Running Dark

2

KHALIL IBRAHIM MUNGABE’S NICKNAME WAS “THE BONE PICKER,” because he began his career stealing the leftover shreds of offal found on the commercial fishing boats that trawled the seas off the coast of Somalia. It was said that Mungabe liked nothing and no one, but that wasn’t exactly true. He tolerated his wives well enough, and his children occasionally did something to make him laugh, even if he didn’t know their names and so could not praise them. He called them “that one” or “this one” and left it there.

He sat in Dubai and shivered in the snow. Dubai’s temperature that day was a blistering thirty degrees Celsius and rising higher, but inside the mall where he sat, it was snowing fake snow. Mungabe thought the affectation ridiculous. To him it just highlighted how the Saudis had bowed their heads to the European oppressors. He sat in the food court and waited for his contact, fingering the silver ring he wore in the shape of an antelope head as he did.

Mungabe’s power was on the verge of exploding, and he was taking the next logical step to ensure his future in this life and beyond. The man he was to meet had the power to bridge Mungabe’s world and the European world, and Mungabe planned on exploiting him and then killing him, in that order.

The man strolled up, tall and thin, like Mungabe himself, but wearing an expensive suit purchased in London. He had the hard, pointed face that Mungabe thought was the mark of a European. The man’s nickname was “the Vulture,” because he’d risen to power by driving his rivals into crisis through any means necessary. When the distressed companies began selling their assets one by one in their frantic attempts to save their floundering businesses, the Vulture would swoop down to snatch up the bones.

The Vulture took a seat across from Mungabe, looking unaffected by the freezing air, which Mungabe thought might be real rather than false bravado. Likely he was far more accustomed to such temperatures than Mungabe.

“How do you like the snow? I thought you’d want to experience it,” the Vulture said.

Mungabe clamped his teeth together to stop their clattering. He hated the snow, and he suspected that the Vulture knew it. It was all calculated to put him at a disadvantage. Mungabe couldn’t wait to complete their joint mission and then finish the man off. He’d do it in Somalia and leave his carcass in the sun to rot. Wonder how he’d feel then? Mungabe thought. He shifted in his seat and got right down to business.

“Tell me what you require. I haven’t much time. My ship leaves from the port today. Did my associate in South Africa perform well for you?”

The Vulture raised an eyebrow. “You look cold. Perhaps we take a seat in the restaurant.” The Vulture smiled a fake smile and waved Mungabe to the nearby bistro. Once inside, the Vulture crossed his legs and leaned back in the wooden chair. A waiter came by to hand them two menus. Mungabe took one and was somewhat relieved to see pictures next to the names of the dishes offered, which made ordering much easier. The Vulture waited for the server to leave before continuing.

“Your associate worked fine. But I have another request of you. There’s a large ship off the coast of Somalia that I want you to intercept.”

Mungabe’s ears perked up. He excelled at stealing ships. He commanded a large crew of Somali pirates, and in the last years his enterprise had grown exponentially. He’d expanded his fleet and just this quarter had purchased night-vision goggles, GPS radar-scanning equipment, and new weaponry. All so his pirates could troll farther out and net bigger fish. As a result of his investment, he was having an outstanding year so far. He’d taken fifty ships to date, with eight hundred hostages, usually crewmen, and netted $20 million in ransoms paid. His spectacular successes included an oil tanker worth $90 million and two commercial tuna-fishing boats worth $20 million each. One of the boats was currently docked in the village of Eyl, where it was slowly sinking into the ocean as the result of a hole shot in the hull by one of his crew. He often warned them to shoot above the waterline so that the boat, once boarded, could be piloted back to shore for salvaging, but that particular ship had put up a fight, and the only way to take it was to disable it and kill everyone on board.

Now, however, several freighters had hired Darkview, an American security company, to protect their ships that used the Gulf of Aden trade route. In the last two months, Darkview personnel had managed to sink four of Mungabe’s boats. In one incident the security company continued to chase his crew two hundred miles, not even stopping when they came within Somali territorial waters, as they were supposed to do. Darkview had captured the pirates and dragged them into Hargeisa to be tried. Mungabe had paid a princely sum to ensure their acquittal—it would not do to have any of his men sit in prison. Prison tested a man’s loyalties, and Mungabe wanted no one to turn traitor on him. It was during the trial that he’d decided to launch his own offensive against the company that plagued him so.

“What type of ship do you want me to steal?” Mungabe said.

The waiter was back to take their order. Mungabe pointed to a fish dish, while the Vulture ordered in French. When the waiter left, the Vulture leaned in to him.

“A cruise ship. The finest in the world. It embarked on its virgin cruise from Dubai to Victoria in the Seychelles Islands a few days ago.”

Mungabe settled back in his chair while he thought about what the Vulture had said. He didn’t read papers, didn’t care about world news, and had little interest in the politics of the West, but even he could see that taking the finest ship in the world would reflect well on him. Still, he frowned.

“The cruise lines don’t come near Somali waters. Victoria is two thousand kilometers away. Too far. We’ve only taken ships at six hundred.”

The Vulture raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

Mungabe felt a flash of anger. He could do anything. “I can, but for a very large price. What will you pay?”

The Vulture shook his head. “I pay nothing. You do this for the ship and its hostages; your usual take.”

Mungabe laughed. This Vulture was joking. “I don’t need a cruise ship. I need a fishing ship! They are at least useful after. What do you think my crews do when they are not pirating, huh? They fish. They use the hijacked commercial boats to do it. They do it for Somalia. Without my assistance Somalia’s waters would be emptied by the rest of the world. They sneak into our territorial boundaries where the tuna lives, steal our fish by the tons, and leave nothing for us. We stop this plundering by the rich and give to the poor.”

The Vulture smirked. “Spare me the Robin Hood story. You don’t give anything to the poor. You keep it all for yourself.”

Mungabe shook his head. “Still, I don’t do this for the boat. You must pay.”

The Vulture shifted. “I will pay you then, but in that case it is understood that I get both the ship and its cargo.”

“Cargo? What cargo?”

The Vulture shrugged. “Pharmaceutical products. Not important for you, but I would like to have them.”

The waiter returned with their meals. As he lowered the Vulture’s in front of him, Mungabe thought he would retch. On the plate was a large lobster; its black legs, hard carapace, and beady eyes were revolting, as was the heavy, oily odor of the drawn butter that sat in a cup next to it. The sight and smell of it repelled Mungabe. Like most Somalis, he would never eat a lobster, which he considered the equivalent of a sea cockroach. It was a bottom feeder, eating the fecal remains of the rest of the ocean’s creatures.

The Vulture sliced the beast in half with one deft cut from a long, wicked-looking knife. He twisted off a leg, put it to his lips, and sucked on it. He did all of this while gazing at Mungabe. Mungabe feared no man, but in that minute he wondered if he was dealing with a demon. He shook off the thought.

“I want two million dollars, and, as I told you last month, I want the American security company called Darkview put out of business. For that price I will hijack the ship. You get the carcass and cargo. I get any money on board and its passengers to ransom as I see fit.”

“One million. No more. Plus, you pay all expenses.”

“And Darkview?”

The Vulture waved a languid hand in the air. “It is already begun.”