24

Mr. Wi-Fi whistled in admiration as he examined the Orchid’s specifications online. “This is one fine yacht: one hundred and fifty feet of pure French style and craftsmanship.”

He scrolled down the page, his small rounded eyes sucking in the information.

“Four decks, six guest cabins, a range of four thousand nautical miles, cruising speed of twenty-four knots.” He glanced over the rim of his glasses at the mighty bulk of Spearhead. “That’s fast for its size! Carbon-reinforced hull and superstructure, hot tub, sauna, gymnasium, speedboat, Jet Skis—”

“Just give me the weaknesses,” ordered the pirate, who sat cross-legged beside the computer whiz in Oracle’s makeshift operations room. No more than a whitewashed concrete box, the airless room had a red tiled floor, two barred windows and a bare electric lightbulb that hung from the cracked ceiling like a withered fruit. The bulb flickered, a slave to the fluctuating output of the compound’s generator, and its pale yellow light dimmed over the two plotting men.

Mr. Wi-Fi sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “Well, her top speed is twenty-eight knots. That means your boats will be hard-pressed to outrun her. You’ll need to sneak up in the blind spot of their radar”—he indicated the rear of the vessel on the laptop screen—“to have any hope of getting the jump on them.”

“Leave the battle tactics to me,” grunted Spearhead. “What’s the height to the deck?”

Checking the boat’s dimensions, Mr. Wi-Fi frowned. “The freeboard is quite high for a yacht, over fifteen feet. That might cause some probl—”

“Pah!” Spearhead dismissed, swatting at a mosquito on his neck. “I’ve scaled far higher. No problem.”

“Still, I’d advise taking the Orchid from the stern,” said Mr. Wi-Fi, angling the screen for the pirate to get a better view of the yacht. “See where the hull slopes over the tender garage? That’s her weakest point.”

Spearhead nodded, his marble-smooth brow shining in the glow of the buzzing lightbulb. “How many crew?”

“Ten,” replied Mr. Wi-Fi, pulling up an internal layout of the boat. “Their quarters are in the bow on the lower deck. The bridge is on the upper deck. This plan doesn’t show a citadel, but I’m guessing the best location for a safe room will be either the crew’s quarters here”—he pointed to an area in the bow—“or the master cabin on the main deck. The yacht’s equipped with a satellite Global Maritime Distress and Safety System, DSC radio and EPIRB, so you’ll have to ensure all of those are disabled as soon as you board.”

Spearhead snorted. “Shame we can’t sabotage them beforehand. What about defenses?”

Mr. Wi-Fi laughed. “It’s a pleasure boat, Spearhead. No razor wire or water cannon. You won’t be impressing us with your war stories this time.”

“Where’s the challenge, then?” he said with a sly grin, his teeth appearing like a crescent moon in the twilight.

Mr. Wi-Fi peered over his glasses and replied, “There isn’t any. Compared with a cargo ship, the Orchid’s a sitting duck.”