The Power Trip

  As they approached The Bianca, Cruz ordered them to cut the engines on the speedboats, allowing a stealth landing. They secured the boats to the large yacht with strong bindings before affixing sturdy rope ladders.

  Within seconds the pirates were clambering aboard.

  * * *

  ‘Don’t move,’ Hammond instructed, his voice thick with lust. ‘Stay perfectly still.’

  Renee did as she was told, spread-eagled on Mercedes’ lower bunk bed, completely naked and a tad fearful, but mostly excited as she watched Hammond strip off his clothes. She noticed that he had a small paunch – she hadn’t expected that – and his manhood was not exactly impressive. But he was a UNITED STATES SENATOR, and she was a simple girl from Brisbane. This was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her, and if it meant giving up her virginity, so be it.

  Hammond approached the bed. He was in no rush as he savoured every moment.

  ‘Relax,’ he said soothingly. ‘It might hurt for a moment or two, but trust me, dear, when I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging for more.’

  * * *

  Mercedes ran to meet Cruz on the starboard side. So far so good – nobody had realized that invaders were busy slipping aboard. This was Cruz’s easiest takeover yet.

  He handed Mercedes a bag filled with heavy-duty padlocks, and told her to use them to lock the guests in their cabins until it was time to extract them.

  ‘Somebody better secure Kyril,’ she worried. ‘Before the drugs wear off an’ he goes on a rampage.’

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ Cruz answered.

  She noticed he had his gun out. Was the big chocolate-loving Russian about to be terminated?

  It wasn’t her concern, she had a job to do.

  * * *

  At first Flynn thought he was hallucinating as he peered out to sea. What the hell? Boats approaching. Boats in the middle of the night.

  Was someone in trouble? What was going on?

  The rain had almost stopped and from his vantage point on the top deck he could make out shadowy figures. Shadowy figures that were affixing ropes and then crawling up both sides of The Bianca.

  Jesus Christ! Was is possible The Bianca was being pirated?

  * * *

  ‘I’m sick,’ Jeromy muttered, feeling sorry for himself. ‘Really sick.’

  Luca didn’t hear him, because Luca was still asleep.

  Jeromy had tried to wake him, to no avail. Selfish blond god pop star. May his next tour fail dismally. May his success vanish overnight. May his golden cock wither and drop off.

  Jeromy made it out of the bathroom, reached for his mono-grammed silk robe, put it on, left their room and headed for the stairs, hoping that fresh air might help him recover.

  As he reached the staircase he came face to face with Mercedes.

  ‘Thank God someone’s up,’ he grumbled. ‘Fetch me some sea-sick pills, and a hot cup of tea. Perhaps some plain toast too. Do it fast. I’ll be upstairs.’

  Mercedes was speechless, but only for a moment. ‘You’d better get back to your room,’ she said brusquely. ‘We have a flood going on.’

  ‘I need fresh air,’ Jeromy said with a petulant scowl. ‘Forget about your stupid flood and get me what I require. I’ll be on the middle deck.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, brushing past him.

  ‘Now,’ Jeromy called after her. ‘Do it now.’

  She was gone.

  Staff. Rude and arrogant. Jeromy decided he would complain to Guy about the girl. He’d never liked her, she’d always exhibited attitude. The Australian girl was far more polite, and prettier too.

  * * *

  On the next deck up, Cruz surveyed the drugged-out Russian security guard. He was a big man – huge, in fact, a fucking giant.

  Did they really want to deal with him when he surfaced?

  Negative on that.

  * * *

  Diving under the water of the Jacuzzi, Bianca surfaced between Aleksandr’s strong thighs. She resembled a sleek seal, her long black hair sticking to her back, mimicking an exotic tail.

  ‘You, my dear, are extremely inventive,’ Aleksandr remarked, attempting to get his breath back after a marathon session of under-water lovemaking. When Bianca was in the mood she could be quite insatiable, but then so could he, which made them extremely compatible in the bedroom.

  ‘I know,’ Bianca purred, stroking his thighs. ‘I told you we’d have fun.’

  ‘The storm is over, we should go back inside.’

  ‘Not before I—’

  Her words were cut short by the sound of a gunshot.

  Aleksandr was immediately alert.

  ‘What was that?’ Bianca asked.

  On his feet, stepping out of the Jacuzzi, Aleksandr was already trying to reach Kyril, who failed to answer.

  Somewhere in the distance he heard shouting and another gunshot.

  Aleksandr’s survival instinct kicked into high gear. He immediately rushed over to his bedside drawer to retrieve his gun.

  It was gone.

  He turned to Bianca. ‘Get dressed,’ he said urgently, reaching for his own clothes. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  ‘Shit!’ Eddie March exclaimed. His phones in the office had not stopped ringing, and he could not get through to Hammond on The Bianca. It appeared all lines were down.

  The office was pandemonium. Outside on the street the press were assembling, waiting for something – anything – from Senator Patterson’s camp regarding the sex scandal.

  Radical had vanished. Taken her ill-gotten gains and no doubt skipped town. Where she would run to, Eddie had no clue. And quite frankly he didn’t care. Although he could imagine another lurid headline in the making: SENATOR PATTERSON’S TEENAGE DAUGHTER MISSING.

  Martin Byrne had turned into a man possessed. He’d stormed into Eddie’s office yelling and screaming about how he would sue the Senator for everything he had.

  ‘It was your daughter who sold her story,’ Eddie pointed out.

  ‘Because that degenerate you work with had his daughter talk her into it!’ Martin shouted, ready to explode with wrath.

  Eddie had no sympathy for any of them. He was seriously considering resigning when Hammond returned.

  How could he stay working for a man who obviously had no respect for the position he held? Let alone respect for his beautiful wife. It simply wasn’t good enough.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Radical had hooked up with a boy she’d known and crushed on way back in Wyoming, before her mom had died and before she’d come searching out her father.

  His name was Biff. He was seventeen and a Goth.

  She’d sent him a bus ticket and booked them into a hotel room off Times Square, paying for everything with her newfound newspaper money.

  Radical was happy for the first time in years.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Power. Yes, power was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and didn’t Hammond know it as he gazed down at the naked virgin spread out in all her glory.

  He hadn’t had a virgin in a long while, since girls today seemed to get it on with their boyfriends earlier and earlier. It was a shame, a waste. Smart girls picked a man who knew what he was doing. Hammond Patterson was just such a man. Senator Hammond Patterson.

  A wolf-like smile spread across his face as he lowered himself on top of the quivering girl. She was nervous. He liked that, it made him even harder. A delicate virgin waiting for her master to deflower her – what could be more inviting?

  Hammond Patterson. Master of the Universe. He recalled the Hollywood director James Cameron picking up an award for his movie, Titanic, and calling himself King of the World. Yes, that’s what he felt like right now as his penis thrust inside her, breaking the barrier, ignoring her sharp cries of sudden pain.

  He was on a path to glory. He was about to fuck the life out of her. Give her something to think about, to remember.

  Hammond Patterson was on f
ire.

  * * *

  Panic ensued. Panic as various crew members were dragged from their beds by a ferocious rag-tag band of men who jabbered to each other in a foreign language and wielded lethal-looking weapons such as assault rifles and knives.

  There was hardly any resistance from the crew, who were too shocked and scared to do anything as they were hustled into the mess-hall in various stages of undress.

  Den attempted to grapple with one of the pirates and received a pistol-whipping across his forehead, causing a large gash. Blood dripped down his face as the housekeeper and the two Polish maids screamed in terror.

  One of the maids handed him a dishcloth, which he held to his head while searching around for Renee and Mercedes. Neither of them were there.

  Guy was marched in by a pistol-wielding pirate who shoved him to the ground. ‘What the hell?’ Guy shouted, as he landed on the floor next to Den.

  ‘I think we’re in trouble, mate,’ Den said in a low voice. ‘Big friggin’ trouble.’

  Guy staggered to his feet. ‘Where’s the Captain?’ he asked, trying to sound authoritative.

  ‘Dunno,’ Den answered, stemming the flow of blood from his forehead. ‘They’re still bringing people in.’

  Guy shook his head. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

  Unfortunately for everyone on The Bianca, it was.

  * * *

  ‘Here’s what I want you to do,’ Aleksandr said to Bianca, keeping his voice low and reassuring.

  She’d pulled on black leggings and a sweatshirt. ‘What?’ she asked, wondering why Aleksandr was suddenly so serious.

  ‘I think there might be something going on.’

  ‘Like what?’ she said, gazing at him expectantly.

  ‘I’m not sure, Bianca,’ he said patiently. ‘I need to find out.’

  ‘Was that gunshots we heard? Was it?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, deliberately sounding non-committal. ‘Do not worry, just do as I say until I find out what is taking place.’

  ‘Should we go investigate?’

  ‘I will do that while you stay here.’

  ‘Can’t we call someone?’

  ‘The internal phone system is dead, so are the TV monitors.’

  Bianca experienced a tiny shiver of apprehension. ‘Are we in any kind of danger?’

  ‘I doubt it. However, in case there is a problem, I have a plan.’

  * * *

  Settling himself in a comfortable chair on the middle deck lounge, Jeromy noted that the storm was gone and the sea was almost calm again, making him feel considerably better. Once that insolent girl brought him his tea and seasick pills, he would return to bed. In the morning he would make damn sure that Luca heard all about how ill he’d been, and hopefully Luca would be filled with guilt for not waking up and ministering to him.

  The room was dark as he had not bothered putting on the lights, so he did not see Cashoo until the tall, lanky boy was standing over him brandishing a lethal-looking dagger.

  ‘Move!’ Cashoo yelled, proudly using the one word of English he knew. ‘Move, kumayo.’

  Jeromy almost fell off his chair. Was this some kind of joke? Some kind of bizarre plot cooked up by Suga to get him out of Luca’s life?

  ‘Move!’ Cashoo yelled again, grabbing Jeromy’s arm and yanking him up.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Jeromy said, quite affronted.

  Cashoo had his eye on Jeromy’s robe. He imagined himself strutting around showing it off in front of his girlfriends. He had two girlfriends at home. One of them was pregnant.

  He snatched the robe off Jeromy, who was too startled to struggle. Not that Jeromy would, he’d always abhorred violence unless it was of the sexual kind. Chains, whips, cock-rings – all good at the right time.

  Cashoo held Jeromy’s arm in a vice-like grip, and pulling him along, he marched him downstairs to the mess-hall.

  Jeromy’s eyes swept around the room in horror. Where were the other guests? Where were Bianca and Aleksandr? For God’s sake, why was he being thrown in with the crew?

  This was completely unacceptable.

  * * *

  Flynn had been caught in many situations. Over the years he’d travelled through war zones, interviewed masked and hooded terrorists, almost been captured by bandits twice, survived two earthquakes and a tsunami. But this – what the hell was this?

  They were cruising the Sea of Cortez, for crissakes. They were in safe waters. Apparently not so safe. The Bianca was being taken over. And what was he supposed to do about it?

  He knew the drill. A couple of years ago he’d interviewed several Somalian pirates when he’d been thinking of maybe writing a book about the modern-day piracy industry. And it was an industry; they shovelled in millions of ransom dollars a year.

  Talking with the pirates in Eyl, the small town by the sea that was famous for being the centre of pirate activity, accompanied by four armed bodyguards and a translator, he’d discovered that a large percentage of them were former fishermen who felt that their livelihood had been affected by illegal fishing vessels raiding their waters, so it was perfectly fine to take what wasn’t theirs.

  Apart from the fishermen, some of the pirates were ex-militiamen, tough as old leather, and each clan had their own technical geek to deal with satellite phones and GPS systems.

  The pirates had enjoyed boasting about their activities, how much money they made, and how they earned respect, drove big cars, and married the most beautiful clan women.

  They refused to address the violence and the weapons they amassed.

  In the end Flynn had decided against writing a book. He didn’t trust any of them, and he knew that if he wasn’t protected by armed bodyguards he’d be immediately kidnapped and held for ransom. It was their way.

  Usually they didn’t stray far from familiar waters. So how was it possible they were running riot on The Bianca? This was a crazy situation.

  Safe on the top deck, he knew he wouldn’t be safe for long. If these intruders were indeed Somalians – and from the stray words he’d heard shouted, they were – then their next move would be to secure the boat, making sure everyone was accounted for and locked away. After that it was a question of demanding the required ransom. Until then, the yacht and its occupants would remain their prisoners.

  And if the ransom wasn’t paid . . .

  He recalled that a couple of years ago Somalians had hijacked a yacht with four Americans aboard. Bible-thumping Christians. The pirates had killed all four of them.

  Flynn had a choice. He could try to launch one of the tenders and go for help.

  Or he could stay.

  Sierra was aboard. He decided to stay.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Usually Cliff was a heavy sleeper, so much so that he would’ve slept through the entire storm if Lori hadn’t awakened him. He could sleep through most things – including the big L.A. earthquake in 1994 – but tonight was different. After Lori nudged him awake he couldn’t get back to sleep, even though the storm had stopped and the yacht was only gently rocking.

  Not wishing to disturb Lori, who was now sleeping, he got out of bed, padded into the bathroom, closed the door, put on the light, took a leak, then stood in front of the mirror above the marble sink and studied his reflection.

  Cliff Baxter. Superstar.

  Cliff Baxter. Soon to be fifty.

  Cliff Baxter. Man alone.

  His face was craggy, not as handsome as it appeared on screen. There were new lines around his eyes and jowls every day, and the grey in his hair was increasing by the week. He refused to dye it – artificial props were not for him. No Botox, fillers or whatever miraculous shit some famous dermatologist was forever coming up with.

  Cliff was comfortable with the way he looked. Most of all he was comfortable with Lori.

  Before the trip he’d considered trading her in for a new model.

  Why? Because Enid didn’t like her?

  Bec
ause the press felt he should change it up every year? Get himself a fresh young girlfriend for even more photo opportunities. A new spectacular body to pose beside him at industry events looking pretty while saying nothing.

  What the hell. If he wasn’t careful he could easily be perceived as a dirty old man, and that was not the image he cared to project.

  Lori had been great on this trip. Warm, fun, sexy as hell and everyone liked her.

  So . . . would he ever consider making her a permanent fixture?

  Hmm . . . it was not such an impossible thought.

  * * *

  Mercedes had been under the impression that everyone was going to be rounded up and put into the mess-hall – crew and guests alike. Padlocking the rich and famous into their luxurious suites was not what she’d expected.

  How was she supposed to raid their rooms and take the loot she had her eye on? This was intended to be the trip where she made her own personal score – jewelry, cash, and the big prize – the emerald and diamond ring Aleksandr Kasianenko had stashed in his safe.

  In her mind she’d already mapped out her future. Enough with being her dad’s happy helper, she yearned for her own life. And counting on the score she’d make with the jewelry and cash, she could have everything she’d ever wanted. After all, she was the only one who knew about the ring. And apart from Cruz, she was the only one who could crack a safe.

  What was this padlocking them into their rooms crap? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

  She had to persuade Cruz to gather everyone in the same place, and soon.

  * * *

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Jeromy objected loudly as the lanky young pirate pushed and shoved him into the crew’s dining room. ‘I will not stand for it!’

  Was he dreaming? Was this a bizarre nightmare? If he shut his eyes, would it all go away?

  Cashoo was a happy young man. He slipped Jeromy’s fancy robe over his clothes and pantomimed a wild and somewhat obscene dance for Daleel and Hani, the two smirking pirates standing near the door, weapons drawn.