other thing,’ said Dog. ‘The Saudis have opened their cafeteria on the other side of the base; Danny’s making the arrangements. Listen, I know I don’t have to remind any of you that we’re in a Muslim country, and a very sensitive one at that. Please, pass the word – best behavior. We’re ambassadors of goodwill here. Frankly, the lower the profile we have the better.’
‘We’re going to be too busy to have much of a profile,’ said Delaford.
‘Hopefully,’ said Dog.
Near Boosaaso, Somalia, on the Gulf of Aden 6 November 1997 1731
Ali steadied himself on the open bridge of the patrol boat as it cut across the shadows below the Somalian coast. Their target sat about a mile away, still steaming lazily for Boosaaso, a port on the Somalian coast. The ship was a freighter carrying crates of packaged food from the Mediterranean. Once the vessel was secured, they would offload as much of the supplies as they could. Ali’s men would also scour the ship for anything useful; he was especially interested in batteries and items such as electrical wires that could be used in the repair of the Sharia, the Somalian amphibious ship that they were working on. Finally, several hundred pounds of explosive would be packed into the hull, a timer set, and the ship directed toward the open channel: payback to the Greeks who owned her for trying to renege on an earlier arrangement.
‘Boarding party is ready, Captain,’ said Bari, the dark first mate.
‘Signal the other vessels,’ said Ali.
‘Yes, Captain.’
The merchant ship, the Adak, lumbered along at eight knots. It was likely her small crew hadn’t even spotted the three fast patrol boats and four smaller runabouts charging toward her stern.
Ali’s crew moved to the 40mm gun on the forward deck. He picked up the microphone as they drew alongside the ship.
‘Brothers, I speak to you today as a member of the Gulf Cooperation Council,’ Ali declared, his voice booming over the loudspeaker. ‘Your cargo is required in the struggle against the great enemy. Surrender without resistance and you will be accorded safe passage home. Any who wish to join our cause will be welcomed with eager arms.’
A figure appeared at the rail. Ali repeated his message.
‘They’re sending an SOS!’ said the radioman from below.
‘Fire!’ Ali told his crew over the loudspeaker. ‘Boarding parties, attack.’
Aboard the Abner Read, Gulf of Aden 6 November 1997 1734
Storm had just stepped into the head when Commander Marcum beeped him on the communicator system. Grumbling, he secured his pants and hit the switch at his belt.
‘What is it?’
‘Storm, we have an SOS from a merchant ship about ten miles from Boosaaso on the Somalian coast,’ said the ship’s captain. ‘They said they were under attack. The radio seems to have gone dead. Seaman who monitored the call couldn’t tell if it was real or not. I suspect a trap. Eyes isn’t sure. He’s working on it.’
‘What’s the ship?’
‘The Adak. It’s out of Greece. This wouldn’t fit with the normal pattern of attacks. It’s back to the south a bit quicker than they normally move.’
Which, to Storm’s way of thinking, made it all the more likely to be exactly that: an attack.
Boosaaso was a tiny port at the north of Somalia; there was a small airport near the city. They were a good two hours away from the area.
‘I’ll be in the Tactical Center in a minute,’ Storm said. ‘Have Eyes rally one of the Shark Boats; keep the others in reserve in case it’s a decoy. If the Adak sends another SOS, don’t radio back. I don’t want to tip off anyone who’s listening that we’re on our way.’
‘Aye aye, Cap.’
Near Boosaaso, Somalia, on the Gulf of Aden 6 November 1997 1738
The mortar at the rear of the boat made a thick thump as it fired the projectile toward the superstructure of the merchant vessel. The rope whistled behind it as two of Ali’s sailors waited for the device it had fired to land. The mortar’s payload looked like a folded grappling hook, designed to open as it landed. As soon as the ropes stopped flying through the air, the men grabbed and pulled them taut, securing a connection with the ship. In a matter of seconds they had thrown themselves into the air, swinging across the space and climbing up the side of the vessel. This was the most dangerous moment for Ali’s teams as they boarded. Anyone on the other ship with a hatchet and an ounce of courage could sever the line, sending the heavily armed men into the water. To help lessen the chance of this, two of Ali’s team peppered the top rail with their machine guns. Ali himself had unfolded the metal stock of his AK-47, though he did not believe in wasting bullets without a target.
Smoke curled from the superstructure of the merchant ship. The fools! They’d gained nothing by calling for help.
Ali saw the first member of his team clamber over the deck, then the second and third. The other boats drew close; more men followed. There were shouts, gunfire. A swell pitched his small craft toward the merchant vessel. At the last second God intervened, pushing the boats apart.
A ladder, two ladders, were dropped off the side. His men were now firmly in control of the deck.
‘We monitored a message from some of our brothers in Yemen, Captain,’ said Bari, coming up from the radio area. ‘I thought it best to bring it to your attention.’
‘What?’
‘Two large American aircraft landed in southern Saudi Arabia this afternoon,’ said the mate, his black face blending into the growing darkness of the evening. ‘Perhaps they were the Orions you spoke of. The alert is being spread through Yemen and across the gulf to our other friends.’
A green flare shot from the deck of the merchant ship. His men had taken it over.
‘Thank you, Bari,’ he told his mate. ‘Keep me informed. In the meantime, take command here while I go aboard our new vessel.’
‘As you wish, Captain.’
Dreamland 0808
Mack slid into the water and began paddling slowly. A lifeguard watched from the other end, but otherwise he was alone, and would be for the rest of the session. The rehab specialists were off-duty today, and more important, Zen was halfway across the world and couldn’t barge in to harass him.
He knew that should have made him relax, but Mack felt even more stressed and tired as he pushed toward the other side. How the hell did Stockard do this every day, anyway? The guy had been in decent shape before his accident, but he was no athlete, not by a mile.
Mack, on the other hand, had gotten letters in high school football and baseball. He had worked out semiregularly, not so much in the past few months maybe, but still, he could be considered in at least reasonably good shape. Yet here he was, struggling to reach the far side of the pool.
He tried pushing his legs – this was supposed to be about his legs, not his arms. But they wouldn’t respond. They were never going to respond, he thought, despite what the doctors said.
He’d known that the moment he opened his eyes in the hotel in Brunei. Breanna was there, looking over him. He’d seen that look in her face, and he knew. If anyone was an expert on whether people would walk or not, it was Breanna.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст