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Authors: Patrick Robinson
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the pirate.”
Admiral Bradfield arrived back on the fourth floor just in time. Jay Souchak had Ismael Wolde on the line as Mark walked in the door.
“He’s on, sir,” said Jay.
“I’ll pick up at my desk.”
But this was no longer the smooth, confident Admiral Wolde. This was a nervous, irritated pirate who had been waiting too long.
“Okay, 7 million dollars for your ship and crew,” he said. “Give me a straight answer. Otherwise we’re leaving and you will not see your people again . . . You are deliberately holding this up. Probably planning to attack the ship.”
“Steady,” replied Admiral Bradfield. “These things take time. You’re looking at a lot of money, and there are a lot of people involved. But I can say we’re making progress.”
“ Progress! What’s progress? You have the money for me, or you don’t.”
“Okay, now listen . . . I told you the US government or military will not negotiate with pirates. That’s never changed and it’s never going to . . .”
“ Then you’re wasting my time! ” yelled Wolde. “I’m going right back there to execute this Barnwell and Tevez. Then we’ll see who’s running this operation. Do you understand me? ”
“You’re not going to execute anyone while you think there’s 7 million bucks awaiting you. Because if you pull that fucking trigger, you’ll get nothing. Do you understand ME ?”
Wolde, momentarily shocked at Admiral Bradfield’s change of tone, thought of the cash and said, more calmly, “I understand.”
“Good. Just so we’re on the same page,” said Bradfield. “And now you must pay attention . . . and the first thing is, since the US government will pay nothing, we had to find someone who would.”
“That’s good,” interjected Wolde. “That’s very good.”
“And we have found an organization that will step in with cash. But not your 7 million . . .”
“How much?”
“They’ll go to 5 million. No more. They don’t have any more.”
“Well, who are they?”
“They’re the Seafarers Union. They are a civilian organization, very powerful, and very upset with you and your men.”
“Five million is not enough.”
“Okay. That’s the end of it. I can’t get more. The president won’t allow negotiation. I can get you 5 million bucks for the release, under our terms. But if that’s no good, you go right ahead and shoot the American crew and take the ship. Right after that we’re gonna kick your skinny black ass. And that fucking rat-hole town you live in? We’ll take it off the map. Now fuck off, you fourth-rate little murderer. Enjoy the last month of your asshole life.”
Mark Bradfield, a surface-warfare commander at an unbelievably young age, twenty-nine, had an old-world charm about him when riled, even if he was only faking it. And now he rattled the cradle of the telephone. And he could hear Admiral Wolde yelling . . . NO! NO! Sir, don’t put the phone down. We can work with 5 million .”
He gave it ten more seconds and then spoke again. “Five million is what we’ll pay. Not a dollar more. And we have stringent terms which you must accept.”
Mark was far more worried than he would ever let on about the lives of the crew and the possibility of losing the entire ship and its valuable cargo. Mostly because as the US negotiator, he would undoubtedly get the blame. The politicians would insure that.
“Okay,” said Wolde. “You know my terms. What are yours?”
“First off, I want to speak to Captain Corcoran. For all I know you’ve already shot him. Secondly, understand there’s no way we’ll drop that 5 million bucks on the deck of the Niagara Falls , leaving you with the cash, the ship, and the prisoners, while we sit here in Washington with nothing. Get it?”
“Well, what are you proposing?”
“Subject to my talk with Captain Corcoran, you will order your assault team off the ship and out of the area, save for yourself and two armed guards. There will thus be three
Admiral Bradfield arrived back on the fourth floor just in time. Jay Souchak had Ismael Wolde on the line as Mark walked in the door.
“He’s on, sir,” said Jay.
“I’ll pick up at my desk.”
But this was no longer the smooth, confident Admiral Wolde. This was a nervous, irritated pirate who had been waiting too long.
“Okay, 7 million dollars for your ship and crew,” he said. “Give me a straight answer. Otherwise we’re leaving and you will not see your people again . . . You are deliberately holding this up. Probably planning to attack the ship.”
“Steady,” replied Admiral Bradfield. “These things take time. You’re looking at a lot of money, and there are a lot of people involved. But I can say we’re making progress.”
“ Progress! What’s progress? You have the money for me, or you don’t.”
“Okay, now listen . . . I told you the US government or military will not negotiate with pirates. That’s never changed and it’s never going to . . .”
“ Then you’re wasting my time! ” yelled Wolde. “I’m going right back there to execute this Barnwell and Tevez. Then we’ll see who’s running this operation. Do you understand me? ”
“You’re not going to execute anyone while you think there’s 7 million bucks awaiting you. Because if you pull that fucking trigger, you’ll get nothing. Do you understand ME ?”
Wolde, momentarily shocked at Admiral Bradfield’s change of tone, thought of the cash and said, more calmly, “I understand.”
“Good. Just so we’re on the same page,” said Bradfield. “And now you must pay attention . . . and the first thing is, since the US government will pay nothing, we had to find someone who would.”
“That’s good,” interjected Wolde. “That’s very good.”
“And we have found an organization that will step in with cash. But not your 7 million . . .”
“How much?”
“They’ll go to 5 million. No more. They don’t have any more.”
“Well, who are they?”
“They’re the Seafarers Union. They are a civilian organization, very powerful, and very upset with you and your men.”
“Five million is not enough.”
“Okay. That’s the end of it. I can’t get more. The president won’t allow negotiation. I can get you 5 million bucks for the release, under our terms. But if that’s no good, you go right ahead and shoot the American crew and take the ship. Right after that we’re gonna kick your skinny black ass. And that fucking rat-hole town you live in? We’ll take it off the map. Now fuck off, you fourth-rate little murderer. Enjoy the last month of your asshole life.”
Mark Bradfield, a surface-warfare commander at an unbelievably young age, twenty-nine, had an old-world charm about him when riled, even if he was only faking it. And now he rattled the cradle of the telephone. And he could hear Admiral Wolde yelling . . . NO! NO! Sir, don’t put the phone down. We can work with 5 million .”
He gave it ten more seconds and then spoke again. “Five million is what we’ll pay. Not a dollar more. And we have stringent terms which you must accept.”
Mark was far more worried than he would ever let on about the lives of the crew and the possibility of losing the entire ship and its valuable cargo. Mostly because as the US negotiator, he would undoubtedly get the blame. The politicians would insure that.
“Okay,” said Wolde. “You know my terms. What are yours?”
“First off, I want to speak to Captain Corcoran. For all I know you’ve already shot him. Secondly, understand there’s no way we’ll drop that 5 million bucks on the deck of the Niagara Falls , leaving you with the cash, the ship, and the prisoners, while we sit here in Washington with nothing. Get it?”
“Well, what are you proposing?”
“Subject to my talk with Captain Corcoran, you will order your assault team off the ship and out of the area, save for yourself and two armed guards. There will thus be three
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