As the hours passed the waters became even calmer and the boat motored along with only the occasional dip and bump. After a while the Saudi rolled himself into a ball on the deck and closed his eyes. Hopper hardly moved other than to offer Stratton and Sabarak a drink.
‘Tastes pretty good,’ Hopper said. ‘A hint of chlorine but that’s only encouraging. If we’re not shitting through the eye of a needle by morning, we should be fine.’
Sabarak looked like he wasn’t very well but Stratton suspected he was tougher than he appeared. The Saudi was trying to condition them. Stratton fully expected the man to act ill by the time they arrived in Oman. It might delay his interrogation by a little, but not much. It would be easy enough to determine the Saudi’s true strength and condition.
Hopper raised his head like he had heard something. He turned to look ahead into the darkness. Stratton noticed the sudden interest and watched him. Hopper signalled Stratton to cut the engines. Silence fell over them like a heavy shroud. The swell gently lapping against the inflated rubber sides of the boat became the only sound. Sabarak sat up, alert.
‘I thought I saw something,’ Hopper said in a low voice. ‘It was white. Another boat maybe.’
They all remained quiet, looking ahead and to the sides.
A noise came to them through the mist, like something heavy rolling across a deck. Then a creak. Then a man’s voice. Hard to tell how far away it was. It sounded foreign, to Hopper and Stratton at least. But possibly not to Sabarak, who got to his feet as if in expectation. Another voice shouted a response from a different direction.
‘Fishermen?’ Hopper suggested.
‘Maybe,’ Sabarak said. ‘But not Yemenis. They are not speaking Arabic.’
The voice came again. It sounded closer.
‘The winds of fortune,’ Sabarak muttered. ‘How they change.’
Stratton had a feeling he knew what Sabarak meant and made ready to start the motors, when a big black shape appeared on their port side. It was the painted wooden hull of a boat. About a metre and a half out of the water. Stratton started one of the engines, gave it some power and turned the wheel to bring the boat hard about.
‘Ahead!’ Hopper warned.
Another vessel appeared, blocking their way. It glided out of the mist, a figure standing in the prow with a stubby brown and black rifle in his hands.
Stratton slammed the outboard into reverse and swung the boat around. As he pushed the gears into forward drive another craft arrived to block his way. Boats appeared from every direction, surrounding them. Stratton had little choice but to keep the engine in neutral.
The boats closed in, with men standing in all of them. They were all slender, dressed in grubby clothes, their dark brown skin smooth, their hair tight short curls. The kind of features hard to miss. Somalis, several carrying AK-47s, one holding an RPG on his shoulder. It didn’t need a genius to figure out that fishing was probably a low priority for these men.
One of the Somalis shouted something as he aimed his weapon at Stratton.
Stratton put his hands up to show he was unarmed. Hopper did the same.
‘He wants you to turn off the engine,’ Sabarak said.
Stratton reached down and cut the motors. It all went quiet again but for the lapping water and the boats gently bumping against each other.
A steel tug-like boat came out of the mist and nudged its way through the crowd of smaller craft. It was about twenty-five metres long, Stratton estimated, and covered in rust. It had Somalis lining its sides to look down on their unexpected catch. It was the mother craft to the rest of the pirate flotilla.
3
A Somali in a weapon harness scooped a hand over his shoulder at Stratton, Hopper and Sabarak and said something guttural-sounding. He pointed at the hooked ladder beneath his feet over the side of the tug. Stratton hesitated, as did Hopper. They had a few problems they needed to take care of, namely their equipment. Most importantly the guns. Stratton also had a spare knock-out gas canister. He could see no point in going on the offensive with the pirates. They had him seriously outnumbered and outgunned.
He and Hopper exchanged glances as Sabarak climbed up to the pirate boat. Hopper stepped on to the edge of their rubber boat and suddenly made a show of losing his balance. Stratton grabbed hold of him in an effort to save him and both men toppled into the water. Much to the amusement of the Somalis.
While both men struggled to get hold of the side of the inflatable, they dumped their holsters and guns, spare magazines and communications devices. No point in keeping any of it. They would be searched and all items of interest would be taken.
The two operatives finally managed to haul themselves back into the boat with help from a couple of the Somalis. Dripping wet they climbed up on to the pirate mother craft. The Somalis manhandled them down the side deck, which was a mess of rope coils and fuel drums. The pirates shoved them down on the cold, greasy metal deck area behind the raised superstructure that housed the bridge, galley and probably a couple of accommodation rooms.
A powerful-looking, well-fed Somali stepped out of the superstructure on to the deck and surveyed the three prisoners. Judging by the quality of his clothing, the jewellery around his neck and on his wrists, and his authoritative bearing, he was the man in charge.
Stratton watched him, hoping to get an early impression. But the pirate commander’s expression was hard to read. He barked a command and a Somali began to search them thoroughly, then removed their belts and boot laces and tied their hands with nylon fishing line. The Somali handed his finds to the commander, who examined the three wristwatches – two practical timepieces, the third expensive. He flicked to the back of the passports, noting the two sodden ones were British. He eyed his captives again, now with a little more interest.
He handed the items back to the man who had given them to him and walked away along the side of the ship.
The Somali guard made the three prisoners sit among a pile of rolled nets, large fishing weights and stinking fish pallets. The smell cut through the night air. These guys obviously did some fishing, Stratton reasoned, probably just enough to feed themselves. He looked up at the rear of the boat, illuminated by a bright light at the top of the cabin superstructure. He could hear the rhythmic thump of the engines below the deck, the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the craft. Two of the pirates sat outside the back door holding AK-47s, smoking and talking quietly. They had no shoes, they looked unwashed. He noted that some of them wore what might have once been expensive clothing. But hard, constant wearing and no cleaning had taken all the value from them. They acted more business-like than unfriendly and didn’t appear unfamiliar with foreign prisoners.
Stratton couldn’t believe his bad luck. He was a prisoner of Somali pirates on their way, he assumed, to the Somali mainland. This wasn’t going to go down well in London. The incentive to change the direction of events was immense. It was a duty of course, and a matter of self-respect. He had too many reasons to get away from these pirates.
Sabarak hadn’t said a word since the pirates appeared. Which wasn’t what Stratton had expected. But then again, he probably had his own reasons for not wanting them to know who he was. Before Sabarak could do anything, he needed to know a lot more about these Somalis. Most important was what kind of relationship they had with his Islamic brothers, the Al-Shabaab fundamentalists who controlled many parts of Somalia. Not all of the pirates had any great interest in the cause. Most simply saw themselves as businessmen. Sabarak didn’t know where these guys fell yet. So he wasn’t a danger to Stratton for the moment. While he remained unsure he would keep his mouth shut. The Saudi wasn’t guaranteed a positive reception from anyone just because he was an arms trader to jihadists. He’d have to find an interested or sympathetic party and then prove he was who he said he was. That might not be so easy. They would have to know people in common.