“But you’re happy to steal with them…”
“I won’t apologize for doing what I have to do to live.” Bautista practically spat the words at him. “Things aren’t exactly great around here.”
“What do you do with the cash and the items you steal? FedEx them to whoever is coordinating the job?”
“One of us delivers it to the capital at a specific place and time that they message to us. I can’t give you a location because they change all the time.”
Herron sighed. A network so dispersed was hard to disrupt—you were always one step behind, and even if you squashed one target, another simply emerged. U.S. intelligence had dealt with that problem during the War on Terror, and it applied here equally. He couldn’t hit one target or one location and declare the job a success. He’d have to do it the hard way.
Herron levelled the pistol at Bautista again. “I want your phone and the next piece of the puzzle—a name or location to get me off your ass and onto someone else’s.”
“The phone is in the pocket of my jeans. I have nothing else to give you. Everything is done through the phone.”
Herron dug the handset out of the pants and tucked it away. With a lead to the next link in the chain secured, he had no further need for Bautista. In the past, he would have snipped off the loose end with no qualms—just another victim in a business they’d both chosen—but he’d sworn those times were behind him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see how to let the pirate live and keep his mission secret.
He let out a regretful sigh. “Close your eyes…”
The phone in Herron’s pocket beeped.
“That’s a job!” Bautista’s voice was frantic, all his defiance gone as his eyes flicked from Herron to the pistol, moments from death. “A job!”
Herron kept his gaze and the pistol on Bautista. Was this some sort of trick or trap by a desperate man? He relented and pulled out the phone. The screen displayed a WhatsApp message in a language Herron didn’t understand, but that potentially gave him a way out of his ethical dilemma.
He turned the phone towards Bautista. “Can you tell me the target?”
“Sure.” The young hijacker’s voice trailed off as he read the message. “It’s a big one…”
Herron kept the pistol jammed into Bautista’s back as they waited at the edge of the treeline, where the forest met the beach. He probably needn’t have bothered, because the pirate had done little to suggest he’d go rogue and risk a bullet, even as they’d driven in Bautista’s car to the meeting point.
But Herron hadn’t lived this long in his profession by being careless.
On the sand, three Zodiacs waited, just like the ones that had attacked his yacht. They looked pristine, like some deity had simply reached down and planted them on the shore. Bautista, meanwhile, was sticking to his story, reiterating that for each job he simply showed up to the coordinates he was given to find the boats and the other hijackers.
The only difference this time was Herron’s presence.
“Nobody will approach the boats if they see us together.” Bautista repeated himself for the third time. “You need to let me go if you want to join the raid.”
“Horseshit. You already told me none of the hijackers know any others, so they’re just going to think I’m Johnny Pirate to your Tony Pirate. No, you’re not getting away that easy.”
Bautista didn’t respond, his chance gone to scurry away like a rat. Even though he had been a model citizen and given Herron no reason to shoot him, it was still possible his information about the raids was bullshit or that he knew more than he’d revealed.
Herron wouldn’t let him out of his sight until he knew for sure.
Time passed and Herron grew ever more impatient for the other hijackers to arrive. A few times, cars drove along the road that separated the forest and the beach, but none of them was stopping to join a piracy attack in international waters.
Herron was just about ready to give up when at last a car pulled off the road and stopped. A man got out, pulling on a dark ski mask. He jabbed Bautista in the back with the pistol. “Do you know him?”
“No. We don’t share personal information.”
“Right.” Herron lowered the weapon. “Then let’s get our costumes on.”
They put on the balaclavas Bautista had supplied, and now they looked the part. Herron gestured with his chin towards the boats. He let Bautista take the lead, keeping his hand around the pistol, now in the pocket of his tactical pants.
With his other hand, Herron greeted the new arrival, who was near the boats by now. The mystery hijacker reciprocated, which showed that they were friendly pirates, if nothing else. Soon enough, others appeared to join them: ten others, each of them male and masked.
Herron stood back as the group prepared for the operation. None of it was by command: the group seemed democratic and chaotic, but clearly worked well enough together to have had some success over the past few months.
No more.
Herron removed the pistol from his pocket… only to have Bautista grip his wrist.
Bautista kept his voice low. “You don’t understand. If you take them out here, the mission won’t go ahead…”
Herron jerked his hand away, the pistol with it, and pocketed the weapon. “You better tell me something good.”
Bautista checked no one had noticed their exchange, then leaned in close. “If the attack doesn’t happen, the leadership will know. They’ll schedule a shift change: our entire roster will be purged, and they’ll go find some new people to attack the boats.”
“Just like that?”
“The supply of men is plentiful, given the state of the economy. And it keeps the leaders protected.”
“It’s happened before?”
“I’m not sure. But they tell us that if one person fucks up, everyone is out of a job.”
Herron thought about it, but only one thing didn’t stack up. “How do they know the attack has happened?”
“When we’re close to the objective, we send them a WhatsApp message and a photo of the target.”
Herron kept quiet for a few moments, amending his plans on the fly. He’d originally hoped to take out this group before the attack, and then wait for the message to Bautista’s phone informing him of the drop off for the loot. Then he’d just show up to take care of the leaders. But if Bautista spoke the truth, killing the hijackers now would sever Herron’s connection to the paymasters.
None of the other hijackers had realized they’d been seconds from death. Their death might still come, but Bautista’s intervention had won them the opportunity to breathe for another hour or two. It had also meant that for Herron to have a shot at wiping out the network, innocent sailors would have to be attacked.
It was brutal arithmetic for those men aboard the target ship but would serve the greater good.
With the matter decided, Herron helped the others finished their preparations. Each hijacker chose their own vessel to travel in, then the boats got on their way. The buzz of the engines gave Herron flashbacks to the Zodiac swarm that had attacked his yacht, but he forced the images to the back of his mind.
To pull this off, he was going to need to focus.
4
Herron closed his eyes and sucked in the sea air as the Zodiac he shared with Bautista and two other hijackers inched ever closer to their destination. Ahead of them, barely visible in the inky blackness, two more Zodiacs also approached the target: a container ship outlined by white lights all along its hull.
The ship was enormous, so vast Herron’s yacht would have looked like a child’s toy next to it. An attack on such an enormous vessel by a dozen armed men in three small rubber boats seemed foolish, but Bautista had told him the container ship only had a small crew and was a prime target.
The contents of the ship would be a smorgasbord of loot for the hijackers, a menu so vast that it was almost impossible to comprehend. Yet the pirates had been ordered to ignore the contents of the hold and focus
only on one small strongbox. Bautista had said such an order was uncommon—usually the job was to simply take whatever items of value they could find.
That piqued Herron’s interest.
Whatever was inside that box, the pirate leadership had calculated it was worth a further escalation of the conflict. A yacht was one thing, but an attack on one of the giant, inviolable symbols of international trade would bring down a lot more heat. That seemed lost on the thieves doing the job, though.
“Almost there!” Bautista shouted to be heard over the buzz of the engine, his eyes locked on Herron. “Everybody cool?”
Herron nodded, but kept quiet. He was focused on the target vessel and the other Zodiacs in front of him. The collective drone of their engines made them sound like a swarm of locusts, which felt right, given the situation. Only Bautista knew Herron was here to control the pests.
As they neared the ship, Bautista and the others pulled out satellite phones and took photos, sending them over WhatsApp to confirm the attack was imminent. Herron waited until all the phones were back in their pockets and the attention of the hijackers was back on the job. Then he got to work.
“Wow!” Herron whistled, the sound masking his movement as he inched closer to the other hijackers. “Sure is big!”
In one explosive burst, Herron shoved the pilot of the boat overboard in a mess of limbs. The man screamed before he disappeared beneath the waves—alive and able to stay that way if he could swim. That small mercy, however, was enough to alert Bautista and the other hijacker that there was a problem.
Before either could react, Herron drew his pistol and aimed at them. While Bautista just stared, the remaining pirate tried to draw his own weapon. That mistake cost him the chance to jump overboard himself; Herron squeezed on the trigger twice, the shots hitting the man in the chest. He slumped to the floor of the boat.
Herron kept his weapon trained on Bautista as he removed the balaclava from his head. When it was off, he breathed deeply. “Well, now we have a problem.”
“You told me if I led you to the target, you’d let me live…” Bautista’s voice was panicked and desperate. “Please…”
“You will not die…” Herron grabbed the lifejacket at his feet and tossed it underarm to Bautista. “Put that on.”
The young man made no move to take the buoyancy aid. “If you turn the boat around, we can head back to the beach and have no part of this…”
“I want to be part of this.” Herron snarled, rapidly losing patience. “Last chance to save yourself.”
“Okay.” Bautista’s shoulders slumped. He put on the lifejacket, tightened the straps, then paused. “You don’t have to do this…”
“Bye.” Herron shoved him overboard. Bautista screamed as he fell into the water, immediately left in the wake of the high-speed boat. “Asshole.”
Herron turned his attention to the engine. He gripped the tiller, throttled up and adjusted his course slightly to head for the pair of Zodiacs ahead of him. He doubted the hijackers aboard them had heard the ruckus behind them, so he had a chance.
He tried to close in, catch up with them before they boarded the container ship, but he was too far behind. By the time he reached the massive hull, the other pirates were already aboard, and he heard the first gunshots pop off. Unable to dispose of the hijackers before reaching the target, he’d have to improvise now.
He sighed. “Never easy…”
Manoeuvring his Zodiac alongside one other, he grabbed one of the grappling ropes and started up the side of the ship, keen to get on deck and stop the imminent bloodshed. His muscles powered him on, inch by inch, until finally he pulled himself over the side with a grunt.
He drew his pistol and was surprised to see one of the other hijackers lying nearby in a pool of blood. He checked for a pulse, but the man was dead, a bullet wound to the head. Either he’d been betrayed by one of his own or Bautista had been wrong about the crew and there was a well-equipped security force aboard.
It made the mystery of what was inside that locked box even more interesting…
Herron gripped his pistol tight, his back pressed against one of the ship’s cargo containers, ears straining for any hint of what was around the corner: a tough gig over the wail of emergency sirens. When he heard nothing, he waited five seconds, inhaled sharply and then stepped out. As he moved, he scanned for any targets up ahead, but all he could see were more containers and more long stretches with no cover.
It was a problem he hadn’t expected when he’d boarded the ship. End-to-end, the vessel was gigantic. Walking the length of the deck on his way to the bridge was like Groundhog Day. Each row of containers was followed by countless others, different colours and with different logos, but otherwise the same. As he’d advanced, careful and calculated, he’d spotted a hundred potential points of ambush—blind spots created by containers, ladders and ramps that led above-and-below decks, small rooms, and offices.
With no choice but to hurry to the business end of the ship, where the hijackers would be headed, Herron had scanned for threats as best he could but not as thoroughly as he’d like. Yet no danger had materialised. From the sounds of gunshots that chattered sporadically ahead of him, the ship’s security had retreated to hold the bridge, leaving the way clear for him.
He had just thought he might make it to the bridge unscathed, when an alarmed shout caused him to tense.
“Shit.” His eyes shot to the right, and he saw two uniformed security guards going for their weapons. Quickly, he held up one hand as his other reached for his pistol. “Guys, wait—”
Ignoring his plea, the guards immediately opened fire with their pistols, sharp cracks over the cacophony of the sirens. Herron dived for cover as bullets bored into containers and ricocheted off the metal guard rails around him. None hit him, but he was pinned down with no easy options. He wouldn’t kill these guards. They were just men just doing their jobs.
“Think, Mitch.” Herron chided himself. There’d be nothing left to save if he didn’t deal with these guys quickly and get to the bridge. “Think.”
More shots pounded into the side of the container he sheltered behind. Calm but desperate, he looked around for anything that might help him turn the tables. But even with the deck brightly lit by overhead halogens and the red emergency lights, he could see nothing obvious.
Except the lights themselves.
Herron aimed and fired several times. Each shot took out a globe and made the deck just a little darker. His weapon was silenced, but the showering glass and increasing shadows soon alerted the guards to his actions. Their fire slackened in response; no doubt they were too focused on cover to effectively return fire.
When he’d taken out all the lights he could see from cover, Herron peeked around the corner and took out the largest lights in the no-man’s-land between him and the guards. One, two, three, four: the long overhead halogens mounted on lamp-poles went out, and in seconds, there was darkness enough to give him a chance of escape.
Herron reloaded and emerged from cover. He ran along the length of the container until he was on the walkway on the far side of the deck. If the lights had been intact, the guards would have been able to spot him instantly, but with only a few red emergency lights to brighten the inky darkness, the black-clad Herron could sneak past.
He moved past one container…
Two…
A pistol pressed into the side of his head.
“Move one more inch I’ll blow your brains out. Drop the gun.”
Herron did so. “Okay, just relax for a second…”
“Thought you could sneak away?” The guard scoffed and kicked the pistol across the deck. “Well, we’ve got you bottled up tight, and your buddies are next.”
“You win.” Herron slipped into the role of a hijacker, a criminal who realized the game was up. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Like your friends hurt my pal?” The guard’s voice was full of pain. “Pushed him overboard as soon as they
boarded. He was having a smoke at the other end of the ship and now he’s gone.”
Herron kept quiet.
“You’re lucky I’m not a murderer, you asshole. But bet your ass I’m going to see you put behind bars.” He shoved Herron. “Start walking.”
Herron nodded and moved in the direction the guard had specified, closer to the bridge, where the lights hadn’t been shot out. He tried to play the part of a defeated foe, even as another guard joined them.
As the additional guard approached, handcuffs ready to slap on his wrists, Herron murmured, “Sorry, guys.”
Gripping the wrist of the guard with the pistol—who’d relaxed just a second too early—Herron twisted until the weapon fell to the deck. He scooped it up and aimed it at the stunned guards.
“Be smart.” He took a step back, maintaining his aim at the guards, who were smart enough to freeze. “You both have cuffs?”
They nodded.
Herron kept his voice calm and professional. “I want both of you to cuff your wrists to the safety railing and then toss the keys to me. But do it quick because I need to go save your captain.”
The men were confused, but they still had a pistol pointed at them, so they complied. In unison, they locked one arm of the handcuffs around a wrist and then secured the other arm to the rail, just as Herron had asked. When they were done, they tossed their keys at his feet.
Herron kept his pistol and his eyes on them as he picked up the keys and tossed them overboard. “I’m going to check the cuffs are secure. If they’re not, I’m going to shoot you. Want to check before I do?”
One guard shook his head, but the other—the man who’d first ambushed Herron—let out a lengthy sigh and tightened his cuffs until they locked around the rail with a click. Clearly, he hadn’t given up on the idea of being a hero, but the threat of death had made him think again.
The two guards were out of the fight, and Herron was back in it. And on his way to the bridge.
The bridge sat high above the containers, with large glass windows letting the crew see far and wide. There were two doors that granted entry, upstairs from the left and right side of the deck. Herron assumed there was a third inside that ran from the crew quarters.
The Azure Backlash Page 4