Goraksh listened to his father’s bellowed commands and helped with the sails as the Black Swan closed on the yacht. The lookout in the crow’s nest relayed that no one else appeared to be about.
Grabbing his binoculars, Goraksh studied the yacht. He spotted a red-haired woman in a bikini waving frantically in the stern, but no one else appeared on deck.
“What do you think?”
His father’s unannounced presence at his side startled Goraksh. He took an involuntary step away before realizing it was his father.
“What do I think about what, Father?” Goraksh asked.
Rajiv nodded at the yacht. “It could be a trap.”
“A trap?”
“There could be armed men belowdecks waiting till we’re within range,” Rajiv said as calmly as though they were discussing the prevailing winds. “They could have rifles or machine guns. Perhaps even a rocket launcher. Those things are not as hard to get hold of as they once were.”
Goraksh knew that; his father sometimes dealt in munitions. But everyone who had a boat and needed money did. There were always rebel forces in India, Africa and the Middle East who needed them. Sometimes Rajiv only hired out to transport someone else’s weapons.
The woman continued waving and yelling.
“I don’t think it’s a trap,” Goraksh replied. “The woman appears too afraid.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” his father said. “It pays to be right.” He paused. “But it also pays to be careful.” He barked an order to one of the men.
Instantly the order was relayed to the other men. All of them armed themselves with assault rifles that were brought up from belowdecks. Possession of any one of the weapons was enough to get them in serious trouble. Having all of them—
Goraksh swallowed hard. He didn’t know what having all of them meant. But it couldn’t be good.
The woman didn’t think so, either. She shrank back, then turned and fled into the cabin.
“Here.”
Goraksh turned once more to his father. Rajiv held a semiautomatic pistol in his hand.
“Take this in case you need it,” his father commanded.
Reluctantly, but trying hard not to show it, Goraksh took the pistol. The weapon fit his hand instinctively, but it was a lot heavier than he’d expected. He prayed he wouldn’t need it.
Rajiv gave orders to close in.
T HE B LACK S WAN’ S CREW lashed their ship to Grimjoy. Then, after they pulled on disposable gloves to prevent leaving fingerprints, they followed their captain aboard.
Goraksh accompanied his father because Rajiv grabbed his shirt and propelled him forward. The pistol dangled at the end of Goraksh’s arm. He wasn’t even sure if the safety had been switched off.
The Grimjoy ’s deck rocked beneath their feet. Waves slapped flatly against the ship’s hull.
“Do you know why I brought you last night?” Rajiv whispered into Goraksh’s ear.
“No.”
“Because you are twenty,” his father whispered. “Because you are a man. And because the men who work for me wonder why my son—my only son—hasn’t taken his place with me.”
Goraksh went forward to the ship’s cabin afraid he was going to be shot at any moment. He thought he might be sick.
“You are a Sikh,” his father whispered vehemently. “The blood of warriors runs through your veins. I put it there.”
Goraksh stood at his father’s side in front of the cabin door. He heard the woman crying within. She was also talking rapidly.
“Help! Anyone! Help! This is the Grimjoy! ” The crying broke up her words, but Goraksh knew anyone who heard her could still understand her. “We’re being boarded by pirates! Help!”
The thought of the woman using the radio twisted Goraksh’s insides into water. “She’s calling for help.”
“What are you going to do about it?” his father demanded. He released his hold on Goraksh’s shirt.
“Help? Is anyone out there? There are pirates—”
Goraksh was unable to bear the thought of getting caught by the Indian navy or coastal patrols. No matter what, he had to stop the radio transmission.
T HE CABIN WAS SMALL . A miniature galley and wet bar occupied the area to the left. A bed and shower cubicle occupied the forward and right sections.
A man, glassy-eyed in death, lay on the bed and rolled loosely with the pitch of the tethered yacht. He was in his thirties and looked American or European. Artificially blond hair was short and spiky. He’d been tall and fit, his skin bronzed by the sun. He wore brightly colored swimming trunks and was bare chested.
He’d also been dead long enough that his blood had settled in the lower part of his body. Goraksh had seen such things on television shows but he’d never seen anything like it in person.
The woman held on to the radio microphone as if it were a life preserver. She continued sending her message.
Goraksh shoved the pistol into her face as if he’d been doing it all his life. His finger wasn’t even on the trigger.
“Get away from the radio,” he shouted. Then he realized he hadn’t spoken in English and that she probably didn’t understand him. He repeated the order again as he reached for the microphone.
The woman jerked away. In the tight confines of the ship’s cabin, she tripped and fell heavily. She had a death grip on the microphone and tore the unit from the wall in a shower of sparks.
As she floundered on the bed next to the dead man, she cursed Goraksh soundly. Goraksh didn’t know what he was supposed to do next. He glanced back at his father as Rajiv came down the steps into the cabin.
Rajiv’s eyes rounded in surprise.
When he swiveled back to look at the woman, Goraksh was stunned to see that she had a small black automatic pistol clasped in her hand. She continued cursing as her knuckle whitened on the trigger.
The detonation sounded loud in the cabin. Goraksh’s ears ached with the blast and he was partially deafened. Sparks from the gun barrel singed his shirt. The bullet rushed in a heat streak beside his head, and he doubted that it missed him by more than an inch.
Goraksh pointed his pistol at the woman and fired back. He knew he’d missed, though. He’d hurried the shot and he’d missed. He barely even heard the reports because he was so scared. But there was more than one of them. He was sure about that.
Something burned into the side of his neck. He dodged away from it, but he knew he was already too late. He’d been shot.
The woman’s head jerked violently. Her blood splattered the interior of the cabin and landed warmly on Goraksh’s skin. He felt it ooze down his face as the woman fell over the dead man.
For a moment, Goraksh’s knees wouldn’t hold him. He thought he was going to fall. He tried to take a breath and couldn’t. He wondered if he’d been shot in the throat. It would have been horrible to drown in his own blood.
Then his father was there. Rajiv slipped an arm under his shoulder and kept Goraksh on his feet. His father turned his head gently with the heated barrel of the .357 Magnum and surveyed the wound in his neck.
Goraksh felt his blood pulsing out of him. It soaked into his shirt. “Am I going to die?” he whispered.
“Not today,” Rajiv replied in a choked voice. Tears glimmered in his eyes. “But I thought I had seen her kill you.”
G