Let me bring us back in class.…”
Nolan just shook his head, pulled up on the copter’s collective and took off.
“Strap him down,” he told Gunner and Twitch. “And sit on him if you have to. If not, he might jump out and try to fly back on his own.”
6
Aboard The Immaculate Perception
TEAM WHISKEY RETURNED to Aden once they had retrieved Batman.
But they stayed only long enough to make sure their payment from Hollywood had arrived, to wash up and get into clean clothes. Then they flew back to The Immaculate Perception, which by this time was sailing off the southern tip of Yemen again, five Omani warships in tow, providing security overkill.
Whiskey returned to the mega-yacht not for another mission, but for a party. The vessel’s very famous passenger was throwing herself a bash to celebrate her own rescue. The crème de la crème of the Persian Gulf’s wealthiest characters were invited, along with a lot of Euro-trash, as well as a sizable contingent of A-list Hollywood types who happened to be vacationing in Israel, Greece, Italy, even as far away as the Riviera. While the oil people had their own transportation, many of the Hollywood crowd had to make the trek in leased jets and then helicopters, a particularly expensive way to travel. But this was a party no one wanted to miss.
Few of the guests even knew what the party was for; the news of Emma Simms’s dramatic kidnapping and rescue was not yet public knowledge. However, a People magazine correspondent had also been invited to the festivities—and offered an exclusive interview. This guaranteed that Emma’s harrowing adventure would dominate the news cycle around the globe within twenty-four hours. And that meant more headlines, more cover photos, and more need to have that morning toast served at precisely the right temperature.
As for her multimillion-dollar movie shoot in Rome?
That would have to wait at least another week, maybe longer.
* * *
NOLAN FLEW THE OH-6 copter out to the yacht, setting down on the rear helipad, relieved to survive another copter landing.
It was just sunset, not quite twelve hours since the end of the hostage rescue, but already the yacht was full of people ready to celebrate far into the night.
Nolan had barely shut down the copter’s engines when Batman bounded out of the aircraft. The yacht’s stern helipad was elevated about eight feet off the rear deck. Without prompting, Batman stepped to the edge of this pad and launched himself into another spectacular aerial backflip, spinning high in the air before landing with the precision of a trapeze artist, feet first, onto the main deck.
Those guests nearby gave him an enthusiastic round of applause and welcomed him like one of their own—a celebrity. The other Whiskey members were simply bewildered. Batman had been acting extremely strange since he’d been lifted off the Somali beach that morning. First, he hadn’t shut up about his time with Chief Bol Bada and the Ekita clan. They’d heard several times about how the chief had saved him when the Jihad Brotherhood unexpectedly showed up, how the clan had nursed him through the early morning hours, how they’d bathed him, cleansed him, given him all kinds of potions and herbs and tulip bulbs, anointings, on and on.
In the course of this, Batman had become the exact opposite of what he used to be. His cynicism was gone. He was suddenly talkative, trusting and compassionate. The chip was off his shoulder and the bitterness about losing his hand, always bubbling below the surface, was nowhere in evidence.
Nolan wrote it off to the excitement of the rescue mission combined with an overindulgence of the killer pot Batman always seemed to have access to.
But this didn’t explain the twenty-foot aerial backflips.
After his grand entrance, Batman headed straight for the middle of the party. He was absorbed into a clutch of beautiful people who were just oozing with fascination at meeting a real-life pirate hunter, especially one with a mechanical hand.
More typically, Gunner and Twitch made a beeline for the obscenely sumptuous buffet in the process of being served on the second deck. Twelve pheasants, seven cows, four geese and at least one octopus had given their lives for this spread. Mangosteen, African cucumbers and jackfruit were also in abundance, as were large bowls of Chinese black ice cream. Magnums of Krug Clos du Mesnil champagne were lined up like soldiers nearby, waiting to be popped. A vast array of scotch and other liquor was also on hand.