man holding a huge weapon. He started firing at the two speedboats, expertly spitting out small incendiary projectiles on high arc trajectories. Both boats were hit in seconds, exploding into flames.
And that was enough for the Bom-Kats.
The remainder of the fleet, watching this from a quarter mile away, turned south and quickly fled.
* * *
FIVE MINUTES AFTER the battle ended, Emma was back up at the railing. The other Senegal and the ship’s crewmen were close behind.
Even though none of the pirates had made it aboard the ship, Emma was greeted by a grisly scene. The freighter was moving so slowly, and the sea was so calm, a couple of the dead pirates had been caught in the current and were ghoulishly keeping pace with the ship. Also some of the water around the vessel was faintly pink with blood.
“Was this all necessary?” she asked, looking over the side and shuddering.
“They weren’t coming for milk and cookies,” Gunner replied. “They just didn’t expect a tub like this to be armed.”
Emma was close to tears.
She grabbed Nolan by his arm. “We have to get that radio working somehow,” she said. “I have to contact my friends and get us out of this.”
At the same time, the ship’s original crewmen were also surveying the post-battle scene, especially noting the bodies still floating around the slow-moving ship.
They were incredulous. They knew well how pirate-infested these waters were. They also knew how brutal the Bom-Kats could be. Yet the brigands had been dispatched in a matter of seconds.
The crewmen looked at Nolan, Gunner and the Senegals.
Then one asked in broken English: “Who are you people?”
* * *
ABOUT A MILE away, the lead boat of the Bom-Kats gang lingered behind as the rest of the fleet retired.
Aboard was Bompat Kalish, the commander of the pirate group. He was a large man with many tattoos and body piercings. At the moment, he was furious—and baffled. He’d just watched a number of his men being killed in the unsuccessful attack. Why was such an old wreck of a ship so heavily defended? According to his contacts at Gottabang, it was supposed to be barely crewed and not worth fighting for.
Kalish had been pirating for thirty years. He knew whoever killed his men were professionals, not just tramp seamen with rifles.
His conclusion: There was something different about this ship.
He held a pair of very powerful binoculars to his eyes, studying the freighter as it chugged its way southwest. He focused in on the railing near the bridge—and couldn’t believe his eyes.
There was a blond woman up on the bow, talking to one of the gunmen. But this was not just any blond woman. Kalish thought he recognized her.
His binoculars had a small camera built in. He could take a photograph of anything he saw through the eyepieces. He zoomed all the way in on the blonde and then snapped a couple pictures.
Then, he showed the photos to his second-in-command.
This man couldn’t believe it.
“Do you believe in God?” Kalish asked him.
“No—not until now,” the man replied.
They went below to the captain’s cabin. Its walls were covered with photos of a young blond girl.
Kalish held the photo in his binocular screen next to one of the wall photos.
“It is her,” Kalish said. “I’m sure of it.”
“I am, too,” the second-in-command said. “But what would the world’s most famous actress be doing on that old tub?”
Kalish shook his head and licked his lips.
“God be praised, I don’t know,” he said. “But this changes everything.”
13
Grand Maison Casino
Monte Carlo
“ANY LUCK YET, girls?” Batman called over his shoulder.
The quartet of bikini-clad beauties was sitting at the penthouse’s rococo table, huddled around Twitch’s laptop. They were timidly pecking at the computer’s keys and studying the screen with great uncertainty.
“Nothing,” one cooed in a French accent. “No Wi-Fi anywhere…”
A second added: “Monsieur Bat? You need to find another way to amuse yourself. This is boring.”
Batman poured himself another glass of mineral water and contemplated her comment.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said to himself.
He was sitting out on the penthouse’s immense balcony; Monte Carlo, in all its opulent splendor, was spread out before him. This was the life—and he knew it. His divan was layered with thrice-spun Egyptian cotton; his robe was the finest Iranian silk. His sunglasses were Dolce & Gabbanas his cigar was a Cohiba Behike. There were a dozen bottles of expensive liquor less than an arm’s length away. Courvoisier cognac; Macallan Whiskey; Romano Levi grappa. In the top drawer of the