Stephen Coonts - Pirate Alley

* * *

Mike Rosen and Petty Officer Finnorn watched the choppers from the Sultan ’s galley. Finnorn explained to Rosen what was going on. Supplies coming in, sick people going out.

“Ragnar agreed to this?”

“Yep. We got a guy negotiating. Fellow named Grafton. I hear he’s one tough nut.”

As the helicopters flew seaward, Finnorn produced a waterproof pouch from inside his wet suit. He opened it, extracted a piece of paper. “Is your computer still working? Can you still send e-mails?”

“Yeah.”

“Finish up your chow and let’s go up to the computer center. Here’s an e-mail that the task force commander would like you to send.”

“Hold that flashlight so I can read this.” Finnorn did so.

Rosen couldn’t believe his eyes. This is part of what he read: “The militant Islamic group Shabab is planning to wipe out Sheikh Ragnar and his pirates within the next twenty-four hours. Ragnar is aware of their plans, which have leaked, and plans a preemptive strike in the next few hours.”

There was more, including the names of five Shabab officers, and some quoted communications with Shabab forces in southern Somalia. One of the quotes was from some Muslim cleric who gave the Shabab a fatwa concerning the righteousness of killing the pirates and infidel prisoners.

“Is this true?” Rosen asked, aghast.

“Man, I’m just a sailor who takes orders. Let’s go get this on the Internet as written. No editorializing, no extraneous stuff, just the words on this paper.”

“Wait a minute. What guarantee do I have that-”

“No guarantees, no explanations,” Finnorn said bluntly. “The admiral wants this on the Internet. He wants you to do your e-mail trick to get it there. Now. Or sooner. You did a hitch in the army way back when and worked for several years as a civilian in the Pentagon. Maybe you remember how to salute and obey orders. Grab your sandwich and let’s get at it.”

“How do you know about my past?”

“You gotta be kiddin’! Of course the brass checked on you when you started e-mailing the hot steaming poop. If they didn’t like the cut of your jib, you couldn’t get your stuff on the satellite.”

* * *

I wandered out of the fortress into the night. Passed the sentries, who gave me the eye but didn’t stop me, and walked down the road that led to town. I checked, and no one followed me.

I was about halfway down when I passed Ricardo and his cameraman walking up. They ignored me. Just behind them came Jake Grafton and High Noon in Noon’s old station wagon. Noon was behind the wheel. I leaned on the driver’s door and got a snootful of gin smell. Apparently drunk driving wasn’t a traffic offense in Somalia.

“Too lazy to walk?” I asked Grafton.

“Mr. Noon and I are in conference.”

“I see that. You got any bright ideas on where the radio controls for the detonators are?”

“Mr. Noon assures me they are in Ragnar’s palace, third floor. And guarded.”

“What about hardwired triggers?”

“Geoff?”

“There’s one in the shack on the side of the hill. That black wire that runs from the entrance of the fort off down the hill.”

“Any others?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You want to bet nine hundred lives on that?”

“Geoff is pretty sure,” Grafton said.

“You seem to know a lot,” I said, trying to see his face.

“MI-6, old chap. That’s hush-hush, of course.”

“Righto.”

“Wear your headset. SEALs are going to assault the building. When they do, go in with them.”

“When, do you think?”

“Before dawn, I suppose. Your colleagues will be standing by with their Sakos to give you cover, and the marines have some stuff on the Sultan. ” He sighed. “Let the SEALs do the fighting, if there is any.”

I was having my problems keeping my temper. “Jesus, where do you keep your crystal ball?” Amazingly, it didn’t occur to me just then that Grafton knew because he had scripted it. “Before dawn?” I asked.

“I suspect the Shabab crowd will assault Ragnar’s hideout, or he’ll sally forth to wipe them out. Ragnar and the boys are going to realize they’ve been had when they see the SEALs, so we are going to do our best to help Shabab come out on top. With serious casualties, of course.”

“Oh yeah.”

“If the pirates and Shabab dudes party as scheduled, we’ll invade tomorrow night.”

The light began to dawn. I’m kinda slow on the uptake, but I get stuff sooner or later. “And if they don’t?”

“We’ll improvise. Maybe go to Plan B. We’ll see.”

“Why don’t we just defend the fortress and hit the pirates and Shabab with air strikes from the carrier?”

Grafton shot me a sharp glance. “I considered that. I thought too many Somali civilians would probably get zapped, which would be politically incorrect. In this day and age you must win militarily and politically. I learned that in Vietnam 101.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go up to the fortress and stay inside or on the roof until the fireworks start.”

I addressed Noon. “You got any pearls of wisdom or suggestions?” I figured an MI-6 agent who had spent the last ten years in this shithole might have more insight than Grafton or I did.

“The pirates and holy warriors have let you and Mr. Grafton walk around unmolested because they think you will make them rich. If disabused of that notion, they will kill you without a qualm. It will simply be business as usual with Ragnar. The Shabab fanatics will kill you for the fun of it.’’

I slapped the car door, and Noon drove off. Another little cloud of dust. I held my breath until it settled, then walked back up the hill.

I was worried. If I had known more about Grafton’s plan, I would have been petrified. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t.

Sheikh Ragnar found out about the Rosen e-mail less than three hours after Rosen hit the SEND icon on his computer. The pirates and the Shabab had shortwave radio setups: the Shabab used theirs to communicate with fellow Islamic terrorists, and the pirates monitored international merchant ship traffic and the activities of the international antipiracy naval task force in Pirate Alley and the Indian Ocean.

The pirates’ allies got on the radio first with the news, which was headline stuff in America, Europe and Asia. Ragnar, his sons and his most trusted captains, including Mustafa al-Said, conferred in the penthouse of his lair. Al-Said pointed out that Rosen was a captive aboard Sultan, incommunicado. “What could he know?” he asked rhetorically.

Ragnar instinctively knew that the truth of the e-mail was not the issue. The only question that mattered was how it would be received by the local Shabab leaders, whom he assumed already had it or would get it within minutes. Would Yousef el-Din discount the e-mail as a Western provocation initiated by the infidel Americans, or would he suspect the statements might accurately predict the reaction of the pirates to Shabab treachery?

Ragnar was acutely aware that el-Din, a homicidal paranoid sociopath, would shoot first and think later. He began issuing orders to call his men to arms.

As Ragnar suspected, el-Din and his lieutenants didn’t even consider the possibility that the e-mail was a fraud. They heard about it from al Qaeda operatives in Pakistan, where the news of Rosen’s e-mail was on television and the Internet. The Shabab indeed intended to betray the pirates, take the ransom money and kill all the hostages, so if the pirates learned of their plans, of course they would react violently. The only question in el-Din’s mind was whether he could strike before the pirates were ready to defend themselves. The holy warriors awoke their troops, who grabbed weapons and ammo and ran to their armed pickup trucks.