Bob appeared reluctant to answer. ‘These would be my first, laddy, like all of you lot,’ he said. ‘But unlike you lot, I’ve done over fifty of these runs and I’ve read all there is to know about the buggers and talked to loads of blokes who’ve run into them. And I can tell you they are somethin’ to have respect for. They’ll ’ave a go, I assure you. If they decide to go for this boat, then they’ll go for it. If we make it difficult for ’em, they’ll ’ave no worries about killin’ any of us. We may ’ave to put a few of ’em away before they back off. That might mean they may put a few of us away too.’
For a few seconds none of them said anything. Like they had all realised something important. Like it was one thing to talk about pirates and the threat they posed, but something totally different to see them in person and know they were targeting you.
‘Shall we get the ’oses ready?’ one of the men asked.
‘Yeah. Let’s drown the bastards in their boat,’ said the big Marine.
‘We’re not usin’ ’oses when we’ve got guns,’ Bob said calmly. ‘You might want to take the more humane way right now. But if you end up an ’ostage of those wankers, you’ll wish you’d shot a few of ’em first chance you ’ad … Everyone got their weapons loaded?’
The men moved as one, inspired by Bob’s words. The rifles they used were not new but they had kept them well cleaned and oiled. The five men pulled back the gleaming working parts, loaded shiny magazines, released the breach blocks to fly forward on powerful springs and pick up bullets and slam them home into breaches. All five then put the ends of the barrels over the rail and aimed in the general direction of the pirate vessel.
‘Somefin’ in the water,’ the guard with the binoculars said. ‘About ’alfway between us and them.’
Bob grabbed the binoculars again, the strap yanking at the young guard’s neck, and looked along the bulker’s track until he found what the man was talking about. All he could see was something being dragged through the water.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Bob said. ‘Let’s worry about the job in ’and, shall we. If they’ve got RPGs, then they’ll probably want to engage ’em around one-fifty metres. So as soon as those bastards come within two ’undred metres, we’ll give ’em a volley to think about.’
‘What if they keep comin’?’ the big Marine asked.
‘The closer they get, the easier they’ll be to shoot,’ Bob replied.
‘Bob? Captain here.’ The voice boomed over all of the men’s radios.
‘Bob, send,’ the old team leader said into his radio.
‘They’ve got about two knots on us and are gaining.’
‘Roger that,’ Bob replied. ‘Just keep up the zig-zagging. We’ll take care of the rest,’ he added, before releasing his radio to dangle from a strap around his neck. ‘I didn’t take on this job to spend next Christmas as an ’ostage of those tossers. They close in another ’undred metres and we go to war. Is that understood?’
The men focused hard on the pirate vessel. Bob had said enough. They did not intend to be captured either. A war it was going to be then.
‘Come on you bastards!’ one of them shouted.
Stratton leaned up to look at Lotto’s boat. He could tell the pirates were gaining on him. He could see men running along its sides. Preparing to lower a couple of speedboats into the water. He would be impressed if they could do it at speed.
They could. A boat dropped into the water off the starboard side, held there on a line by crewmen. A couple of men jumped down into it and the crewmen let the line go and the boat dropped behind as the men went to fire up the engines. More crew lowered the other boat into the water on the port side and it bobbed around as a second team jumped into it.
Stratton felt for the pouch attached to the front of his harness. Touched the knife that was still inside. He took it out and held tightly on to it, not sure what he was going to do when they came alongside him.
Then the tension suddenly went from Stratton’s line like it had snapped and he slowed to a stop, no longer being towed by the bulker.
Stratton couldn’t believe what was happening. He’d held on to the possibility that the pirates would eventually give up and pull off. That one of the ship’s crew might spot him and initiate his rescue. But suddenly that was all over. The end of the road had arrived. The end that he had fought to avoid the past few days had arrived. The line had probably been stretched to its limit and the rough end of the vessel had worn through it. Whatever the reason, it was over. Lotto was going to win.
Stratton bobbed in the water and watched the pirate boat close in. He expected a bullet to the head. At least it would be quick. Arguably better than hypothermia or drowning and certainly better than thirsting to death.
Lotto had been at the front of his boat all of the time watching Stratton, willing the engine to get them closer, waiting for the opportunity that he knew would come to shoot the damned English. The sight of Stratton coming to a sudden stop, he truly considered a gift from on high. He gripped the rifle in his hands and brought it up into his shoulder. Held it there aimed square on to Stratton’s chest. He hoped the first round wouldn’t kill him so that Lotto could get two or three into the man before he died. But then he considered the wisdom of killing Stratton outright at all. Maybe better to let him die slowly in the ocean of undrinkable water. He quickly discarded the thought. He wanted the satisfaction of killing the man with his own hands.
Stratton stared into the end of the barrel coming right at him. He wanted to duck beneath the water but to do that he would have to get the life jackets off. No time. He couldn’t keep ducking and diving for very long anyhow. Didn’t want to add to the Somali’s amusement, Stratton popping up all over the place for a second or two until the bastard finally shot him.
Lotto knew there was nothing else that Stratton could do. He would wait until he had a complete sight picture. Then he would pull the trigger and send a piece of brass-coated lead right through the irritating Englishman. And after that entertainment ended, he would pursue the cargo ship and capture it. It was going to be a good day after all.
But the fishing line hadn’t snapped. It had simply worked its way down from the leading edge of the bow, popped off it, and slid along the keel as it passed over.
The sucking action of the propeller wouldn’t allow the line to sink away. It pulled it into a vortex, towards the spinning blades along with the surrounding water. The twisted line wrapped around the turning shaft and swiftly gathered in the slack.
Stratton was staring at Lotto. The leader had a clear picture of him in the rifle sight. A plate-sized target any half-decent rifleman could hit from where he was, leaning over the front of the boat as it cut through the water towards the operative. Then the reel fastened to Stratton’s chest whipped him around and he took off like a bungee jumper bouncing up from the bottom of his fall.
Just like before. Only this time much faster. The g-force wrenched at Stratton’s neck and his limbs pulled against their sockets as he skimmed over the water like a jet ski.
As before, Lotto could not believe his eyes. He was filled with anger and extreme violence and acted on instinct, firing wildly at Stratton, emptying the carbine’s thirty-round magazine in a desperate attempt to finish him off. ‘Get that man!’ he yelled, ripping away the empty magazine and throwing it down. ‘Give me bullets!’ he shouted. ‘Kill him!’
‘Boss!’ one of his men shouted from where he stood on the port side, pointing at the water beyond the stern of their own vessel.
Other pirates looked in the same direction, awestruck by what they saw. Lotto looked and was equally stunned. He watched the girl come shooting across the water towards them. She sped along the length of the boat, looking terrified, her legs and arms splayed like a spider.