The Devil's Waters

CHAPTER 11





Pirate skiffs

Gulf of Aden

Yusuf raised a fist.

In the center, Suleiman did the same. To his right, young Guleed hoisted his balled hand.

The three cousins stood in the bows of three black skiffs lashed together. They signaled to one another: Courage.

The boats idled their engines. Along with Yusuf and Guleed in the left and right skiffs, one helmsman and one gunner waited in each. Seventeen more pirates crowded behind Suleiman, standing in the bow of the middle skiff. All were armed with Kalashnikov rifles. A dozen rocket-propelled grenade launchers were secured to the floorboards of each of the three skiffs, along with rope ladders and new aluminum grappling hooks tied to long tethers. At Yusuf’s feet lay two hundred meters of coiled hemp rope. The line ran past Suleiman in the middle to an equal coil at Guleed’s bare feet.

Every eye was turned to the enormous bow of the freighter bearing down on them. Yusuf could not understand why the Valnea moved so slowly. A vessel of this class was capable of twenty-five knots, even more running empty. The ship wasn’t in a convoy; she ran alone. Why? Was she wounded? Was this a trap? Yusuf had brooded over these questions, moving to stay in the freighter’s path, skulking to spring his own trap. He had no more time to ponder; the white steaming light on her forward mast charged closer, high in the air like an approaching comet.

Over the skiff’s VHF radio, the freighter repeated its hail on Channel 16. The voice was very matter-of-fact. “Unidentified vessel, unidentified vessel, CMA CGN Valnea. Please respond.”

Yusuf said, “Cut that off.”

Water sprayed off the huge bulbous bow that would ram them in another thirty seconds. With the immense ship almost on top of them, her twelve knots didn’t seem so sluggish to Yusuf. The noise of the bow cutting through the water and the rumble of the propeller beneath the surface vibrated under his soles. He held his fist higher, to be seen by his men in the dim light. Twenty-three narrow Darood faces locked on him. Yusuf looked once to the stars—still a moonless night—to take a bit of peace with him into the hijacking.

The freighter charged so close that it blocked the stars to the east, and the walls of the hull echoed the splashing, bulbous bow. Yusuf nodded to his two kinsmen. He dropped his fist.

Instantly, the lines tying the skiffs together were let go. The trio of helmsmen blared their engines. Yusuf and Guleed peeled away left and right, playing out the coiled rope between them, straining to hold the line taut above the water. Suleiman’s skiff dodged left, barely escaping the slicing bow, almost swamped by the ship’s wash. Suleiman’s helmsman quickly regained control. Hugging the Valnea’s painted skirt, the skiff slowed, slipping along the hull back toward the stern and out of sight.

Yusuf’s and Guleed’s skiffs sped just ahead of the bulbous bow, avoiding the wake that nearly tipped Suleiman. The cousins leaned against the rope, stretching it above the surface. The bulb rose three meters out of the breaking water, over their heads. When Suleiman had first told Yusuf of this tactic weeks ago, it had sounded like an excellent ploy, a way to fool the ship and its armed guards. Now, attempting it, Yusuf wasn’t so confident. He was more sure with an RPG in his hands against a Goliath freighter than with a rope.

Both helmsmen nudged the cousins as close to the dripping steel as they dared. The surge and sound of the freighter here at the leading edge were overwhelming, so much force split the sea. Yusuf bellowed to Guleed, “Ready?” The boy could not possibly hear over the roaring water and skiff engines, but Guleed jerked his head to show that he knew what Yusuf wanted.

Yusuf gave his helmsman the order, and Guleed did the same. Both skiffs, twenty meters apart, eased their throttles to let the Valnea creep slightly ahead. The cousins yanked hard on the rope, nearing the nose of the bulbous bow. If the line hit the water, the freighter would run over it, Yusuf would have to cut the rope, and this tactic would fail. Then they’d untie the rocket launchers and hail the ship with threats. With grappling hooks and ladders, they’d attempt to board, the more usual tactic of Somali piracy. If the armed guards resisted, Yusuf, Guleed, and Suleiman in their skiffs would harass and beat the ship until she submitted, or until the pirates managed to board under fire, a violent and deadly option.

Yusuf pulled hard against the rope, hoping Suleiman’s gambit worked.

Mist off the bow clouded his vision. With no free hand to wipe his eyes, his tunic soaked, he lost focus. The line took slack and bounced on the surface, almost snagging under the bow. Yusuf and opposite him Guleed leaned back with all their strength to lift the rope free.

Yusuf’s hands burned around the thick hemp. The pain honed his will. He jutted his chin at his helmsman to ease the skiff’s speed a little more, to touch the rope to the front of the bulb. Opposite him, Guleed disappeared behind the bow and spray.

Yusuf hauled on the line through the assault of water, the bounding of the skiff over the chop. Slowly, the rope neared the bulb until it touched its tip. Now the trick was to lift the rope over the bulb to bridle Valnea so they could ride her.

Yusuf nodded to his clansman at the wheel. He envisioned Guleed on the right side of the ship doing the same, nudging closer.

The skiff angled in, shortening the distance to the colossal hull. Yusuf raised the rope high over his head. The wash from the bulb splattered his eyes, and he blinked fast to clear his vision. The helmsman fought to keep the skiff steady so Yusuf might not lose his balance.

Yusuf let a meter of slack into the rope; at the same moment, he flicked his arms and wrist to send a loop into the line. He tried this several times, hoping to nurse the rope to the top of the rounded bulb. Yusuf stumbled to his knees, unable to use his hands to catch himself.

“Closer!” he yelled to the helmsman. The man shook his head, afraid to take on more of the ship’s wake. The other in the skiff, the gunner, leaped to shove the frightened driver away. He took hold of the wheel and throttle. Like all the pirates in Yusuf’s crew, he, too, was a man of the sea. The displaced one took a seat at the center of the skiff, angry.

The rope stayed bent over the bow’s bulbous nose. Leaning against the line, Yusuf moved to the bow of the skiff. He climbed onto the short crossbeam, lifting his arms as high as he could. This risked a slip off the skiff shimmying on the Valnea’s wake, the deluge of spray shoving him off his perch. To fall in the dark water would be to drown, sucked under the freighter, chopped by the propeller. To fail to take this ship would be to invite another visit from Sheikh Robow, only a slightly better fate.

Yusuf raised his arms their highest. He pulled against the rope, sensing Guleed on the other end in the same struggle. He wavered on the bow, unable to hold his stance on the shuddering skiff, in the cataract all around him.

The disgraced pirate, the displaced one, leaped forward to wrap his arms around Yusuf’s knees, propping him in place.

“Take it!” the man shouted.

With his stance steadied, Yusuf snapped the rope upward as hard as he could. A ripple whipped into the line; when it reached the bow, the rope slid upward.

Yusuf had snared the Valnea.

Keeping pressure on the line, he stepped down to cleat the rope at the skiff’s bow. On the starboard side of the freighter, Guleed would be doing the same. Yusuf gripped the shoulders of the pirate who’d held him, turned him, and put him back behind the skiff’s wheel, redeemed. The gunner, no longer at the helm, scrambled to untie a rocket launcher from the floorboards.

The skiff bled off speed, letting the freighter pull ahead while the coils of rope slithered into the water. The side of the skiff skimmed against the ship’s hull, gliding backward beneath the giant white letters CMA CGM. No more than a minute had passed since the start of the attack. No reaction had come from the Valnea. If Suleiman’s plan was working, the ship’s captain hadn’t yet figured out where they were.

The long rope continued to spiral into the gulf as the bow gained distance forward. With his Kalashnikov, Yusuf scanned the freighter’s rail far above, three stories high, ready to discourage anyone who might gaze down. The night’s calm, barely begun, remained unbroken by the Valnea.

After one more tense minute, the skiff had slipped 150 meters astern of the ship’s bow. The vessel remained silent and dark, no lights or alarms. The last of the rope skipped overboard. Instantly the line jumped out of the gulf, taut between the two skiffs, looped across the ship’s nose. Yusuf’s helmsman idled the twin outboards, leaving only the freighter’s deep drone and hissing wake. Yusuf and Guleed were now being towed by the freighter, running at her sides like jackals. The Valnea could not outsprint them or shake them off.

Yusuf did not have to wait longer for the freighter’s reply. A searchlight flared from the port wing. The beam scanned forward to the bow, then out to sea, until it panned down the long hull to find Yusuf standing in his skiff. The light warmed his neck.

The vibrations of the great freighter trembled against Yusuf’s little boat, pressed to her ribs; her engine and propeller throbbed into the skiff’s wooden frame. The Valnea bellowed at Yusuf, glared at him with one hot white eye, demanding he release her. Instead, Yusuf loosed a half dozen rounds toward the searchlight, though he had no chance of hitting it, just to fix the attention of the sailor manning it. Beside Yusuf, the gunner lifted an RPG, aimed at the wing where the light streamed down. Yusuf waved him off. The Valnea had not fired on them. The rockets were to be used only then.

Overhead, a klaxon rang. The skiff squealed, tilting away from the ship. Yusuf and the gunner quickly sat, hanging on to keep from being pitched overboard. The Valnea reared out of the water, lifting herself, the helmsman gunning his engines to free the skiff from the rolling leviathan.

The Valnea careened sharply to the left toward Yusuf, turning as though to address him, to say what Suleiman had said weeks ago.

Let this go, cousin.

The helmsman could not budge the skiff; one of the propellers was lifted out of the water.

Yusuf reached out to stroke the freighter’s rising steel torso.

“Maya,” he told her. No.