way is the only option. We can’t parachute it because that would require a large plane, and it would be a rough landing on that deck. And I understand you don’t want it delivered by sea, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is,” the pirate replied. “Do you have a solution, then?”
“We’ll have to break it up into wooden crates,” Nolan replied. “And deliver them one at a time. There’s no other way.”
A long silence on the other end of the line.
“How many people work for your company?” the pirate asked.
“We are five.”
“Are they all with you now?”
“Yes.”
Another silence, and then the pirate spoke again: “We’d be fools to trust you, so this is what you must do. Deliver the first crate—and leave your four men behind. Deliver the other crates—we make sure the money count is right, then the ship is yours and we let the crew go.”
“Along with me and my men?” Nolan added.
“Yes—of course,” the pirate said quickly.
“One hour,” Nolan told him, again hearing more laughter from the other end. “You can expect us then.”
Forty-five minutes later
COLONEL ZAMAL WAS standing outside the cabin where Team Whiskey was getting ready for their mission. They’d requested this place as their prep room, a lounge that ran off the gigantic kids’ play area.
“You only have ten minutes to get airborne,” Zamal said, checking his watch and banging on the cabin door. “We must stay on schedule.”
The door opened a crack; the man they called Batman stuck his head out.
“What time is lunch served on this boat?” he asked Zamal.
Zamal was thrown by the question. “Anytime the prince wants it,” was his reply. “Why? Are you hungry?”
The man patted him lightly on the shoulder with his hook hand.
“No—not now,” he said, closing the door again. “But maybe later.”
* * *
FIVE MORE MINUTES went by. Zamal anxiously paced the passageway. He was more convinced than ever the Whiskey team members were crazy. It was almost a certainty that the pirates would kill them once the ransom money was paid. It was a no-win situation. Yet the team was going ahead with it.
Finally the cabin door opened again, and the five men came out. Zamal had expected to see them dressed in full battle gear, but the opposite was true. They wore no body armor, no military fatigues. Not even combat helmets. They were dressed as before: camo shorts, shirts, sneakers and baseball caps. And they were carrying no weapons that he could see. All they had in hand was Dr. Bobol’s drawing and a letter of terms from the prince.
As they started up to the helipad, Zamal stopped them.
“My apologies,” he told them. “But the prince insists.”
With that, he frisked each member quickly. When Zamal declared them to be clean, they resumed walking toward the helipad, where the crates of money awaited.
Zamal started to follow but then glanced into the empty cabin. It looked unchanged, except for two things. It smelled faintly of ammonia, and in the wastebasket was a handful of torn plastic, the remains of some kind of packaging. Zamal took out the refuse and read the few words he could find on them: One was “Mega Blast.” Another read “Zapper-500.”
Zamal scratched his head, baffled.
“What on earth is this stuff?” he thought.
* * *
STRIPPED OF ITS weapons, the copter nicknamed Bad Dawg One circled the LNG carrier once before landing on the helipad in front of the ship’s massive stern-mounted superstructure.
The five pirates were waiting. Just as the doctor’s drawing had indicated, four of them were standing in what appeared to be prearranged spots, one at each corner of the helipad. Each was carrying an AK-47 and had a machete tucked in his belt. As predicted, they were dressed like the tanker’s crew and had their faces covered with bandanas save for their eyes. The fifth pirate was stationed on the railing about eight feet above; he held an RPG launcher.
Batman was piloting the copter; Twitch was in the copilot’s seat. Nolan, Gunner and Crash were riding in the passenger compartment in back, straddling the first wooden crate. They were all eyeing the pirates, especially their weapons. More than ever, Whiskey knew one stray bullet, and this corner of the Indian Ocean would go up.
They waited in the copter, engine running, until the pirates motioned them to get out, one at a time.
Again, just as the doctor had said, the team members were subjected to an intense search. One by one, the pirates roughly frisked them, once, twice, three times. Then they