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

From the cruiser I could hear the captain, still arguing with his men. It seemed Barrel-man thought I should be punished for throwing Pete a life jacket identical to the one I was now holding, and although I couldn’t understand him precisely it was obvious enough what he thought my punishment should be.

If I did as he wanted, and jumped overboard wearing the life jacket, I’d at least be in – or rather out of – the same boat as Pete. Didn’t I deserve as much? I’m ashamed to say I just stood there, my face a mask of I-don’t-know-what-to-do.

Beside me, Xander bent slowly to pick up a life jacket. Amelia did the same. None of us put them on; we just stood there before Barrel-man holding the life jackets to our chests, as if they might offer us some sort of protection from him.

Barrel-man had backed off an inch or two. Up on the cabin cruiser’s rail the captain was talking more softly, and both gunmen had lowered their weapons. Meanwhile Pete was a dot in the distance, rising and falling with the gentle swell. A seabird flapped lazily between us and him, underlining the ever-widening gap.

Pete had made the mistake of challenging one of the pirates and they were teaching us all a lesson. That’s what this had to be, this gentle chugging towards the horizon: a scare tactic, all for show. Any moment now we would circle back to pick him up, wouldn’t we? I looked to Mo again and said, ‘We’re going back for him, right?’ but he didn’t even turn my way.

The captain tossed something down to Barrel-man. It was a roll of gaffer tape. He caught it one-handed and came for me first, ripped the life jacket from me and threw it into the hold, then pushed me back down onto the bench and wrapped a length of tape around my ankles very tightly indeed.

There was no point resisting. I let him guide my hands behind my back and sat still while he bound my wrists together in the same way. He muttered to himself as he did this, and leaning across me I caught the smell of him, not the tang of sweat I’d been expecting but a weird mixture of diesel and soap.

When he was satisfied that I was safely trussed up he set to shackling Xander and Amelia in the same way. Xander followed my lead and made no fuss, but Amelia couldn’t hold back. As he yanked the tape tight around her wrists she said, ‘Ow! It doesn’t need to be that tight to be effective!’

By now the boy, Mo, had moved to the speedboat’s prow, and following instructions from the captain he hauled on the rope connecting the two boats until we were close enough for the captain to climb down over the side of the cruiser onto Thunderbolt’s long white hood. As well as his backwards baseball cap he was wearing a mismatched military-style outfit, a shirt with epaulettes on the shoulders and khaki trousers full of cargo pockets. Also, bright white Adidas trainers.

Unlike Barrel-man and the boy, who flitted about the speedboat with gymnastic ease, the captain moved stiffly, as if he had a bad back or was carrying some other injury. He inspected his prize with interest, tapping the fuel gauge and running a hand over the immaculate white armrest of Pete’s seat, looking over everything methodically.

‘Good,’ he said with a smile. ‘Good, yes? Good!’

13.

Within minutes Pete was out of sight. We were sailing away from him. At no great rate, just bubbling along, but making headway all the same. The slim line of the island soon dropped below the horizon behind us. Treasure-hunting: could anything, given what had just happened, seem more purposeless?

I tried to make myself believe Pete would be able to swim back to the island, but deep down I knew the reality of the currents sweeping through the Zanzibar archipelago; Pete had warned us about them himself. Why hadn’t I thought to throw him a pair of fins as well as the life jacket?

I couldn’t stop thinking of what Pete must be going through out there, alone at sea. Having just spent so many hours swimming in it I knew all too well that sensation of bobbing among the waves after surfacing from a dive.

With his eyes just an inch or two above the shifting lid of the sea his sense of his own insignificance would be amplified horribly. Practically speaking, being so low in the water would make it harder for Pete to catch sight of land than it was for me now, just a few feet above the surface, on the boat.

Though I was safe here with my friends the thought of Pete out there left me so desperate that for a long while panic overshadowed the tingling in my arms and growing numbness in the fingers of my left hand. Safe?! What was I thinking? We’d been overrun by pirates.

Amelia’s description, back in the hotel, of the terrible conflict fought by child soldiers in Somalia rang in my ears now. These guys were desperate and ruthless. We weren’t ‘safe’ at all! I was surprised to find myself straining against the gaffer tape, more so when Mo arrived at my side to check the binding.

‘Let him go,’ he murmured. ‘You can do nothing to help.’

‘What did you say?’ I said, though I knew full well, and hated him for it.

‘Does this hurt?’ he asked, taking hold of the makeshift handcuffs, pinching the tape, twisting it.

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that it did, but I couldn’t help flinching.

‘Here, let me,’ he said, and having found the end of the tape he unpicked it and unwound it before wrapping my wrists together again more loosely.

Barrel-man saw what Mo was doing and flitted across the deck to inspect his work, the tone of whatever he was saying a clear