Hijack, page 13
Ling floated limp in the emerald-green waters. Her Jet Ski was melting into a blob of plastic and black smoke. Connor leaped from the back of Chloe’s craft and grabbed Ling by her life jacket.
“Ling, speak to me!”
Her eyes flickered, and she gradually focused on Connor’s face. “Wow . . . that was wild.”
“Are you hurt?” asked Connor.
Ling gazed drowsily down at herself, then at the surrounding water. “There’s . . . no blood . . . so I don’t think so.”
“What happened?” demanded Connor as he helped her onto Chloe’s Jet Ski.
“The throttle got stuck . . . then it just exploded.”
36
“Connor, I need your protection!”
Connor immediately looked over to where Chloe was laid out on the Orchid’s sundeck. In a canary-yellow bikini and sunglasses, she was wagging a bottle of suntan lotion at him. Connor rose from his chair, then noticed Ling, who was filling out an accident report for Brad, glance up and roll her eyes. Connor now hesitated, wondering if applying sunscreen would cross the line of appropriate behavior with a Principal.
“Please?” insisted Chloe, lowering her sunglasses, her expression all sweet innocence. “I can’t reach my back.”
Ling tutted quietly to herself as Connor went over. He replied with a shrug as if to say, What else can I do? It wasn’t as if the request was unusual, considering the circumstances.
“Thanks,” said Chloe, settling facedown on the padded sun bed attached to the hot tub.
As Connor dutifully rubbed the lotion on Chloe’s back, Ling continued with the accident report. She’d been extremely fortunate to get away with only a few scrapes and bruises, the worst injury being a minor burn on the inside of her left thigh. Not only had the water cushioned her fall and extinguished any flames, but her fire-retardant T-shirt and shorts had protected her from the worst of the explosion.
The remains of the offending Jet Ski were now with the Seychelles coast guard, pending an investigation into the cause of the accident. Profusely apologetic to Ling, Geoff, the ship’s engineer, was at a loss about how it could have happened in the first place, since the Jet Skis were brand-new. Ling herself was surprisingly relaxed about the whole affair, although she gladly accepted Brad’s proposal of an afternoon off to fully recover.
Emily emerged from the staircase, raised an eyebrow at her sister having suntan lotion applied by Connor, then turned to Ling. “How are you feeling, Ling?”
“Fine, thank you,” she replied. “The burn cream is working great.”
Emily strolled over to the handrail. With her back to Connor and her sister, she admired the view as the Orchid eased away from Bel Ombre for their next destination. Holding up her phone, she took a photo of the picture-perfect bay.
As Emily tapped away on the screen, Ling glanced over in curiosity. “Did you just post that photo online?”
Emily looked over. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I asked if you’d posted that on Instagram, or Facebook, or some other site.”
Emily nodded with a smile. “The view’s too good not to share.”
“Next time, don’t.”
“Why on earth can’t she?” said Chloe, raising herself onto her elbows and glaring at Ling. “I did exactly the same back on the beach.”
Ling put down her pen. “The problem is your phone automatically adds your location to the photos, letting people know where you are and when.”
Chloe looked at Ling as if she were dumb. “Duh! That’s the whole point.”
“It’s a security breach,” insisted Ling, holding Chloe’s glare.
Chloe groaned. “Jeez, you’re being paranoid. Your accident must have spooked you. Besides, I want my friends to know where I am. So, don’t tell us what to do and what not to do.”
Feeling the tension rise, Connor stepped in to back Ling up. “It’s not your friends we’re worried about,” he explained gently. “It’s anyone else who may be following your profile.”
“Like who?”
“Those muggers back in Sydney.”
“Oh, please. We’re thousands of miles from there.”
“Okay, I’ll be more careful in the future,” Emily cut in. She offered Ling an appeasing smile. “But I really can’t imagine anyone would be interested in our vacation pictures.”
37
The first stars pinpricked the sky as the horizon purpled with the coming of night. In the deepening twilight, the cluster of pirate skiffs powered over the waves, their outboards purring steadily. Spearhead crouched in the bow of the lead boat, his eyes adjusting to the growing darkness. His body had long since become accustomed to the constant to-and-fro of the ocean’s swell, and he simply conserved his energy for the forthcoming attack.
As promised, Mr. Wi-Fi had forwarded the updated coordinates—the Orchid was now en route to Praslin Island. Spearhead honestly believed that this would be the easiest hijacking in all his four short years as a pirate. If the bounty was as large as Oracle had hinted at, then he could retire for the rest of his life, bathed in riches and beautiful women. But, despite the lure of such a lifestyle, he knew in his heart of hearts that he could never give up the pirate life. The urgent thrill of the chase was like a drug to him, almost as addictive as the power he wielded over a hijacked ship and its pathetic crew.
“Hey!” called Big Mouth from an adjacent skiff.
Spearhead directed his gaze southeast to where Big Mouth was pointing. On the distant horizon, like a gleaming jewel, was the outline of a white luxury yacht. Spearhead considered the vessel for a few moments, then signaled to the other skiffs, moving his hand in a serpent-like fashion and pointing to the target. Then he signed to Big Mouth’s boat to circle around and approach from the opposite direction.
They were still over three miles away, so at this stage of the attack, stealth was the preferred strategy. With his boat leading the way, the skiffs zigzagged across the waves, gradually closing in on their target from the stern to avoid the yacht’s radar.
The darkness of night descended, and only the silvery gleam of a half-moon lit their approach. But the yacht’s owners were considerate enough to leave on their navigation lights. Like moths to a lamp, the pirates converged on the unsuspecting vessel.
As the skiffs came within ambush distance, the buzz of adrenaline rushed through Spearhead’s veins. The other pirates in his boat had fallen silent, equally edgy yet exhilarated at the imminent attack.
At less than a quarter of a mile out, someone on the yacht’s deck spotted Big Mouth’s boat. There was a cry of alarm, and a searchlight was pointed in its direction. The VHF radio in Spearhead’s skiff burst into life as the captain of the yacht demanded that the approaching boat identify itself. Big Mouth responded with a hail of gunfire across the yacht’s bow.
But that was all good. Big Mouth was the distraction.
As the yacht’s engines burst into life and tried to make an escape, Spearhead shouted to his pilot, “GO! GO! GO!”
The mighty outboards roared, and the skiff’s bow rose high in the air as it plowed through the waves. The other skiffs joined in the pursuit, swarming toward the defenseless yacht. In less than a minute, the target vessel was surrounded on all sides.
However, the yacht’s crew wasn’t going to surrender without a fight. A flare was shot across the bow of one of the skiffs, and the yacht began to fishtail erratically in an attempt to ram any approaching pirates and make boarding impossible.
Despite the danger, Spearhead’s pilot brought their skiff alongside the yacht’s stern, bumping hard against the hull. Spearhead flung a grappling hook over the rail. It held fast, but the yacht suddenly veered away and the gap between the boats became treacherously wide. This was how Spearhead had earned his nickname: fearless, ruthless and admittedly a little crazy, he spearheaded every assault. He was the one who took the major risk of boarding first. And the rewards were greater for it.
With his AK-47 slung across his back and his hands gripping the rope, Spearhead leaped for the yacht’s stern. He didn’t make it, and his bare feet trailed in the water as he was dragged along by the speeding yacht. He tried to gain purchase on the hull, but the fiberglass was slick and icy smooth. Sea spray blinded him, and his body was battered against the hull as the yacht suddenly changed direction. Gritting his teeth, Spearhead clung on to the rope. Then, with a Herculean effort, he hauled himself up, hand over hand, to the lower-deck level.
Vaulting the safety rail, he unslung his AK-47 and prepared to take the yacht by force. A man carrying a flare suddenly appeared from behind a bulkhead. Shocked by the pirate’s unexpected appearance on deck, he started to raise his hands. Spearhead slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s jaw. The sailor dropped to the ground, no longer capable of being a threat.
With the single-mindedness of a leopard stalking its prey, Spearhead prowled the main deck, searching the unfamiliar ship for the way to the bridge.
Another sailor emerged, and Spearhead leveled his AK-47 at him.
“Bridge?” he demanded.
The man cowered back into his cabin, pointing to a set of steps. Spearhead swiftly bounded up them and kicked open a wooden door. On the other side, the captain was shouting into the radio. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! This is motor yacht Sunriser—”
“STOP!” snarled Spearhead, planting the barrel of his AK-47 against the captain’s temple.
His eyes wide with panic, the captain let the receiver drop to the floor. “Please . . . don’t kill me.”
Spearhead’s maniacal grin flashed in the darkness. “I won’t. As long as you do exactly as I say.”
38
“Sure you don’t want to join us?” asked Emily.
Chloe wrinkled her nose at her sister. “Why would I want to walk around a hot, wet forest?”
Emily shrugged. “For something different to do. Vallée de Mai is a World Heritage Site.”
“No, thanks. I’m perfectly fine.” Sipping from a freshly opened coconut, Chloe settled back on her beach chair beside the palm-thatched bar on Anse Volbert. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.
The exquisite beach, an unbroken line of silky white sand fringed by lush green takamaka trees, stretched the entire length of the bay. At anchor in its crystal-clear waters, the Orchid held court over the other luxury sailing yachts and catamarans moored off Praslin Island. Brad had just returned the tender to the yacht, having dropped off Mr. Sterling and his fiancée at an exclusive golf and spa resort on the island’s northwestern tip. This meant the girls had the whole day to themselves—but Emily was impatient for a change of scenery.
“Don’t get lost,” said Ling, waving Connor off and grinning as she too made herself comfortable on a beach chair.
Taking a little yellow taxi, Connor and Emily were delivered five minutes later outside the entrance to Vallée de Mai. A small group of tourists were filing past a rustic wooden ticket office that marked the start of the forest trail. Connor paid the entrance fee, and he and Emily took the sandy path into the eco-reserve. A tangle of green fronds enveloped them, and they were soon immersed in an Eden-like setting.
“Vallée de Mai is the only place on earth where you can see the rare coco-de-mer palms,” explained Emily, reading from the pamphlet she’d been given. “The palms produce the largest seed in the plant kingdom.”
“No kidding,” said Connor. “Look at the size of them!”
On a wooden bench beside the trail, three massive heart-shaped nuts had been laid out. Emily tried to pick one up and almost toppled over with the weight. Laughing, Connor tried to lift it. It was as big as his upper torso and heavier than a medicine ball, and even he struggled with the enormous seed.
“Supposedly they have aphrodisiac properties,” said Emily, referring to the pamphlet.
“Aphro-what?”
“You know . . .” said Emily, a slight flush to her cheeks, “romantic effects.”
“Really?” said Connor, quickly putting down the two-lobed nut.
Emily laughed and said, “Only when eaten.”
Connor stared at the massive seed. “What? All of it?”
They exchanged amused glances, then sniggered to each other. As a middle-aged couple strolled up behind them, they stifled their laughs and continued down the path. They trekked more deeply into the emerald-tinged undergrowth, and the atmosphere became almost eerie, the dappled sunlight occasionally disappearing altogether beneath the monstrous corrugated leaves of the coco-de-mer trees. Like giant umbrellas, the fan palms soared a hundred feet up to a shadowy canopy where unseen creatures flitted from branch to branch.
“This place is like a real-life Jurassic Park,” breathed Connor, gazing around at the primeval forest.
The call of bulbul birds and the whistling of black parrots sounded among the trees. The air was heavy with the odor of decaying vegetation and the sweet scent of flowering orchids. At any moment, Connor expected a pack of velociraptors to burst from the undergrowth and surround them.
As they wound their way along the path, Emily turned to him, her eyes downcast. “You know . . . I’ve not met anyone quite like you before,” she admitted.
Connor glanced sideways at her, wondering where this conversation was going.
“I mean,” she quickly added, “who could understand my experience.”
Connor smiled gently. “Well, I’ve only got a notion of what you went through. I was a hostage for a few days. You were held for months.”
“Yeah, and it felt like years,” she said, running her fingers through the fronds of a fern. “But it never had to be that way.”
“What do you mean?”
Emily looked up at the canopy where a bright green frog clung motionless to a palm leaf. “My father wouldn’t pay the ransom. He abandoned me.”
Connor tried to hide the shock on his face. “I’m sure he . . . he was advised to get proof of life before paying anything,” he said, fumbling for a logical reason.
Emily shook her head gravely. “My father has always been a ruthless businessman. That’s why he’s so successful. The kidnappers were originally asking for five million dollars. At first he plain refused. Then he bargained them down. And down.”
No wonder Mr. Sterling’s so rich, thought Connor, if he can play hardball with his daughter’s life at stake.
“But isn’t that just part of the normal negotiation process?”
“I suppose so, but he reduced them to five hundred thousand dollars in the end.” Emily looked Connor in the face, her eyes shining with tears. “He makes more than that in a week! Just goes to show how much my father values me.”
Connor shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet, uncertain what to say. He watched as another party of tourists made its way through the forest toward them. “Look, I’m not really in a position to judge. But your father has hired me and Ling to protect you and your sister. Surely that proves he cares for you.”
Emily’s gaze returned to the tree frog, which still hadn’t moved. “For my sister, at least,” she mumbled, then walked on.
Connor remained by her side as she continued to talk. “Chloe and I may look the same. But in truth we’re yin and yang. I have no interest in business, media or socializing. That’s why Chloe’s always been the favorite. My father expects her to succeed him in managing his empire.”
“But your sister doesn’t seem too happy with him at the moment.”
“That’s because of Amanda,” said Emily, her tone hardening. “We’re supposed to be on vacation as a family, yet we’ve barely seen our father.”
Out of nowhere the hairs on Connor’s neck rose. He had the distinct feeling of being watched. His alert level went up a notch from Code Yellow to Code Orange. While pretending to admire the forest, he swept his gaze over the faces of the tourists behind them.
“I suppose it’s understandable, in a way,” Connor said, spotting a black man in wraparound sunglasses and a blue baseball hat. The tourist was studying his pamphlet and purposefully not looking in their direction. “They seem very much in love.”
“That’s the problem. And it’s not helped by the fact that Amanda is so”—Emily appeared to struggle for the right word—“self-centered. She only shows interest in us when our father’s around. It seems like an act. Chloe’s feeling pushed out by him, and she’s really not used to that.”
Sliding his phone from his pocket, Connor accessed the mug shot of the criminal Doug Carter on his screen. He tried to match the faces, but it was difficult since the tourist’s features were mostly hidden by his hat and sunglasses. Still, Connor’s sixth sense was twitching.
“I can see how Amanda’s presence could cause problems,” Connor replied, his attention now half on the man behind them. “Tell you what, shall we go back to the beach? I spotted a cool-looking ice-cream hut. They have mango and coconut flavors.”
“Do they have coco-de-mer flavor too?”
Connor glanced at Emily, surprised, then realized she was attempting to make a joke. “Well, let’s find out,” he said, smiling.
Following the circular trail around to the entrance, Connor subtly checked behind them. The suspect man had broken away from the rest of the tourists and was keeping pace with them. Connor went to Code Red. High alert. Exiting the nature reserve as fast as he could, Connor hurried Emily over to the waiting taxi.
“You must be desperate for ice cream,” she said, laughing as he opened the door for her and clambered in after her. Connor was now glad he’d been wise enough to pay the driver extra to wait for them. As the taxi pulled away, he glanced through the rear windshield. The man with wraparound sunglasses had disappeared.
