29

An elderly fisherman in a battered wooden skiff tossed a frayed net into the pale blue waters. Then he sat and waited. His cataract-clouded eyes drifted across the desolate coastline of chalk-streaked cliffs and bone-white sands until his blurred gaze reached the headland. It jutted out into the Indian Ocean like a skeletal finger. Behind his little fishing boat lay the rusting hulk of a long-abandoned cargo ship, hulled on a jagged rock. And beyond that on the horizon, like a mirage, were three more container ships. Not shipwrecked, he knew, but hijacked and held for ransom.

With slow, laborious effort, the fisherman pulled his net in, hand over hand, his ancient limbs protesting, until he was rewarded with . . . an empty net. He cursed the foreign trawlers who plundered all the fish from their waters without permission or conscience. Then he threw the net back into the sea and waited.

As the old man fished for nothing, six gleaming Toyota 4×4s raced across the desolate beach. Spitting sand from their tires, they were weaving dangerously between one another in a daredevil game of cat and mouse. One of the vehicles with a trailer attached threatened to roll over, but miraculously righted itself at the last second. Another cut through the shallows, sending up showers of spray. The 4×4s ground to a sudden halt beside a row of overturned skiffs on the shoreline.

Spearhead got out of the lead vehicle and started shouting orders to his men to unload. The band of pirates flung open their doors and began dragging out wooden boxes and large plastic fuel containers. Out of the back of the trailer, several pirates struggled with the enormous weight of a massive outboard motor, the first of four brand-new engines.

Stumbling across the burning sand, the skinny young pirate with buckteeth dropped one of the boxes and an assault rifle tumbled out, still in its protective packaging.

“Cool!” he said, kneeling down to retrieve the rifle. “Oracle got us new weapons.”

“Move aside, Bucktooth, before you get hurt,” said the pirate with sticking-out ears. Elbowing the boy out of the way, he picked up the rifle, slipped it from its protective wrapper and admired the well-oiled weapon. “AK-47. Chinese manufactured. Very reliable.”

“Let me try it, Juggs,” begged Bucktooth.

Juggs gave him a dismissive look. “These are for real men, not boys! Here, you can have this.”

He passed Bucktooth an old revolver. The boy gazed at it in awe and grinned.

From another box, Juggs slammed a full magazine into the assault rifle and took casual aim at the nearby cliff face.

CLACK, CLACK, CLACK . . .

“Wooooooo!” he shouted above the roar of gunfire. The defenseless cliff spat shards of rock and dust as the barrage of bullets ripped into it.

“CEASE FIRE!” ordered Spearhead.

The earsplitting crack of the AK-47 echoed off the cliff, then faded.

“But there are boxes of them,” protested Juggs, still grinning from ear to ear with the buzz of his newly acquired firepower.

“Then load the boxes onto the boats,” snapped Spearhead, snatching away the weapon.

Juggs scowled but nonetheless bent down and heaved the ammo box across the sand.

The pirates worked slowly in the blistering sun, the harsh onshore wind offering no respite from the furnace-like heat. Gradually the skiffs filled with weapons, ammunition, diesel, navigation equipment, water and food supplies.

“And what have we got here?” muttered Big Mouth to himself as he discovered a long wooden box in the back of the last 4×4. He jimmied off the lid and hefted out a brand-new rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Sifting through the paper-pulp packaging, he also uncovered several rockets. “I think I’m in love,” he said, caressing one of the warheads.

With hands trembling from anticipation, he carefully loaded one of the rockets, shouldered the launcher and took aim at the rusted cargo ship in the bay.

“Look out for that old fisherman,” warned Bucktooth as he eyed the formidable weapon with a mix of awe and fear.

“He’s the one who should look out.” With a crooked grin, Big Mouth depressed the trigger.

The rocket whooshed out of the launcher and scorched over the waves. Even at this distance, the pirates could see the old fisherman’s face widen in terror. He dived into the waters just before the rocket passed over his little boat and struck the cargo ship behind him. There was a deep howl of twisting metal as a massive explosion ripped through the hull. The ship’s fuel tanks ignited with the last of their diesel, and a ball of fire engulfed the entire bow. The little fishing skiff was caught in the expanding blast, disintegrating into a shower of flaming splinters.

“Did you see that?” whooped Big Mouth, dancing a jig on the beach. “These babies are tank-busters!”

The other pirates hollered and bent double with laughter as the fisherman’s head bobbed back up amid the carnage of his fishing boat. He swam desperately for the shore, leaving his only means of scraping a living to float away in shattered pieces.

Spearhead stormed over to Big Mouth and shouted in his face, “What did you do THAT for?”

Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, the pirate held up the RPG launcher. “Just checking its accuracy.”

Spearhead clocked Big Mouth around the back of his head with an open palm, the slap almost as loud as the grenade explosion.

“Ow!” complained Big Mouth, shying away from their commander. The other pirates instantly stopped laughing.

“You’ll buy that old man a new boat out of your ransom share,” Spearhead ordered, “or I’ll gut you like a tuna fish.”

“Chill, Spearhead,” replied Big Mouth, waving him away. “With the money we’ll get, I’ll buy that fishhead two boats.”