“Denver.” Mike swallowed hard. Trying to keep his voice normal, he asked, “You guys gonna get us outta here?”
“Absolutely. No question. Isn’t that what the sports announcers say? Me and a lot of other folks. Let’s not get into that. Sorta a secret. Oh, look! Peanut butter.”
I was standing on the roof of the old fortress when the two helicopters approached from over the water. Their lights were on, they made lots of noise, and their landing lights were almost too brilliant to look at.
Captain Arch Penney was there beside me, along with the doctor and crewmen helping, half-carrying sick people. Almost two dozen of them sick with diarrhea and vomiting and a few other ills.
Three or four pirates were standing to one side, AKs on their hips, pointed up. They were young and I guess trying to look tough, but they only looked nervous. This was big doings for Eyl, I suppose.
The choppers settled down on the roof, raising a cloud of dirt and grit, and men sprang out with boxes of supplies and drums of liquid. Water. Wouldn’t be enough for all these people, but it would help for a day or so. The water and supplies they stacked out of the way. One of the guys saw me, came over and handed me a radio headset. I put it on and was instantly on the net.
Crew chiefs were giving orders. An officer in blue navy camos, carrying a duffel bag on his shoulder, walked over to where I was standing. He talked to Penney, then began looking at the patients. The doctor, I figured.
The evolution went with little lost motion. When all the supplies were off, the crewmen began carrying the sick people out to the choppers and passing them to people on board.
Captain Penney escorted a woman to a chopper, got her aboard, then came over to where I was standing. “That’s a woman named Dol Bass. Her husband jumped into the ocean and a pirate shot him. She doesn’t need any more of this.”
He made a few more remarks, and I gave him a smile. He looked as if he needed it.
These helicopters weren’t large machines. I am no expert on choppers, but these were armed and had machine guns on them. Sensors sprouted like warts from their chins and sides.
I didn’t think there would be enough room for the two dozen passengers, but the navy guys put them aboard anyway, then scampered aboard themselves. The lead chopper lifted off. More dirt flew around.
The second bird was right behind. They swung out over Eyl, turned and headed out to sea. The noise and lights faded.
I turned my attention to the doctor, who went down the stone stairs into the building with Captain Penney. In just a moment the top of that old place was empty except for me and the pirates.
I went down into the fort to see how things were. The Sultan crewmen were unloading the boxes, which contained MREs. To keep the pirates from getting ideas, I put my radio and headset in my backpack.
Penney pointed out one of the pirates to me. I had seen him with Ragnar and knew he was a big cheese. “Mustafa al-Said,” Penney whispered. “He was the leader of the crew that captured my ship.”
I made sure I would recognize him when I saw him again, then ignored him. He didn’t know it, but he wasn’t going to get much older.
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?”