7

“You mean, like Captain Jack Sparrow?” said Jason, trying hard to suppress a grin.

“No, he means real pirates,” replied Colonel Black. “Somali pirates, to be exact. And they’re no joke. Forget your image of Johnny Depp with an eye patch and a parrot on his shoulder. Today’s modern pirates use high-powered motorboats and are armed to the teeth with AK-47s and RPGs—rocket-propelled grenade launchers.”

To prove the colonel’s point, Amir played a jerky video clip of a narrow white-and-blue skiff cutting through the waves at high speed. Crouched on board were seven young African men wielding automatic rifles. The crack of gunfire could be heard above the furious roar of the skiff’s outboard motor. A pirate in the bow held a rocket launcher trained on an unseen target. Connor and the others watched in stunned silence as the RPG scorched through the sky toward the cameraman. The picture juddered as the cameraman ducked in panic, but somehow he still managed to track the RPG’s trajectory as it rocketed past the bridge of the ship.

The clip abruptly ended.

No one said a word, their image of the roguish yet lovable pirate from Hollywood movies shattered by this violent reality.

“Fortunately, a warship was within range and came to the cargo ship’s rescue,” the colonel revealed to everyone’s relief. “But all too often these pirates do succeed in hijacking a vessel and holding it—and its crew—for ransom.”

A graphics chart appeared on the screen with columns of colored blocks rapidly increasing in height like an ever-steepening staircase before plummeting in the last period.

“As you can see,” said Amir, pointing to the screen, “the annual number of pirate attacks has soared in the last six years, from fifty-five to almost three hundred at its peak. Ransom demands have also risen. Five years ago the asking price was three hundred thousand dollars. Now it’s as much as twenty million dollars and beyond.”

Richie whistled through his teeth. “We’re obviously in the wrong line of business.”

“The problem is,” said Amir, “success breeds success. Pirate gangs have become more organized and turned piracy into a full-blown business. Already this year there have been forty-two attempted hijackings and six ships taken hostage. A decrease from last year, but still worrying.”

“If that’s the case,” questioned Ling, “why are we sailing in this area at all?”

“A fair point,” agreed the colonel. “But, although the dangers are apparent, the risks are relatively low, as Amir will now explain.”

Amir brought up Charley’s map of the Indian Ocean again. “Attacks have occurred up to a thousand nautical miles from the Somalian coast, but the majority are concentrated along the International Recommended Transit Corridor in the Gulf of Aden.” He pointed to a wide passage of water separating Somalia in the south from Yemen to the north. Then, indicating a stretch of ocean far to the southeast, he continued, “The planned route for Mr. Sterling’s yacht won’t go anywhere near the danger zone.”

“But wasn’t an elderly British couple taken hostage near the Seychelles some years back?” asked Connor, vaguely recalling the media coverage of their ordeal.

“You mean the Chandlers,” answered Colonel Black. “They were very unlucky . . . Wrong place, wrong time. Since then there have been huge improvements in security. For example, NATO’s counterpiracy mission, Operation Ocean Shield, and the setting up of a Regional Anti-Piracy Coordination Center in the Seychelles itself. These measures have curbed pirate activities significantly. Furthermore, it’s relatively rare for the pirates to target a private yacht. The Somalis see the big money in the commercial vessels, because they have ransom insurance.”

Amir nodded in agreement with the colonel. “It’s true. Out of twenty thousand ships that pass through the transit corridor each year, only three hundred are ever attacked—and less than a quarter of those are captured. Of this number, just a handful have ever been private yachts. I worked out the actual odds.” Amir scanned through his notes. “You have less than a one in ten thousand chance of being hijacked.”

“Care to bet on it?” challenged Ling.

Amir gave a shrug. “Why not?”