Running Dark

8

CAPTAIN WAINWRIGHT CLAPPED SUMNER ON THE SHOULDER. “Good job. How long do you think it will be before they come back?” Sumner watched Block blanch. The possibility that they’d come back must not have occurred to him. But Sumner had no doubt they’d return. The Kaiser Franz carried rich passengers and a casino filled with cash. They’d take the money, kidnap the passengers, and strip the boat for its parts.

“A little before dawn, I would think. And I have bad news. I saw radar equipment. Can you switch off yours and alter course? Take a less familiar route?”

Wainwright pondered the question for a moment. “I hate to turn off the beam. It will help the Redoubtable find us.”

“And the pirates,” Sumner said.

Wainwright nodded. “As for the route we take, I don’t even know how long we can continue. Depends on how bad the damage is. I’ve got the engine crew checking into it now. If we’re taking on water, we’ll need to put into port as quickly as possible.”

“Back to the Seychelles?” Sumner said.

Wainwright shook his head. “Last radar showed the pirates were massed between us and the islands.”

“They’re herding us.”

Wainwright’s expression was bleak. “They seem to be.”

“In which direction?”

Wainwright grimaced. “Somalia.”

“Somalia? I didn’t pay thousands of dollars to go to Somalia.” Block’s voice was loud and scared. Sumner thought the man had a right to be frightened. Somalia was one of the most dangerous places on earth. Mogadishu’s port bustled with commerce, most of it illegal. It was likely that the pirates originated from there. Sumner would have preferred Mombasa, Kenya, although that country was in the midst of its own problems.

Wainwright turned on Block. “Mr. Block, leave the deck. Now, please.”

Block looked like he wanted to argue. Sumner frowned at the man. Block glanced at the titanium case still in Sumner’s hand, closed his mouth, and left the deck.

Wainwright turned to his first officer. “Let me know if there are any injuries, and tell me the minute you get a report from the engine crew. Radio the Redoubtable and tell them we’ll need an escort to the nearest port.”

After the officer left, Wainwright sighed. “This cruise line serves a very wealthy, very pampered clientele. Any number of bad elements in Mogadishu will see them for what they are: easy prey and big money in ransoms. I’ll do anything to avoid Mogadishu.” A small radio attached to Wainwright’s belt crackled, and a voice poured from it.

“Bad news, sir. The Redoubtable radioed back and said they can’t escort us anywhere.”

Wainwright depressed a button on the device and placed it to his lips. “Why not? Twenty minutes ago they said they were on the way.”

“They’re under fire from the insurgents. Four cigarette boats are bearing down on them, and two helicopters. I didn’t know the insurgents even had helicopters. We’ve been advised to change course and hightail it out of the area as fast as possible.”

“What’s our situation?”

“The lower decks reported in. No injuries. Two staterooms sustained damage. Satellite’s sporadic, radar’s out, but I think both can be fixed. We’re not taking on water, but oil pressure is dropping like a stone. We’re trying to determine why. Unless we can plug the leak, we’re going to be floating dead in twenty minutes.”

“Let’s get the generators ready to go.”

“Already gave that order. I have two men suiting up. When we can safely stop, they’re going to submerge to see if there is any damage below the waterline that could account for the oil-pressure problem.”

“Tell me when it gets too dangerous to continue. When it is, we’ll cut the engines.”

“That would be now, sir.”

Captain Wainwright sighed. “Fine, cut them.” He turned to Sumner. “We’re grenade fodder.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “Come on into the control room. Let’s assess our options there.”

Sumner followed Wainwright into the control room, where Wainwright’s first officer, a plump man named Nathan Janklow, turned to greet them.

“We only have so much fuel. We’re going to burn it at a ridiculous rate if we continue at the speed we need to maintain distance from these guys. We’re crazy to even consider Mogadishu. Frying pan to fire,” Janklow said. He was only in his mid-thirties but had the dour personality of a much older man. At that moment, though, Sumner agreed with him. Putting in at Mogadishu was a decidedly risky move.

“What about Berbera?” Sumner said.

“Berbera? That’s a Somali port, isn’t it?” Wainwright said. Sumner moved to a large map on the wall and pointed to the northern part of Somalia.

“It’s in the separatist republic of Somaliland. No one really uses it. Technically, the area is a part of Somalia, but it’s been run by the same warlord for over seventeen years now. Somaliland wants nothing more than to break away from Somalia, and they like Americans. They might welcome a chance to play protector. Show the world how different they are.”

Wainwright looked thoughtful. “It’s going to take longer to get there.”

“I’ve heard the port’s a broken-down mess,” Janklow said. “Dilapidated as hell.”

“So’s our ship, at the moment,” Wainwright said.

“They don’t get much foreign aid, so there’s no money for the port, or for anything else. The United States backs the transitional federal government in Mogadishu. And that government considers Somaliland to be squatters. They refuse to recognize the area as its own country,” Sumner said.

Wainwright gave a short laugh. “What government in Mogadishu? The city is a complete disaster, where anarchy reigns supreme. How the hell did we end up backing them and ignoring the peaceful regime located in the same region?”

Sumner shook his head. “I have no idea. But tensions between the separatists and the transitional government are at an all-time low. The transitional government is pushing the U.S. to denounce Somaliland. If we go there, this administration will be put in a difficult position.”

“They’ll have to be realistic. I can’t risk putting over three hundred civilians in at Mogadishu. It’s suicide,” Wainwright said.

“You’re both assuming we’ll get there, but it’s likely we’ll be attacked again long before we reach Berbera.” Janklow was once again ringing the negativity bell, and again Sumner had to agree with him.

“Short-term, we need to get security patrols going. How’s the perimeter system?” Sumner knew that the boat had an electrified outer railing to deter boarding in just such a situation, and that it was a recent addition.

“Second grenade took it out. Doesn’t work,” Janklow said.

“Guns on board?” Sumner spoke to Wainwright.

“Two stun guns and a couple of flare guns. No pistols. Your rifle is the highest-caliber weapon we have.”

“And it’s illegal,” Janklow said.

Sumner nodded. “The only one who’s seen it is Block. I’ll talk to him. Ask him not to broadcast it throughout the ship. We’ll have to double the security patrol. We should have at least two—one on either side and at the front and back—and they should work in shifts.”

Wainwright shook his head. “We don’t have the manpower for that.”

“We’ll need to recruit from the passengers,” Sumner said.

“I don’t want to alarm the passengers any more than we have to.”

“If they’re smart, they’ll feel safer to know that we’re taking steps to increase security. How about I start with Block? He already knows that we think they’ll be back, and he said he hunts. Means he must be able to shoot.”

“I don’t like that guy,” Janklow said, “and he sure as hell panicked just now.”

“He’s as big as a house,” Sumner said. “Someone like that gets frightened, he can do some damage. One of those whippet-thin Somalis climbs over the fence, he can just sit on the guy.”

Wainwright gave a grim laugh. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I’ll put this gun away and go get him. Maybe he has some insight into the other passengers. Help us pick the security team.” Sumner grabbed his gun case and headed out.

The ship’s narrow hallways were empty. The passengers, ordered to their staterooms, had beaten a hasty retreat there. In the casino a dozen die-hard players sat at the blackjack tables, including the Russian and his mistress. They gambled with a joyless determination that reminded Sumner of the stories of passengers left behind on the Titanic, playing while the ship sank. He shook off the ghoulish thought. This ship would not sink. Not if he could help it. He jogged to his stateroom and shoved the titanium case back into the closet.

He found Block at the casino bar, nursing a scotch. Cindy was nowhere in sight. Sumner couldn’t help but feel thankful for that. He didn’t know how she’d handle her husband being tapped for the security team. He slid onto a stool next to Block, who didn’t turn his head but said, “You’re coming to ask me to keep quiet about what I saw, aren’t you?”

Sumner hid his surprise at Block’s cynical question. Something told him to lay it out plain.

“Only about the rifle. The rest you can shout to the world. Preferably the military world. Maybe they’ll send a destroyer to help us.”

Block snorted. “They’d better do it fast. Those pirates are coming back.”

The bartender stopped in front of Sumner. She was an attractive blonde, with green eyes, and even under the plain black-and-white uniform Sumner could see that she had a perfect figure.

She put a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of him and gave him a professional smile. “What can I get you?”

Sumner didn’t want a drink, but he ordered one anyway. “Maker’s Mark, neat.”

The bartender set the drink on the table, and Block raised his in a toast. “To killing the bastards.”

Sumner held his glass in the air. “To winning.”

Block paused, the rim of his tumbler at his lips. He lowered it a fraction. “Ain’t that the same thing?”

“Not if you’re bleeding out while you kill the last one,” Sumner said.

Block shook his head. “Jesus, Sumner, what the hell kinda comment is that? Aren’t you a little young to be so jaded?”

Sumner took a swallow of his drink. The liquor scorched his throat. Even though he hadn’t wanted it, the whiskey seemed like the perfect solution to his problems. He kept silent. He didn’t care to go into his experience in Colombia. When Block saw that he wasn’t going to respond, he changed subjects.

“What’s the plan up there with the officers?”

“Round-the-clock security beefed up by enlisting willing passengers to take shifts. Your name came up, since you said you could shoot. You can shoot, can’t you?”

“You ever met a Texan that couldn’t shoot?”

Sumner shrugged. “I’m sure they exist.”

“Well, I ain’t one of them.”

“So you’ll take a shift?”

Block nodded. “But don’t tell me we’re headed to Mogadishu.”

Sumner shook his head. “We’re going to a small port in the northern part of Somalia run by separatist rebels.”

“I don’t fancy the sound of that. Do we like these guys?”

Sumner took another sip of the drink. It was even better on the second go-around. “If by ‘we’ you mean the United States government, the answer is complicated.”

“Then why the hell are we going?”

“The people are honest. In Somaliland the moneylenders leave stacks of cash unattended while they pray in church, and when they return, it’s still there.” Sumner thought the citizens hesitated to steal not out of honesty but out of fear of the controlling warlord, but he wasn’t about to express his opinion to Block.

Block snorted. “They don’t sound honest—they sound damn stupid.”

“They won’t kill us.”

Block clinked his glass against Sumner’s. “Well, let’s get there quick.”