Thunderbolt by Wilbur Smith (reading strategies book .txt) 📕

ago, and we’d be safely back at Ras Nungwi about now. If I hadn’t insisted otherwise, we wouldn’t have fallen for the boat-in-distress smoke signal that Pete had been suspicious of; we’d have turned around at a distance and outrun the guns easily. If I hadn’t insisted otherwise, Pete’s precious speedboat wouldn’t now be overrun with thieves.

I thought of Mum. She’d lost her eldest son to a stupid accident caused by me. I’d also uncovered her husband’s terrible deceit. She’d thought him a good man until I’d effectively pulled the mask from his face. After I did so he was dead to her too. And now I’d gone and got myself kidnapped by pirates. Mum is a tough woman but this would break her. With the rest of our family dead or gone, we only had each other. I was scared for myself in those moments, but I was dying inside for Mum.

As well as the boy, the ripped guy who’d kicked the barrel into the sea was on board now. Both of them moved around the boat without speaking to us, while the men with the guns kept them trained our way from on high. Barrel-man seemed to be inspecting things. He picked up one of the detectors and looked it over with interest, then he put it back down carefully. Next, he had a little rummage through the stowed scuba gear. He looked a bit like a man browsing in a shop without any intention of actually buying anything.

‘What do they want?’ whispered Amelia.

Barrel-man overheard her and swivelled instantly. He took her in, an almost playful look on his face, then he looked me and Xander up and down as well, before his eyes eventually came to rest on Pete. For a second he stood still, as if considering something. Then he corralled the three of us kids, hands still raised, towards the stern.

In a language I didn’t recognise he yelled something up at the cruiser while surveying the three of us in turn again. A voice from the boat shouted something back. It belonged to an older black guy wearing a baseball cap backwards who now emerged from the cabin and leaned over the rail to inspect what was down below. I felt like an exhibit in a zoo.

The two men carried on their conversation. They seemed to be disagreeing about something. The captain had the final say, or at least he ended the conversation by looking from Pete to us and back again before flicking his fingers dismissively. In response Barrel-man hopped over to Pete, gently eased the sunglasses from his face, and put them high on his own head.

Pete blinked at him. Veins stood out in his muscled neck.

A trickle of sweat ran down between my shoulder blades.

Absurdly, I hoped the answer to Amelia’s question – what do they want? – may be just that: Pete’s sunglasses. Nothing more. Barrel-man had done his browsing and, having looked through everything we had on display, that’s what he’d chosen. Perhaps he would offer to pay for them. He might even want a receipt?

I knew none of that was true just as well as I knew it was all my fault. I’d as good as invited these men aboard. Pirates. Come on in, have a look around, take what you want. Barrel-man would have the sunglasses for good measure, sure, but he’d have the rest as well.

11.

Since the situation was my fault, it was up to me to do something about it. But what? Pete had told me to do what these guys wanted. Barrel-man, Pete’s sunglasses still balanced on his forehead – why didn’t he wear them properly, given the brilliant sunset? – had now come upon our dry-bags, hung from hooks on the bulwark. He went through Amelia’s first, pulled out her sunscreen, dropped it back in, held up a T-shirt and did the same with that, then found her phone, inspected it, and slid that back into the bag as well.

Did that mean he might return it to her? No, it was still far more likely that he planned to have it all. He went through my and Xander’s bags next. He was so unhurried and deliberate in his movements. I don’t have to make a show here, he seemed to be saying: you’re powerless, so I can do exactly what I want.

Watching this thug go through our stuff was tough, but at least the rings we’d found at the bottom of the ocean weren’t there for him to discover. Amelia had taken all of them to look after the previous night, so they were locked in her room safe back at the hotel, but I held my breath as the guy went through her stuff all the same. When he didn’t take anything, I breathed out slowly. It was a silver lining of sorts.

I cast about for something – anything – to upset the imbalance of power. The boy was still in our boat, sitting comfortably on the gunwale near us, one thin leg across the other, showing me the pink sole of his foot. There were white cracks across it. He reached down and scratched his shin, eyes alert, dancing from the men with guns to Barrel-man to the captain, Pete and us. When he next looked my way I caught his gaze and tried to hold it by doing something he wouldn’t expect, namely smiling.

He smiled in return.

There was a big gap between his bright white front teeth.

I nodded at him.

He nodded back.

Unable to think of anything else to do, I murmured, ‘You OK?’

‘Better than you, I expect,’ he replied.

I fought a double take but both Xander and Amelia beside me, hearing the boy speak English, looked up at him in surprise.

‘You’re right, I’ve been better,’ I said.

‘Stay calm. That’s my advice,’ the boy replied, still smiling.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Xander.

‘Mo,’ he replied, eyes darting from us to the others. ‘Yours?’

‘Xander.’

‘I’ve not heard that name before, where’s it from?’

‘Nowhere