that.”
Yusuf spoke facing Drozdov.
“I have wounded on board, Captain. I don’t have time to care for them. You will take them off my hands. I have hostages enough.”
“Sir, I have the safety of my own crew to look out for. You understand. I need a guarantee.”
“You have my word, Captain. Your people will not be harmed.”
“All right, I’ll have to accept that. We’ll reach your position in fifteen minutes.”
“Good.”
“If you cut your speed, we can make that ten.”
“Fifteen will be fine. Valnea out.”
The Russian strapped to the backboard cursed from the moment he was carried out of the infirmary to the main deck. Suleiman, still impatient and anxious, pressed the barrel of his pistol into the grousing Russian’s groin where the urine bag attached. This shut him up.
The scalded boy was bundled into a bedsheet like a hammock and hoisted outdoors. The pirates pitied his condition, blistered and moaning, conscious enough to be in agony. They tried to be careful hefting him down the long, lowered gangway.
At the bottom of the stairs, waiting on the platform, Yusuf stood in the same spot where his skiff had ridden beside the Valnea’s great flank. He bathed again in the warm searchlight from above. Foam licked his bare feet skimming just above the water. Along the starboard rail three stories up, all the hostages stood in line, including Captain Drozdov. Behind them, a dozen Darood held Kalashnikovs.
Bathed in the spotlight, Yusuf could not see far over the black gulf or any stars. The turning of the freighter’s screw, the hiss of the wake—these blotted out other sounds. He did not hear the warship’s inflatable raft arrive out of the darkness until it had motored very close, blinking a flashlight only fifty yards away. This worried him, that the American boat could approach so near without discovery, without even trying to be stealthy. What if this had been a raid? Wasn’t the plodding Valnea just as vulnerable to commandos as it had been to Yusuf’s pirates?
Seven hours to Qandala.
The beam shifted away from Yusuf to the closing raft. As Yusuf had ordered, only two sailors manned the craft. They held no weapons. The one at the helm was dressed in camouflage and body armor, probably an American marine. The sailor in the bow wore a naval officer’s uniform.
The raft motored alongside. The officer tossed a painter caught by Suleiman, who tied it off. The marine stood, a big man, showing empty hands, then tied a stern line to snug the raft close. The officer, well tanned with an older seaman’s creases, saluted.
He asked, “Permission to come aboard?”
Yusuf reached down to help him onto the platform.
“Salaamu alaykum.”
The American held on to Yusuf’s offered hand to shake it. “I’m Captain Goldberg, USS Nicholas.”
“Yusuf Raage. Thank you for coming personally, Captain.”
“We got ourselves a situation here. Maybe we can figure it out, the two of us.”
“First, the wounded. Please take them aboard.”
“Aye, sir.”
Goldberg motioned for his hefty marine to help load the two injured Russians. The burned and bandaged boy on the sheet was placed gingerly into the raft. His eyes were open, round as coins, his pain easy to see. The one strapped to the backboard grabbed his testicles to shake them at the pirates handing him over, shouting, “Poshol nahuj!”
Yusuf said to the captain, “As I said, I haven’t the time.”
“I understand. Can I have a private word with you?”
Goldberg took a step closer to Yusuf. Suleiman set a hand on the pistol stuffed in his waistband. The marine, even unarmed, rose in the stern of the raft.
“I would keep my distance, Captain. My cousin is very protective.”
“I still need that private word.”
Yusuf gestured for his six pirates who’d hauled the Russians down the gangway to climb back to the deck. Suleiman held his ground.
“Speak.”
“All right. Listen, I don’t know what’s on this ship, and I don’t want to know. But you kicked a hornets’ nest when you took it. My phone has not stopped ringing. And the calls I’m getting are from very important people in my government. Very. Military and civilian both, if you get my drift.”
“Make your point, Captain.”
“I’m telling you to walk away. No harm done. Get back in your skiffs and go hijack yourself another freighter. You got my word: I’ll wave and let you go. See you another time. But not this time. This is bigger than you want and more than you can handle. That’s a heads-up for your own good.”
“For my good.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yusuf turned to his cousin,