Read Online Pirate Alley: A Novel by Stephen Coonts - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Coonts
Tags: thriller
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the AK into the food trays. One wound up in a dish of fruit.
A woman screamed. It was the woman who had been on the edge of hysteria. The pirates ignored her. They looked at the brass cartridge in the fruit dish and laughed.
The loudspeaker came to life with almost no warning. “This is the captain speaking. Our ship has been captured by pirates.” There was a pause as Penney converted the tortured text into real English. “You will obey every order,” he continued, his voice tired and flat, “or they will kill you. Obey orders and everyone will live. Disobey them and many of us will die.”
He paused again, cleared his throat and resumed speaking. “The on-duty crew members will remain at their work stations. Cooks will continue with food preparation. Engineers will remain in the engineering spaces. Off-duty crew members will stay in their quarters. All passengers will return to their staterooms and remain there until summoned for meals. That is all.”
The loudspeaker fell silent. Even the sobbing woman was silent.
Irene and Suzanne looked at each other, then at their fellow passengers, one of whom was shaking and talking soundlessly to himself, then finally at the pirates stuffing food into their mouths and looking at them.
Suzanne levered herself erect, grabbed her sister’s elbow. “Come on.”
The pirates watched and chewed and swallowed. They eyed the watches and jewelry—some of the women still had their diamond earrings and gold and silver bracelets on—but made no move to touch or grab.
Both women seized their purses, then joined the queue of people shuffling forward toward the elevators and passageways that would take them to their staterooms.
* * *
When they reached their stateroom, Benny and Sarah Cohen found tiny bits of glass all over the floor and furniture. The gentle sea breeze through the shot-up sliding door and windows seemed benign; it was a nice day.
Silently Sarah began cleaning up the mess so they would have a place to sit and sleep. Benny used a handkerchief to brush off the seat of the chair at the small desk, then sat on it and used a sleeve to clean off the surface of the desk. From his small leather travel case he extracted their passports. Israeli passports.
Benny Cohen sat staring at the covers. He could throw them overboard, of course. But every computer on this ship, and no doubt a dozen printed lists, listed his and Sarah’s passport details and their nationality.
Hell, if these pirates were Muslim fanatics, they wouldn’t need passports or computers. One look at his and Sarah’s names on a passenger list would be enough to get them killed.
He had been just a boy when his parents had escaped Europe after the war and wound up in Israel, penniless and half-starved. His father had died in the War of Independence.
Benny remembered him, young, skinny as a rail, with a mop of black hair and an Enfield rifle hanging from his shoulder with a sling. His face was indistinct, but the hair and rifle were right there when Benny thought of him.
He and Sarah had lost two sons in the 1973 war. One was in the infantry and the other was a tanker. The day they mobilized was a horrific frenzy; then they were gone. Never to return. One of them, Jesse, left a fiancée.
If only he had gotten her pregnant!
Benny felt Sarah’s hands on his shoulders. He looked up at the mirror above the desk and saw the reflection of her wonderful face, framed by gray hair. She glanced at the passports in his hand and knew what he had been thinking without a word being spoken. Her hands tightened on his shoulders and a trace of a smile crept across her face as she gazed at his reflection in the mirror.
* * *
Heinrich Beck vomited his breakfast into the toilet in his small cabin the instant he reached it. He turned on the sink tap experimentally and found he still had water, so he rinsed out his mouth and washed his face, then sat on his bed.
His stateroom didn’t have a balcony
A woman screamed. It was the woman who had been on the edge of hysteria. The pirates ignored her. They looked at the brass cartridge in the fruit dish and laughed.
The loudspeaker came to life with almost no warning. “This is the captain speaking. Our ship has been captured by pirates.” There was a pause as Penney converted the tortured text into real English. “You will obey every order,” he continued, his voice tired and flat, “or they will kill you. Obey orders and everyone will live. Disobey them and many of us will die.”
He paused again, cleared his throat and resumed speaking. “The on-duty crew members will remain at their work stations. Cooks will continue with food preparation. Engineers will remain in the engineering spaces. Off-duty crew members will stay in their quarters. All passengers will return to their staterooms and remain there until summoned for meals. That is all.”
The loudspeaker fell silent. Even the sobbing woman was silent.
Irene and Suzanne looked at each other, then at their fellow passengers, one of whom was shaking and talking soundlessly to himself, then finally at the pirates stuffing food into their mouths and looking at them.
Suzanne levered herself erect, grabbed her sister’s elbow. “Come on.”
The pirates watched and chewed and swallowed. They eyed the watches and jewelry—some of the women still had their diamond earrings and gold and silver bracelets on—but made no move to touch or grab.
Both women seized their purses, then joined the queue of people shuffling forward toward the elevators and passageways that would take them to their staterooms.
* * *
When they reached their stateroom, Benny and Sarah Cohen found tiny bits of glass all over the floor and furniture. The gentle sea breeze through the shot-up sliding door and windows seemed benign; it was a nice day.
Silently Sarah began cleaning up the mess so they would have a place to sit and sleep. Benny used a handkerchief to brush off the seat of the chair at the small desk, then sat on it and used a sleeve to clean off the surface of the desk. From his small leather travel case he extracted their passports. Israeli passports.
Benny Cohen sat staring at the covers. He could throw them overboard, of course. But every computer on this ship, and no doubt a dozen printed lists, listed his and Sarah’s passport details and their nationality.
Hell, if these pirates were Muslim fanatics, they wouldn’t need passports or computers. One look at his and Sarah’s names on a passenger list would be enough to get them killed.
He had been just a boy when his parents had escaped Europe after the war and wound up in Israel, penniless and half-starved. His father had died in the War of Independence.
Benny remembered him, young, skinny as a rail, with a mop of black hair and an Enfield rifle hanging from his shoulder with a sling. His face was indistinct, but the hair and rifle were right there when Benny thought of him.
He and Sarah had lost two sons in the 1973 war. One was in the infantry and the other was a tanker. The day they mobilized was a horrific frenzy; then they were gone. Never to return. One of them, Jesse, left a fiancée.
If only he had gotten her pregnant!
Benny felt Sarah’s hands on his shoulders. He looked up at the mirror above the desk and saw the reflection of her wonderful face, framed by gray hair. She glanced at the passports in his hand and knew what he had been thinking without a word being spoken. Her hands tightened on his shoulders and a trace of a smile crept across her face as she gazed at his reflection in the mirror.
* * *
Heinrich Beck vomited his breakfast into the toilet in his small cabin the instant he reached it. He turned on the sink tap experimentally and found he still had water, so he rinsed out his mouth and washed his face, then sat on his bed.
His stateroom didn’t have a balcony
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