swept into the harbour and came to a squealing stop. Doors opened. Men got out and started running along the walkway.

  Stratton played the throttles. The powerful engines roared and Hopper and the Saudi held on as the nose of the boat came tightly around towards the harbour entrance. The Chinamen had guns in their hands. Stratton heard the loud cracks of the weapons over the revving engines. As he lined up the nose of the boat with the mouth of the harbour he gave the engines full throttle. The boat lurched up on to its plane, the nose dropped and it tore out of the relatively smooth waters of the harbour and went partially airborne as it hit the choppy waters of the Gulf of Aden proper. The gunmen, who had run out of bullets, reloaded but by the time they came up on aim they had nothing more to shoot at.

  The sea was heavy and Stratton eased the power back enough to get the boat into its rhythm, rolling over the waves.

>   ‘They might try and follow us,’ Hopper shouted, looking back at the harbour entrance.

  ‘Good luck to them in this. By the time we get into that lot, they’ll need more than radar to find us.’

  Hopper looked ahead and saw where they were heading: due south, straight out to sea, right into a massive bank of low, thick cloud. All sign of the land behind them disappeared as they hit the dark shroud that reached down from the skies to the sea. They couldn’t see a single light, not even a shadow.

  Using the compass on his watch, Stratton brought the tip of the boat around to the north-east, and set the speed at what he estimated was a steady twenty knots. With three hundred miles to go that would take around fifteen hours, if there was no tide of course. In the windless haze he had little chance of working out its direction or speed. Only daylight and the lifting haze would reveal that.

  Stratton pulled his jacket together against the chilly air. Hopper sat in the bows looking unperturbed. He was a tough bird. But Sabarak was already feeling the damp cold through his thin jacket. He sat between them. He had lost the shemagh he had been wearing and his short, black curly hair framed a thin face, light-brown skin, dark eyes and thick eyebrows that came together above a large, narrow nose. His mouth was accentuated by a thin, manicured line of a beard that gave him a permanent grimace. It was either that or he hated the two Englishmen so much he couldn’t hide it from his face.

  As the hours passed the waters became even calmer and the boat motored along with only the occasional dip and bump. After a while the Saudi rolled himself into a ball on the deck and closed his eyes. Hopper hardly moved other than to offer Stratton and Sabarak a drink.

  ‘Tastes pretty good,’ Hopper said. ‘A hint of chlorine but that’s only encouraging. If we’re not shitting through the eye of a needle by morning, we should be fine.’

  Sabarak looked like he wasn’t very well but Stratton suspected he was tougher than he appeared. The Saudi was trying to condition them. Stratton fully expected the man to act ill by the time they arrived in Oman. It might delay his interrogation by a little, but not much. It would be easy enough to determine the Saudi’s true strength and condition.