"A white Western woman with brown hair and light eyes. Who else would it be? I knew he was lying. She's the Darkview agent we've heard about."

"Or an aid worker," Mungabe said.

"So? We take her first and ask questions after."

"Did Vanderlock continue with the shipment?"

"Yes. He's probably in Nairobi by now. And there's more. The bombed jet at Hargeisa airport? It was owned by a pharmaceutical company."

Mungabe resumed his pacing, his mind whirring. "Who carried it out?"

"The insurgents. I don't know the whole of it, but the rumor is that a European paid them to do it."

The Vulture, Mungabe thought. The ship's cargo was the real prize, not the worthless cruise liner. Mungabe would take it all. "Where is the woman?"

"On the old trading boat near the fishing dock. There are two guards as well."

"And Ha.s.sim? Is he there?"

"Yes. He's arranged to take Ali's skiff."

"Stop him. And when you do, kill them both." Mungabe switched off the phone and smiled.

29.

SUMNER FOUND CAPTAIN WAINWRIGHT ONCE AGAIN ON THE bridge. The ship continued to move, something Sumner considered to be a good sign. Wainwright waved him over to the ship's console.

"We got the radar up long enough to see them moving away. It went down again right after, but they were here." Wainwright pointed to a green blip that stayed frozen on the radar screen. "Do you think they're done?" he asked.

"Not at all. I think they're just heading back to get more grenades, crew members, or both. How long to Berbera?"

"Two days at least. More if the engines give out, which is a strong possibility. My real goal is not Berbera, but to go farther out from Somali territorial waters. The distance will give us a little more safety from the pirates and will allow foreign ships to come to our aid."

"How long does it usually take for aid to reach a boat under these circ.u.mstances?"

"Eight hours is average."

Sumner grimaced. "That's a long time."

"That's an a.s.sumption. I have no way of guaranteeing even that. And none of it's going to happen if we don't get out of territorial waters. Tell me about the sentry duty."

Sumner recapped the recent skirmish, leaving out Clutch's craven retreat but giving Marina her due as the one to fire the deciding shot. He also told him about Schullmann's cage idea.

"We've got a bunch of aluminum rods in one of the electrical rooms and steel supports for them. They're railing replacements. Feel free to use them. Steel sheets will be harder to come by. I don't know that we have any. Ask the mechanic if there's anything he can cannibalize for the metal."

"I also think we should arm the pa.s.sengers," Sumner said.

"With what? We don't have arms for the crew, much less the pa.s.sengers."

"The crew should be given knives from the kitchen. The pa.s.sengers-screwdrivers, ice picks, anything they can use to fight as the pirates board."

Wainwright's face hardened. "Absolutely not. These guys carry AK-47s, and they won't hesitate to use them if they meet with resistance. Anyone fighting will be mowed down. I'd rather have the pa.s.sengers taken hostage than risk a bloodbath."

Sumner rubbed a tired hand over his face. "Listen, I was taken hostage once, and it's not a situation I would wish on my worst enemy. These guys will drag the hostages to a deserted area and leave them in a pit. They'll barely feed them. The ones who don't die from the exertion and stress might die from starvation. It's my advice that the pa.s.sengers be allowed to fight back."

"I appreciate your view on the subject, but I can't allow the situation to escalate. The moment those pirates climb over the railing is the moment we surrender."

Sumner could see that the subject was closed. "I understand. Then we'll just have to do our best to ensure that they don't board. How long can we continue?"

"Twenty minutes."

Sumner headed down to the mechanical room. Schullmann stood next to an engineer and directed him in broken English. The engineer responded in broken German. They appeared to be progressing despite the language barrier. Schullmann's sleeves were rolled to the elbows. He looked interested, less bored than he had in the casino. Sumner took this as a good sign. He went to the man's side and told him about the railings.

"Is this steel the same as that which forms the ship's railings?" Schullmann asked.

"It is."

"The steel is soft, so I would not depend on it."

"I understand. All I really need is to deflect the grenade."

"It will do that, but not much more."

Another mechanic stepped up carrying a blowtorch and wearing protective goggles.

"I'll leave you to it," Sumner said.

He headed to the deck to check on Block, whom he found looking morose.

"What's the matter?" Sumner asked.

"I hate that they're out there. I thought about what you said. They're coming back, that's for d.a.m.n sure. And even if they kill two-thirds of us, they'll still make a ton of money."

"Don't think about it. Never worry about something that hasn't happened yet."

Block gave Sumner a speculative look. "Tell me why you're really on this ship. You ain't no cruise-line employee, that's for sure. And you're a d.a.m.n sight more competent than that loser head of security, Clutch."

Sumner sat down next to Block and rested his back on the far wall. He gazed into the darkness. "I'm a security agent and work for the government. I'm supposed to be far from the site of my last location, in order to stop any retaliation."

Block laughed a hearty laugh. His obvious pleasure at the irony of the situation made Sumner smile.

Block wiped his eyes and pointed a finger at Sumner. "You gotta be kidding me, right? What are you, some kinda shroud? You bring only bad luck."

Sumner couldn't help but agree with him. "It does appear that way, doesn't it? I'm a member of the Southern Hemisphere Drug Defense Agency. We generally focus on Latin America, but I'll go to whatever hot spot needs me. It's my job to be in the front lines. I don't relish the danger, but I do like the feeling that I'm doing something good for the world."

"No wife? No kids?"

"No."

Block looked relieved. "That's good. Once you've got a family, you no longer feel so free with your life. Kids anchor you in more ways than one."

Janklow's voice pierced the darkness. "Sumner, come with me. We've got a problem."

"I'll be back." Sumner placed a hand on Block's shoulder.

They moved through the ship. The halls remained empty. It was two o'clock in the morning, and Sumner hoped that most pa.s.sengers were able to sleep, although he doubted it. Janklow took him to a door marked PRIVATE. He punched a number into a keypad, and the door clicked open. They entered a large cargo bay. Rows and rows of pallets lined the walls. Most were filled with boxes shrink-wrapped in plastic. Words like "tissue" and "detergent" were marked in black stencil. Janklow ignored these pallets and headed to the rear of the long, rectangular room. At the far end was a large wooden box stamped with the manufacturer's blue logo and covered in bold red with the words PERISHABLE, MEDICAL PRODUCTS. Janklow stopped in front of it.

"These were supposed to be vaccines and some sort of heart medication," he said.

"Supposed?" Sumner said.

"We've gotten word that buried somewhere in this box are two vials of ricin."

Sumner felt his mouth drop open. He prided himself on being the type of man who was rarely surprised, but now he was, and deeply so. He felt completely inadequate to address such an issue. The box in front of him was four feet high and wide. It could contain hundreds or even thousands of vials. From what he understood, ricin looked like any other clear liquid in any other vial. He wouldn't be able to a.n.a.lyze any one to determine its contents.

"Who told you this?"

"A man named Banner. He said you should know right away."

"We have a spare dish?"

"No. He sent an encrypted message on the computer right before they sheared off the satellite. He said to tell you that he's sending a chemist to a.n.a.lyze the vials, but that under no circ.u.mstances must you reveal the ricin to anyone else. Only Wainwright and myself know about what's in there."

"Of course not. But how does he intend to get his chemist on board? We're in the middle of a crisis and no one is coming to our aid, but a chemist will make it here? Doesn't that sound a little strange to you?"

Janklow heaved a sigh. "Who knows if they'll be successful? The chemist is coming with some operatives undercover in a small boat. They're going to try to slip through the net without the pirates or anyone in Somalia being the wiser."

"How will they find us? Wainwright switched off the tracking beam, and the radar's gone."

"Like I said, we had the radar up and running for a short while, and I sent out our coordinates then. We've continued to drift, but if they come soon, they may be able to locate us."

"Who's the chemist?" Sumner asked.

Janklow shook his head. "Someone from Darkview. They didn't say."

"Darkview employs security personnel, not chemists."

"Guess this is a chemist Darkview knows."

Sumner felt a feeling of inevitability wash over him. He shook it off and headed back to the deck to patrol. He'd learned long ago not to worry about things he could not change.

30.

EMMA WOKE TO FIND Ha.s.sIM LEANING OVER HER.

"You're a quiet one, aren't you?" she said. If Ha.s.sim had been the type to smile, she thought he would have then. Instead he gave a shrug, just a tiny movement of his shoulders.

"Stealth is important in the bush. I am quite good at it."

Emma sat up. The wrap fell off her, bunching at her lap, allowing the cooler air to play around her shoulders. Even that fleeting perception wouldn't last for long. She felt the heat lingering just outside her presence, like a dog waiting patiently to get in the door. It promised to be a scorcher. Today Ha.s.sim was in dark-colored camouflage pants and lace-up combat boots. A dark gray T-shirt, not tucked in, completed the army look. He handed her a camping flashlight.

"Take this. It has an ultraviolet light."

Emma flicked on the flash. The bulb glowed blue. "Why ultraviolet?"

"To illuminate the scorpions."

She paused and looked at Ha.s.sim, but he was busying himself at the hot plate, his eyes on the task before him.

Emma got up, grabbed the roll of paper near the curtain's base, and slipped outside. It was still dark, but there was a sense that the sun was there, just under the horizon. She thought it might be four o'clock in the morning. The outhouse consisted of several haphazardly nailed boards twelve inches wide by eight feet high, creating a structure with a vaguely rectangular shape. Like a coffin sitting on its end. There was no roof, just two more thin boards to act as supports, but the door was hinged and had a rope handle. She swung it open and used the flashlight to check it out.

Inside, two thick, sawed-off boards rimmed the edge of a large hole, acting as a platform for one's feet. The entire setup was more like a Turkish toilet with walls rather than an outhouse. It smelled musty, but not like a sewer. It must have gone unused for some time. Five scorpions glowed in a dark corner, their bodies flush against the walls. Emma knocked on the wooden door, and they scuttled out through a hole in the boards.

Upon leaving the outhouse, she spotted another scorpion moving across the beaten earth path. It disappeared under some dried leaves. She made her way back to the rain barrel and peered through the mesh. Dead insects and a small drowned gecko floated in the water. The mesh wrapped over a couple of nails pounded into the rim of the barrel. She removed it and used it to scoop out the corpses, then replaced the screen and shoved the tin tub under the spigot that stuck out from the bottom. She used the soap on a rope to wash her hands but didn't bother to dry them. The water started evaporating in the heat almost immediately.

When she stepped back into the cabin, she saw that Ha.s.sim had lit the hot plate. He filled the percolator with water from the jug, dumped some coffee into the basket without measuring it, and placed the pot on the hot plate. He picked up an orange, holding it in the air with a questioning look. Emma nodded. He tossed it to her. She caught it, settling back down among the pillows to peel it. At the first break of the skin, the tangy, sweet smell of citrus floated up to her, and her mouth watered. She broke apart the sections and ate them, enjoying the sharp, clean taste.

"The flashlight worked. Lots of scorpions in the outhouse," Emma said. She ate another orange wedge.

"I hate scorpions." Ha.s.sim's voice was filled with loathing.

The percolator heated surprisingly fast. Within minutes dark liquid perked into the small gla.s.s top, sending a rich smell of strong coffee into the air. Ha.s.sim poured two mugs, handed one to her. Emma took a sip. It was exquisite. Better than that made from any electric pot, and even better than her press at home. She closed her eyes in bliss. When she opened them, Ha.s.sim was watching her over the rim of his mug with a look of amus.e.m.e.nt in his dark eyes.

"It's the best I've ever tasted," she said.

"The beans are African. Percolating them allows the flavor to become strong. Much better than the method of pouring water through a filter used by most modern coffeepots."

"A coffee connoisseur," Emma said.

"It is my favorite drink." Ha.s.sim finished his and poured some more. He topped off the mug Emma held out to him.

"When do we leave?" she asked.