Free Fall: A Prelude to Hidden Order (2 page)

The aft portion of the
Sienna Star
behind the tanker’s superstructure was composed of the open-air deck where Harvath, Sanchez, and Kass had landed, as well as an additional, extremely narrow deck one level down that jutted out at the very rear of the ship.

Coming in as hot as he had, Dean had needed to buy time to slow down—even if only milliseconds. Realizing this, he had made a judgment call and chose to land on the lower deck. What he hadn’t counted on was slamming into one of the ship’s mooring winches.

“Punch, give me a SITREP. Over,” ordered Harvath as he and Sanchez kept their suppressed MP7 submachine guns trained on the superstructure. SITREP was code for
Situation Report
.

Kass studied the situation and responded, “He made it. He’s one level below, but it looks like he may be injured. Over.”

Damn it
, Harvath said to himself. There was no outside staircase to the lower deck, which meant there was no way to get to Dean without entering the superstructure and using an interior stairwell. That wasn’t going to happen. The entire operation relied upon speed, surprise, and violence of action. They couldn’t waste the
surprise
portion on rushing inside to get to an injured teammate. The surprise needed to be saved for hitting the pirates and rescuing the crew.

“Is he conscious?” Harvath asked.

“I am,” replied Dean, who had placed his bone microphone into his ear and was now transmitting.

Harvath could hear the pain in his voice. “Wiggy, what’s your status?”

There was a long pause before the man answered. “I hit a winch. My knee’s all messed up. Over.”

“Can you walk? Over.”

“Barely,” said Dean, gritting his teeth as he released his parachute and began to struggle out of his harness. “Over.”

Harvath, like any operator worth his salt, had wanted to take the ship with more men. But because of the difficulty in staggering the jump and getting the entire team on target, he’d been forced to settle for four. Dean would be no good to them if he couldn’t move effectively. As tough as the Delta operative was,
barely
being able to walk wasn’t going to cut it. They’d have to assault the superstructure without him.

“Find some cover down there and stay put until we come for you. Understood? Over,” ordered Harvath.

Dean didn’t like it, but he knew it was the right call. “Will do,” he replied with a groan, adding, “And when you’re done splashing those skinnies, bring me back an ice pack and some Percocet.”

Skinnies
was the sobriquet U.S. service members had been using for Somalis since before the battle of Mogadishu, made famous by the film
Black Hawk Down
.

“Roger that,” Harvath responded. Their team was now officially down to three.

Via a small drone, hand-launched from a support boat sitting out of the pirates’ radar range for the past week, Reed Carlton’s intel people had been conducting reconnaissance on the tanker. In addition to knowing all of the pirates’ movements, they had been able to estimate their strength. At best guess, there were six to ten pirates on board, as well as an additional man brought in specifically to pilot the ship.

Eleven to three weren’t the best odds, but Harvath and his team still had surprise on their side, and that counted for a lot.

Turning his attention to their next course of action, Harvath said over his radio, “We’re go for Galveston.”

Galveston
was code for their contingency plan if one of them was injured or didn’t make the landing. They’d trained for it repeatedly before leaving the U.S. Now, instead of splitting up into two teams, the three remaining men would form one. Clearing the ship would take twice as long, but they had been left with no choice.

Signaling for Sanchez and Kass to follow, Harvath crept forward across the deck.

He pulled up short, just outside a hatchway that led into the six-story superstructure. Sanchez would be the first to go in. He was not only the youngest member of the team, he was also its best shooter.

Testing the handle on the heavy steel door and confirming it was unlocked, Harvath held up three fingers. Sanchez and Kass got into position. When they were ready to go, Harvath counted down to one and quietly eased the door open.

Once it had swung far enough, Sanchez slipped inside. No sooner had he done so, than he radioed, “Contact,” as he depressed his trigger and loosed two suppressed rounds from his MP7. “Tango down.”

Harvath and Kass entered the gangway and saw one of the young Somali pirates slumped against the wall at the far end. Both rounds had struck him right above the bridge of his nose. He had been killed instantly.

He was wearing sandals, a muted sarong known as a
macawis
, a blue T-shirt, and a brown turban. A battered AK-47 hung from a frayed olive drab sling around his neck.

Creeping farther inside, they found two more similarly kitted-out pirates. Sanchez dispatched the first and Harvath the second. All of the dead Somalis had been chewing leaves of khat—a plant native to the Horn of Africa and the Arabian Peninsula known for producing stimulant and euphoriant effects. It was widely abused throughout Somalia. In fact, the Somali military even included it as part of their soldiers’ daily rations, because it not only functioned as an appetite suppressant, it also reduced the amount of sleep soldiers needed and ramped up their aggression.

The drug had two additional features, and those features had played havoc with Harvath’s plan to take the ship tonight. Within twenty-four hours of being harvested, the khat plant rapidly lost its potency. Its consumption also induced dryness, which caused users to consume large amounts of liquids. Those two factors meant that the pirates on the
Sienna Star
were in constant need of resupply for their habit.

On average, the pirates were sent a resupply boat from their base of operations every thirty-six to forty-eight hours. The last thing Harvath wanted to do was conduct his operation with a khat delivery pending, but he’d had no choice. Tonight was the only night there’d be sufficient cloud cover to attempt their jump unseen. They would have to deal with the supply boat if and when it became a problem.

After stashing the weapons taken from the dead pirates, they proceeded to an interior stairwell and cleared the next two levels, but those levels contained neither hostages nor pirates. They had to keep going.

Harvath looked at his watch as the team took a moment to catch its breath. The resupply boat, along with its armed crew, was going to arrive sometime in the next hour to hour-and-a-half. They needed to wrap this up and be in control of the ship before that happened.

Flashing Sanchez and Kass the thumbs-up, Harvath took point and led the men up the stairwell.

They were about to crest the fourth story landing, when Harvath heard voices and signaled for his team to freeze. It sounded like at least three men, and they were arguing in Somali. Over what, Harvath had no idea, but it was an opportunity they weren’t likely to get again.

He gestured quickly to Sanchez and Kass as to what he wanted. When they nodded in return, Harvath led them onto the landing and stopped.

Taking a deep breath, he counted to three, exhaled, and spun out into the hall.

Less than twenty feet away, three of the pirates were squatting on the floor, playing a traditional Somali board game called Shax. Harvath drilled all three of them with two shots apiece. Six rounds in less than two seconds. None of the men even had a chance to reach for the rifles propped up against the wall behind them.

Two doors down, the team found the crew being kept in a recreation room. There was only one pirate with them, and Harvath nailed him with two shots to the chest and one to the head.

While Kass stood guard at the door, Harvath and Sanchez assessed the hostages and then identified each of them via the photographs they had been issued. The dead navigator’s photo was X’d out. Part of their assignment, though, was to secure his body for repatriation, but they could do that later. Right now, they needed to make sure every crew member was present and accounted for. They weren’t. One was missing.

“Where’s your captain?” Harvath asked.

The ship’s engineer, who spoke English with a thick Greek accent, replied, “They took him.”

“Took him where?”

“Off the ship.”

Harvath looked at the engineer more intently. “When?”

“After the first rescue attempt,” the Greek replied.

“Son of a—” began Sanchez, but Harvath interrupted him. His antennae were up. The team had been discovered before even getting close to the ship. They had been lucky to escape with their lives.

“How do you know about any rescue attempt?” Harvath asked.

“Mukami told me.”

“Who’s Mukami?”

“He’s their engineer from Kenya. The pirates brought him to captain the ship. There have been some mechanical issues. He asked me to help. He speaks English.”

“And while working together, that’s when he told you about the rescue?”

The Greek nodded.

“Did he tell you where they took your captain?”

“To the pirates’ port.”

“Where specifically in the port?”

The Greek shrugged. “He just said the captain was their insurance policy against another rescue attempt and that the pirates took him to their village.”

This was beyond bad. The owners of the
Sienna Star
had been very clear. Harvath and his team were to not only rescue the tanker, but the
entire
crew
. That most definitely included the captain.

Right now, though, Harvath had a bigger headache. There were still two levels above them that needed to be cleared and their occupants dealt with. He rapidly interviewed the Greek for any useful intelligence he had on who occupied the floors above them.

Based on what the man had seen, it sounded like there were only three pirates remaining, including their leader, a young man named Abuukar. The Greek claimed he was easy to spot because he spoke English and, unlike the other Somalis, wore a New York Mets cap instead of a turban.

He had appropriated the captain’s quarters for himself, as well as the large desk on the bridge, from which he could place satellite phone calls and handle all the ransom negotiations with the shipping company.

Harvath was confident he would recognize the pirate simply from his voice. He had been played recordings of the young man’s phone call. Abuukar was not only arrogant, but particularly sadistic in what he had threatened to do to the crew if his demands were not met. He was the reason that the
Sienna Star
’s owners had decided to redouble their efforts to have their ship recaptured. They had made it quite clear that no tears would be shed if Abuukar never left the supertanker alive. According to the Greek, it was Abuukar who had pulled the trigger and murdered the
Sienna Star
’s navigator.

As the crew members all had prior military service, Harvath chose the first three who stood up, and handed them the AK-47s taken from the dead pirates in the hallway. He then left them under Kass’s command as he and Sanchez made their way to the stairs.

They found two more Somalis on the next level, eating. Harvath shot one and Sanchez the other. If the Greek engineer was right, that left only Abuukar and Mukami, who should be on the bridge at the very top level.

There were multiple ways to access the bridge, and Harvath decided that he and Sanchez should split up. From the level they were on, Sanchez could step outside and take one of two metal staircases leading to the deck wrapping around the bridge. Harvath would come up via an interior staircase. Synchronizing their assault, they inserted fresh magazines into their weapons and parted ways.

Harvath moved quickly down the hallway and into the stairwell. Once Sanchez was in place, he transmitted three quick clicks over his radio. It was time to hit the bridge.

Harvath crept silently up the remaining stairs. Reaching for the bridge hatch, he tested to make sure it was unlocked and then whispered the command to launch the assault, “Go!”

Pulling the door open, he button-hooked onto the bridge, sweeping his weapon from side to side, taking in everything all at once.

He ID’d both Mukami, the Kenyan engineer, and Abuukar, the Somali pirate.

Sanchez came exploding through the door on the port navigation deck as Harvath advanced on Abuukar, yelling, “Drop the weapon! Do it now!”

As the Somali fumbled to pick up his AK, Harvath splintered the desk he was sitting at with rounds from his MP7. “Hands up!” he yelled. “Do it now! Do it
now
!”

Slowly, Abuukar complied.

“If you fail to follow any of my orders, I
will
kill you,” said Harvath. “Do you understand? If so, nod your head.”

Abuukar nodded.

“Keep your hands in the air and stand up. Do it now!”

Abuukar did as he was told.

“Take three steps to your left, away from the desk. Do it now!” Harvath commanded.

Once Harvath had the Somali where he wanted him, he directed the pirate to assume an arrest posture, with legs spread, bent at the waist, weight on the balls of his feet, and arms out and swept back like an airplane. Sanchez ordered Mukami to do the same.

“If either of you make even the slightest move, you will be killed. Do you understand?”

When both of them nodded, Harvath signaled for Sanchez to secure his weapon and then step in and FlexCuff each of the men.

Removing the Somali’s AK-47, Harvath sat Abuukar back down at the desk as Sanchez took Mukami to the other side of the bridge.

“How many men do you have on board with you?” Harvath asked.

Without hesitation, the pirate proclaimed, “Fifty!”

Harvath smiled and struck him with an open-handed slap, knocking the Mets cap from his head. The blow stung and brought tears to the man’s eyes.

“Let’s try again,” said Harvath. “How many men?”

“Twenty,” replied Abuukar, until he saw Harvath begin to draw his hand back. “Nine. I have
nine
men with me,” he corrected.