“SIR! IT LOOKS LIKE we have a bite.” The calm, clipped voice of the young man seated before an array of screens in the command center of the Vagabond drew the immediate attention of the yacht’s owner, Sir Geoffrey Cornwell.

“Put it on screen two, if you please.” Cornwell activated a lever at his right hand to propel his wheelchair around for better viewing. The image of a small fast boat trailing a V of white wakes came into view. “Range?”

“Twenty-five miles, sir. Speed of thirty knots. It has been on a straight intercept course since leaving Eyl.”

“Very well,” Sir Jeff said. “Mr. Styles. Please drop the Bird in closer to confirm who and what is aboard. Is there anything else around?”

The technician worked a toggle, and a few miles away, a tiny aircraft not much larger than a toy swooped into a low circle to allow its onboard television camera to zoom in on the pirate speedboat. “Nothing else in that threat area, sir. A fishing fleet lies off to the east. The nearest warship is the Italian frigate Espero, which is departing the zone.”

Sir Jeff smiled broadly. “Then we shall now launch the Snake, if you please.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Are you sure this thing is going to work?” Kyle Swanson leaned onto the back of Jeff’s wheelchair.

“I have no doubt of it, Gunnery Sergeant. Our Bird and Snake shall not fail.”

Swanson felt a slight ka-chunk beneath his deck shoes as somewhere below the waterline of the Vagabond a pair of doors slid apart and a flexible black object ten feet in length slithered out of the hull and swam away. “Just in case, I’m going to get a long rifle. We don’t want them closing to within RPG range.”