The Tears of Dark Water (21 page)

The National Security Advisor squinted at the camera. “You’re not suggesting we let the pirates get away with the money? That would not only violate U.S. policy, but it would transgress every scruple left in my pragmatic brain.”

Derrick shook his head. “I’m suggesting we do whatever it takes to liberate the hostages. Then we go after Ibrahim and his crew.” He paused. “There’s precedent for this. When Julius Caesar was a young man, he had an encounter with pirates in the Mediterranean. They captured his ship and held him for ransom. He made sure they got the money. But as soon as he was free, he put together a posse and brought the perpetrators to justice. As I see it, that’s the safest approach.”

Tully laughed sardonically. “I’ve been in Washington my whole life. I can’t remember the last time Julius Caesar was cited as precedent. But I take the point. Amanda, are there legal issues?”

“As long as the capture takes place at sea, we’re fine,” Wolff replied. “If they reach the coast, it gets more complicated. We have UN authority to apprehend them on Somali soil. But we don’t want to anger the government. We’re working hard to keep the elections on track for next year.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Redman interjected, struggling to remain politic, “what if Agent Derrick is wrong? What if all of this is a ruse and Ibrahim has no intention of letting the Parkers go before they reach land? It’s been hours since he contacted the family, but the sailboat is still headed to Hobyo. If I’d decided to betray my criminal bosses, I would run as far from them as I could.”

“Paul?” Tully said, shifting his eyes slightly.

“I had the same thought,” Derrick admitted. “I can’t explain it. All I can tell you is what my gut tells me. I think he’s playing straight.”

Tully scribbled on his notepad and then looked back at the camera. “Frank, your concerns are legitimate. But I don’t see the harm in giving the family latitude. You can monitor the negotiations. If things go off the rails, we can always disable the sailboat later.”

Redman winced. “Sir, if we cede control to the family, it’s going to be very hard to get it back. That’s human nature, too.”

“Granted,” Tully replied. “But we’re in uncharted waters here—”

“Pardon me, Mr. Tully, Captain Redman,” Masters said, “but I’m seeing something strange on GPS.” He took a handheld radio off his belt and held it up to his mouth. “Bridge, this is the Captain, please check the radar and confirm the current heading and speed of the
Renaissance
.”

Derrick stared at the wall-mounted display and saw the disparity immediately. When the call started, the headings of the three Navy ships and the sailboat had been identical. Now the sailboat’s bearing had changed, shifting slightly to the west, and its speed had increased by over a knot.

“Captain,” said a disembodied voice, sounding bewildered. “The sailboat is bearing 298 degrees, forty-nine minutes, at a speed of 7.3 knots. It was bearing 329 at six knots when I last checked.” The voice paused. “The watch officer is reporting that the sailboat is no longer pulling the skiff.”

All eyes in the Admiral’s cabin and the conference room eight thousand miles away were riveted on Masters. “At this course and speed, where and when will the
Renaissance
make landfall?” he asked.

The reply came seconds later. “At present course and speed, assuming no set from the current, the sailboat will make landfall twenty-four miles north of Mogadishu at approximately 17:00 East Africa Time on November 14.”

Derrick made the connection immediately.
That’s the deadline Ibrahim gave Vanessa Parker.

Redman sat back in his chair, frustration written all over his face. He cleared his throat. “As hard as I find it to believe, it seems Agent Derrick’s theory is credible. It looks like he’s running.”

Tully let out the breath he was holding. “That makes it easier. So this is how it’s going to go. If the Parkers want to pay, we’re not going to stop them. If Ibrahim asks us our position, we tell him whatever he wants to hear. We keep the media in the dark until the pirates let the hostages go. And then we take them down.”

Daniel

The Indian Ocean

01°19´58˝S, 52°04´11˝E

November 12, 2011

The cabin was as dark as a crypt an hour before the dawn, the only light filtering through the portholes cast by the distant stars. Daniel couldn’t sleep. He and Quentin were wedged into a bunk barely large enough for one of them, but it wasn’t discomfort that was keeping him awake. It was Vanessa, her voice like silk yet pregnant with feeling, speaking words he could scarcely believe.
I bought a plane ticket. To Cape Town at Christmas. I played the Beethoven again. From memory. You asked me to do that. So you have to make it there. Okay?
He didn’t know what to do with it, except hold it close.

He watched the rise and fall of Quentin’s chest and recalled the day he was born. It was a surprise, just like his conception. He had come three weeks early, and they hadn’t been ready for him. The nursery wasn’t finished; the crib was still on order; and the law firm wasn’t expecting Daniel’s absence until next month. He remembered Vanessa waking in the early-morning hours and putting her hand on his chest. “I think I’m going into labor,” she had whispered, and he had sprung into action, moving like he was a minute late for an interview that would change his life. They made it to the hospital in fifteen minutes flat, but the labor had lasted thirty hours. He could still see the agony on her face when the nurse finally said she was ready to push. She had grabbed his hand and dug her nails into his flesh. “I’m never doing this again,” she said. “Promise me.” And he had. Somehow it didn’t seem premature, for both of them were only children. They would pour all they had into the baby.
We had no clue how hard parenthood would be
, he reflected
. But now I can’t imagine a world without him.

Daniel turned his thoughts to the other thing tugging at the edges of his consciousness—the shadow he had seen in the night, creeping stealthily out of the companionway and making its way to the helm. The moon had been obscured by high clouds, but he had seen enough of the figure to determine it was Afyareh—or Ibrahim—whatever the hell his name was today. He had heard buttons being pushed on the autopilot and sensed the turn to port. He had felt the lurch and the sudden surge of power, as if the sailboat had been loosed of a burden.
The skiff
, he had inferred.
He let it go.
Almost immediately, the pirate had slipped back the way he came and disappeared from view.

He couldn’t decide if Afyareh’s actions were ominous or propitious. The day before had been profoundly distressing. The naval exercises had stirred the Somalis as effectively as kicking a hornets’ nest, magnifying the tension in the sailboat until Daniel could almost smell the pirates’ fear. Even Afyareh had lost control, wielding his Kalashnikov like a brute. The second time he shot off his gun, the weapon had been so close to Daniel’s ear that he hadn’t recovered his hearing for an hour.

The terror had climaxed when Afyareh saw something through his binoculars. Daniel still didn’t know what it was, but he had watched the Somalis’ eyes darken, seen the way they yelped and pointed their guns at the invisible threat. Afyareh had taken command again, soothing them with his golden tongue. But then Mas had challenged him, his eyes laced with sedition. Afyareh had prevailed and Mas had backed down, but the encounter had left Daniel confused, as had everything that happened afterward—the finality with which Afyareh spoke to Paul, his sudden expression of interest in the sat phone, the ransom call to Annapolis, the midnight course change and abandonment of the skiff.

What kind of game was the pirate playing?

Daniel jolted awake to the sound of pounding on the door. He glanced at Quentin and realized he had drifted off. The stateroom was brighter now, the stars gone from the sky. He climbed out of his sleeping bag and slid his feet onto the wood floor. His mind, so sharp in the wee hours of morning, felt addled, as if he had a hangover. He opened the door and saw Afyareh staring at him.

“Wake up, Captain. It’s time to call your family again.”

Daniel nodded curtly and followed the pirate to the navigation station, ignoring the stares of the other Somalis, who were lounging around the cabin. The stench of unwashed bodies was overpowering, but they had run out of water for showers. What potable water they had left was for drinking only.

He opened the chart table and extracted the sat phone from its case. It was a high-end Iridium model, not much bigger than a cell phone. He punched in the number and turned on the speaker, handing the unit to Afyareh, then sat down in the companionway, his elbows on his knees. Quentin slipped by him and stood in the galley, his hair an unkempt mess.

The line connected and Daniel heard his father’s voice. “Hello? Is this Ibrahim?”

“I am Ibrahim,” said the pirate. “Who are you?”

“I’m Curtis Parker, the Captain’s father. I will speak for the family in the negotiations.”

The pirate looked at the ceiling, suddenly lost in thought. “Yes, I remember you. You have a nice watch. Gold, isn’t it?”

How did he—?
Daniel thought. Then he remembered the day Afyareh explored his stateroom.
Dammit. He must have found the photo album.

If Curtis was surprised, he didn’t show it. “You’re well-informed.”

Afyareh gave Daniel a bemused look. “Are you putting together the payment, Curtis? You have two and a half days until the deadline.”

“It’s not that simple, Ibrahim. Money doesn’t grow on trees. We have no way of raising five million dollars by Monday. The most we can deliver is five hundred thousand. The good news is the Navy has agreed to back off if we can reach an agreement.”

Afyareh rolled his eyes. “I have seen the Captain’s house and his wife’s jewelry. I am certain your family can pay more than that.”

Curtis was not moved. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘time is money’? Things like real estate and personal property are useless to you. They take months to liquidate. You’re asking for cash. Five hundred is the best I can do. The Navy’s promise to let you go is worth the remainder.”

Afyareh wrinkled his nose, as if he had detected a putrid odor. “I don’t like it when people lie to me. Your offer is rejected. You need to work harder.”

Without warning, the pirate terminated the call. He shook his head. “Your father is not a very helpful person, Captain. I think next time I will speak to your wife.”

You bastard
, Daniel thought, wishing he could wring the pirate’s neck. He imagined Vanessa sitting in the living room beside Curtis and Yvonne, struggling to hold herself together. Afyareh’s perfunctory dismissal of half a million dollars had probably sent her anxiety into the red zone. She hated negotiations. She was the sort of person who paid the asking price or walked away.

He took a breath and composed himself. Afyareh was shrewd; he knew the value of the cards in his hand. He had signaled that he would accept less than the demand, but he had given no indication of how much, leaving Curtis to bid against himself. Still, it was heartening to know that the Navy wouldn’t stand in the way. With Curtis at the helm, they would find a way to make a deal.

Afyareh took a seat in the nav station. “How much is life worth?” he said, looking at Daniel. “It’s something I have wondered many times. There was a film I saw when I was a boy. My parents didn’t want me to watch it, but I did anyway.
Can’t Buy Me Love.
Do you know it?”

Daniel nodded but didn’t speak.

“I liked Ronald,” Afyareh continued. “He knew what he wanted, and he did what it took to get it, even though it ruined him.” Afyareh’s eyes glimmered. “Of course, it didn’t actually ruin him. He got the girl. It is a paradox. He couldn’t buy love, but he could buy friendship. And without that, she never would have loved him. Life is priceless, I think, but money makes everything easier.”

The pirate’s stomach suddenly growled. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

Daniel heard the sound of helicopters lifting off as he and Quentin were cleaning up after the meal. The rumble of fighter jets soon followed. The Somalis went to the windows and began to chatter among themselves, as they had the day before. Afyareh tracked the planes with his binoculars and ordered Daniel to turn on some music. While Mick Jagger sang, the pirate toyed with the sat phone and watched the clock as if it were a crystal ball offering him a glimpse of the future.

A couple of hours later, Afyareh punched the redial button and set the phone on the table in the booth where he and Quentin were sitting.
It’s after midnight on the East Coast
, Daniel almost protested, but the uncompromising look in the pirate’s eyes was enough to dissuade him.

“Ibrahim,” Curtis said, sounding alert despite the hour. “We’ve been waiting for your call. You ended our last conversation quite abruptly.”

The pirate grunted. “Have you made progress?”

“I can’t do anything until you give me a more reasonable number,” Curtis replied. “I didn’t lie to you. I’m negotiating in good faith. We don’t have five million.”

Just then, Daniel heard one of the jets approaching. The whine of turbines grew louder until the dishes in the sink began to vibrate. Afyareh held the phone up to the window, allowing the roar to fill the speakers. At last, the jet climbed back into the morning sky and the cabin grew quiet again.