Jack Ford - The Killing Grounds - an explosive and gripping thriller for fans of James Patterson

She pushed her blond hair out of her big blue eyes and looked around puzzled and said, ‘I don’t get it. How long have I been asleep, Tom? I thought we were anchored up?’

Giving a side-glance to Jackson, Cooper spoke more to himself than her. ‘So did I, honey, so did I.’

Upon which his attention snapped back to Jackson. He barked out orders. Short. Sharp and precise. ‘Start pulling in the main sheet, I’ll come and help you but I’ve got to go and radio in our position.’

A veil of fear crossed Ellie’s face. She’d known Cooper since high school. Childhood sweethearts. Inseparable from the very first day. Fifteen years ago. Give or take a month. Yet in all that time she’d never seen him look the way he did now.

Her voice edged with anxiety. With unease. ‘Tom, you’re still not making sense. Why do you need to radio in? Is something wrong with the engine?’

Taking her hands, Cooper stared into her eyes intently. Locked into her gaze. And gave her a reassurance which he didn’t feel. ‘It’s just a precaution baby, okay.’

‘Tom, please. You’re making me nervous.’

‘Trust me honey, it’ll be okay. I promise.’

Jackson, beginning to sober up, grabbed Cooper’s arm. ‘Listen man, I didn’t mean anything by it. You guys were asleep so I thought it’d be fun to sail her. No harm done. Right?’

Shaking himself free from Jackson’ grip and not wanting to spend any more time explaining or talking or reassuring, Cooper began to hurry back below decks to where the mounted chart table was. His reply to Jackson was lost in the wind.

*

At the chart table, Cooper quickly scrutinized the radar screen. Watched the sweeping beam detect the flashing targets approaching their yacht at speed. And without hesitation, he picked up the radio. Selected the emergency maritime frequency.

‘Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is the Yankee Girl requesting urgent assistance from any US naval vessel. I repeat, this is Yankee Girl requesting urgent assistance. We are at 0-2 degrees, 21 north, 26-41 west. Mayday, mayday.’

There was a brief interval of silence before the radio crackled loudly. ‘Affirmative. I understand the vessel’s name is Yankee Girl . Break. Break. Vessel Yankee Girl . Vessel Yankee Girl , this is USS Abraham Lincoln . Request to know if you are in need of assistance. Over.’

‘Roger. In need of urgent military assistance.’

Cooper paused. Glanced at the target approaching on screen, adding. ‘Potential piracy situation. Over.’

‘Pirates? Oh my God, Tom, is that why we have to get back to Lamu?’

Ellie stood on the stairs. Her face drained of the softness of color as the voice on the radio cut through the air.

‘ Yankee Girl , please identify yourself. Over.’

‘Ellie, please. Just go back to Jackson. I promise, I’ll explain everything. Let me just sort this out.’

Her voice trembled and she said, ‘Not until you tell me exactly what’s going on.’

‘ Yankee Girl , I repeat. Identify yourself.’

‘I’m sorry baby, I got to do this.’

He turned his back on her. Not wanting. Not being able to deal with the hurt. The fear in her eyes. He raised the handset to his mouth. ‘This is Lieutenant Thomas J. Cooper of the US Naval Special Forces. Over.’

He heard a hint of surprise in the voice on the other end of the radio.

‘Lieutenant Cooper? This is Petty Officer Monroe, you are aware that this is an open radio channel and contrary to naval protocol for military personnel. Over.’

Cooper clenched his jaw as well as his fist. Tried to keep his composure. But it was tough. And he heard the strain in his own voice. ‘Affirmative, Officer Monroe, I am fully aware of protocol, but I repeat, urgent assistance required. Over.’

‘Lieut…’

Cooper cut him off as he heard Ellie walk away. The authority of rank speeding into his voice.

‘I repeat! This is a mayday call and as such, Monroe, you just need to listen and do your job… Over.’

‘Sir, yes sir! Please stand by, Yankee Girl .’

Placing the radio handset on the table, Cooper grabbed the binoculars before running back up the stairs to the deck. Two at a time.

He could see Ellie had now joined Jackson, who was pulling on the ropes. Struggling. Hauling in the main sheet as it billowed in the oceanic winds.

Pointing at the flapping sail, Cooper yelled, ‘Pull her tight! Jackson. Keep pulling her tight!’

Then through his binoculars, he scanned the horizon whilst listening to the desperate cries of Jackson.

‘Cooper…! Cooper! I need your help! She’s going to capsize!’

‘Hold her down Jackson. Just try to keep her steady… Ellie, take the slack up from behind him. I’ll come and take over in a minute… Whatever you do, just hold on.’

Chasing back down below decks, Cooper picked up the radio again to a different, but familiar sounding voice. A voice he could’ve done without.

‘Come in Yankee Girl . I repeat, this is Captain Neill. Do you copy? Over.’

‘Copy, sir. Requesting urgent assistance.’

‘Lieutenant Cooper, I understand you’re at 02 degrees, 21 north, 26-41 west, though presumably, Lieutenant, you’re aware it’s a high risk area with a code two situational alert.’

Cooper glanced at the flashing targets on the navigational screen moving closer. So close. Too close to the yacht. And the strangling panic wrung tighter and his words singed with anger. ‘With respect sir , both of us know it’s my business to be aware of all situational alerts, and therefore I understand the likelihood of a pirate attack is real, and most likely imminent.’

‘Have you had visual?’

‘Negative sir, but radar shows targets – likely to be pirates – heading straight for us at around 35 knots. ETA, just under ten minutes. Over.’

The captain’s voice was closed. Hostile. And it took every bit of restraint inside Cooper not to rip out the radio from the wall.

‘Cooper, let me get this straight. You’ve had no visual, yet you’re expecting me to send out my men on the likelihood .’

That was it. The wall invited him to punch it. And he accepted. Gratefully.

Frustrated, his tone still held discipline. He said, ‘That’s correct, sir. ’

A pause.

A hush.

A silence which sounded like a ticking clock.

And eventually. Tightly. Captain Beau Neill said, ‘Lieutenant, request understood… and approved. I’m passing you back over to Petty Officer Monroe… But Cooper, don’t think I won’t speak to you about this when you get back on the ship.’

A couple of drawn, long seconds, followed by the voice of Officer Monroe. ‘Yankee Girl, have you had visual yet, sir? Over.’

‘Negative, but targets nearing.’

‘Are you on your own?’

‘Negative Monroe, two adult civilians on board. One male, one female.’

‘Are you armed, Lieutenant?’

‘Affirmative.’

Then the words Thomas J. Cooper had been waiting for.

‘Air support on its way. ETA twelve minutes. In the meantime, I advise you to get the civilians below decks… And Lieutenant, good luck.’

*

‘Ellie…! Ellie…! I want you to go downstairs to the cabin, lock the door, hide in the closet. Anywhere you’ll be out of sight.’

Charging towards her, Cooper watched as she shook her head, terror sketched and engraved into her features. She stood portside behind Jackson and, taking up the slack of the rope, she raised her voice to compete with the wind,

‘No, Tom! No way, I’m staying up here to help.’

Before he had time to argue, Jackson began to jibe the boat. Forcing the yacht to make the hazardous one-eighty turn. It tilted dangerously. Rolling treacherously in the waves. Cutting sharply through the water like a blade on silk as he expertly coaxed in the mainsail. Fighting. Battling the surging wind.