As Narsai turned away, he heard Musa say over the radio, "Ship's here. Port side, twenty kilometers out."
"Copy," Narsai returned. Then he took out the sat-phone and hit redial.
The same voice as before answered.
"It is done," Narsai said in Arabic.
"Good. We have you on radar and will be there within the hour."
"We will be waiting."
"Good work, Saleh. Meet me on the deck when we arrive. I want to see the cargo for myself."
"Yes sir."
There was a click and the line went dead. Narsai powered off the phone and spoke into the radio. "Faisal, shut down all anti-piracy systems and clear the deck for the Colonel. Are the ladders ready?"
"Yes sir.”
"Good.” Narsai headed for the cabin door, the body of the man he just killed already forgotten. He spoke into his radio as he walked.
"Musa, bring the ship to full stop, then help Faisal. Yahira, prepare tea for the Colonel. Faisal, when you are done shutting down the anti-piracy systems, get the manifest and meet me on the quarterdeck. We're meeting the colonel."
Stopping in his cabin, Narsai took the time to clean up and change into a uniform — an olive-green shirt and trousers over which he put on a belt and a holster, into which he put the Tokarev. The last item was a black and white armband, proclaiming the Islamic Caliphate Army in Arabic, which he tied on his upper right arm. He was just finishing up when Musa radioed to tell him the Colonel's ship had arrived.
By the time Narsai reached the quarterdeck, he could see the lights of another ship, smaller than the Northstar, off the port side. Using the dead guard's night vision glasses, he stared out into the darkness. The newcomer, an old cargo vessel named the Saad el Melik, drifted five hundred meters away, blacked out with all lights off, silent and still.
Two small boats headed toward the Northstar. Each Zodiac inflatable raft was packed with armed men, though they were still too far away for Narsai to see much detail. He watched them for a few seconds, then lowered the glasses and turned as he saw Faisal approach, a computer tablet in his hands. The engineer had also changed into a uniform similar to Narsai’s, and wore a tool-belt.
"Do you want me to open the container before he arrives?" He handed the tablet and a large flashlight to the first officer.
Narsai shook his head. "No. The Colonel will want to have it opened in his presence. Do you have the bolt cutters?"
"Yes, and I also have a ladder and additional tools, if needed."
"Good, but let us hope it doesn't come to that."
Soon the first wave of boarders climbed over the rail. Narsai kept his expression neutral as a thin-framed, dark-skinned Somali man stepped down onto the deck. He wore a threadbare shirt, knee-length shorts held up by a rope belt, and decrepit sneakers. The AK-47 he had slung over his back looked as worn as his clothes, but he swung it around quickly and pointed it at Narsai. As Narsai raised his hands, a second Somali topped over the rail and reacted exactly as the first.
A half-dozen Somalis had found their way on deck before Narsai recognized a familiar face. Yasir Ilshu was the Colonel's right-hand man, feared both inside and outside the Islamic Caliphate Army as a cold-blooded killer whose list of victims numbered in the hundreds. Slightly above average height, but broad-shouldered and muscular, he wore sand-colored combat fatigues and paratrooper boots. An AK-74 was slung over his shoulder, and a pair of automatics rode on his hips, along with a broad-bladed knife that added to his menace.
Ilshu’s eyes swept the deck before locking onto Narsai. “Lower your hands,” he said in a cold tone. He then barked something in Somali, raised his arms and pointed in two directions. The Somalis nodded and moved away from the rail, going forward and aft.
Ilshu looked at Narsai. "Sorry,” he said in Arabic, “relations between us and these pirates are still tenuous. Any problems on your end?"
Narsai shook his head. "It went smoothly."
"Good. Where are the bodies?"
"Most are still in their cabins. The guards that were on-duty are still where we left them."
Ilshu nodded. “Wait here for the Colonel."
Another dozen boarders, mostly Somali pirates along with a few ICA warriors, climbed over the rail. Not long after, the leader of the operation arrived and the ICA soldiers snapped to attention and saluted.
Colonel Bakir Riyad was several inches taller than Ilshu, but thinner, with a closely-cropped beard and short dark hair. His face was narrow and angular, deeply-tanned skin and dark, alert eyes. He carried a CIS SAR-21 assault rifle slung over one shoulder, and a pistol on his right hip. "Good work, Saleh," he said, his voice low and warm.
"Thank you, sir."
"Dr. Masood and a couple of his team are coming up the ladder."
Riyad turned his head to look at Ilshu. "Yasir, General Yabaal is also on his way up. Stay here and welcome him onboard. Give him a tour of the ship. Make sure he does not follow us."
"Yes, sir," Ilshu said.
Another man climbed onto the deck. Instead of a uniform, he wore brown overalls and brown shoes. He turned and smiled at Narsai.
"Ah, Saleh!" he said eagerly, "Where are the prizes?"
Narsai motioned with his head. "Just a couple of rows forward."
"Lead me to them."
Riyad’s tone was stern. "Just a moment, Doctor. Wait for your assistants."
Dr. Pelabo Masood was a short, rotund man with thinning gray hair and a thick mustache. His pudgy face in the overhead light looked pale.
"Of course, Colonel," he said with an air of resignation.
It took several more minutes for two additional men, also in overalls, to climb aboard the ship. Narsai led the way forward, taking the second catwalk separating the container stacks and using the flashlight to find the right container. He located it, double-checked the ID number on the tablet, then pointed to a sea-green unit stacked two containers above the deck.
"That one."
Faisal came forward, carrying a ladder. He put it into place, made sure it was secure, then scrambled up, the bolt cutters banging against his leg as he climbed. He placed the cutters on the padlock, and with a swift motion, cut the lock. With some effort, he pulled the doors open as far as they would go.
From below, Narsai shined his flashlight into the shipping container, revealing a wall of cardboard boxes. "Faisal!" he yelled up. "Remove those boxes."
Faisal managed to get a grip on one box near the middle and pulled. It came out easily, sending it and half a dozen others cascading out of the container to fall to the deck below, missing everyone by a few feet.
Riyad touched one of the cartons with a toe. Not finding much resistance, he knelt and easily lifted it.
“Empty." He rose and tossed the box to Narsai. The sailor caught it and smiled.
"There's a second row of boxes," Faisal called down.
"Clear them out!" Riyad shouted up.
In less than a minute, both rows of boxes had been thrown to the deck below. Faisal shined a light into the container's now-accessible inner reaches.
"They're here!"
Masood, moving quicker than Narsai had ever seen him, ran for the ladder and was a third of the way up before Narsai or Riyad moved to follow him. By the time they were halfway up the ladder, Masood was already inside the container. Narsai climbed in and stood next to Riyad, his and the colonel's flashlights illuminating the container's true contents.
Two cones, each five feet long and a foot wide at the base, sat inside wooden frames anchored in place with cables attached to the container's sides. Each one was dark green in color, and on the base of the cone facing him, Narsai could see a line of symbols that he recognized as Korean.