The leather-skinned Somali sighed, but no one detected it. He had been planning to take such a prize for a long time. After the international navies increased their presence off the Somali coast to prevent the hijackings for ransoms of cargo-carrying ships, Sayid gave up those attacks. All battlefields evolve, even small ones on open water, and he believed that he had come up with an answer that would change things and make the overall effort worthwhile.

A luxury yacht, a large and coddled ship that would have people aboard who were so rich that they would probably be carrying a million dollars just in spending money, was coming his way, almost asking to be stolen. He could kidnap a few of the big names off such a yacht and hide them deep in Somalia, and the ransoms would be astronomical. He was confident in his meticulous planning. All he had to do was beat the storm, outwit the naval vessels of several countries, boldly board and capture or kill everybody on the yacht, then sink the boat. It would change the paradigm of the way business was done in the hijacking trade. Ghedi Sayid would set the bloody example that luxury yachts were no longer off-limits.

He scrolled and clicked, and the picture of a handsome white yacht flashed onto his screen. British flag and owned by a billionaire industrialist. The man would either be aboard himself or would quickly pay to save his crewmen and any guests who were captured. Sayid bit his lip in anticipation. He dialed a number on his cell phone, which sent a coded message to a six-man crew standing by on the coast near the city of Eyl. The men there scrambled into a speedboat, fired up a big Mercury outboard engine, and raced off toward a designated intercept position.

Taking the Zeiss binoculars from a cushioned case, Sayid stepped to the wing of the bridge, careful not to touch the scalding metal with his bare skin. He focused along the axis where the yacht should soon appear. Speaking quietly, he said, “Well, Vagabond. Welcome to Pirate’s Alley.”