Not wanting hostages could be good or bad. It could mean the pirates really did just want money and valuables. After the Maersk Alabama incident, when the pirate in charge had been taken back to the States and thrown in prison and his comrades had been killed, hostage-taking by pirates had fallen out of favor. But not taking hostages could also mean the lives of every single one of the crew were in danger. It was easier to shoot to kill than to try to wrangle two dozen men.
And Mustang really didn’t want to think about what they’d do to a woman if they found her onboard.
“Oh, crap…I hear something!” Rachel said.
“Stay quiet, turn down the volume on your radio, but don’t disconnect,” Mustang ordered.
“Okay…um…can I ask your name? I just…it feels more personal.”
“I’m Mustang,” he told her. “And my team is all here. Midas, Aleck, Pid, Jag, and Slate.”
There was silence for a second, then a slight huff of breath. “I had to ask,” she muttered.
Mustang hadn’t thought twice about sharing his team’s nicknames, but he’d forgotten how weird they’d sound to a civilian. “Scott,” he said quietly. “My name is Scott.”
“Scott. Okay,” she whispered, then inhaled sharply as a loud bang sounded through the connection.
All six SEALs leaned forward, as if that could somehow help keep the woman on the other end of the line safe from whatever was happening. Admiral Light sat tense in his chair as he listened as well.
They could all hear raised voices in the background. Mustang closed his eyes and tried to distinguish what language was being spoken. He wasn’t a language expert, but it sounded like a mix of Arabic and French to him.
“Stop pushing me!” a man’s voice said in English.
Rachel’s breathing was loud and fast. Mustang wanted to comfort her. Tell her to slow her breathing before she passed out, but he didn’t dare say a word in case it would give away her hiding place.
“There’s no one here,” said the man speaking English.
“Men will regret not show themselves,” a man said, obviously one of the pirates by the sound of his accent.
“Where more food?” another man asked.
“There are a few freezers in this hallway,” the crew member said, “and more storage, but the best bet for stuff that can be eaten quickly, without having to cook it, is in the pantries on either side of the galley. That’s where the snacks and things are kept. Back here is mostly flour, sugar, stuff like that. Things the cook uses to make the meals.”
“Show us these pantries. And no try anything.”
“I’m not,” the officer said. “I’m doing exactly what you’ve told me.”
“We come back for water and food,” one of the pirates said. “We look more for money now.”
Everyone in the conference room strained to listen for footsteps retreating, or for more conversation, but all they could hear were Rachel’s terrified breaths.
“You’re okay,” Mustang said softly after a long moment, not able to keep quiet any longer. “They didn’t find you.”
“I know,” she whispered back in a voice so low, everyone had to struggle to hear.
“Who was that?” Midas asked.
“I think it was Bryce…he’s one of the officers who works with the captain on the bridge.”
Mustang saw the admiral writing the name down, though he was sure someone was working on getting a list of every crew member onboard the Asaka Express.
“Had you heard either of those two pirates before?” Aleck asked.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. God, I wish I was better at this,” she moaned.
“You’re doing fine,” Mustang reassured her.
“I’m not. So far I’ve told you nothing you probably didn’t already know,” she said.
“Other than the original distress call, you’re the first communication we’ve had from your ship,” Mustang countered.
“I am?” Rachel asked. “That’s weird. I mean, we’ve all been trained to use the radios to call for help.”
“Are the others in the engine room or in the bowels of the ship?” Pid asked.
“Probably both, but I’m guessing most are in the engine room. It’s loud down there and easier to hide. A cough or movement can more easily be masked by the noise of the engines,” Rachel said.
“And being lower in the ship, surrounded by all the steel, makes it more difficult for radio transmissions to get through on a handheld radio,” Pid told her.
“I guess that makes sense,” Rachel mused.
“Why aren’t you in the engine room?” Mustang couldn’t help but ask.
“I’m the cook,” Rachel told him, as if that explained everything.
“And?” Slate asked.
“And depending on how long the pirates are here, the guys are gonna need food and water.”
Mustang shook his head. He was impressed with Rachel’s dedication to her job, but she was putting herself in danger. Someone should’ve realized that, besides the captain, Rachel was probably the most vulnerable on that ship. The pirates could use her to force the other crew members to do their bidding.
He didn’t even want to think of all the other ways they could use and abuse her.
“I’m in,” Pid said triumphantly as he nodded to the radio in front of him.
“Already?” the admiral asked.
“He means, what took you so long?” Aleck corrected with a chuckle.
“You’re in?” Rachel asked.
“I’ve patched into your radio frequency. We’re listening to channel ten now.”
“You are? Okay, good,” Rachel said. “So…does this mean you’re still coming?”
“Yes,” Mustang told her. He wanted to tell her that they’d be there soon, but unfortunately, nothing worked that fast in the Navy. They needed to make plans, prepare the Zodiac and, most importantly, wait for night to fall…which was still too many hours away.
“The crew channel is three,” she told them. “When you get here and kill the pirates, you can let us all know it’s safe to come out on that channel.”
“Bloodthirsty thing, isn’t she?” Jag said under his breath. “I like her.”
“Thanks for telling us,” Mustang said, ignoring his teammate. He wasn’t surprised, anyone who worked on a cargo ship had to be pretty rough around the edges. He pictured a stereotypical ship’s cook…an older, tall, overweight woman wearing a stained apron and covered in tattoos, with short hair and a bad attitude.
Then he felt like a douche for even thinking about her looks. That didn’t matter in the least. Besides, from the sound of her voice, he guessed she was probably around his age, mid-thirties or younger, and she didn’t seem to have a bad attitude in the least. She was doing her best to stay calm and give them any information she could. “You just stay hunkered down, no matter what, okay?”
“Okay—but Scott?”
Hearing his given name felt a bit odd. It had been a long time since he’d heard anyone call him that, but Mustang said, “Yeah?”