A Captain's Duty

I’d managed to create a little bit of reverse Stockholm syndrome with the Somalis. Tall Guy and Musso and myself were united in our disgust at the incompetence of my crew. Shit, they must have thought, how does he sail with these idiots? The two tall Somalis were competent sailors, I would find out later, and the Leader was as smart as they came. But I suspected they hadn’t stormed enough ships to learn the basics of hostage-taking. Believing that the captain couldn’t get his men on deck was an amateurs’ mistake.
    With $30,000 in their hands, the two pirates were satisfied. Still, Shane’s little trick of faking a distress call to the navy had clearly had its effect. They were continually sweeping the horizon for any sign of a destroyer. But their mood had improved.
    As had mine. This nightmare was almost over. I wouldn’t even allow myself to think we were nearly free. Too much Irish superstition, maybe—or my dad’s insistence on finishing the job. But that threat of spending the rest of my life in a black hole in bandit country seemed further and further away.
    “We can do this,” Musso said to me. “But now we need our guy.”
    “You can’t get your guy until we’re in the water,” I shot back. No way was I doing an exchange until these guys were off my ship.
    “Okay, okay.”
    My radio was beeping but it still had a little juice left. I walked over to the fuel buckets and pretended to fuss with one of them. Meanwhile, I called the chief engineer on the radio.
    “Chief, these guys are ready to get into the MOB. We’ll make the exchange once we’re in the water.”
    “Got it.”
    “As soon as they’re off the ship, get it ready to go. I want you to get out of here ASAP. When you see your chance, go. Don’t worry about me.”
    There was no false bravado here. Victory to me was separating my men and my ship from these bandits. The rest I’d worry about later.
    Now I saw Young Guy climbing down the ladders. I was ecstatic. That meant one seaman was up on the bridge, completely unguarded.
    “Guys, someone proceed to the bridge immediately. Our shipmate is up there alone. All the pirates are with me now. Grab him and lock him up so he doesn’t wander off again!”
    I felt a surge of adrenaline. I’d won Round One. Now to survive the rest.

TWELVE
Day 1, 1530 Hours
    THE PIRATES CHALLENGE OBAMA’S PRE-9/11 MENTALITY.
    —Wall Street Journal
    SOMALI PIRATES HAND OBAMA FOREIGN POLICY EMERGENCY WITH NO EASY SOLUTION.
    —FOX News
    T hings started to happen quickly. Young Guy joined the three of us near the MOB. I saw Shane and Mike three stories above on the bridge wing looking down. The crew still had the Leader down below—and there was plenty of steel between Shane and Mike and the pirates, so they weren’t worried about being captured. But the Somalis were unpredictable. They might charge up the ladders shooting at anyone they saw. Shane and Mike began issuing orders over the radio to the crew, who were emerging out of the aft watertight door to the port side, where the emergency generator was.
    I especially didn’t want Shane or Mike to get nabbed. They were intelligent and they had balls and they were the vital cogs in getting the Maersk Alabama powered up and sailing away. The crew needed them to make good their escape.
    “Hey, Cap, you okay?” Shane called down to me. On his face, I saw fear—not for himself, but for me.
    I gave him a thumbs-up.
    “Everything’s good,” I said. It was true. I felt the end of this ordeal coming into view. The adrenaline that had seeped into my veins in quarts now began to ebb.
    But the MOB was still only a couple feet off its cradle. I had to get it moving faster and for that, I needed juice. I got on the radio.
    “Chief, I got to get this davit powered up or we’ll be here until the morning.”
    “Roger that.”
    The ship started to come alive above and below me. Men were scurrying out of their hiding places and running to get systems up and running: hydraulics, backup power, electricity, air. The pirates were a few feet away from me, watching the MOB lift and turning to check the horizon.
    “Okay, the boat will be in the water soon,” I said. I wanted to keep them cool and collected.
    My radio was crackling with Mike giving orders to various crew members and status updates.
    “Who’s that?” Young Guy shouted.
    I looked over. I saw a shadow on the aft deck and then it was gone.
    “You got me,” I said to the pirate.
    I keyed my