Free Pirate Alley: A Novel by Stephen Coonts Page B

hours from now. Draft that and let me see the draft.”
    Haducek looked at his watch. “It’s 1130, sir. May we aim for 1430 instead?”
    “Okay. Put that in the message, 1430 local time.”
    “Aye aye, sir.” Captain Haducek strode away.
    The other members of the staff discussed what had to be done and began making it happen. After another brief discussion with Colonel Zakhem, Toad personally briefed the captain of Chosin Reservoir. While they were talking, a first-class yeoman brought Toad a draft of the message dictated by Haducek. Unless Otherwise Directed, UNODIR, this is what I intend to do and when I intend to do it. Left unsaid but implicit was, If you don’t want me to do it, say so. Put yourself on record. Or let me proceed on my initiative and my responsibility.
    Toad corrected one word, signed the form and handed it back.
    When he and the Reservoir ’s captain were finished, Toad called the captain of Richard Ward on a secure voice channel.
    On the Reservoir ’s flight deck, marines in battle dress were lining up to board Ospreys and helicopters. Colonel Max Zakhem didn’t believe in fooling around. Neither did Rear Admiral Toad Tarkington.
    Toad climbed out of his chair and went to the head. He had needed to go for an hour.
    *   *   *
    Most of the women aboard the ship were at least twice the age of the pirates, who wanted something younger. Juicier. Fortunately there were several dozen good candidates in the crew quarters. In twos and threes, they went below and assaulted some women. One of the women screamed so loudly they strangled her, and they left another bleeding badly.
    Captain Arch Penney got the news via telephone on the bridge. He turned to Mustafa al-Said, who was strutting back and forth, keeping his eye on the airplanes and helicopters that buzzed about at least a mile away from the ship.
    “Your men are raping the women. I thought you said they wouldn’t do that.”
    Mustafa’s concern showed in his face. His boss, Ragnar, had told him in no uncertain terms that he and his men must leave the women strictly alone. “We will ask for ransom, and they will demand to speak to the passengers and crew. If they report they have been raped or tortured or abused, we risk our political position.” Ragnar well knew that his lair of Eyl was only safe because the allied governments had refused, so far, to attack it. He didn’t want to give allied decision-makers a reason to change their minds.
    Ragnar had been very explicit. “We want money. Not blood. Not revenge or terror or sex or any of that nonpaying shit. Money. Money we can spend. Don’t fuck this up, Mustafa.” Those were not his exact words, of course, but close enough. “Your men can wait until they are back in Eyl, then they can have all the women they can stand. If they have money, the women of Somalia will line up to fuck them.”
    Mustafa left his two pirates who could read a compass in charge on the bridge and went below. He didn’t really care what the infidels thought of rape or his men; he cared greatly about pleasing Ragnar, who had a nasty habit of killing people who displeased him. People who thought they had a tough boss had no idea what a really tough boss looked like.
    *   *   *
    Radio talk-show host Mike Rosen had been using the Internet computers in the computer room just off the ship’s library when the pirates boarded the ship. He heard the shooting and the captain’s announcement. Pirates had taken the ship.
    Rosen was no hero, but he was a journalist, and he knew that he was sitting in the middle of the biggest story he had ever covered. Maybe as big as 9/11. He logged off the Internet and grabbed his computer bag, which held his laptop, and retreated into the office just off the computer room. It wasn’t much, just a desk and chair, a computer and monitor, and a telephone. The computer on the desk was an old Dell, just like the ones in the computer room for the passengers to use. Rosen carefully