Power and Empire

The aircraft control system itself was a series of buttons and a joystick. But Cooper told the aircraft only where to go; the computer did the flying. Cooper had already programmed in Lucky Strike’s GPS coordinates, confirmed by the sailboat’s AIS signal after the numbers were given with the distress call. A Pocket DDL — digital data link — made it possible for Lieutenant Commander Akana, or anyone else with the access to the coded gateway, to view the images the Puma sent back.

The small but powerful electric motor whirred on the RQ-20’s nose. Cooper gave the signal to launch, and Davies used both hands to throw the Puma into the wind. The UAV turned sideways, pushed aside momentarily by the breeze. It recovered quickly and began to pull away at once from the slower ship, gaining altitude as it sped above the waves toward SV Lucky Strike.

The sailboat lay ten miles away, just outside the nine-mile control range of the drone, but Rogue was right behind her, cutting the waves at a respectable thirty-three knots.

Cooper looked up from the controller hood.

“She’s making a steady fifty miles an hour, Skipper,” the petty officer said. “Twelve minutes to target.”

AeroVironment reported a top speed of fifty-two miles an hour, but Cooper had been known to coax out an extra two if the winds were right. Unfortunately, today, the breeze was directly on her nose.

The skipper looked at his watch. “Very well.”

He glanced down at the tablet computer in his hands. The Mantis i45’s low-light camera was sending back nothing but ghostly green-black images of waves two hundred feet below. The RQ-20 Puma would arrive on station a scant four minutes ahead of the ship, providing Akana with the equivalent of an extremely serviceable pair of flying binoculars.

In addition to putting the UAV in the air, Counter Piracy Condition Bravo set Rogue’s VBSS team in motion. The crew was already gearing up and readying the launch of the seven-meter rigid-hull inflatable boat. Visit, board, search, and seizure teams were made up of sailors from virtually all ratings. Those selected were trained at one of the Navy’s Security Reaction Force and VBSS schools.

Larger ships had multiple larger teams, but Rogue’s smaller crew necessitated a five-man team commanded by a lieutenant, plus the boatswain’s mate acting as coxswain, driving the boat. Each VBSS team member carried at least fifty pounds of gear, including a Kevlar helmet with NVGs, radio headset, body armor in a tactical vest that doubled as a life preserver, flexible restraints, pepper spray, a Beretta M9 pistol, and an MK18 rifle. One member of the team traded the carbine for a Mossberg twelve-gauge in anticipation of the need to breach locked hatches.

Five minutes from target, Lieutenant Junior Grade Steven Gitlin, the ship’s communications officer, ordered his team into the twenty-four-foot RHIB. Petty Officer 2nd Class Marty White, the VBSS team’s usual coxswain, had sprained his ankle while on liberty in Darwin, so Chief Boatswain’s Mate Bobby Rose was at the helm of the rigid hulled inflatable boat. Two minutes later, the ship’s hydraulic aft doors opened, jerk lines were pulled, and the RHIB slid down the aft ramp into the frothy black sea. The 248-horsepower Steyr diesel burbled in the water, and the chief boatswain’s mate, called “Boats” by the crew, brought the inflatable up along Rogue’s starboard side. Gitlin looked at his watch.

Four minutes out. The first images from the Puma would just be streaming in.

• • •

The seas swelled in long, rolling trains, but there was hardly any chop, and it was a simple matter for Awang to bring the fishing vessel alongside Lucky Strike and tie off to fore and aft cleats. Rubber bumpers squealed and squeaked as Jemaah Islamiyah men moved steadily back and forth, moving quickly to load a dozen twenty-five-pound canvas bags from the skiff to the sailboat.

The women cowered belowdecks, clutching pitiful kitchen knives and wailing uncontrollably. Their flimsy, whorish clothing made it easier for Mamat not to pity them. Those who would act less than human deserved to be treated like dogs.

It was an easy matter to swat the knives out of the way and drag both woman topside. Awang suggested they rape the women to teach them a lesson in piety. Mamat looked at his watch and shook his head. There was no time for that.

The smaller woman with dark hair remained stoic as the boy dragged her forward and tied her to the bow rail. The redhead spat and fought as they lashed her to the mast. Mamat had to club her in the face to shut her up. One hand he tied at her waist, the other Mamat fixed to a thin length of cord that ran up to a pulley above her head and then down again, leading into the cabin. Though the woman’s arm was free, Mamat could raise or lower the hand by taking up or releasing the tension on the line.