Musso yelled from the bridge wing. The Leader hurried over to the door and tilted his head down. It seemed like he was listening.
“Shane, I think they heard you. Stay quiet.”
“Roger that.”
Two hours had gone by.
The Leader tried the radio again, calling out in Somali. I turned and looked out the bridge windows.
I noticed something white in the water, about five hundred yards off our starboard beam, near where the pirates had come aboard. At first I couldn’t make it out. It looked like a piece of flotsam that was half-submerged and drifting at the same rate we were. You see junk like that all the time, containers that get swept from ships during storms or floating piles of plastic. But something caused me to stare at this piece.
With a start, I realized it wasn’t a piece of seaborne junk. It was the Somalis’ boat. The skiff was floating upside down, most of the hull underwater, and the nice white ladder was next to it. They were slowly drifting along with us.
I turned to call to the Somalis, but I caught myself. Did the Leader order them to scuttle the boat? I thought. They could have just tied it off and let it float alongside the Maersk Alabama. Losing a boat like that doesn’t happen by accident. They’d raised the stakes as they came onboard. Now I felt they were going to be even more desperate.
I wondered if the Leader had ordered the boat scuttled to intimidate his men. “Either we take the ship,” he would have said, “or we die on it.” Abandoning your only escape route meant the Somalis had to connect with the mother ship or take one of our lifeboats to make their getaway.
The elation I’d felt when the pirates’ bluff had failed drained away. These guys were committed. There was no way they were going to leave empty-handed.
By noon, we’d settled into the beginnings of a routine. ATM and Colin were sipping water occasionally, sitting on the deck on the bridge on the starboard side aft. The third sailor was leaning against the wainscoting trying to keep cool. The Leader was alternating between the radar and the VHF, trying to find the mother ship, coughing and spitting every so often like he had TB. I was shutting off the occasional alarm and trying to think how to get my three crewmen down with their shipmates.
It wasn’t going to be easy. If I gave the guys the signal to make a run for it, the pirates would cut them down before they’d taken four steps. No, we’d have to get the pirates to take the men off the bridge. I started to formulate a rough plan.
“Ah,” the Leader said. I looked up. He was fiddling with the VHF radio.
Shit, I thought, he’s figured it out. I walked over and looked at the readout. I’d tuned the set to Channel 72. He now had it on 16, the correct frequency for communications between the crew and the outside world.
“—sk Alabama, we’ve been attacked by pirates. Repeat, four pirates aboard.”
The Leader stared at the set. So did I. It was Shane’s voice, but what was he doing?
“Roger that, this is the guided missile cruiser USS Virginia. Helicopters are launching.”
“Thank you, USS Virginia. When will the helicopters arrive?”
I smiled. There was no USS Virginia on the frequency. Both voices were Shane’s. He must have made his way down to my room and taken the handheld VHF radio there. And he was doing the same routine I’d pulled yesterday, pretending to hail a navy warship and requesting help.
Now the Leader was truly perplexed. The entire crew had vanished into thin air but now one of them was talking to the U.S. Navy. Musso came over to investigate. His AK clanked against the console’s side as he leaned over to listen.
“Who is that?” the Leader said.
I just raised my eyebrows.
“I have no idea, I’m here with you.”
Shane’s voice came over the radio.
“This is the chief mate. Repeat, Somali pirates aboard. They’ve taken over the ship.”
“That’s the chief mate?” the Leader said.
I listened. “It does sound like him.”
Shane continued: “Four pirates aboard. All armed. All four stationed in and around the bridge…” And he continued his spiel with the phantom navy ship.
“Where is the other radio?” the Leader demanded. I saw real fear in his eyes. The last thing pirates want to do is negotiate with the U.S. Navy. They like to deal with ship owners only. Ship owners don’t have laser-guided missiles and sharpshooters.
“There are only two radios I know of,” I said. “The bridge has them both.”
The Leader looked like his brain was going to explode. We were turning his plans inside out. The Somalis had taken over the ship, but we had taken over the Somalis. For now.
“We go around again,” the Leader said.
I shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Again, it was him and me. We made our way down to E deck, then down all the way to the main deck.
I walked down the darkened corridor, the ship dead and silent as a bombed-out city. The chief had cut the emergency power. We had only flashlights. I saw the door to the AC room open ahead of me. I knew the Leader would want to check that out. I brought the radio up. “Okay, entering the AC room. Starboard side door is open. You guys need to get that locked up.”
We stepped into the AC compartment. Its massive machinery cooled the entire ship. But the compressors were quiet now. Ahead was the engine room. I didn’t want to go in there unless I absolutely had to. If, for some reason, the chief engineer hadn’t gotten the message, we’d find him and his assistant waiting for us.
“Entering engine room,” I said. I stepped in.
A dead engine room is an eerie, eerie place. There was a little smoke wafting from inside and a bulb burning off to the right, but the place was in almost total darkness. You could hear the drip drip drip of water from pipes. You could feel the bulk of the enormous diesel engine in front of you, but you couldn’t actually see it. There are empty quiets and full quiets and this was the latter. I felt like we were going to be ambushed.
I led the way. Six steps in, the Leader called to me.
“No, no, we’re done. We go.”
I turned, surprised. The Leader looked spooked. He turned and I followed him out.
We made our way around, poked our head in the dry storage room and everything was empty. Meanwhile, I was opening every external door I could. “Do you want to see out here?” I would say, and then I would just leave the door open. This would give the crew a chance to move around fast if they needed to. It would also give any rescuers a chance to get inside the ship quickly. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst, I thought.
But I still didn’t believe anyone was coming. What we were going through had never happened before in the modern age—a U.S. ship being taken by pirates. I had no idea if the navy would even be interested. I knew there were warships in the area, but there was no protocol for rescuing merchant mariners.
To me, the only one who was going to save us was us.
Again we found no one. I could tell the Leader was getting more and more unnerved. Every room we opened, there were clothes laid out as if someone was just about to get dressed, or a cup of orange juice sitting there as if someone had just poured it. We walked into the galley and on the cutting board were a knife and half a dozen slices of melon that looked like they’d been cut just a few minutes before. On the burner, a pot of coffee was sitting, steam coming out of its spout.