White Pirates of Somalia

©2009 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.

.oOo.
Part 3

It was exciting. We traveled quickly. Instead of heading down to the islands, we ventured north, from Charleston up the eastern seaboard. Life aboard ship took a little getting used to. I tried to be discrete; I didn't want my kids to catch me wanking off. And I tried not to even expose myself too much. Abby had no such reservations and on warm days was quite casual going about the ship at least topless. When Kevin offered to sell me a peek at her pussy, I told him "Never pay for the cow when you can get the milk for free." He laughed and thought I was the cleverest man alive. I never told him I didn't invent that canard.

We hit the ports of Norfork, New York, Bar Harbor, Halifax, St. Johns. Freedom felt wonderful. From the Maritimes, we sailed east to Greenland, and Iceland. We made a quick stop at the Faroe Islands and sailed on to the coast of Norway. The further we got from America, the happier we all were. Abby didn't have to see reminders of her mother everywhere. Kevin didn't have to face the schoolmates who never appreciated him. And I didn't have to deal with fuckin' idiots.

Everywhere we pulled into port, I managed to communicate with the locals in either English or French. Kevin was starting to pick up some French phrases as well. Abby just enjoyed going into all the gift shops and quickly all our storage areas were jammed.

We sailed south, stopping in Esbjerg, Denmark, and Rotterdam, Netherlands. We waved at the cliffs of Dover and headed for LeHavre, France. We loved everything about France: the food, the fashions, the language. On to Spain and Portugal, and through the Strait of Gibralter.

We vacillated then between skirting the northern coast of Africa or the southern coast of Europe. We flipped a Euro and opted for the latter. The weather was nice and warm now and along the coast of Spain we discovered the clothing optional beaches. We all enjoyed the freedom, though Kevin thought it was a shame people could see his sister's pussy and he wasn't collecting his fee.

At Marseille, Abby got her first period. Fortunately, her mother had had the talk with her so she wasn't upset. I went ashore and with my French managed to explain I needed sanitary napkins.

Naples, Palermo, Malta, and on to the Aegean Islands. We then considered heading west and seeing the north coast of Africa that the Euro toss denied us, but I was concerned about passing Lybia. I never trusted Gaddafi even after he claimed to have reformed. So we headed into the Suez Canal and the Red Sea. Everything we passed was so fuckin' exotic. We took lots of pictures to save as memories.

The Gulf of Aden brought us into the Indian Ocean and our plan was to sail east to India. But the weather was against us. Strong westerlies kept forcing us back, so we ended up sailing south of Socotra, past the Two Brothers. The winds subsided a bit, we gave a cheer and set sail for India again. But when we were out in open water, a small speedboat came barreling out of nowhere. It came alongside our port and we found ourselves staring at four black teenage boys, clad only in torn shorts and worn sneakers, with semi-assault rifles. Three of them came aboard. My gun was of course locked up but a pistol was no match for the weapons these kids were brandishing anyway.

They spoke in broken English but managed to convey the message that we'd better do as they say. They tied us up on deck and fastened a rope to tie their boat to our stern. The fourth lad then boarded and took control of the wheel. As his three companions began rifling through our quarters, he headed toward shore at full throttle. They continued talking to each other in Arabic, and I figured the smartest thing to do was not let them know I understood every word. One kid said he had our passports and was checking out our cell phone. Another found our digital camera and took pictures of all three of us tied up. They were planning to hold us for ransom, which was a relief because then we would be more valuable to them alive than dead.

As we drew closer to shore, we began seeing many ships, mostly cargo carriers, set at anchor. Our proud yacht looked miniscule in comparison. After our new skipper dropped anchor, his companions untied us and handed us each one of our satchels explaining in broken English and gestures we should take whatever we might need ashore. Kevin and I quickly gathered what we needed, a few changes of clothes, toothbrushes, an extra pair of sneakers. Our needs were few. For Abby, it was another matter altogether. She couldn't decide what clothes to bring, not knowing what was in store. Finally our "hosts" pushed us into their speedboat, and two of the kids took us to shore.

Eyl was a bustling city. Prosperous. The boys handed us over to a couple other black lads, who looked no older than fourteen. They put us in a jeep and drove through a maze of streets to some office building. There we were dragged up to meet Mr. Nidal. He was well dressed and his English was much better. He sent them back out. "Welcome to Somalia, Mr. Montgomery. I intend to make your stay comfortable for the short time you are here." He looked at Abby, who was sobbing uncontrollably. Like her mother, she was supersensitive. Kevin, on the other hand, was angry. Like me, he didn't like people having the upper hand, taking advantage of him. "Do not worry, Children. Uh, let's see." He looked at our passports. "Miss Abigail, and Mr. Kevin. Do not worry. No one is going to hurt you. Your father and I will make sure of that."

He then turned to me, "Now, Mr. Montgomery, I just want you to write a list of all your friends and relatives back in America. We already have the list on your cell phone, but that was not a very long list. I'm sure you can come up with many more names. In no time, you'll be able to put together thirty million dollars,--that's ten million apiece of course,--and you'll be on your way."

I had less than half a million in travelers checks at this point and I had serious doubts about getting any help from people I dealt with in America, or anywhere else! But I made the list. Miracles might happen.

For the next few weeks, we stayed in a beautiful hotel and ate in excellent restaurants. We were under armed guard the whole time, but it wasn't too unpleasant. We couldn't go anywhere without our passports anyway. When I asked about going to the American consulate, I was laughed at. We met other captives from all over the world. I discretely practiced my French and even a little Mandarin. At the time, I thought it best if my guards thought that like most Americans, I only knew English.

My family was somewhat of an oddity in town. The other captives were all merchant seamen, whose employers were being embezzled out of hundreds of millions per vessel. Some had been in Eyl for months and were getting used to the routine. They knew their ransom money would eventually come, but there are always inevitable delays in these matters, and they were going to make the best of their captivity.

All in all, we were being treated affably in our confinement. I learned from other captives that the situation was not so civil inland. The pirates were working for a number of lawless warlords who maintained encampments away from shore, where contraband could be stored and smuggled. I had heard about Al Shabab, who were intent on establishing a fundamentalist Islamist regime in Somalia and instituting sharia law. But apparently, these warlords have no such interest. They are out for their own gain, not for some cause. In other words, they were my kind of people.

My fellow captives informed me I could get myself a hooker if I wanted. When I told them all my money had been taken from me, they explained before my release I would settle all my bills, the hotel, the restaurants, the prostitutes, whatever expenses I incurred during my captivity. I couldn't see myself using a hooker here, especially since my children were with me. So I continued to wank each day.

Abby turned twelve while we were in Eyl. We even had a birthday cake and our guards took her picture blowing out the candles. Abby was becoming a real woman and getting attention from many men, both captives and captors. Attention I didn't much appreciate.

The weeks dragged on and our captors soon realized what I already knew. There would be no thirty million dollars. Even pictures of my children tied up drew no sympathy for our plight from the people I knew. They probably thought it was one of my tricks to scam them out of their money. Mr. Nidal called me in every few days and pressed me. But I couldn't come up with any more names for them to contact. I had thoroughly burnt my bridges.

.oOo.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.