Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2) (25 page)

‘That’s for killing my cousin,’ snarled the pirate, ceasing his burst of violence.

Brad slumped to the deck, blood pouring from multiple wounds. Connor rushed to his side, but could see the damage was catastrophic.

‘C-c-citadel,’ gasped Brad.

Connor tried to pick him up and drag him to safety.

‘No …’ Brad groaned, gripping Connor’s hand with the last of his strength. ‘Get the girls –’ His eyes rolled back in his head, his body shuddered then fell deathly still.

‘Brad!’ cried Connor, trying to revive his friend and mentor.

Another gunshot rang out, its deafening blast making Connor cower in terror. He glanced over the rail. The Dutch captain lay at the pirate’s feet, his body twitching, blood pooling round his head. In the water below, a skiff docked alongside the
Orchid
, grappling hooks and ladders latched on like claws, and pirates surged up the ropes.

This is going to be a slaughter
, Connor realized with horror.

With their comrades killed in action, the pirates wanted more than just to hijack – they wanted revenge.

Having no time to mourn Brad, Connor sprinted along the far side of the yacht. The rest of the
Orchid
’s crew knew the drill and were already running for their lives.

Connor burst into the sky lounge.

‘What’s happening?’ Chloe shrieked, their cards scattered across the table. ‘We heard gunfire.’

‘Brad’s been shot. Pirates.’

‘No … not again. It can’t be happening,’ cried Emily, collapsing to the floor at the sight of Brad’s blood smeared over Connor’s clothes.

‘Back to the citadel,’ said Connor, pulling the distraught Emily to her feet and grabbing Chloe by the wrist. He bundled them down the stairs as fast as he could.

They met Kieran and Scott dragging Jordan out of the guest bedroom. Sophie was dashing ahead with Amanda down the corridor.

‘Where’s everyone going?’ asked Cali, running after them.

‘Safe room,’ cried Emily, almost tripping over her sister’s heels. ‘Come with us.’

They passed the staircase leading to the lower deck. Outside they could hear urgent shouts, the language strange and unintelligible to Connor’s ears.

‘Hurry!’ urged the captain, who was waiting at the entrance to the galley. He shepherded Amanda and Sophie through the narrow doorway and towards the crew’s quarters.

But, as Kieran and Scott tried to manhandle the injured Jordan through, a bottleneck formed and panic ensued.

‘Not you, pirate boy!’ said Scott, kicking Cali away.

The boy tumbled to the floor and was trampled underfoot. Emily tried to help him up.

‘Leave him,’ said Connor as he pushed her on, Emily and her sister being his sole priority.

Chloe screamed as a devilish face appeared at a nearby porthole. A gunshot went off. Like a pack of baying dogs, the pirates’ whoops and cries could be heard closing in. Connor noticed the door leading to the outside deck start to open. Realizing they’d never all make it to the citadel in time, he shoved Emily and Chloe into the captain’s arms and rushed back down the corridor.

‘NO!’ barked the captain.

But Connor was committed to the sacrifice. He launched himself into a flying kick just as a large head with jug ears poked inside. Connor’s foot struck the back of the door, slamming it against the frame and crushing the pirate in the jamb. The pirate howled in pain and fury before retracting his bruised head from its vice-like grip. Connor threw his weight against the door and turned the latch lock. The pirate could be heard hammering furiously on the other side.

‘Come on, Connor,’ said the captain, holding the galley door open for him.

Connor could see Emily and Chloe were through and heading for the safety of the citadel. He was the only one left – aside from Cali, who was struggling back to his feet. As he ran for the galley, a burst of gunfire erupted behind him. Connor heard the lock shattering and the door being kicked open.

‘
Joogso!
’ shouted the pirate. ‘
Istaag ama waan ku tooganayaa
.’

Connor had no idea what the man was saying, but he wasn’t going to stop for anyone.

‘STOP! He kill us!’ cried Cali, holding up his hand and getting in Connor’s way.

Glancing over his shoulder, Connor saw the jug-eared pirate levelling his AK47 at him. As the pirate depressed the trigger, Connor shoved Cali aside but was too late to save himself. A bullet clipped his upper arm, spinning him round. A second bullet struck him in the chest and he tumbled down the staircase, landing in a heap at the bottom and lying there, silent and motionless.

Captain Locke sealed the bulkhead door. There was a
clunk
as the heavy-duty lock engaged. The door wouldn’t be opened again for anything but rescue.

‘Where’s Connor?’ Emily asked as the captain descended the stairs into the crew’s compact living quarters. The combined kitchen-diner was cramped with nine crew and three guests. Kieran and Scott were settling the groaning Jordan in one of the tiny bunk beds, while the others huddled round the small dining table. An atmosphere of barely restrained hysteria hung in the air.

Captain Locke addressed the survivors, his expression solemn. ‘Connor didn’t make it.’

‘What do you mean,
he didn’t make it
?’ said Emily, rising from the bench and clutching the table for support. ‘He’s still out there. So’s Cali. We have to open the door.’

The captain rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘No. I saw Connor get shot. He’s dead.’

Emily sank back on to the bench. ‘This can’t be happening …’

She stared mutely at the cabin wall, tears welling in her
eyes in silent grief. Overwhelmed by the sudden loss, Chloe gave a grieved cry, then fell forward and buried her head in her arms.

‘What about Brad?’ asked Sophie in a tiny and hesitant voice.

Captain Locke sadly shook his head. Sophie collapsed into sobs, Kathy pulling her into an embrace, letting her friend weep on her shoulder.

From the stairwell, the harsh clank of metal on metal rang out. All eyes turned fearfully towards the sound.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Captain Locke. ‘They can’t get through.’

‘So what now?’ asked Amanda, her lips thin, the make-up no longer hiding the strain. ‘We’re trapped.’

‘We sit tight and await rescue.’

‘From
who
exactly?
He
said –’ she pointed to the chief officer almost as if in accusation – ‘there aren’t any other boats in the area.’

‘NATO’s navy task force,’ replied the captain, trying to maintain his composure and authority while reeling inside from their desperate situation. ‘Danny, send out a Mayday on the radio. See who you can contact.’

The chief officer nodded and went over to the small console in the corner of the room.

‘I won’t lie to you,’ said the captain, leaning forward and resting his palms on the table. ‘Rescue could be anything from a day to a week away. We may have to prepare for even longer. The key thing is to remain focused and positive. Chef, I want you to make a full inventory of
our food and water supplies. Geoff, check our power situation and what reserve batteries we have access to. Kathy and Sophie, I need you to organize the bunk rooms and a sleeping rota. Kieran, take stock of our first-aid supplies and attend to Jordan with –’

‘Captain,’ interrupted Danny, his tone grave. ‘The radio’s dead.’

Captain Locke frowned. ‘Have you tried all the channels?’

The chief officer nodded. ‘I even checked the battery connection.’

‘Let me have a look,’ said Geoff, the engineer getting up from the table to inspect. After testing a series of buttons, he opened up the front panel. He glanced over his shoulder at the captain, a dark look in his eyes. ‘Somebody’s sabotaged it.’

Scott punched the wall in fury. ‘That little rat of a stowaway! If I ever get my hands on him again, I’ll wring his scrawny neck.’

‘So we’re … cut off from rescue?’ uttered Amanda, clasping her hands tightly together to stop their trembling.

‘Not exactly,’ said Chief Officer Fielding, managing a reassuring smile through his beard. ‘I triggered the EPIRB distress beacon as I left the bridge.’

‘Shut that thing down,’ ordered Spearhead, pointing to the flashing light atop the EPIRB unit.

Big Mouth rushed across the bridge to the bracket-mounted beacon and searched for the button that Mr WiFi had shown him on the laptop diagram. The emergency instructions meant nothing to him, but he found the red circle and pressed it. The light went dead.

Spearhead picked up the radio from the comms unit. Mimicking the BBC World Service presenter to whom he’d listened while learning English, he said in a gruff British accent: ‘All Stations, All Stations, All Stations. This is motor yacht
Orchid
. Our position is …’ He paused briefly, checking the GPS. ‘South 2° 41' 42", East 62° 54' 19". Alongside Dutch yacht
Sunriser
. Engine fire extinguished. No further danger to crew. Cancel our EPIRB distress alert. I repeat, cancel our distress alert.’

Spearhead waited for a response. He received nothing but static.

This was good news, for it meant there were no other ships in the immediate vicinity. Any Mayday calls the
Orchid
might have made by radio would have fallen on deaf ears. But he understood that the EPIRB worked differently and wasn’t limited by range. Before leaving on their mission, Mr WiFi had explained that the unit transmitted a signal every fifty seconds via satellite. The yacht’s identity and position would have already been received by a Maritime Rescue Coordination Centre, who’d have forwarded the data to the Seychelles or Kenyan coastguard. Once a satellite picked up an EPIRB signal, this whole process could take less than a minute.

Spearhead knew he and his men were racing against the clock. The authorities would have their position to within three nautical miles and would soon be launching a search-and-rescue operation. Either the distress alert had to be cancelled or they needed to be long gone by the time any rescue team arrived.

He broadcast the message again. Still no response. Replacing the handset, he spotted the satellite phone further along the console. This would guarantee cancellation – if he could find the right number. As he reached over for the receiver, Spearhead noticed Big Mouth plonking himself in the captain’s chair and planting his feet on the control panel.

‘Get off! I’m the captain round here,’ Spearhead snarled, jabbing a thumb at his chest.

Big Mouth unwillingly eased himself from the leather seat as Juggs stormed on to the bridge. ‘The crew have holed up in the bow.’

Spearhead spun on him in irritation. ‘Well, break the door down.’

Juggs shrugged ineffectually. ‘We can’t. It’s steel. Locked from the inside.’

Spearhead scowled. This problem would cause a serious delay. Without the
Orchid
’s captain or his crew, he couldn’t sail the super-yacht – not with his knuckle-headed men, anyway. Spearhead cursed himself for shooting the Dutch captain, but his bloodlust had got the better of him. Then he remembered the equipment he’d spotted in the loading bay of the Dutch yacht.

‘There’s a cutting torch aboard the other boat,’ he said. ‘Get it.’

Spearhead turned to Big Mouth who was now randomly pressing buttons on the bridge console and watching the lights flash. ‘Stop that! Take four men and search this yacht. Bring any hostages to me. If we can’t cut through, we’ll need an incentive to
make
them open the door.’