A Captain's Duty

out.
    “Hey, navy man,” he shouted. “American seaman, you want a beer? Come on, we have beer for you.”
    They laughed uproariously. The Somalis were convinced that beer was utterly irresistible to American sailors. They weren’t wrong, come to think of it.
    The lifeboat was constantly rocking up and down with the swells. It was hard to get a fix on anything outside of it. Butsuddenly the Bainbridge loomed into view out the aft hatch. I caught a quick glimpse of a sailor on a bow gun, a big .50-caliber monster. Next to him was a photographer shooting pictures, the lens of his camera pointed directly at me.
    “Thanks a lot, guys,” I said, waving to them. “Why don’t you use that gun instead of that camera.” Later, as one of the Zodiacs full of navy corpsmen passed by on one of their checks, I yelled out, “Take these fuckers out.”
    We were drifting, the engine turned off.
     
    My head was hurting. What seemed so simple—a kidnapping for money—had turned weird. Yemen, suicide attacks, fatwas, Fatah, souls exchanging places. I had to fight to keep my mind right.
    The real obstacle wasn’t the Somalis, I told myself. It was fear. Every time I pushed through it, I found that I could persevere. This isn’t over until you say it’s over, I said to myself. I’m not going to give up. I will outlast these guys.
    I looked out and saw the Bainbridge had been joined by two other navy ships, the USS Boxer and the USS Arleigh Burke . They were all coming broadside, perpendicular to us. It looked like they were maneuvering into a line. Now that is something ships do only when they’re getting ready to lay out their anchors. Which you normally do only in port. Where am I? I thought. Are we near land? Maybe they were trying to hide something on the other side. A strike force.
    Nothing was as it seemed. But at least I could see the ships. Those things are real. Those ships exist. They are my countrymen. That is true.
    The mind games started again.
    “There are no pirates,” the Leader said. “That’s all make-believe. I’ve been down to your ship. We’ve met before in Mombasa!”
    I chuckled.
    “I think I’d remember you.”
    “I’m not even from Somalia,” he continued. “I live in Mombasa, in Kenya.”
    “Yeah, I know it,” I said.
    “Us three live in Mombasa,” he said. The Leader pointed at Tall Guy. “And he lives in New York City.”
    “Really? What part?”
    “Over near Times Square,” the Leader said before Tall Guy could say anything.
    “He must be rich. It’s very expensive.”
    I was playing with them as they played with me.
    “Yes, we work security. Very good money.”
    “But you nearly shot me when you took the ship! One of your bullets hit the ship six inches from my head. And when I tried to get away from the lifeboat, you were trying to shoot me.”
    The Leader shrugged, as if to say, All part of the drill, my friend .
    They even tried their mind-blowing routine on the navy.
    “We need a body bag,” the Leader shouted into the radio. “Body bag now.”
    “Why do you need a body bag? Over.” It was the navy.
    “We had to kill a woman here. She was not halal. She went against the preaching.”
    Pause.
    “Okay, we will throw over a body bag.”
    I thought I was hallucinating again.
    “Put the body in the body bag and we will pick it up. Over.”
    I’d had enough. “This is Richard Phillips of the Maersk Alabama !” I yelled.
    The Leader put the radio down.
    “Crazy navy guys,” he said. “I’ve been working with them for years.”
    I ignored him.
    “This guy is an idiot. This lieutenant commander. I’m going to kill him, he’s such an idiot.”
    “That seems to be your solution to everything,” I said.
    He nodded.
    “The Leader,” said Tall Guy. “He would love to get a woman to kill.”
    Were they trying to impress me, the sensitive American, with how bloodthirsty they were? All they were doing was increasing my disgust.
    “I can’t help him with that,” I said.
     
    Around sunset, the pirates resumed the death ritual. The Leader began to chant, the others answered him, and Musso came over to complete the knots on my ropes. They stopped offering me food or water, which is what they’d done before the last time they strung me up. Any time they were getting ready to have a go at me, they cut off my rations.
    My gut clenched up.
    They began with the halal crap: You can’t touch this rope, don’t touch your mouth, you must stand up, you must stand