Pirate

by Duncan Falconer

  Stratton wondered how far along the jihadists were, how many ships they’d infiltrated, how many weapons had already been shifted. He saw a holdall tucked further down inside the hollow section and he reached in and pulled it out. He placed it on top of the crate and unfastened its buckles.

  The bag contained half a dozen plastic bags filled with a dense white block. It had to be heroin and no doubt originated in Afghanistan. Weapons and drugs. A classic combination for smugglers. The same routes and techniques were used for both.

  Stratton looked deeper into the hollow. There were several more holdalls in there. The street value was probably many millions of dollars. It gave the Somali pirate hijacking problem a new meaning. Governments saw it as a grave nuisance to commercial shipping but it was much more than that. He wondered which organisation was driving it, the pirates or the Islamists. Not that it mattered. Then he heard a dull sound from above. He wasn’t in direct line of sight of the hatch and quickly put the bag back in the hollow, closed the lid of the weapons box and stepped away into the shadows of the cross-bracing.

  Another noise from above, two noises. They sounded like the rasp of a boot on a metal plate. He tried to look up through the metal and bracing from his position. He could see a section of one of the ladders. There was movement on it. Someone coming down. They were moving carefully.

  He felt exposed where he was and looked about him. A long, tapered bracing ran down from the main deck across from him. Behind it was complete darkness. He crossed the space and tucked himself behind the bracing. He needed to secure himself, secure his discovery. Get to where he could communicate with his people. His hand slipped to the hilt of the knife at his waist.

  The figure stepped off the ladder and stood stock still, like they were looking around. For a second Stratton felt like they knew he was there. He tightened as he wondered if they were aiming a gun at him, waiting for him to move. He eased the knife from his belt.

  The footsteps came again. The figure had moved closer. To the box. Stratton heard the crate open.

  Suddenly, a loud clang came from high above, at the entrance to the locker, and reverberated around the chamber. What happened next was even more startling for Stratton. Whoever had been inspecting the cache shut the lid and hurried towards him.

  He gripped the knife, tensed his body, ready to plunge it into the figure. A hand grabbed the side of the bracing and the figure turned around the edge. Stratton clutched the figure’s throat, about to drive the blade fully into the small, slender body when he stopped himself. Just. He was looking at a pair of wide, frightened eyes.

  It was the girl.

  Another loud clang from above, this time accompanied by voices. Stratton pulled her in beside him, his hand still firmly around her throat, the tip of the knife against her heart. She grabbed at his hand as she began to choke, so Stratton eased his grip a little, ready to kill her if she raised the alarm. But at the same time he was confused by her appearance. ‘One sound and you’ll die instantly,’ he assured her.

  She fought to breathe, silently recovering from his choke hold.

  The clanging grew louder. Someone, more than one, was coming down the ladder. Judging by the voices, there were two, perhaps three of them, and they were moving something heavy and made of metal and clearly unaware of anything else.

  The girl stared into his eyes, blinking hard to fight back the tears caused by the choke hold. She shook her head, which was all she could think of doing to communicate to him that she would do nothing.

  Stratton eased his head around the bracing to get a look at what was going on.

  A Somali stood halfway down the last ladder before the bottom looking up. Stratton followed his gaze to see a gas cylinder being lowered on the end of the rope.

  He looked back at the girl, his face inches from hers. ‘What are you doing here?’ he whispered.

  ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she said. She was acting tough but her eyes and her breath revealed her true feelings.

  Stratton’s hand came back to her throat. ‘I’ll ask you one last time.’

  A loud clang like the toll of a bell filled the space as the gas bottle banged against the ladder.

  ‘The ransom drop was for this ship,’ she said. ‘They will release it soon. I came to hide on board.’

  It sounded plausible enough, except for one important thing. Stratton took another careful look around the bracing. The Somali stood on the hull reaching up for the gas bottle above him. He guided it to the floor and shouted something as he untied it.

  Stratton moved back and pulled the girl in closer to ensure she wasn’t seen. The Somali untied the line, took the end over to the other bottle beside the weapons crate and secured it to the valve head. He gave a shout and the line went taut. As the bottle was lifted off the floor, the Somali guided it over to the ladder. He gave another shout and the bottle began to rise up. Grunting, heaving sounds came from above. The man climbed the ladder beside the bottle, guiding it as he went.

  Stratton gave the girl his full attention once again. ‘That was very resourceful of you. Now tell me the real story,’ he said, his voice low and menacing.

  ‘Why else would I be here?’

  ‘You went straight to the crate.’

  ‘I was curious. I thought it might have food in it.’

  ‘Is that why you looked in the bag too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So tell me what you found.’

  She swallowed, unsure of herself.

  ‘Tell me what you found in the crate,’ he repeated.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she stammered.

  ‘And what do you think I’m doing here, without my partner?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said again.

  ‘If you don’t start telling me what you do know, your life will end here, and very shortly.’

  She searched his eyes, looking for the sincerity, and she found it.

  ‘By now you’ve decided that my story about getting captured was as much a load of rubbish as yours,’ he said.

  She blinked at him, smelling a trap but unsure where it was. ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘Then credit me with the same intelligence. You knew, or at least suspected, what was in that crate before you opened it.’

  Her eyes began to betray her but she refused to acknowledge him.

  ‘I’m inclined to think you’re not one of the bad guys,’ he said. ‘Mainly because you’re their prisoner. But if you don’t thoroughly convince me, I’ll have no choice but to kill you. And I don’t have a lot of time.’

  He said it as much to convince himself as her. His gut feeling told him that she wasn’t a threat. But he couldn’t afford to risk everything on that feeling alone, not in this case. It was a risk he didn’t have to take. And he wasn’t going to.

  She knew her time was running out. She could see it in his pale green eyes. She had one last card to play.

  Stratton planted his feet like he was about to shove the knife inside her chest.

  ‘I’m Chinese Secret Service,’ she said quickly.

  There were few circumstances where such an explanation would have been enough to save her, even if it was the truth. But there were some very clear links in all that was happening. It neatly combined with his other strings of thought. The Brits and the Chinese might be on parallel paths. The Chinese agent had tried to nab Sabarak in Yemen because the Saudi had somehow acquired a supply of Chinese missiles. If so, could it be these same missiles? There were pieces of the puzzle missing but Stratton felt sure they were not far away. Perhaps he had one of them in his hands at that moment.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Stratton asked, his voice less threatening.

  ‘Is this going to be all one-sided?’ she retorted.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, sweetheart. I’m far from convinced. Tell me more.’

  She looked at the floor, waited a few moments, then looked up again, like she had accepted she had something to prove. ‘Nine months ago a consig
nment of Chinese weapons we sold to the North Koreans was hijacked while being transported,’ she said. ‘This happened inside North Korea on a train. A hundred HN missiles were among the consignment.’

  ‘Who could have done that inside North Korea?’

  ‘We believe Chinese Muslims. They have infiltrated elements of the military and defence department. They smuggled the weapons back into China and we traced them to a ship bound for Indonesia. But by the time we located it, the ship had set sail. Once North Korea took delivery of the missiles, they became Pyongyang’s responsibility, but the North Koreans were unable to respond quickly enough despite the intelligence we gave them. These are Chinese weapons and we had to get them back.

  ‘We were always days behind. In Indonesia they went on board a bulk carrier bound for Oman. But the ship never made it that far. It was never intended to get to Oman, although the captain and crew didn’t know that. It was hijacked by Somali pirates who knew exactly what was on board and when and where it would be sailing through the Indian Ocean.’

  She had been hoping for more of a reaction from Stratton. She got little.

  ‘Is that weapon from the stolen batch?’ he asked.

  ‘To be certain, I would have to confirm the serial number is a match. But it has to be.’

  ‘Did you know it was going to be on board this boat before you saw it unloaded on the beach today?’

  ‘No. This was a surprise to me. We knew they were in this part of Somalia in the hands of the terrorists but we didn’t know what they had planned for them.’

  ‘Do you know who’s behind it?’

  She shrugged. ‘Al-Shabaab.’

  ‘Any particular individuals?’ Stratton asked. ‘Do you have any names?’ He wondered if she knew about Sabarak.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I shouldn’t tell you if I did. But to save you from threatening me again, I don’t know any names.’

  ‘What about the destinations of the weapons? What they’re planned to be used for?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. We initially assumed they wanted to use them against Somali government forces. As I said. This was new to me.’

  Stratton was beginning to believe her. ‘What’s your task?’

  ‘To locate the missiles and report back to my superiors.’

  Stratton looked at her quizzically. ‘How did you really end up getting captured by these guys?’

  She hesitated. ‘Getting captured was a part of the plan.’

  ‘You got caught deliberately?’ he asked, surprised.

  She looked defiant, like his tone implied that she was crazy. ‘I found the missiles, didn’t I?’ she said. ‘And now I’m going to get away from here and make my report.’

  Stratton had to give her that much. But there was something missing. ‘You found only one,’ he said.

  She didn’t answer.

  He stared into her eyes. He saw something. ‘So where are the others?’

  She still didn’t say anything.

  ‘Are your people going to be happy with just one missile system out of a hundred?’

  She looked like she had told him more than she had wanted to, thinking it would be enough to appease him.

  It turned out she was right. Stratton did leave it alone. He had learned a good deal anyway. They were on different teams but not necessarily on opposite sides. Not in this particular task at least. The Chinese wanted the missiles back. She, and the agent in Yemen, seemed to be proof of that.

  ‘Will you tell me who you are?’ she asked.

  ‘Name’s Stratton.’

  ‘British?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You knew about the weapons?’

  Stratton could see no harm in some quid pro quo. There was always a need to make allies in his business, whenever it was safe to do so. You never knew when a friend would come in handy. And the best way to achieve that was to exchange useful information. ‘We knew they existed. But nothing more than that.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘A series of unfortunate incidents.’

  She suddenly felt slightly superior. ‘Then you didn’t mean to get captured.’

  Stratton took it on the chin. ‘No.’

  The hint of a smile softened her expression. ‘What will you do now?’ she asked.

  ‘Get out of here. What about the man with you?’

  ‘He cannot travel.’

  Stratton understood. The information was too important and the man was too badly injured.

  ‘You will leave your friend too?’ she asked.

  Stratton would have considered it only if there was a good chance Hopper could survive on his own. But he would most certainly die. ‘No. I have to get him.’

  She looked disappointed. Stratton suspected she saw it as a weakness.

  ‘We would have a better chance together, you and I,’ she said.

  Stratton suddenly wondered if she had more useful information. But he wouldn’t leave Hopper behind, no matter what she had to offer. ‘Where are the other missiles?’ he said.

  ‘I’ll tell you if you help me get away from here.’

  It was a fair enough exchange. She was tough and might not be such a liability. She might even be helpful if they could find a boat. ‘OK,’ he said, stepping out from behind the brace to look up towards the hatch.

  He made his way to the bottom of the ladder. He couldn’t see any movement above and all was silent. The girl joined him.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he said.

  ‘Immy.’

  ‘I’ll go up first.’

  ‘Or I can.’

  ‘Get one thing straight. This isn’t a partnership. You do everything I say, as soon as I say it, and without any chat. Got that?’

  She shrugged.

  He reached for a high rung and pulled himself up the ladder.

  7

  Stratton emerged from the bosun’s locker hatch. He crouched, scanning the deck and the superstructure. Then he moved to the familiar cover of the anchor chain machinery. The girl paused at the hatch opening to look around for herself before following.

  ‘Did you come up the anchor chain?’ Stratton asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll go back the same way,’ he said.

  ‘I found something better,’ Immy said. ‘Follow me.’

  Before he could stop her, she had stepped away to the other side of the deck. His jaw tightened with irritation, but there was little he could do in their exposed position. Keeping low, he followed the girl.

  On the port side, a few metres down from the sharp end of the boat, a thick rope looped over a bollard and reached down to the water.

  ‘Less exposed than the anchor chain,’ she said.

  He had to agree. ‘Would you like to go first?’ he asked.

  Without hesitation she climbed over the solid perimeter, grabbed hold of the rope and let her legs swing below her. She was strong and shimmied down fearlessly.

  Stratton didn’t wait for her to reach the water before starting down. ‘Follow me,’ he said as he slid into the water and swam away at an angle towards the beach.

  She swam close behind him.

  He scanned the beach as they closed on it, in particular the fire. He could see the Somalis still gathered there, smoking as they sat around the flames. They didn’t look like they had recently found a throttled buddy.

  The waves had got bigger in the short time they had been aboard the Oasis. The wind had picked up. Clouds had gathered like a storm was on the way. Stratton was content enough with that. The darker and rougher the better.

  The waves crashed heavily on to the beach. Stratton swam hard to pull himself through the surf. With metres to go, he lowered his feet and touched the sand. A swell raised him up and he floated in on it. The sea dumped him on to the sand and he crawled further up the incline on his belly. The water receded, leaving him high and dry. The next wave deposited the girl, who rolled on past him.

  He looked at the men, and then
he got up. ‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing her shoulder and dragging her to her feet.

  They ran through the flood of ship lights up the beach until they reached darkness. They dropped on their knees to the sand and looked about them again. Then they moved stealthily towards the beachfront homes. A few had wood fires going inside or kerosene lamps. Several bright electrical lights shone somewhere in the town. They could hear the buzz of small petrol-driven generators.

  Stratton saw movement between some houses and went to ground. Several people, a family perhaps, hanging around in the street. The wind toyed with their wet clothes as they knelt to watch and listen. It was late in the evening but not everyone went to bed with the setting of the sun. The air had cooled but there was far too much to think about for them to feel the cold.

  ‘Where are the rest of the missiles?’ Stratton asked in a low voice.

  The girl looked at him, surprised, not so much by the content of his question but its timing.

  ‘If something happens to you, I need to know,’ he said.

  ‘If I tell you, perhaps you’ll let something happen to me.’

  Her answer amused him. She was certainly used to devious company. ‘At least tell me if they’re close to here or miles away in another part of the country.’

  ‘They’re close. A few kilometres from here.’

  ‘How can you be so sure they’re still there?’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said.

  That was not what he wanted to hear.

  She sighed. Then she said, ‘It was Lotto’s men who hijacked the ship carrying the rockets. He did it for the Muslim fighters. That was a month ago. He is being well paid for his services. I suspect they intend to send many more of the missiles abroad. If that is so then they will still be close by.’