Hijack, page 10
He opened a pair of adjacent doors, revealing two well-appointed rooms with low futon-style beds. One was decorated in shades of olive green, the other decked out in rich chocolate brown.
“Now unpack, freshen up and get some shut-eye,” instructed Brad. “I’ll introduce you to the crew later. Then we’ll start your MARSEC training in the morning.”
“MARSEC?” queried Connor.
“Maritime Security. Meet me on the upper deck at 0700 hours.”
He gave them a cheery nod, then bounded back up the staircase.
“I call this room,” said Ling, tossing her pack onto the neatly pressed olive linen of her chosen bed. She explored the en-suite shower room, a gleaming cubicle of mirror and glass, and then, on inspecting the built-in designer wardrobes, was delighted to discover a concealed TV screen behind one panel. Throwing herself onto the bed, she gazed out the large porthole window. Through the glass, the topaz tropical waters rippled in the golden sunlight, and the fronds of palm trees could be seen swaying along a pure white beach.
“This is paradise,” she cooed, glancing over her shoulder at Connor. “I know what the colonel said, but how can this assignment be anything but a vacation?”
26
“When it comes to maritime security matters, this isn’t just the same as land that’s blue,” said Brad, indicating the turquoise sea lapping around them. “You need to acquire special skills and adopt a completely different mind-set.”
Connor and Ling listened as they ate their breakfast in the sky lounge. The chef, a jolly man with a reassuringly large belly, had prepared them a delicious platter of watermelon, pineapple, kiwi and strawberries, along with honeyed Greek yogurt, granola and freshly squeezed orange juice.
The morning sun, shimmering in a cloudless sky, was wonderfully warming on Connor’s back, and he felt more at ease than he had for a long while. Perhaps it was the combination of a good night’s sleep, the idyllic surroundings and Brad’s easy confidence that reassured him the operation would go smoothly.
Ling appeared even more laid-back and at one with the yachting lifestyle. Wearing her sunglasses, a bikini top and shorts, she looked ready for a day of sunbathing on the beach. But any sense of vacation spirit was soon quashed by the training itinerary laid out by Brad on the table.
“We have only a week before Mr. Sterling’s arrival. So we have a lot to cover in very little time,” he explained, pointing to the first day of the schedule. “You need to be able to handle the powerboat, read radar, understand charts, learn open-water survival techniques, be familiar with the ship security plan, operate the VHF radio—”
“We know how to do that already,” said Ling, popping a fresh strawberry into her mouth.
“Stellar!” he said, grinning. “Then you can show me later, Lightning Ling.”
Ling sat up. “How do you know my nickname?”
Brad tapped his nose confidentially with his index finger. “I do my research. Now finish your brekkie and follow me.”
Leading them up to the sundeck, he stood by the gleaming rail and with a wide sweep of his arm gestured at the almost 360-degree outlook. Connor was once again struck by the majestic beauty of the island: all lush, forested slopes, coconut palms and colorful tropical birds, their gleeful chatter filling the scented air. And, judging by the number of other yachts and sailboats moored in the harbor, this slice of Eden attracted the super-rich like bees to a pot of honey.
“Vigilance is the key to protection on board a boat,” Brad explained. “A constant watch is needed, both at sea and in anchorage. Don’t rely on the crew to do any security detail; they’re fully engaged in their normal crew duties.”
Leaning against the rail, he pointed down at one of the deckhands, a lanky South African named Jordan, who was mopping the main deck while listening to music on his headphones.
“When in safe harbor, the crew are generally relaxed and unobservant, but we can’t afford to be.” He jerked his chin in the direction of a rubber dinghy buzzing by. “Small craft like that tender are scooting around all the time, so the approach of a suspect boat can go unnoticed. In a popular harbor like this, anyone with criminal intent has lots of useful cover, and it’s even harder to spot them at night. That’s why gangplanks should be raised whenever possible.”
He glanced down at the Orchid’s lowered gangway and clicked his tongue in irritation.
“In practical terms, the need for shore access means this happens only late at night. The problem is that harbor areas attract thieves and other lowlifes. So suspect anyone approaching our yacht, even officials in uniform. Don’t be afraid to question them. Deception is a common tactic of the criminal. I’ve known ruses that range from people masquerading as pier-side pizza delivery boys to parading a pretty girl in a bikini as a distraction. Not that I’ve fallen for that one, of course.”
He shot Connor a sly wink, then beckoned them both to follow him back down the stairs and along a short corridor. Brad knocked on an open bulkhead door.
“Request permission to come on the bridge, Captain.”
“Request granted,” replied Captain Locke.
As they entered, Captain Locke nodded a brief greeting in their direction, then returned to the ship’s systems check with Chief Officer Fielding.
The bridge wasn’t anything like Connor had envisioned. Gone were the traditional wooden steering wheel for the helmsman, the brass compass tower and the table spilling over with paper charts. Instead, this super-yacht’s bridge was decked out with computer monitors, dynamic positioning systems, integrated communication units, electronic radar displays, and a sports-car-style steering wheel and throttle, complete with leather-upholstered captain’s chair.
“It’s like the starship Enterprise,” remarked Connor.
The chief officer grunted a laugh. “That’s why you need a master’s degree in computing just to pilot her.”
“You don’t say,” said Ling as she stared, perplexed, at a screen of concentric circles, bearings and electronic waves and blips.
“That’s the radar display,” explained Brad. “Later I’ll take you through the basics on how to read it, but the radar’s main function is to detect land or other vessels. From a security point of view, it’s the vessels we’re interested in. If tuned correctly, the radar can give us early warning of a possible attack. See that blip there?” Brad indicated a green dot, then pointed out the window. “It’s that fishing boat coming into harbor.”
Connor and Ling looked out to sea and spotted the trawler approaching. Another, smaller dinghy with an outboard was crossing its path.
“Where’s that boat on the radar?” asked Connor, checking the display.
“Ah, that’s the problem with radar. It has limitations,” replied Brad. “Small craft like that are often missed or appear as haphazard blips. If the sea is choppy, that degrades the radar’s operation further. And if the pilot of the boat steers in a zigzag pattern, they become even more difficult to detect. On top of all that, you’ve got the radar’s infamous blind spot directly to the stern of this yacht. For those reasons, when at sea, there must be someone on watch 24/7.”
Brad looked at them both. “Remember, when it comes to detecting a threat at sea”—he pulled at his lower eyelid with a fingertip—“the Mark One eyeball is always the best defense.”
27
The Orchid’s tender, a seven-meter luxury launch with 260-horsepower stern drive, powered across the bay, leaving a foaming wake in its trail. As Ling opened up the throttle, the wind whipped through Connor’s tousled brown hair, and he had to grip the armrest for balance.
“Steady as she goes,” said Brad, keeping a careful watch for other craft in their vicinity. “She’s not a racing car.”
But, judging by the grin plastered across Ling’s face, she clearly thought it was. Connor had already received full instruction on how to start, steer and dock the tender. Now it was Ling’s turn to get some practice. As she swung the boat around for another run, she hit an unexpected wave, and Connor was bounced out of his seat so hard that he tumbled over the side.
“MAN OVERBOARD!” Brad shouted as Connor hit the water, skipped once across its surface, then plunged beneath.
The sea, warm as it was, still shocked Connor’s system, and the rushing thunder of water in his ears and eyes momentarily disoriented him. Brad had warned them both that any man-overboard situation was potentially fatal. Drowning, exposure, hypothermia and impact injury were all very real risks, especially if the person wasn’t wearing a life jacket. Fortunately, Connor was, and he rapidly floated back to the surface. By the time his head cleared the water, Ling had cut back on the throttle and was starting to make a controlled turn toward him.
As the tender approached, Ling tried to keep a fix on his location. He’d already drifted farther out to sea with the current, and it would be easy to lose sight of a head bobbing in the water, even in a little swell.
“Slow down,” Brad warned Ling. “You’re approaching too fast.”
Ling cut back on the throttle, but it was too little too late.
“Careful!” said Brad. “You’re going to run over him.”
Ling tried to correct the tender’s direction, but without enough power, the rudder responded too slowly. The fiberglass hull cut through the water on a direct collision course with Connor’s head.
“Go astern,” Brad ordered as Connor, unable to dive because of the life jacket, held up his arms to shield himself.
“Astern? What’s astern?” cried Ling, her voice rising in pitch as the tender plowed toward Connor.
“Reverse!”
Connor could no longer see what was happening, but he heard a crunch of gears. When it came to piloting a boat, Ling was clearly more adept at speed than steering. The tender’s engine roared, and the hull stopped within a fraction of Connor’s head.
“Switch off the engine,” shouted Brad, “before the propeller chops him into sushi.”
He leaned over the bow rail and offered Connor a broad grin. “That was a close shave in more ways than one, wasn’t it?”
By the time Ling appeared to help pull him aboard, the boat had drifted and Connor was once again beyond reach.
“You’ll have to make another pass,” said Brad.
Ling let out an exasperated sigh. She returned to the helm, started the engine and put it into reverse.
“No,” said Brad. “If you go astern, you’re in danger of butchering him.”
“Why can’t he just swim to us?” said Ling, her jaw set with frustration.
There was another crunch of gears. Brad raised his eyes to heaven, and Ling caught him in the act.
“Don’t you dare say anything!” she muttered, hammering at the gears.
“Heaven forbid,” replied Brad with his most guileless expression.
After three further attempts, Ling finally managed to pull alongside Connor and safely haul him aboard single-handedly.
“Well, we got there in the end,” said Brad, patting a seething Ling on the shoulder. “But I think we need a bit more practice at the man-overboard drill, don’t you?”
He raised an eyebrow at Connor, who stood dripping wet on the deck.
“Are you willing to throw yourself over for another drill?”
“Sure,” said Connor. “But only if Ling promises not to try to run me over again.”
Ling narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, hotshot, maybe next time I’ll leave you to the sharks!”
28
“Pirates always hold the advantage,” explained Brad, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table in the sky lounge. “As the hunter, they choose the time and place. And, of course, they know that a yacht like this is virtually defenseless.”
“But what about NATO’s counterpiracy operation?” asked Connor.
“Yeah,” said Ling, through a mouthful of tuna salad. “They’ve got warships that can protect us.”
Brad laughed, a deep booming sound as loud as a foghorn. “That naval task force is pretty much useless! It’s not their fault, mind you. With just one small fleet in an ocean this size, it’s like a single police car trying to patrol the whole of France. An impossible task. Therefore, at sea we’re on our own. And we must be prepared to defend ourselves.”
The week of intensive MARSEC training had flown by. The two of them were now proficient in reading radar, interpreting charts and using the yacht’s comms equipment. Brad had also shown them how to tackle onboard fires, deploy a life raft and fire a flare gun, and what the emergency procedure was for abandoning ship. Now, over lunch, their mentor was briefing them on the ship’s security plan in the event of a pirate attack.
“Our defense strategy is to Detect, Deter, Destroy,” he said, thumping the tabletop to emphasize each stage. “As you already know, the key to thwarting pirates is to detect any possible attack before they can get alongside and board us. Once they know they’ve been spotted, they lose their element of surprise. From my experience, many will back off to wait for a less observant crew to sail past. So, to help us with that, we’ll use the radar, binoculars, night-vision goggles and a twenty-four-hour watch shift.”
“Will we be on lookout duty?” asked Connor.
Brad shook his head. “No, the crew might question your involvement. Between myself, the chief officer, Mr. Sterling’s bodyguard and one of the deckhands, we’ll cover that. But both of you still need to keep a sharp lookout. The more eyeballs, the better.”
Brad took a sip of water and a bite of his sandwich.
“If we do run into pirates, our next step is to deter them,” he continued, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “On a commercial ship, we would use razor wire, electrified fencing and water hoses. But I don’t think Mr. Sterling would appreciate his fifty-million-dollar vacation yacht being turned into a battleship.” Brad raised his eyebrows at his own suggestion. “So initially we’ll have to rely on Captain Locke outrunning them and performing evasive maneuvers. Meanwhile, we’ll try to attract attention with distress flares, searchlights, sirens and, of course, the radio.”
Ling set aside her empty plate. “I hate to say this, but we’ve seen a video clip of a pirate attack. Their skiffs are pretty fast. And they have rocket launchers. I don’t think a few flares and a bit of fancy sailing is going to dissuade them.”
“Fair point,” admitted Brad. “But most pirates prefer an easy target, so such a strategy can and often does work. Although you’re right, some can be more determined. If that’s the case, then we destroy them.”
“So what weapons do we have?” Ling asked eagerly.
Brad offered an awkward smile. “That’s a tricky issue. At sea, international law allows merchantmen to possess and use firearms for self-defense. But in most ports it’s illegal to carry guns. So it’s a bit of a catch-22 situation.”
“Then what are we going to use?” asked Connor.
Brad raised his hands, palms up. “Pretty much anything goes. Although the Orchid is his pride and joy, I’ll persuade the captain to ram the pirates. That’ll be our most effective tactic. But it carries its own hazards, including damaging the screws and even holing the hull itself. So we’ll also toss storage nets over the side to foul their outboard motors, and use the foam fire extinguishers to make the most accessible decks and stairways slippery. And, of course, fire flares directly at their skiffs.”
He finished off his sandwich and put aside his plate.
“Once, I was on a ship where pirates managed to attach a grappling hook to the side. We threw a fridge full of Coca-Cola into their skiff!” Brad laughed at the recollection. “Their skiff took in so much water, they had to cut loose.”
He waved a hand around the yacht.
“The prime objective is to keep the pirates from boarding the Orchid. Think of the hull and gunwales of this boat as castle walls. As long as they’re not breached and the pirates don’t reach the main deck, we’re in a strong position.”
Connor glanced down at the stern to where the tender garage was. The bay doors were open, and he could see the ship’s engineer, a silver-bearded man by the name of Geoff, overseeing the delivery of a brand-new pair of Jet Skis. The tender garage was the lowest point of the yacht and appeared very vulnerable to Connor.
“What if the pirates do get aboard?” he asked.
“Then our last resort is the citadel,” replied Brad.
Connor and Ling both gave him a perplexed look.
“Safe room,” he clarified, pushing back his chair and beckoning them to follow him. They headed down the staircase to the main deck and through the galley before stopping beside a large bulkhead door.
“This leads to the crew’s quarters and is our designated citadel,” explained Brad. He slapped the door with the palm of his hand. “This bulkhead can be double-locked from the inside. It’s made of steel, so it’s bulletproof. And down below we’ve got all we need to survive for several days—food, water, sanitation and, most importantly, communications equipment. If we’re attacked, your first priority is to ensure the girls are inside the citadel. Then, God forbid, if the pirates do breach our defenses, along with the rest of the crew, we join them.”
“But won’t we be trapped?” said Ling.
Brad nodded emphatically. “That’s the point. Trapped and safe. Once we’re all inside the citadel, military forces can storm the ship with minimum risk to our lives. However, the citadel is effective only if everyone makes it inside.”
“What a cheery conversation!” said a blond-haired young woman, emerging from the crew’s quarters.
