Hostage Three (18 page)

But this is the truth: the noise was like the colour of whiteness, filling my head and my ears. I tried to shout out to ask Farouz what was going on, but my own voice was gone, was nothing but a buzzing far away.

I saw one of the pirates on the deck go down, without a scream, just suddenly, like someone had kicked his legs out from under him. Blood spurted from his head, then began pooling on the ground where he lay.

Farouz kept firing. I couldn't take my eyes off him. The way he was shooting that gun it was obvious he had done it before. And his face had gone kind of blank, like a shop window dummy. It scared me. It was like he was a different person. A dangerous person.

A pirate.

The world kept being gone, kept being just a roaring
kccchhhhhhhh
sound, like an untuned radio. Then there was a dull
crump
behind that sound, percussion underneath it, and fire bloomed from the little boat out there on the dark water, lighting up the whole scene for just a second: the patch of shining sea between us and the little boat, the men silhouetted by flame, like a photo negative, and then –

Like a light being switched off, an instant darkness.

This blackness reverberated, the image of the burning men still lingering against my retinas, like ghosts.

The other boat must have exploded, I realised. The outboard motor, packed with diesel, was probably hit by a bullet, maybe even from Farouz's gun.

Our pirates – I was already starting to think of them as our pirates – lowered their guns. They moved to the man on the ground, touched him with their toes. Farouz seemed to have forgotten about me. He went forward, began speaking to Ahmed, who was looking down at the dead man with a look that, to me, mingled sadness with irritation. How Farouz could hear anything to have a conversation, I had no idea. But he didn't turn to look at me, so I guessed that he no longer knew I was there, or that he was expecting me to disappear, so no one would know we had been together. I took one last look at the blood, spreading in the light of the deck lamp, streaming in red filaments between the boards of the deck, and then I turned around and crept back to the front of the boat, and from there back inside.

— Where have you been? Dad said, when I got back to the cinema room – at least, his lips did. I could still only hear that dead radio-wave fuzz. What's happening? he asked. His hands were tight on my shoulders.

— Listening to music, I said. I waved my iPod. The pirates had some kind of fight with some guys on another boat. Nothing for us to worry about.

— Why are you shouting? said the stepmother.

I didn't realise I had been. I hadn't heard a single word I'd said.

— They were from the North Coast
Guard, said Farouz, the next day.

We were talking under our breath, while one of the pirates fed hay to the goats, and Dad and the stepmother played Scrabble in the dining room. We had to talk quietly. I mean, Farouz could lose everything, getting too close to me. I could lose everything, getting too close to him. I'd seen him shoot at people, and he hadn't even hesitated. I felt like, I don't know, like if I was whispering it was almost like I wasn't talking to him.

Like it was safer.

— They were other pirates? I said.

— Coast guard, yes.

— But . . . you're on the same side, aren't you?

He laughed.

— No. We are the South Central. They are the North. They don't like us. We have one hundred and forty boats. Nearly a thousand men. Money, from our sponsor. They have less. So sometimes they try to take the ships we capture.

I remembered him talking about his sponsor before, though I hadn't got him to explain what it meant.

— Your sponsor? I asked. Amir?

— Yes. Amir.

— What does it mean, sponsor?

— He is a coast guard who made a lot of money – three million from a Greek container ship. Now he takes that money and invests in others. This is how it works.

As he was talking, a couple of the other pirates were loading the dead man, who had been wrapped in sheets from the yacht – I could see the logo of the
Daisy May
embroidered on them – into one of the small boats. It was even harder to keep track of the number of pirates now that we had moved to Eyl, as they shuttled to and from the yacht, bringing reinforcements and supplies from the beach. I had the impression they were doing shifts, like it was a job. I suppose it was. The only ones who stayed on the yacht all the time were Ahmed, Farouz and Mohammed.

— What about him? I asked, pointing to the body.

— His family will receive a hundred thousand dollars, said Farouz. When we get our ransom.

— What? Seriously?

— Yes, of course. Compensation.

— But . . . how often do people die? Pirates, I mean? I didn't dare ask about hostages.

— Not often. Sometimes they fall in the water. Not many can swim. Sometimes – not often – the navy kill them.

— The British navy?

— I don't know. Or the American. Once, they took two boys, friends of mine, who got too close to a destroyer. They floated them back to us, just off the coast, in white wooden boxes. On one end they had written
HEAD
in red letters, in English. I don't know how they expected us to read that. I mean, I could, but no one else can read English in my crew.

— That's awful, I said.

— Yes. Well, at least they gave back the bodies. That way the families can have their compensation.

— Of a hundred thousand dollars.

— Yes.

The little boat unmoored from the yacht then, and began to chug towards the beach, the body inside it. I leaned closer to Farouz.

— So, I said, nervous. How much . . . I mean, what do you expect to get from us? You, personally?

— I need to free my brother. That's fifty thousand.

— And you think you'll get more than that?

— I hope so. I mean, this yacht, it's a dream for us. So many people on board, which is the really valuable thing. The last mission I was on, we took a container ship. They run those things with a skeleton crew. Once the ransom was split, my share was small. This . . . this is my chance.

— This is my
life
, I said.

Farouz turned away.

At the same time, I thought, oh no. These pirates want a lot of money. And I knew how much my dad loved money. I knew he wouldn't want to part with it. I felt worried again, so I asked Farouz the question he hadn't had a chance to answer before, when the guns went off and interrupted us.

— What happens if my – if the company who own the yacht won't pay?

He looked back at me again. Paused.

— We will continue to hold you, he said at last. For a year, maybe. This costs a lot, in goats and water. If it goes on too long, the sponsor will get angry at his money being wasted, and Ahmed will order us to kill you.

— Oh my god, I said. And if he orders you, will you . . .

Farouz didn't answer. He just looked down, frowning.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. You know those balls, like Magic 8 Balls, where one ball floats inside another one, in liquid, so when you turn it, the ball inside moves independently? That's what my mind felt like, like it had come unattached from the sides of my head.

— Are you serious? I asked.

— My brother . . .

— Oh god, I said. Oh god.

I got up and stumbled into the yacht, down the corridor to the cinema room. I felt floaty, dizzy. Farouz didn't come after me, but Dad stepped out of nowhere, blocking my way.

— I saw you talking to that boy, he said. Did he upset you?

— What? Yes. I mean, no.

— Amy, said Dad. I don't know what you were doing last night, but I don't think you were listening to music. I don't want you talking to him any more. OK? You could have got shot.

— Jesus, Dad.

He raised his hands, offended.

— I'm looking after you!

— Yeah? I'm seventeen! And for your information, I'm not interested in Farouz. This was true then. I pretty much hated Farouz at that moment.

—
Farouz?
said Dad.

— I mean, that guy.

Dad's face set, like plaster drying.

— Listen, he said. You cannot imagine how dangerous this situation is already, without you getting involved in some crush.

— I can't imagine? There are men with guns all around us, Dad.

— Point taken, he said. The thing is, Amy, these men are pirates. They're ruthless.

— Please, I said. They were fishermen, did you know that? Then, after their government fell, Western ships started coming into their waters and stealing their fish. That was when they began arming themselves.

— What? said Dad. Who told you that?

I didn't answer.

— It was him, wasn't it? That was what he told you. Bit bloody convenient, isn't it, making out that they're Robin Hood?

— Well, they're not exactly rolling in it! Ahmed doesn't have goddamn aspirin for his kids.

— OK, Dad said. His face softened for a second. I'll admit their situation may not be totally black and white. But you don't have to fraternise with them. You may want to get yourself killed, but don't get everyone else killed, too.

— I don't want to get myself killed, I said.

He looked at me.

— Don't you?

I hesitated, thinking of Mom. Was that it? Was I doing the same thing as her? Did I have some kind of death wish? I remembered a counsellor telling me that if one of your parents kills themselves, you're six times more likely to do it yourself. I think it was meant to be some kind of warning to look after myself, but I got it. That is, I got why people did it if their parents had. I mean, that's the only way to see them again, right? It's like following someone who gets on a bus. You get on the bus, too.

Only, no, I knew for a fact that I didn't want to die, because when Farouz wouldn't answer me, about whether he would kill me, I'd been scared. I wouldn't be scared if I had a death wish.

— I don't want to die, I said.

Dad paused.

— Right, he said, his voice gentler. Sorry, Amy. I am, really. I just . . . I worry about you and that boy. He's a lot older than you. You think that doesn't matter, but it does. Also, I don't know if you've noticed, but he's a fucking
pirate
.

— I don't think it doesn't matter, I said. I don't think anything.

— No, he said. That's the problem.

Anger popped in me like a jack-in-the-box.

— You don't want me to embarrass you, that's all, just like with failing my A level.

— What?

— Your daughter, the daughter of James Fields, fraternising, as you put it, with a pirate. You couldn't stand that, could you?

— So you're saying you and him –

— No! I'm not. I'm saying that's what you're thinking.

— I'm not thinking anything about it, he said. I told you – I worry about you, that's all.

— Because you can't stand the idea of me being with someone poor, and black.

Dad's eyes went wide.

— You really think that? he asked.

I wasn't sure. Actually, I hadn't even thought of the fact that Farouz was black, or dark-skinned at least. I mean, I really hadn't been aware of it, so it was kind of a surprise to hear myself say it. I guess I just wanted to shock Dad. Still, it was too late to back out now, so I said:

— Why not? It's the truth, isn't it?

Dad sighed.

— Believe it or not, I'm concerned about your happiness. If I were you, I'd ask myself: if this guy wasn't a pirate, if there wasn't something exciting about that, would I be interested? If he was an electrician, say, back home, or a banker, would the same frisson be there?

— I told you, there's no frisson.

— OK, fine, yes. But just . . . think about what I said, OK, Amy-bear?

His voice made my shoulders slump, and I didn't want to fight any more.

— OK, OK, I said.

He held his arms out, awkwardly, fractionally too late.

I shook my head, turned and walked back the way I'd come.

— Amy! said Dad.

— What?

— Nothing, he said. Nothing.

I should have stopped and listened to him, of course. I should have, but I didn't.

The wooden boat pulled up
to our diving platform, and the man stepped off – dressed, improbably, in a suit with a tie. How he could wear that in this heat, I don't know. I was sweating constantly in shorts and a T-shirt, baking in the unmoving air.