It reminded me of the famous case of the Mary Celeste, the ship found in the Atlantic Ocean back in 1872 with the crew’s hairbrushes and boots and shirts all in their places, the cargo all accounted for, but no men aboard. It became the most famous maritime mystery of all time, the ghost ship that lost its eight-man crew on the way to the Strait of Gibraltar. (Piracy was originally suspected, but there hadn’t been any reported in the area in decades and no valuables were touched or signs of violence found.) The Maersk Alabama had that same abandoned air as we walked through one silent room after another.
“Where is the chief engineer?” the Leader said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “These guys are crazy. They could be anywhere.”
We entered the bosun’s room. I’d noticed before that the Somalis were wearing cheap flip-flops. The bosun had some nice leather sandals by his bed and now the Leader was staring at them.
“Look at those shoes,” he said.
It was like he was asking my permission.
“Go ahead!” I said. “The bosun doesn’t care. Try ’em on.”
The Leader kicked off his flip-flops and tried on the sandals. He nodded.
The next stop was the mess deck, which we’d been through on the first go-round. There was a long table with a blanket thrown across it. I stared at that blanket. I was sure it hadn’t been there the first time we’d walked through. I didn’t know it then, but Shane later told me he’d been roaming the ship when he heard us coming, and he’d dashed into this room just ahead of us. With him, he’d had the EPIRB (emergency position indicating radio beacon), which is a transmitter that can tell rescuers exactly where your distressed ship is. He’d taken it out of its housing, which activates the unit, before we came blundering down the hall. Panicking, he’d thrown the blanket over it, then turned and began searching for a hiding place. Right at that moment, Shane was in the next room, the hospital bay, crouched beneath the desk in the space where the chair usually slid in. We walked in and Shane could see my shoes, only three feet away.
If the pirates had gotten him, we’d have lost one of our best leaders. But I didn’t even hear him breathe.
We looked in a few more rooms and then headed back up to the bridge.
The crew and I were keeping one another safe at this point. I was alerting them to the pirates’ movements, and they were keeping a wild card in our hands by staying hidden. Even if the pirates shot a couple of us, they gained no advantage. They still had sixteen guys secreted all over the ship, keeping the vessel out of their hands. And the ship was drifting, powerless. It was a standoff. But the Somalis had reinforcements a lot closer than I did.
The ship was becoming a gigantic oven. The AC was off, and the fans that sent fresh air funneling through the rooms weren’t working. The heat was getting intense even when an occasional breeze moved through. I couldn’t imagine how the guys in the after steering room were suffering. How long could they hold out before they needed to get some fresh air or water?
The fear I’d felt when I saw the first pirate board the ship hadn’t faded. But I was just too busy to pay much attention to it. In some ways, ATM and Colin and the third sailor had it worse. They had to sit on the deck and imagine what could happen to them. I was constantly thinking of how to get us out of this mess alive.
We climbed back to the bridge, sweltering in the afternoon heat. The pirates were getting hinky. Why couldn’t we find the crew? I just shrugged. “I don’t know where they are,” I told them again and again. “I’m here with you.”
The Leader wanted another search. This time, Musso and Tall Guy came with me, both armed. Again, I entered the engine room, trying to keep them away from the half-hidden door to after steering, where I thought the crew was. Our flashlights were darting here and there, and we’d get flashes of equipment: lube tanks, dials, pipes. Musso and Tall Guy made it a few steps farther than the Leader before calling, “Enough!”
Even pirates are scared of the dark. It made me grin—they had the guns and they were frightened.
I took them to the mess deck and their eyes lit up when they saw the melons. “You want fruit?” I said. “It’s all yours.” I helped them load up their arms with juice boxes and melon slices. I headed back to the bridge and as I climbed the outside ladder on the house, I could see the Somalis two flights below, struggling with all their loot. I waited for them.
“You need some help?” I said to Musso. I held out my hands. “Here, let me carry the gun.”
He laughed.
I took some of the juices and the fruit and went ahead.
Just as with the Leader, I could have escaped at any time. But the thought never really crossed my mind. Three of my men were in imminent danger. I couldn’t leave them to the pirates. It didn’t solve anything. Besides, it’s just not possible to do something like that and remain the same person you were before. I wanted to be able to look myself—and the crew members’ families—in the eye after all this was over and say, “I did my duty as a captain.”
Like I said, you take the pay, you do the job.
Back up to the bridge. We filed in and the pirates took up their normal positions. It was past noon. The pirates were fidgety, agitated. Their jubilation at taking an American ship was souring. They were constantly chattering to each other in Somali, and their conversations were becoming more abrupt. A note of panic had crept in.
I grabbed a drink of water, then wiped my forehead and took a few breaths.
The Leader handed me the phone. He barked out a number. It was like a broken record now, the pirates endlessly repeating the same tactics: search, call, threaten. But the threats were wearing thin. After the second ultimatum, when they told us they would start killing us in two minutes, they gave up that tactic.
The Leader had stopped looking at the LED on the phone, so I just entered random numbers and hit the pound button. The phone dialed, then buzzed.
“This phone is the worst. Seriously, I wish I could get it working for you.”
One of the crew took this opportunity to start talking to the pirates. And despite my hostage advice the night before, the first thing he brought up was religion.
“Assalaamu ‘alaykum,” he said. He nodded at Musso.
Musso just stared at him.
“I’m African,” he said. “We are Muslim brothers.”
The pirates looked at one another. Musso began to laugh.
I tried to catch the sailor’s eye. Next he’d be telling them to chop off the heads of the Christian infidels and take him back to Somalia.
But the pirates didn’t care if he was directly descended from Mohammed himself. He was a pawn in their game.
The Leader looked at me. “We search again.”
I’d been expecting this.
“No way,” I said. “I’m tired of walking around.”
I pointed at ATM. “Take him. He can show you whatever you need.”
I knew if ATM could walk out, guarded by only one pirate, he might get away. One man knew the ship, the other didn’t.
The Leader looked at ATM and seemed to be considering the offer.
“Okay,” he said. “We go now.”
ATM stood and came walking toward me. The Leader turned to give the other pirates some instructions in Somali.
As ATM passed me, I whispered to him, “He’s not armed. Take him to the guys.”
I couldn’t catch his face as he slipped by. I don’t know if he even nodded.
But I could feel the tables turn just a bit. It was our turn to take a hostage.
ELEVEN
Day 1, 1100 Hours
“We are planning to reinforce our colleagues, who told us that a navy ship was closing in on them.”