A Captain's Duty

stopped working. Finally, my neighbor Mike had to take it apart down to the seal and snake the thing. He discovered the thing causing the blockage was a pair of eyeglasses. My sister Nancy, who was at the house, said, “Oh my God, they’re probably Richard’s.” Everyone laughed. Just hours earlier, I’d jumped off the lifeboat and had lost my glasses and it was as if they’d traveled around the world and ended up in our sewer line.
    And Andrea was able to send me a message through the State Department: “Everybody in the ’hood is pulling for you. We love you.” The ’hood was our nickname for our closest friends and family. Andrea knew that would put a smile on my face.

FIFTEEN
Day 3, 1800 Hours
    The FBI is confirming its hostage negotiators have been included in by the Navy to assist in negotiations with the Somali pirates…. What they’ll tell you is, by all accounts, this is being done by remote communication. There are no FBI personnel on board U.S. Navy ships out in those waters at this time. So, it is most likely that what is happening is they are in some type of voice contact with the Navy, advising them on how to deal with this.
    —CNN Pentagon correspondent
    It’s a very significant foreign policy challenge for the Obama administration. Their citizens are in the hands of criminals and people are waiting to see what happens.
    —Graeme Gibbon-Brooks, maritime intelligence expert
    T he pirates were nervous. They avoided sticking their heads up in the horizontal hatch or getting too close to the vertical ones. They didn’t want to be picked off by a sharpshooter. They knew that if they were all visible at once,the navy could take them out. The doors were open but they didn’t stand out there for a marksman to get a bead on. Damn smart of them.
    But they knew the history, too. No one had tried to rescue hostages from Somali pirates. It just wasn’t done. Negotiation and ransom-paying was the order of the day. At that point, no military had attacked pirates operating out of Somalia. And they clearly didn’t want to be the first.
    The Leader frequently got on the radio: “No military action, no military action.” Whenever things got tight, he practically chanted it at the navy.
    The engine was running constantly. And the pirates were tensed up, as if they were expecting something. I wanted to ask them, What do you guys know that I don’t? But that wasn’t possible. The only times they spoke to me were to call me a “stupid American” or to order me around. The arrival of the Bainbridge had clearly altered how the pirates saw me. In their eyes, a rescue attempt had to be imminent, and so I now represented not only a payday but a very real threat to their lives.
    The navy demanded to speak to me on the radio. The Leader handed it to me.
    “Are they treating you okay?” came an American voice.
    “Well, they’re acting pretty strange but they’re taking care of me,” I said.
    “Okay, good. Let me talk to the Leader.”
    The hair on the back of my neck rose up. It was almost like he knew the pirates.
    Later that night, I was sitting there, and the Leader started dry-firing the pistol. And then the chanting began. The electric charge in the boat changed. It was in their posture, in the way they looked at me. I think I’m able to read people pretty accurately—it’s something you have to learn as a captain, when you’re giving assignments to guys who have your life in their hands, so my sixth sense is pretty well honed. Something evil came on the boat that night.
    The Leader was chanting. He gave the pistol to Tall Guy, said, “You do it,” and whispered something to him in Somali. The others were answering, either with one word or with memorized stanzas that they chanted back together. The three pirates got up and approached me. Musso came back and held the ropes around my wrists, while Young Guy positioned himself at my legs. Tall Guy was behind me with the gun.
    “Stretch out your arms and your legs,” Musso said.
    I shook my head.
    “Do it!”
    Musso grabbed my wrists and Young Guy began pulling on my legs.
    I was fighting them. “You’ll never do it,” I said to Musso through my teeth. “You’re not strong enough.” This went on for about fifteen minutes—taking a break, then grabbing my hands. Or trying to make me laugh so they could catch me off guard.
    They rested. Musso looked at me like he was genuinely puzzled.
    “What’s your tribe?” he said.
    “What?