Page 10 of All The Way Under
He explains what to expect at the port and where I should go for help. He tells me a few phrases to use in Portuguese, a language I can understand and speak a little, and tells me the indigenous language is Xichangana in case I encounter it and need to translate on my phone. Then he bids me farewell.
“I love you. Fair winds, Sweet Pea,” he says, then clicks off the call.
The large phone trembles in my hand. It’s my only link to civilization when I’m out here. The only love I feel. My world lives inside this heavy, ancient-seeming technology. Extending my arm, I connect it back to its Velcro home and plug it into the charging cable. One of the improvements I made before I set sail was the addition of solar power. I always have electricity in plentiful amounts because of the conversion system we installed.
Now it’s time to get to work. I strap the .22 into the leg harness and pull it up high so my skirt covers it, raise the anchor, and change course to head toward the Mozambique Channel. Words that would have seemed impossible to even think about before I left.
Mom would be throwing a fit if she knew I was going off course, but I doubt she’d understand the risks involved with it. She’s always just thrown money at a problem to make it go away. She’s never done anything like this before, but I’m comforted knowing that if the worst happens and some random ass pirates succeed in kidnapping my ornery ass, they’ll have to deal with Bianca Wyndham for the ransom money. She’ll drive the hardest bargain they’ve ever encountered. They’ll rue the day they chose me. She’ll ask if they have wealthy sons and what their real estate portfolio looks like. Bianca will make them regret they were born. The morbid, yet enthralling thought keeps me occupied as I sail.
As the port comes into view, the AI GPS flickers on and off once or twice, my heart swelling each time, but it’s dark again, without any signs of coming back online.
The seas were choppier as the onshore winds began affecting my sails, so it took longer than I expected. The lights on shore beckon, but the fact that it’s dusk gives me pause. I could anchor here for the night, tucked into the corner of the channel, sheltered from the swells of the current further behind me. Or I could push on for Maputo and take my chances. Because I need to sleep and the fear of not having my GPS is strong, I decide to dock and sail as quickly as I can to get help.
After the flicker of life with Sea Tracker, I know I’m being jammed. If it were a hardware failure, it would be flatlined without any bounce back.
I fixate on the shore as I adjust my rigging and make sure the cleat is holding the ropes properly. The fenders are inflatablebumpers used when docking to protect the boat from landing against other boats or hard surfaces. They’re in place, as well. After my checks are done, I take my place back in the helm and watch my backup GPS just as it begins to rain. Tiny, hard rain that ricochets off the water in sharp little circles.
It went from dusk to black in what feels like seconds, but I know that’s not true.
“Fabulous,” I mutter as I throw on my rain jacket and tighten the hood.
I’ve barely made headway in the channel when I hear the roar of a speedboat engine. I see their flashing lights bouncing off the sails and landing on random places on my boat. Then a spotlight lands on me and holds. They found what they were looking for.
As they grow closer, I recognize Portuguese words over the pelting rain that’s blasting like spiky sand against my face. The words I can understand aren’t pleasant or helpful. They’re talking about money and my boat.
As quickly as I can, I get to the stern, turn on a large spotlight, and tilt it until their speedboat is illuminated completely. Let’s be honest, it’s blinding, it’s ostentatious in size, and their momentary stun gives me time to grab my gun and aim it directly at them before screaming in Portuguese, “Stay away from me or I’ll shoot.”
There are five men on the vessel. I know how to fire this gun, but I don’t know if I’m a good enough shot to take all five of them out, and that can be the only viable option when I begin shooting. The one steering the boat will be first, the second will be the one next to him, then the three in the back. That’s the plan.
The men rub their eyes against the bright light, then draw guns far larger than mine. One of the three in the back shoots into the air twice, in rapid succession. They could sink my boat with rounds that big, and I realize this is bleak. I hate that I madea joke about Bianca when I thought this wasn’t a likely scenario, and I realize I’ll be lucky to get out of this with my life.
“Everyone on board, stand in front of the light and put your hands up. We are boarding.”
They pull up closer to the boat, holding onto my fenders as two men try to board my boat. Bounding toward the helm, I tune to channel sixteen and send in my mayday, but I don’t have time to talk as I hear them sliding up the stern. I head down to the berth, grab the satellite phone, and dial my dad. I know he’s picked up, and I know calling him is more valuable than calling anyone else.
I tell him in a low voice what’s happening, and I describe the men and their craft as detailed as possible. Then I tell him I’m going to leave the phone on for as long as I can so he can track me. He stays quiet, and I can hear him cursing and praying over and over. We aren’t religious, and his reaction heightens my fear.
I can hear the men on the deck, so I grab all the ammo I have and put it in my pockets with the phone tucked in an interior jacket pocket. I rush the deck, gun aimed in front of me.
I shoot one man who is heading down the stairs. I move out of the way and shoot him in the back one more time to be sure, then continue, targeting another man starboard. I fire the gun once more, hitting him in the chest. The momentum causes him to fall over the side.
Unfortunately, that’s where my luck ends. I’m grabbed around the waist, and the gun is taken from my hand.
“Little bird, little bird, here all by yourself in this fancy boat? How dumb can you be?” he says in his native tongue.
“Let me go!” I scream, trying to wiggle out of his grasp without luck. I’m zip-tied, hands and feet, and being lowered into the speedboat before I can even process what happens next. My phone, I think.
“Where are you taking me?” I wail in broken Portuguese. “Where?”
He seems surprised I’m speaking his native tongue. “Somewhere safe,” he growls.
It’s the man who was captaining the boat who has me. The other two men are aboard my boat, rifling through it. I can see them now that they’ve turned off the spotlight.
I’m never going to see this boat again. It seems a foolish concern considering I may die, but as the craft crashes against the water heading in the opposite direction, I don’t take my eyes off my boat until it’s vanished completely. After that, I consider dumping myself into the water to drown, because nothing off this coast is going to be safe.
He lessens the force on the throttle and says, “You killed my men, and you will pay.”
I shiver against the memory—something I can’t process now. I’m shaking with shock.
