Free Deadly Coast by R. E. McDermott

always find our discussions agreeable.”
    To say nothing of profitable, thought Dugan.
    “Now,” Macabee said, “how can I be of service?”
    Alex glanced at Dugan again, seemingly hesitant, and then began.
    “We’d like to discuss the issue of piracy,” he said. “Specifically in Somalia.”
    Macabee nodded as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “A serious issue. Not only in Somalia but increasingly in West Africa as well. We, of course, decry these barbarous acts, and are fully supportive of international efforts to end the blight of piracy wherever it exists.”
    “What we’d like, Mr. Minister,” Dugan said, “is some clarification of the Liberian position regarding the penalties for piracy and enforcement of anti-piracy laws. The Liberian statutes seem a bit …” Dugan smiled. “Shall we say, vague.”
    The Liberian returned his smile. “I think of them as flexible, Mr. Dugan. After all, no law can anticipate the circumstances of every incident.” He shrugged. “Alas, the point is moot. My poor country lacks resources to enforce criminal laws on an international basis. But what, may I inquire, is your interest?”
    Dugan looked at Alex, who extracted a small notepad from his breast pocket, scribbled a figure on it, and slid it across the table to Macabee. The Liberian picked up the pad and peered at it at arm’s length, before fumbling in his shirt pocket for a pair of half-lens reading glasses with expensive tortoiseshell frames. He donned the glasses and stared down his nose at the note.
    “Your interest is quite … substantial,” he said at last.
    “And available for deposit in the offshore bank of your choice,” Alex said.
    Macabee smiled. “Once again, Mr. Kairouz, how may I help you?”
    “As Mr. Dugan indicated,” Alex said, “we’d like to know your country’s position on piracy.”
    Macabee’s smile widened. “My dear Mr. Kairouz, what would you like it to be?”

Chapter Seven
    Offices of Phoenix Shipping Ltd.
London, UK
    Alex pecked at the keyboard, studying the spreadsheet as Dugan and Anna looked on.
    “Are we going to have enough?” Dugan asked.
    “It’s tight,” Alex said. “Between Macabee and the projected costs of the operation, we’ll consume our entire cash reserve, to say nothing of loss of the ship. I’ve got to find some contingency funds somewhere.” Alex sighed. “And then hope like bloody hell I can convince the insurers to make us whole later.”
    Dugan nodded, as Anna spoke.
    “Not to change the subject,” she said, “but what about Ward? Have you filled him in on this bloody insanity? If not, I’m going to have to, I’m afraid. Besides, he has the best intel, presuming he’s inclined to share instead of having you two locked up as dangers to yourselves and others.”
    “I’ll call him later,” Dugan said, “after I’ve—”
    “Now, Tom. Or I will,” Anna said, holding up her cell phone.
    Dugan glared at her, then sighed and punched Ward’s number into the phone on the conference table.
    “On the speaker, please,” Anna said sweetly, and suppressed a smile as Dugan jabbed the speaker button.
    “Are you nuts?” Ward asked, ten minutes later.
    Dugan looked at Anna. “I get that a lot.”
    “Seriously,” Ward said. “You can’t go around making up your own laws, even if it is the high seas.”
    “They’re not our laws,” Dugan said. “They’re laws of the sovereign Republic of Liberia, and Phoenix Lynx and well over half the hostage ships fly the Liberian flag. It’s all legal.”
    “Laws you influenced and—”
    “Give it a rest, Jesse,” Dugan said. “The US and UK and every other nation tries to influence other countries’ policies all the time. How else did corrupt shitholes like Yemen and Somaliland become so cooperative about taking captured pirates when no other countries want to get involved?”
    “Those were government-to-government deals, and you know it. Not greasing some minister’s