assistance. We need only fend off the pirates until then. If pirates attempt to board, I will activate fire hoses. We will reserve lethal response for last resort. Do you understand?”
“I will protect this ship, Captain.”
“See that you do only that, Mr. Bojan. You know my mind on this.”
“I do.”
“Bridge out.”
The captain set the walkie-talkie down hard. The helmsman continued to drive the Valnea into her sharp left-hand pirouette. When Drozdov turned to LB, he had to look uphill. He shook his head in small tremors. He let slip a short, rueful laugh.
“There are only six pirates. This seems infantile.”
“These guys are probably chewing on a pound of qaat. They haven’t got a clue what they’re doing. They didn’t look very clever.”
“Perhaps. Do you know why I will not allow Bojan to shoot them? Not unless they set foot on my ship. Grisha, you understand.”
From his chair beside Drozdov, the portly mate dipped his head, knowing and saddened by it.
“I can guess,” LB said. “But tell me.”
The captain poked a finger into his own chest. “I have been the guest of Somali pirates before. I did not have a good visit. Because of that time, I want two things very much right now. A drink of vodka and revenge. Dat’ pizdy. To beat the shit out of someone. Both would feel very nice to me. And the desire for them would become addiction again. I do not like being prisoner of anything. So I will not drink. I will not hate. And I will not kill unless there is no other way. This emblem on your arm, sergeant. I think you have made this choice yourself.”
“Not the drinking part. But yeah. I have.”
The general alarm completed its third circuit. Drozdov cut it off. “Everyone knows.”
The loudspeaker in the dash crackled. A hail came through. “CMA CGN Valnea, CMA CGN Valnea. Coalition American warship USS Nicholas. Do you copy? Over.”
Drozdov snatched the microphone from Grisha. To LB, he whispered, “Your countrymen.” He clicked the talk button. “Nicholas, Valnea. Captain Drozdov. Go.”
“Captain, we’re received a distress signal from your vessel. Are you under attack?”
“Nicholas, yes. Two skiffs, six pirates. Armed and firing on my ship. No injuries.”
“Have they boarded?”
“Negative. They have made no attempt yet. They are staying alongside. I cannot outrun them; we have damaged engine. Twelve knots top speed. Taking evasive maneuvers. Can you send help? Over.”
“Valnea. I’ll have a chopper in the air in five minutes. ETA your position twenty minutes. We are turning your way. ETA my vessel at your position one hour. Copy?”
“Nicholas, yes.”
“Hold ’em off, Skipper. Cavalry’s coming. We will monitor this channel. Out.”
“Thank you, Captain. Valnea out.”
Drozdov communicated this development to Bojan. The Serb guard had both skiffs under observation. “The Somalis,” Bojan said, “they are like children. They are intoxicated. We will watch them until the American helicopter comes. They will turn and run.”
Grisha widened the sweep on one radar screen, locating USS Nicholas thirty-three miles to the west. The warship’s radar signature showed Nicholas already pointing east, sprinting to the rescue.
Drozdov’s helmsman twisted the small steering wheel to the right. The deck evened out, then began its tilt in the opposite direction as the hull swung into a zigzag.
LB analyzed the situation. A couple of skiffs cruising at Valnea’s sides. Six pirates. A few wild potshots at the searchlights. The pirates had RPGs but hadn’t used them. No effort to toss up grapnels or mount ladders. Attacking just after dusk. And that odd tactic of waiting in the freighter’s path, skiffs lashed together to look like a single ship on the radar. Then splitting up at the last second to fake a collision, an attack Drozdov had never seen before. Were these Somalis so high on qaat they couldn’t mount a proper hijacking, as Bojan implied? Why were they just hanging out alongside the ship’s hull? What was the purpose? Confusion? Stalling?
Ah, hell.
Stalling.
LB grabbed the walkie-talkie off the console. Drozdov shot him a raised eyebrow.
“Bojan, Bojan. Sergeant DiNardo.”
The Serb swiftly answered. “Sergeant, this is private communication with captain only.”
“Shut up, Bojan. Listen to me. Those two skiffs might be a distraction. Repeat, they might be a distraction. There could be another boat. Go look for it.”
At this, Drozdov’s chin fell to his chest. He lapped a hand over his brow, muttering, “Dolboyob.” LB knew this one, too. Stupid.
Bojan snapped his response. “I have situation under control, Sergeant. Bojan out.”
The Serb would not answer LB’s hail. He tossed the walkie-talkie to Grisha.
“Keep calling him.