Free Pirate Alley: A Novel by Stephen Coonts Page A

helos.
    As Toad studied it, Flip Haducek and Colonel Zakhem joined him.
    “Washington wants to approve any plan of action you decide on,” Haducek said. He wiggled the message board in his hand.
    “Gentlemen,” Toad said flatly, “my preferred course is an overwhelming show of force. Steam alongside with armed marines lining the rails of this ship and the Ward, helos and Ospreys overhead, fighters zipping past at masthead height. That is what I intend to do. When we’ve given them a good look, marines will rappel down and take the ship. They’ll be letting it all hang out. Still, it could work.”
    Zakhem nodded his concurrence. The pirates could shoot the marines on the ropes, of course. It would take guts to go down those ropes. His marines had plenty.
    “But if it doesn’t work, if they start machine-gunning captives or shooting marines, we need another plan,” the admiral continued. “I am not willing to watch those bastards sail away on the ocean blue with eight hundred and fifty captives to ransom at their leisure.”
    “A clandestine boarding by SEALs tonight,” Colonel Zakhem said. He pointed to the monitor. “Those lines dangling over the side. Those are on the grappling hooks the pirates used to board. They are still there.”
    Toad stared. The lines were difficult to see on the monitor. “We need real photos, of both sides of the ship. Blow-ups. Flip?”
    “Aye aye, sir.” He picked up a telephone. The photos had already been taken and were being processed, he was told.
    “SEALs,” the admiral whispered, staring at the thin lines on the monitor.
    “If it were dark enough, a few determined men in wet suits might be able to climb those lines or their own and get aboard unnoticed,” Zakhem mused. “After all, the pirates did it. Who knows, if SEALs get aboard, the pirates can surrender or die.”
    Toad wasn’t so optimistic. The pirates would want a shit-pot full of money for all those people, and he suspected they would fight like hell to get it. On the other hand, four or five SEALs sneaking through the ship slitting throats and tossing pirates overboard might convince the remainder they were in over their heads. Might. Or might not.
    “Colonel, you and Flip scare up some SEALs and bring me a plan.”
    The two officers left without a word.
    Toad sat staring at the monitor and tac display until his ops officer approached him.
    “We’ve rescued three pirates, sir. There was a fourth, but he had a twenty millimeter round through his abdomen and died five minutes after we pulled him out.”
    “What do they say?”
    “They are from Eyl, Somalia. Their warlord is a guy named Ragnar.”
    Ops had prepared a message for Tarkington’s signature. He read it through carefully. There was a brief description of the Sultan, projected time of arrival off the Horn of Africa, intel from the rescued pirates, projected time of arrival at Eyl, the first suitable pirate port, and so on.
    He thought if the pirates intended to cross the bar into Eyl, they would wait for dawn. They were seamen, certainly, but Sultan was not a fishing boat or pirate scow. Tod signed the message.
    He picked up his binoculars and focused them on Sultan. Tarkington made a face. Then he began cursing, silently. Ah me.
    Toad wondered what was going on aboard that ship.
    Whatever it was, the pirates had the initiative. Toad wanted it back. He wanted to force his will upon the pirates, force them to do what he wanted, which was surrender. His primary goal was to make the pirate captain realize he had no other options.
    “Every marine aboard is to be topside and on the sponsons with a rifle. We’ll make it plain—they can surrender or die.”
    He glanced at his staff. “Flip, send another Flash message to Washington, Fifth Fleet, everyone on the list. Let’s do this as an Unless Otherwise Directed. Tell them Plan A and Plan B. We will go as soon as we get the marines transferred to the Ward, and our ships in position. Make that two