The Delta Solution (50 page)

THE
DESERT SHARK
was going for her life, running at close to 30 knots across a flat-calm Friday afternoon sea. They were 850 miles into their journey—four hundred to go—and they had seen only a couple of fishing boats all the way from Haradheere.

They were passing the top right-hand corner of the square Mark Bradfield had mapped out for the four anti-pirate US warships, all of which were deep into that area: the guided missile cruiser
Port Royal
, the destroyers USS
Chafee
and USS
Momsen
, and the Harpoon missile frigate USS
Reuben James
.

In addition, the aircraft carrier the
Harry S. Truman
, was due to reach the square that night, bearing the huge insertion helicopter the Sikorsky CH-53D Sea Stallion, which could transport up to forty marines.

The level of ignorance on the Indian Ocean was at an all-time high: The pirates knew nothing of the presence of US warships, and the high command of the warships had no idea that the smooth-looking Saudi motor yacht was chock-full of armed brigands, although the
Chafee
had logged its presence on the ocean surface. And the captain of the oncoming
Ocean Princess
had not the slightest idea of what would be waiting for them in the One and a Half Degree Channel—or that help was at hand.

But the biggest secret of all was in the US naval base in Djibouti, a thousand miles west of the square.

Friday evening on the
Desert Shark
passed without incident as they ran through the night, although a sudden squall had blown up and the sea had become more difficult. Captain Hassan cut the speed back to 20 knots and pressed on while most of the crew sat watching a movie and eating
ham-and-cheese omelettes, which Elijah had managed to make, four at a time, in the microwave.

The captain went to bed around 11:00 p.m. and Elmi Ahmed took over the helm, with Ibrahim Yacin assisting and checking the navigation. They were still right on course heading almost due east, and when the sun rose in the morning they’d be within 120 miles of their ops area.

Elijah’s considerable skills did not compare with the gastronomic splendor of the
Ocean Princess
, where Admiral and Mrs. Carlow once more dined with Captain Parker Lansdale, an ex–US Navy commander who had served with considerable distinction in the second Gulf War.

Dinner at the captain’s table consisted of oysters and smoked salmon followed by baby lamb chops with new potatoes and leaf spinach. They were treated to a selection of French cheeses before being presented with a dessert trolley resplendent with pastries and cakes.

Miranda called a halt after the lamb chops but the admiral enjoyed every course, concluding the evening by sitting up with the captain and swapping naval stories. At one point Tom asked Captain Lansdale if he had any concern about the known pirate activity in the surrounding waters, and the master of the
Ocean Princess
was dismissive.

“It almost always happens to the north of here,” he said, “and for whatever reason, they do not seem to favor cruise ships. Especially American ones. They have never attacked one.”

“Do you have a contingency plan should they change their minds?” asked Tom.

“Well, I always have guards on duty on my ship, although we do not identify them as such. They are professional security people, but we disguise them as deckhands or engineers. Don’t really want the paying customers to be alarmed when there’s no need.”

“Are they armed?”

“Not officially. But they wouldn’t be much good if they weren’t, eh? These friggin’ pirates attack with Kalashnikovs. And we have one other thing that might discourage them: This is a high-sided ship, hard to board. If we caught them in the act, they’d be at a bad disadvantage.”

“Yes,” replied Tom, “I guess they would. By the way, do you keep firearms on the bridge, just in case?”

“Again, not officially because firearms are banned by the insurance
companies. But between you and me, sir, my first mate and I have immediate access to a couple of machine guns if it became necessary.”

“Does he know how to use one?”

“Oh, sure. Johnny’s ex–US Navy, like us.”

AS THEY APPROACHED THE CHANNEL, the water became even choppier, and Captain Hassan throttled back to 15 knots. It was a little after noon when they arrived at the western end, and they guessed the
Ocean Princess
would probably edge over to the northern half of the throughway.

Wolde had insisted on a thorough recce before they placed themselves out in the middle, and he picked up the cruise liner on the radar as soon as she came within range. As usual, they would come in on her stern with the skiffs primed, loaded, crewed, and ready for action. The
Shark
would tow them in before releasing them to make a dash for the hull.

They were all surprised by the heavy swells they encountered in the channel, but since none of the pirates were surfers, they had no way of knowing they were among some of the world’s most spectacular shoreline waves, great rollers caused by the so-called Roaring Forties that form in the southern reaches of the Indian Ocean. Surfers regard the distant shores of the One and a Half Degree Channel as the best waves in the Maldives. The pirates, however, did not share their admiration.

The
Desert Shark
was riding the crests but it was not comfortable and a couple of the juniors felt seasick. Captain Hassan promised he would look for flatter water, but out in the middle of the channel he was not going to find it.

He headed north, seeking shelter on the far side, and to make matters worse, it began to rain, and the wind blew hard out of the southwest. Hassan put the boat right before the breeze and surfed his way across the channel. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much smoother. As it grew dark, both the weather and the seasickness subsided.

All they had to do was calm down, have a light supper, and wait for the
Ocean Princess
to come rolling through the channel.

At midnight, everyone came on watch. Every sharp eye on the ship was trained on the black, southwestern horizon. The moon was high and the
sky bright, but there was not a paint on the radar, not even out on the twenty-five-mile circle.

At 0100 they spotted something, a sizeable paint from an incoming ship, too big to be weather, much too big to be a shoal of fish or even a sperm whale, which had lived and bred in the area for centuries.

No, this was a real boat, moving quite fast. And if it were the
Princess
, she was right on time. It would take her a little over ninety minutes to reach the precise spot where Mohammed Salat’s contact said she would be: south of Haddumati Atoll at 0230 on the GPS 1.5N 73.20E. Exactly where the
Desert Shark
was making a racetrack pattern in the water.

Wolde never took his eye off the screen and at 0200, with the ship only eight miles away, Hassan, peering through night-glasses, declared it was without question the
Princess
, running easily through the swells. She was lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Soon she’ll pass due south of us,” said Hassan. “Extinguish all lights, transmit nothing, and we’ll close in on her stern. Right now we’ll lower the skiffs and make them fast, and we’ll tow in.”

“I’ll give the order to board the skiffs two miles from the ship,” said Wolde. “Everything’s loaded. Carry only your personal weapons.”

By now they could see the lights of the
Princess
without night-glasses. She was a good-sized ship but nothing close to the
Queen Beatrix
or the
Global Mustang
.

Hassan waited until the bow of the
Desert Shark
was pointing directly at the beam of the
Ocean Princess
, and only then did he move forward, still with no lights, still transmitting nothing. He wanted to chug in slowly but the liner was going at a real clip through the water and, whether he liked it or not, the master of the
Shark
had to get moving.

It was 0230, the middle of the night, and unless someone had been staring at the radar screen on the bridge of the cruise ship, it was unlikely that anyone would notice their approach. Captain Hassan edged his way into the wake of the ship, running hard astern at the same speed, about 16 knots, a mile behind.

In the pitch dark they slowed down for the pirate assault team to board the skiffs. One by one they climbed down into the attack vessels, one on the portside of the
Shark
, the other to starboard.

“We’re boarding on the starboard quarter,” Wolde told his men. “Sofian drives the lead boat; Kifle and me throw the grapplers and climb on board
immediately. I’ll carry one rope ladder. When it drops, two more of you will board, bringing up two more ladders as we discussed. Bu we must get aboard fast. The ship’s asleep. Let’s get in front of the problems.”

And now the skiffs were up and running, leaving the
Desert Shark
in their wake. Elijah stayed on board with the captain and would join the others only if there was trouble. Hassan dropped further and further behind because the skiffs were under the radar and could not be seen unless someone was out on the deck looking, and no one was.

Sofian maneuvered into position but it was damn tricky at this speed. Finally he had his little boat travelling at exactly the same 16 knots as the liner, almost bumping her but working his way along, fighting an eightfoot rise on the wave.

“Okay, Kifle,
LET’S GO!
” snapped Wolde. And the two began to rotate the grapplers in underarm clockwise arcs . . .
one, two, three, and NOW!
Both the steel hooks flew upward, about ten degrees off the vertical. The rail that protected the private decks was about twenty-four feet above the water, and both hooks sailed over, landing with a
clump
, the noise deadened by the heavy tape around the prongs.

The lines attached to the hooks were knotted and fixed onto the seats in the skiffs, which now lurched around as the big ship towed them along, Sofian revving, trying to stay at zero relative. But the grapplers had grabbed and held, and Ismael and Kifle grabbed their ropes as high as possible and swung out over the side, clinging on powerfully, before making the critical but perilous climb up to the decks of the
Ocean Princess
.

The speed of the ship was a nightmare. When the lead skiff slipped off a wave, it pulled the line out tight, and the two climbers were forced to the underside, clinging on like monkeys and fighting their way upward from knot to knot. The weight of the rope ladder Ismael was carrying was very tough on him, but he kept going, finally flinging his right leg over the rail and hauling himself aboard.

He was very glad to have the ladder because he did not think everyone could have made that climb. He attached it to the grappler and then dropped it down to the skiff, where grasping hands dragged it inboard. By now Kifle was up and over, standing next to his commander, grateful that he had somehow cheated death on that climbing rope above the surging sea.

The next two men up Wolde’s ladder brought ladders of their own and
dropped them down. And now the pirates were in full cry, climbing up with practiced dexterity—Ibrahim Yacin, Elmi Ahmed, Omar Ali, Hamdan Ougoure, and Abdul Mesfin. Two of the juniors were next and then Abadula Sofian. Each of them brought attack equipment and spare grenades. Yacin and Elmi, working side by side on the ladders, hauled up one of the heavy machine guns, and then went back down for a second. The other two junior marines held onto the helms of the skiffs.

The entire operation had taken a total of twelve minutes from the moment Wolde had cleared the rail. And now Admiral Wolde stood on the deck of the
Ocean Princess
at the head of a band of nine pirates, all with AK-47s slung over their shoulders. Four of them were holding the two heavy machine guns, slung between them on lifting straps.

These four had hefty ammunition belts around their necks, and Wolde ordered them off the small decks below the main stern promenade. Their instructions were ironclad:
Get into the main throughways of the ship and seal them off. There’s no need to shoot or round people up. Just get into control. Make it impossible for people to move around. Shout and threaten but do not open fire unless you are personally fired upon.

Meanwhile, Ismael, with Elmi and the ex–army sergeant Yacin, would head to the bridge and take it by force if necessary. The pirates would move up to the main deck, which would become their center of operation, but it was only one floor up to the bridge, although, unlike in the tankers, it was sited much further forward.

Kifle Zenawi assumed a loose command on the main deck and began deploying men to the public rooms, the two juniors detailed to the dining room and main lounge. On the bridge, meanwhile, Wolde and his cohorts had reached the main door. As they did, a security guard down on the main deck hit the interior line to the bridge to report, “Sir, this ship has been boarded by a group of armed men. They are on the main deck right now. I am trying to assemble the guards.”