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 6

Sure enough, two days later, a jeep arrived with two soldiers in their young twenties, old men in this environment. They ordered Gimp and the others to hand over the prisoner. I heard the boys wondering if my friends in America had finally come through with the ransom. But Tawfiq figured the time had come for my execution, and most of the lads agreed. I pretended to resist, reaching out across the compound for my children. My former captors laughed. As I was driven away, they made sure I saw the two children I was leaving behind. Kevin feigned a look of bewilderment. Abby's face of course signaled nothing.

Abdul had me brought into his office and then dismissed everyone else. Unlike his young minions, he was smartly dressed in an Armani suit. I noticed his Vacheron Constantin watch and wondered whose wrist was now sporting the Roger Dubuis I left in the hotel room in Eyl. Clad as I was in my filthy shorts, he could have treated me with disdain. Instead, in good Moslem fashion, he welcomed the stranger into his tent. "Good afternoon, Mr. Montgomery. I am Abdul Mahmoud." His English was perfect. I learned later, he'd attended Princeton.

But I laid my cards on the table. "Masa'a AlKair, Abdul, Sadik." I began in Arabic. As I continued, it became evident I was well aware of what had been said by those around me. After he could see clearly I knew what I was talking about, he suggested we switch to English, for we didn't know who might be listening. I explained all I knew about the plot against him. Names, places, dates.

"Hmm, Mufti. He is Shaitan. I thank you, shokran Gazillan, Mr. Montgomery. After I take care of this little problem, we'll talk about your release. I expect you are anxious to get back to your home. Unfortunately, I'm afraid, your yacht is no longer available for your use." I already knew a Russian merchant was now the proud skipper of the Wet Dream.

"No, laa, Sadik. I was not trying to buy my release. You see, Kevin, my son, ibn-Gummy, admires you a great deal. Actually, so does my daughter Abby. They've both spoken highly of you, and when I heard your life was in danger, I had to tell you for their sakes." I knew he wasn't buying it 100% but I think he admired the gesture. "Sir, we have come to love your land and your people. And we do not wish to return to America. Instead, we wish to be of whatever service we can to promote your cause."

"I see. Then we will definitely talk more." He called in a guard and told him to bring me to his guest room, allow me to get cleaned up, give me some decent clothes, and see that I am properly fed."

Over the next two days, about four dozen conspirators were rounded up and peremptorily dispatched. A contingent of fifteen-year olds was given the honor of shooting them, some no older than themselves. However, Mufti himself, the Shaitan, was given a more appropriate sentence. Tied to an acacia tree, he was used for target practice by a group of prepubescent boys and girls armed with stones. As Kevin said to me, "Dad, it was so much fuckin' fun throwing rocks at Shaitan! You should have heard him screaming. Like a little girl getting fucked. Ha ha!"

After that, Abdul and I had several long negotiating sessions. In the end, we reached agreement on four major points:

•My job. I would immediately take charge of all purchases and sales of supplies. Abdul would no longer be ripped off by unscrupulous dealers. At first, I thought I would use my judgment and either deal with the foreigners directly in their native tongue, or feign ignorance and listen to them hang themselves, as we bargained through a translator. However, within weeks, the jig was up. Everyone knew I was not the dumb American, but a force to be reckoned with. My salary was not comparable to what I got from BD, but I was given a seemingly inexhaustible expense account that I put to good use. Most important, I was doing what I was born to do.

•Our home. They would build a cottage for the Montgomery family. I wanted it situated about a mile from the compound, on the opposite side of a small tal. That way that god damned blaring music would be somewhat muffled. We'd have a generator to provide electricity through the day, running water from our own well and a cesspool for our flush toilets. We'd have three bedrooms each with its own bath. By Atlanta standards it was a modest abode, but in this neck of the woods it was a palace. Halima, our housekeeper, was part of the deal. Abdul insisted on a 24-hour guard to "protect" us, but we both knew he wanted to discourage any thoughts we might have of skipping town. "It is an unfortunate consequence of our business here, Mr. Montgomery. I too sometimes feel imprisoned in my own home."

•Kevin. My son would continue to serve with his squad, the only true friends he'd ever had in his life. He'd probably rise through the ranks, and some years from now would be boarding the ships at sea. Call us pirates if you want. I frankly don't give a shit.

•Abby. My daughter would select her own sexual partners from now on. Such a concept was foreign to Abdul's eastern mind set, but he capitulated. However, he hoped she might grant him an occasional night in bed. I would take charge of Abby's heroin supply. I had to be able to both control the quantity and insure the quality of the junk she was injecting. Abdul assured me any boy who attempted to sneak her horse would be immediately shot.

As I started my new position, Abdul was amazed how much more revenue was coming in. He never realized how much had been skimmed before I took over. I guess he thought he got a pretty good deal, but I knew I'd gotten the better part of the bargain. I always do.

.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.