The boat lurched forward a few inches.
Sean tugged with the weight again, pushing it ahead. Once more the dinghy crept its way toward open water. It took an exhausting five minutes of labor until the boat was finally tossing in the water, free of the land beneath. Sean reached back and pulled on the starter cord.
Nothing happened.
He yanked on the cord again and got the same result.
“Come on.”
He repeated the process over and over, but the engine never even turned over. There wasn’t even a sniff of it starting.
He spun around on the bench and opened the gas cap. Still plenty of gas inside. A terrible thought occurred to him. If the motor wouldn’t start, he’d be stranded.
In Somalia.
Not good.
Sean glanced down at the oars in the boat’s bottom. You gotta be kidding me.
“Why isn’t this thing sparking?” he said out loud.
Then he remembered. He’d pulled the spark plug wire out of the plug. His own sabotage had slowed him down.
“Idiot,” he murmured as he plugged the wire back into the threaded cap.
He pulled the cord again, and the motor sputtered a few times before catching its rhythm. No doubt he’d flooded it in his ridiculous attempts to get the thing running with no juice. Fortunately, that didn’t keep it from working.
The boat started to ease away from shore, and soon he was out in the open ocean. The little craft rose and fell with the swells as it had done on the way in to shore. He steered the rudder carefully with one hand, holding a compass with the other to keep his line as straight as possible.
Minutes turned into an hour. The shore turned into a distant line on the horizon, and the black sky above sparkled in a billion places with the icy diamonds of the stars. It wasn’t often Sean got to see the creamy residue of the Milky Way. He lived in places that had too much light pollution. Out here, though, the only light was coming from the heavens.
Well, the heavens and a luxury yacht about four hundred yards off the port bow.
“That’s a sight for sore eyes,” he said.
Sean adjusted the rudder to line up with the bigger boat. It took another fifteen minutes to cover the distance. When he was close to thirty yards from the yacht, he throttled down to slow his approach. He realized something he’d suspected before. The interior lights of the ship were doused, making it impossible to see inside.
That would have made sense if Emily and Fitz were trying to keep the thing invisible. But why would they leave all the exterior lights on if that was their plan?
Sean narrowed his eyes as he drew closer. He thought he saw some movement through one of the tinted windows, but it may have just been his imagination. Then again, he should expect movement. It was doubtful his friends were inside the ship trying to sit perfectly still.
A sudden flash from the rear deck sent him diving to the floor. Immediately a thunderous boom rolled across the waves and the little boat.
Who was shooting at him? Did Emily not see it was him?
He started to rise up from the boat again, but the weapon fired a second time. He dove clear again, but the bullet struck the motor squarely in the side. Seconds later, smoke poured out of it. It took less than twenty seconds for the thing to lock up and shut down.
“What the?” Sean whispered. “Why are they shooting at me?”
For a brief second, he caught a glimpse of the man holding a weapon near the back of the boat. If he’d wanted to, the guy could have cut Sean down on the first shot. If he was accurate enough to hit the motor like that, a human target would be easy.
That meant whoever was on board the yacht wanted him alive.
He pushed away concern for Emily and Fitz and rummaged through the sack he’d taken ashore.
The yacht’s engines roared to life, and the larger boat started to come about. They’d be on him in seconds.
His initial thought was to grab his gun and the two spare mags. In the tight quarters of the yacht, it would be too easy to hit a friendly. So he grabbed something else.
The yacht drew closer.
Sean punched in a few numbers on his SAT phone and slid it back into the sack. He wrapped his sweaty shirt around it just in case.
He sat back on the bench and put his hands up. Even though he couldn’t see the guns pointed at him, he could feel them.
The yacht’s gears shifted, and the vessel slowed until it came to a crawl next to Sean’s dinghy. A man appeared on the deck with a submachine gun slung over his shoulder. For some reason, he was wearing sunglasses. Another man stepped out from behind him wearing a light gray sport jacket and matching slacks. His white button-up shirt had the top three buttons undone, showing off his tanned chest.
Hard to tell in the dark, but he looked like he was from the Middle East, as did the other guy.
“I’m surprised you’re not trying to shoot your way out of this,” he said in a heavy accent.
Sean couldn’t place it, but he was definitely from the Middle East.
“Mama didn’t raise no fool,” Sean answered. “Your boy in the back is a crack shot. I figure he’d take me out before I even got the gun to my hip.”
Suit folded his hands in front of his waist and nodded. “True. And wise of you to not test him.”
Sean’s first thought — when the initial shot was fired — was that pirates had taken their boat. Those types scoured the seas around the Somali coastline, wreaking havoc on smaller trade vessels or the occasional tourists who’d gone astray. Now he could see these guys were not pirates. Or if they were, they weren’t like any pirates he’d ever heard of or seen.
“So what am I supposed to do here?” Sean asked. “I’m assuming since you didn’t shoot me you don’t want me dead. Not yet at least. Should I tie up this boat and come aboard?”
Suit grinned like the devil and moved his head back and forth. “Very good, Sean. You will tie to the back and come aboard. If you do anything foolish, we kill your friends. They’re being held by two of my best men inside the cabin. So I recommend you do as I say.”
“I was doing what you said before you said anything.” Sean thought the line was clever, but he could see it was lost on his captor. “I hope you didn’t do anything stupid like hurt them. Because if you did, that’s not gonna work out so well for you. Whoever you are.”
Suit responded first with an icy stare that could have cooled even the dismal Somali heat. “Your friends are fine. We wouldn’t want my employer’s prizes to be damaged before the show.”
The show? Prizes? This guy was a little overdramatic. Especially in that suit.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what all this is about, are you?”
“In time,” Suit said. “All in good time.”
32
The yacht made its way to a port just outside of Mombasa. From there, the prisoners were transferred to black SUVs and taken to a small airport where a private jet awaited.
Sean had been impressed by the interior of the plane. Creamy leather and light wood appointments were everywhere. He hid his admiration easily enough, since it might be his last flight in this lifetime.
When the captives were seated and secured in place, the men with the guns took their places, one opposite each American. Suit hung around in the back near a bar that only featured water, juice, tea, and coffee.
“Don’t suppose I could ask for a whiskey,” Fitz joked.
The gunmen said nothing. And they still wore their sunglasses.
“How do you guys see with those things on?” he prodded. “I mean, it’s dark outside for crying out loud.”