Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2) (31 page)

Connor was stunned by the sheer scale of the tanker. The deck alone had to be the size of two football stadiums.
How on earth will I locate the girls, let alone get them to safety?
he wondered.

The bridge tower seemed to be the most logical place to start searching. But that in itself was as big as a block of flats. At the very top Connor thought he saw movement – a possible pirate lookout. He’d have to be careful. At least the tangle of pipework, for loading and offloading the tanker’s chemicals, provided him with good cover.

Darting from the gangway to the shelter of a mechanical pump, Connor picked his way along the deck. At one point, it seemed his ears were playing tricks on him. He could hear
bleating
.

Then he spotted a couple of goats tied to the starboard rail.

More hostages
, thought Connor grimly.

He was over halfway when the sound of voices alerted him to danger. He ducked behind a cluster of oil drums. A
few moments later, two pirates strode by, laughing, barely bothering to look around them. If they were on guard duty, they clearly weren’t concerned about the possibility of an attack or a rescue attempt.

From his hiding place, Connor watched as they approached the goats. One of the pirates untethered a scrawny grey one and led it over to an area of open deck. With a twist of its head, he pinned the poor beast to the floor. Crouching beside it, the other pirate drew a long curved knife. With a practised hand, he slit the goat’s throat and began to saw through the sinew and tendons.

Connor had to look away as the goat’s pained and desperate bleats faded to a final gargled breath. When he glanced back, the deck was slick with blood. Connor flashed back to Brad’s death, the security officer’s corpse still lying on the
Orchid
’s deck, untouched and unmourned. If the pirates could murder Brad in cold blood and slaughter a goat with such lack of compassion, he dreaded to think how they’d treat their hostages, or him if he was caught.

While the two pirates finished butchering the goat, Connor managed to stay hidden by weaving through the maze of pipes and metalwork as he made his way to the bridge tower. With a quick check above, he sprinted across an exposed walkway and ducked through a hatch. Inside he paused for breath, the image of the bleeding goat still fresh in his mind. It impelled him to keep going.

A narrow corridor led to an open stairwell.
Up or down?
he thought.

He guessed the hostages would be held on the lower decks, secure and out of sight. Connor was about to descend when he heard Emily’s voice cry from above, ‘Let go! You’re hurting me.’

‘We know
exactly
where my family are, Clive. Send in your warship now,’ demanded Mr Sterling, his hand almost strangling the phone’s receiver as he spoke direct with the Australian Prime Minister. ‘What do you mean
international incident
? I’ll give you a domestic incident that’ll end your career if you don’t rescue them at once.’

Mr Sterling’s face purpled as he listened to the Prime Minister’s reply. ‘Well, that’s a fat lot of help!’ He slammed down the phone. ‘Bloody politicians.’

He paced the briefing room of the Seychelles Regional Anti-Piracy Coordination Centre like a caged tiger. Colonel Black sat on the opposite side of the conference table, Charley next to him. Both waited for Mr Sterling to calm down. Then the colonel said, ‘What did your Prime Minister have to say?’

Mr Sterling stopped pacing and pulled out a chair. ‘He’ll station HMAS
Melbourne
off the coast of Somalia – twelve nautical miles out. A pointless gesture. What use is it there? Why can’t my government be like the Americans and
act
? A few Navy SEALs and this would be over in no time.’

‘If you’re referring to the Maersk
Alabama
hijacking, that US rescue occurred in international waters,’ explained the colonel. ‘Unfortunately, your Prime Minister’s hands are tied. The Australian Navy can’t breach Somalia’s territorial waters without creating a diplomatic crisis.’

‘We already have a crisis!’

‘Yes, but once a ship is taken it’s very hard to rescue the crew and passengers without loss of life. Moreover, as soon as the pirates see the warship coming, they’ll relocate the hostages. All they’re interested in is the money. The lowest-risk method is to pay a ransom.’

‘Fine,’ relented Mr Sterling, holding up his hands. ‘So why haven’t the pirates contacted us yet?’

Colonel Black didn’t have an answer for that one.

They sat in silence, the air-conditioning unit whirring in the background. Mr Sterling’s bodyguard, Dan, poured his boss a cup of coffee then offered one to Colonel Black and Charley. Declining, Charley gazed through the glass into the centre’s operations room. A live satellite surveillance feed on a monitor displayed a magnified section of the Somali coastline. In the waters beyond the port of Hobyo, several large cargo ships could be seen. Each contained hostages – more than a hundred seamen in total, from every corner of the globe, all waiting desperately for the shipping companies to pay their ransom demand. The chemical tanker in the middle, the
Golden Phoenix
, was where they presumed Mr Sterling’s family and crew were being held. In her shadow, barely visible, was the white outline of the
Orchid
.

Is Connor still aboard?
Charley clasped her phone in her hand, praying for another call from him. But an hour had passed and nothing.
Perhaps Connor has been captured?
Charley tried to push the dark thoughts to the back of her mind.

A mobile phone rang, breaking the tension.

Charley’s heart leapt with hope until she looked at her phone’s display and discovered it wasn’t hers.

Mr Sterling pulled his mobile from his pocket. For a second or two, he stared at the screen. The number displayed a country code of +252. Somalia. He thumbed the Answer button, putting it on speakerphone.

A smooth, lightly accented voice spoke. ‘Hello? Mr Sterling?’

‘Yes,’ he replied cautiously.

‘My name’s Mr Ali. I’m a local NGO worker in Somalia. I’ve heard about your family’s plight. I want to help negotiate their release.’

Connor crept along the corridor. He’d followed the sound of Emily’s struggle up three flights, then lost her.

Despite the overwhelming urge to run, he couldn’t rush his search for Emily or her sister. A pirate could appear at any moment. There were countless cabins, storerooms, alcoves and stairways from which they could materialize; the bridge tower was like a rabbit warren. Yet the dangers of encountering a pirate were matched by the safety that all the nooks and crannies offered Connor as places to hide in.

As he approached an open door, halfway along the corridor, he heard a man speaking in English.

‘No, I’m not a pirate myself,’ assured the honeyed voice. ‘As I said, my name is Mr Ali. I volunteered to help. I want to save your family and crew.’

Connor slipped into a storeroom opposite. Peering round the door frame, he gained a narrow view of the scene. A pot-bellied man with a receding hairline and greasy skin sat at a Formica table. Sweat patches blotted his dark green shirt that hung limp over a pair of long chino shorts, and on his feet he wore a pair of worn plastic
sandals. He had a mobile phone wedged between his ear and left shoulder, while lighting up a self-rolled cigarette. Blowing out a puff of smoke, he said, ‘I understand your concern. I will do my utmost to help.’

Another man sat opposite. Connor caught a glimpse of a pair of silver-mirrored sunglasses and a blood-red shawl, but most of Connor’s view was blocked by the mountainous pirate who’d hijacked the
Orchid
. Beside him stood Emily, small and frail by comparison.

Connor simply wanted to dash in, snatch her and flee the ship. But he knew he’d have to bide his time for the right moment if he was to rescue both the sisters. Besides, he was intrigued by the presence of this Mr Ali and the hope he offered.

‘Yes, I am on board,’ said the pot-bellied man, tapping the ash from his burning cigarette on to the floor. He eyed Emily and smiled; a tooth was missing, the others were tinged a sour yellow. ‘Yes, I have seen your family, and the crew. They’re all in good health … for the time being.’

Despite Mr Ali’s amiable tone, his last words smacked of a veiled threat. Mr Ali took another draw on his cigarette and casually blew smoke rings into the still air.

‘The pirates are demanding one hundred million dollars.’

‘
One hundred million dollars!
’ exclaimed Mr Sterling, staring at his mobile phone in disbelief. ‘That’s an outrageous figure.’

Colonel Black and Charley exchanged astonished looks. Such a ransom was unheard of. The demand was more than half the total payout for all Somali hostages the previous year.

‘It’s that, or you’ll never see your family again,’ said Mr Ali.

‘Don’t threaten me,’ snapped Mr Sterling.

‘Please, you must understand, I’m just repeating what the pirates ask me to. I don’t want your family or crew hurt any more than you do.’

‘Then tell your pirates that –’

Colonel Black shot Mr Sterling a warning look. They’d discussed their negotiation strategy. A calm, level-headed approach was necessary. Somali pirates were known to be clever aggressive negotiators and quick to take advantage of any signs of weakness.

Mr Sterling took a deep breath and composed himself.
‘That figure is too high. I can’t possibly raise such an amount.’

‘Mr Sterling, one hundred million dollars is barely ten per cent of your estimated wealth. I’m sure you can afford it.’

‘
Estimated
,’ repeated Mr Sterling emphatically. ‘Most of my wealth is tied up in companies.’

‘Then I’d advise you to start selling your companies.’

‘That’ll take months. I’m sure your pirates would prefer a quick resolution to this. Why don’t we agree two million and be done with it?’

A weary sigh was heard over the line. ‘I will ask, but time is what the pirates have in abundance.’

There was muffled noise as a hand covered the speaker at the other end. Charley thought she heard the sound of incredulous laughter. Mr Ali came back on the phone.

‘They refuse your offer. It’s one hundred million dollars. Nothing less.’

Mr Sterling clenched his fist. ‘But what they’re demanding is
five times
any previous ransom.’

‘This is simply business for the pirates, Mr Sterling. You must understand: supply and demand. Fewer hijackings means less supply. Therefore the pirates demand more. And what price can you put on family? Besides, one hundred million is nothing compared to what countries like yours have stolen from Somalia.’

Mr Sterling frowned, confused by the sudden line of argument. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Foreign trawlers plundering all our fish stocks. Tankers
illegally dumping toxic waste on our shores. Your newspapers must have covered the story at some point.’

‘I’m sure they have. But those offences have nothing to do with me.’

‘That may be true,’ replied Mr Ali, ‘but they have everything to do with why these men are pirates.’

Mr Sterling went to respond, but Colonel Black held up his hand to silence him. They were getting bogged down in irrelevant argument. He hurriedly wrote a message on a piece of paper and passed it across the table.

Mr Sterling read the note, then said to Mr Ali, ‘Before we negotiate further, we need proof of life.’