Fair Game (45 page)

He had two options. He could make his way along the Upper Deck to the superstructure or he could make use of the Below Deck Passageway. The Below Deck Passageway was probably the safer option but it led to the engine room, and with the ship moving there was a good chance that at least one of the pirates would be there. He shoved the sat-phone into his back pocket and started moving along the starboard deck.

He moved slowly, stopping every minute or so to listen and to peer into the gloom, and it took him almost fifteen minutes to reach the base of the superstructure. He stood at the bottom of the outdoor stairway, looking up. There was no sound, other than the waves hitting the hull. He steadied his breathing as he planned his next move. The most likely area for the pirates to keep the crew would be A-Deck, where most of the storage rooms were, including those where the meat, fish, vegetable and provisions were kept, or in one of the mess rooms on B-Deck, or even one of the large cabins on G-Deck, directly below the bridge. There was no reason for any of the pirates to be on F-Deck, where his cabin was.

He took a deep breath and then started up the metal stairway, sticking to the shadows wherever he could. He stopped at each level, checking through the windows, but didn’t see anyone as he moved up to F-Deck. He pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor, his heart pounding. He listened but heard nothing, so he closed the door behind him and tiptoed down to his cabin and slipped inside. The sat-phone charger was where he’d left it on his desk. He plugged in the sat-phone and the charging light glowed. He looked at his watch. Charging could take up to two hours.

He opened the fridge and took out a can of Coke and drank it as he sat on his bed and wondered what he should do. His stomach growled. There was no food in the cabin, but he was going to need protein soon. There was plenty of food in the galley on B-Deck, but he’d be taking a risk going there, even late at night. His stomach growled again. He finished his Coke and put the empty can in the wastepaper bin. He paced around the room. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to have to remain in hiding, and while he could go without food for weeks if necessary he knew that hunger would reduce his efficiency. He opened the cabin door and listened but heard nothing. He tiptoed to the stairs and stood in the doorway for five minutes to satisfy himself that no one else was moving around, then he slowly went down the stairs.

When he reached B-Deck he stopped again. He tilted his head from side to side listening, but the only sound was the occasional creaking of the hull. His heart was racing and he took slow, deep breaths before moving silently down the corridor. The door to the galley was closed and he put his ear against it but heard nothing. He turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open. The galley was empty and the door from it to the crew mess was wide open and he could see that there was no one there. He looked to the right through the door that led to the officers’ mess and that too was empty. Shepherd smiled to himself as he stepped into the galley and pushed the door closed behind him.

There were two sticks of French bread on a metal counter. They had gone stale and were as hard as rock but he could dampen them with water and they’d be edible. He needed protein, though. He opened one of the metal cabinets and found three unopened boxes of cereal, two of cornflakes and one of muesli. The cornflakes were mainly sugar but the muesli was a good source of nutrition, albeit with a high sugar content. On the floor was a cardboard box that had once contained cans of peas. Shepherd placed it on the counter and tossed in the box of muesli. He opened another cupboard and found three plastic bags of fruit, one of apples and two of bananas. He threw them into his box.

He grinned when he pulled open the third cupboard door. It was full of tins of the tuna that the chief officer ate with his salad every night. He took out a can and his grin widened when he saw that it opened with a ring pull. Shepherd was no great fan of canned tuna but it was full of protein and what was in the cupboard would keep him going for weeks. He added the cans and the bread to the cardboard box. There was a large metal fridge at the end of the galley and Shepherd pulled it open. It was filled with bottles of mineral water and white wine and cans of soft drink. He took as much water as he could carry and a couple of cans of Coke for good measure. At the bottom of the fridge, in a crisper section, there were a dozen iceberg lettuces, several long cucumbers and a carton of tomatoes, but he rejected them as they had next to no nutritional value.

The box was pretty much full so he picked it up, eased open the galley door and slid into the corridor. He listened but there was only the sound of the sea slapping against the hull. He moved on tiptoe towards the stairs, but froze when he heard the lift start to move. He stared at the floor indicator. It was on A-Deck, heading up. He moved into the stairwell. He doubted that anyone would bother taking the lift just one floor and he was right, it continued to move up to G-Deck before stopping. Someone was probably visiting the bridge, either that or someone from the bridge had called the lift so that they could go down. He waited but the lift stayed on G-Deck.

He moved up the stairs slowly, listening intently. He reached F-Deck, stepped into the corridor, then hurried back to his cabin. The red charging light was still on. He looked at his watch. It was just after two o’clock. He wanted to call Button back but didn’t want to risk talking while inside.

He sat down on the bunk and opened one of the cans of tuna. There was a spoon by the kettle and he used it to eat the fish, chewing slowly and methodically to get the maximum nutrition from every mouthful. Bolted food was wasted food – one of the many survival skills that he’d learned during jungle training. When he’d finished he put the empty can in the box, along with the spoon. He used the toilet but didn’t flush it. He would have loved to have used the shower but knew that was out of the question, so he dampened a towel, took off his shirt and wiped himself down. He threw his dirty shirt into the wardrobe and put on a clean one, then decided he might as well go the whole way and put on clean socks and underwear, too.

He checked the sat-phone again and the charging light had turned to green so he unplugged it and put the phone and the charger into the box. He popped his head around the door, listened to check that there were no sounds of anyone moving around, then carried the box along the corridor to the stairs.

The lift hadn’t moved and it was still showing as on G-Deck. Shepherd stopped and listened again, then headed down the stairs. E-Deck was silent, and so was D-Deck, but when he got down to C-Deck he heard footsteps and laughter. Two men, heading down the corridor. Shepherd froze. If they carried on walking down the corridor then they wouldn’t see him, but if they turned into the stairway there’d be no place to hide.

C-Deck was where most of the crew’s quarters were, so they might have been going through the cabins looking for valuables. Or maybe they were sleeping there and were now heading back to the bridge. Either way they wouldn’t be staying on C-Deck, which meant that they’d either use the stairs or the lift.

Shepherd turned and moved quickly up the stairs and hurried down the corridor of D-Deck, towards the gymnasium. The hatch to the deck was on his left and he put down the box so that he could twist the two chrome locking levers and push open the door. He smelled cigarette smoke and realised immediately that there was someone on the deck. It was too late to go back so he stepped through the hatch, his heart pounding. There was a man leaning against the rail, looking out over the sea, a Kalashnikov hanging over his back, barrel down. The man grunted as he turned and Shepherd saw the red dot of the burning cigarette. Shepherd’s night vision hadn’t kicked in so he couldn’t make out the man’s features but he saw the strip of white as his mouth opened in surprise and he lunged forward, knowing that he had to move quickly before the pirate could sound the alarm. His left hand found the man’s chin and pushed hard, clamping the jaw shut. The man dropped the cigarette and it fell to the deck in a shower of sparks as Shepherd forced his head back and they staggered together against the railing. Shepherd punched the man in the throat with his right fist, the knuckle of the second finger protruding slightly, and he heard the satisfying crack of the trachea rupturing. He hit him again, hard, for good measure, and once more the cartilage splintered.

He released his grip on the man’s jaw, knowing that there was now no way he could cry for help; his throat was already filling up with blood. He grabbed the back of the man’s head with his left hand, the chin with his right hand, gave the head a slight turn to the left and twisted with all his strength to the right. The man’s neck snapped like a dry twig and he slumped to the deck. Shepherd caught him under the arms and lowered him face down, then stood up and listened. It had taken him less than three seconds to kill the man, and unless there was anyone else out on deck he was sure that no one would have heard anything. His eyes were starting to get accustomed to the lack of light and he could see that the deck around him was clear and there was no one at the railings of Decks E, F and G above him. He leaned over the railing and looked down at the decks below but couldn’t see anyone.

The pirate’s left leg twitched but it was a muscular reaction, nothing more, and it soon went still. Shepherd knelt down and undid the fastening on the strap of the AK-47 and pulled the weapon away. He placed it on the deck then took the machete and scabbard off the man’s belt and put them down next to the AK-47. He grabbed the pirate under the arms and heaved him over the railing. The body spun through the air and splashed into the sea far below.

Shepherd slung the Kalashnikov over his shoulder and fastened the machete to his belt. He retrieved his box of provisions, shut the hatch and took the outside stairs down to the Upper Deck. He stopped and listened for a full two minutes until he was certain that there was no one else around, then he headed down the port side of the deck towards the bow.

By the time he reached his hiding place his night vision had fully kicked in. He climbed up the metal ladder and shoved the box into the container after taking out a couple of bananas and the sat-phone. He went forward and sat down in the deck area between the two anchor chains, then he tapped out Button’s number. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘The battery died. And I had to kill a pirate.’

‘Please tell me that’s your idea of a sick joke,’ said Button.

‘Couldn’t be helped,’ said Shepherd. ‘It was him or me.’

‘Any repercussions?’

‘No one saw what happened and his body’s in the sea. The good news is that I’ve got his AK-47 and a very big knife.’

‘Won’t they start looking for him?’

‘It’s a big ship. They won’t notice it right away and even if they did, they don’t know that I’m on board. Worst possible scenario, they think they have a man overboard. So how are the negotiations going?’

‘Blue has agreed to a joint deal, he’ll release the yacht crew at the same time as he releases the ship. The money is to be delivered to an airstrip in Puntland.’

‘That’s a first, right? In the past Crazy Boy’s had the cash delivered to the ships, right?’

‘We persuaded him,’ said Button. ‘This way we get the yacht crew and the money in the same place. The cash gets flown in to Puntland, and the crew can fly out on the same plane that brings the money in. I’ve spoken to Martin, he’ll be ready to go in tomorrow.’

‘But what about the
Athena
? The pirates here aren’t going to leave until they know the money has been handed over. If they hear that there’s been a rescue then they might kill the hostages here.’

‘They won’t know. We can cut the ship’s sat-phone connection. They have no other way of communicating so they’ll be in the dark.’

‘And then what? You send in the Increment?’

‘They’re ready to move in, as soon as you give the word.’

‘The crew are being held at gunpoint, Charlie. They could get killed.’

‘The Increment are expert at situations like this, Spider. You more than anyone know that.’

‘But this is a difficult situation. The hostages are inside and the pirates are all armed. I don’t see how they can be taken by surprise. And how are they going to get to the ship?’

‘They want to go in by helicopter,’ she said.

‘Then they’ll be seen for miles.’

‘Not if they come at night.’

‘Then they’ll be heard.’

‘Do you have a better idea?’ asked Button.

‘I think I do, yeah.’

John Muller was surprised at how little space five million dollars took up when it was in hundred-dollar bills. The sixty-year-old American stroked his chin as he studied the plastic-wrapped parcels on the table in front of him. He had brought two Samsonite cases with him, just small enough to be taken on board a plane as hand baggage, provided that he was flying first class. There was no way that he was going to check five million dollars into the hold on any airline, especially one in the Middle East. He was on the top floor of the bank’s headquarters in Dubai, in a room with double-height windows offering breathtaking views of the Persian Gulf, centring on the Burj Al Arab, the luxurious hotel built in the shape of an Arab dhow on its own artificial island.

The banker organising the transaction was an Englishman wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit and a starched white shirt with gold cufflinks and spoke with an accent that reminded Muller of a PBS costume drama. He had a double-barrelled name that Muller couldn’t be bothered to remember because he doubted that he’d ever be meeting the man again.

A bank official, a portly middle-aged Arab in his thirties, was feeding the bundles of notes through a counter and checking for forgeries. ‘We don’t have to do this,’ said Muller. ‘I trust you.’

‘It’s not about you trusting us,’ said the banker disdainfully. ‘It is to ensure that you receive the correct amount.’ He handed Muller a letter in a crisp white envelope. ‘Here is the letter to show on your departure if necessary.’

Muller took out the letter. It was on the bank’s headed notepaper and detailed where the money had come from, the accounts that it had passed through, and that the cash was to be used for ‘humanitarian disbursement in Africa’. Muller smiled. There was nothing humanitarian about the disbursement of the five million dollars sitting on the table. The subterfuge was necessary to ensure that no overzealous official wanted to stop the cash from leaving Dubai.