'Why would she do that?' Hazel was puzzled.
'She is very fastidious,' Paddy said in tones of high approbation. 'I expect she doesn't want the corpses to start stinking, not if she has to share the suite with them.'
'And I was fretting myself into a nervous breakdown over her safety!' Hazel laughed, almost hysterical with relief. 'She is unique!'
'Isn't she just perfect,' Paddy agreed. 'I was hesitating, but after that little performance I am seriously going to ask her to be my wife.'
Nastiya turned away from the air-conditioning controls and sauntered through to the bedroom of the suite, her buttocks oscillating like a pair of silk bags full of live serpents.
'God! She is just so cute,' Dave Imbiss said in tones of near-religious awe.
'Much too cute for you, my lad,' Paddy asserted. 'In future when you look at her, kindly keep your eyes firmly closed.'
As Nastiya entered the bedroom the next camera picked up her image again. She locked the door behind her and went to the vanity. She seated herself in front of the mirror and with one of Hazel's brushes she rearranged the hair style that Kamal had disturbed. When she was satisfied with her hair she powdered over her facial bruises, and helped herself to Hazel's Chanel lipstick and perfume. She was playing up to her hidden audience, fully aware that all their eyes were upon her. She stood up and went through into the walk-in wardrobe at the far end of the cabin. Unhurriedly she browsed through the trays of Hazel's underwear, and at last decided on a matching set of Janet Reger panties and bra in oyster silk and Venetian lace. She held the panties across her lower body and looked up at the camera with her golden head cocked on one side, obviously seeking approval of her choice. They could not break silence to applaud her, but Dave put two fingers in his mouth and gave an almost inaudible wolf whistle.
'Perfect! I couldn't have made a better choice myself,' Hazel murmured softly. Almost as though she were able to hear them, Nastiya smiled again.
One of the units in the electronic navigation array on top of the mast above the Golden Goose Golden Goose's bridge contained a link to the situation room in the covert area. The operator in the bowels of the ship was able to monitor the radar and Global Positioning System. In the situation room they were as well advised of the ship's progress as were the men on the bridge.
An air of tension pervaded the entire covert area. The men spoke hardly at all and when they did it was in stage whispers. Mostly they passed the time checking and preparing their equipment: honing the edges on their trench knives, unloading the ammunition clips then polishing and lubricating each separate round to feed smoothly into the breach, cleaning the rifle bores until they gleamed and adjusting the trigger release until it was sweet and light as a maiden's sigh. Hector and his officers maintained their rapt attention in the situation room, monitoring the navigation displays and the CCTV screens.
Vincent Woodward was still locked in one of the smaller cabins on the same level as the owner's suite. His wrists were pinioned with cable ties and two heavily armed guards sat on the narrow bunk and covered him with their AK-47s. Another three guards were posted outside the cabin door. Twice during the day Kamal came down from the bridge to vent his choler on Vincent. He started by spitting on him and calling down the wrath of Allah on his filthy pagan head for having assassinated his father and his brothers, then he put the boot into him again, aiming for his belly and crotch. Vincent doubled himself into a ball to guard his vitals and he kept rolling to ride the main force of the blows. When at last Kamal tired he grabbed an AK from one of the guards who were delightedly following the performance, and finished the beating with two or three cracks with the steel-shod butt of the rifle aimed at Vincent's head. However, Kamal's damaged hand was so painful that the blows lacked real power. Vincent easily managed to deflect their main impact.
'Vincent is earning his ten thousand dollars,' David commented.
'I shall have to add a bonus to his pay cheque for services far beyond the call of duty,' said Hazel, shaken by the savagery of Kamal's temper.
'Nonsense!' Paddy demurred. 'For Vic a little tickle up like that's no more onerous than a kiss from an ugly wench.' He thought about it for a moment, then added, 'He would probably prefer the beating to the ugly girl.'
There were another five men guarding the door to Nastiya's cabin. None of them had dared to enter the salon where the corpses of their comrades still lay. They had dead-locked the door and piled heavy furniture against it to protect themselves. Their trepidation was undisguised. They kept as far back from the barricaded door as the bounds of the cabin allowed and never took their eyes off it. With fingers on triggers, they were poised to repel another sudden whirlwind of kicks, blows and snapping teeth.
Kamal emerged from the opposite cabin where he had been beating up Vincent and now he turned on his own men, haranguing them furiously.
'Have you left the bodies of your valiant comrades in there with that she-devil? Have you no respect for custom and law? They must be buried or committed to the sea before nightfall. Bring them out at once!' None of them seemed in any hurry to lead another foray into the master suite, but at last they garnered sufficient courage cautiously to remove the barricade and open the door a crack. When they peered in cautiously and found that Nastiya was not lying in wait for them they rushed in together, seized the corpses and dragged them out by their heels. Then they hastily relocked the door and piled the furniture back against it.
Meanwhile, in the inner cabin Nastiya lounged in one of the black calf-skin leather chairs, eating chocolates from the box she had found in the refrigerator of the kitchenette, and idly turning the pages of one of the fashion magazines from the stack on the coffee table. She hardly looked up when she heard the Arabs in the next cabin retrieving their dead. Nastiya was wearing a pair of pale green trousers, beautifully tailored in pure new wool, and over them a vivid Emilio Pucci top from Hazel's wardrobe.
'The lady has eccentric taste,' David Imbiss observed.
'She certainly does,' Hector agreed. 'She has paired up with Paddy, hasn't she? That makes eccentric seem mundane.'
There was one more significant incident that they were able to follow on the CCTV screens in the situation room. After his casualties had been dropped overboard with brief ceremony, Kamal was still restless. He took to leaving the bridge at odd times during the day and night. One of his lieutenants stood guard over Cyril Stamford while Kamal prowled around the rest of the ship examining the bulkheads between the compartments and the different tiers. Kamal seemed to have a nagging feeling that he had overlooked something important.
When he took to tapping sections of the hull with his dagger and listening intently to the echo, Hector gradually became alarmed. The tier below the bridge that had been converted to house the Bushmaster cannon came under Kamal's close scrutiny. He examined it carefully, even descending to the cargo deck to peer up at the blank outer bulkhead which hid the gun deck. When Kamal returned to the bridge Hector overheard a conversation between Kamal and Cyril Stamford about this section. As usual Cyril had a plausible but totally fictional explanation. He described how this area housed delicate machinery that managed the pumps in the depths of the ship. The pumps controlled the temperature and distribution of the gas in the cargo tanks. Over a certain temperature the gas became so volatile that it could spontaneously explode and destroy the entire ship. Cyril explained to Kamal that the machinery was controlled remotely by satellite from the Bannock Corporation's technical headquarters in the United States. Even he as ship's captain was unable to enter the sensitive area while the ship was at sea.
'So these people will be able to read our change of course?' Kamal asked.
'Does that worry you, Captain?' Cyril asked.
'Not at all.' Kamal smiled and shook his head. 'Within a few hours we will be safely in territorial waters. There is nothing they can do about it.'
However, his explorations continued, and he poked and pried into every odd corner. One afternoon he discovered the hatch that led down into the service tunnels which connected the separate gas holds, and housed the huge pumps which circulated and cooled the cargo of gas, transferring it from one tank to another to balance and trim the ship as necessary.
In Taiwan when the hull had been reconfigured to make room for the covert area, it had been necessary to move this access hatch from amidships to the port side of the stern tower. It was an awkward and unsatisfactory compromise that would attract the attention of a seaman of Kamal's calibre. Kamal opened the hatch and found his way down into the labyrinth of tunnels below the gas storage tanks, and he explored these exhaustively. The observers in the situation room just above his head followed his progress anxiously on the infrared sensors. At one stage Kamal tapped with the handle of his dagger on one of the gas pipes and the sound of his blows carried so clearly that it sounded as if he were in the room with them. They held their breaths until, much to their relief, it seemed that Kamal had at last decided that there was nothing sinister contained in this area of the Golden Goose Golden Goose. They heard his footfalls on the steel rungs of the ladder as he climbed back past the situation room to the cargo deck.
The Goose Goose trod down the miles of glittering tropical waters under her gigantic bows and every hour brought them closer to the African mainland. trod down the miles of glittering tropical waters under her gigantic bows and every hour brought them closer to the African mainland.
'Do we have an estimate of when we will reach Gandanga Bay?' Hazel asked as they sat at the mess table.
'The GPS gives an ETA of 0900 hours Thursday the fourteenth, that is in three days' time,' David answered her. They were eating Canadian bison fillets and potato chips with ketchup. Only Hector favoured the fiery jalapeno snake juice. Although this rustic meal was served on plastic plates and cutlery, the polystyrene cups were filled with a vintage Malconsorts Burgundy wine. Hazel had been keeping it for a very special occasion, and she had decided this was it. Hector tasted the wine reverently.
'One of the rarest and most heavenly wines on this earth,' he said sadly, 'drunk in the most insalubrious conditions on this same earth.'
'Eat, drink and be merry,' Paddy advised, 'For tomorrow we-'
'Do shut up, Paddy!' David interjected quickly.
'For tomorrow we flourish?' Hazel suggested as she raised her cup. 'Prosper? Thrive? Succeed?'
'For tomorrow the bad guys die,' Hector said and they all drank the toast with fitting solemnity. As they set down their cups, Tariq darted up the companionway from the situation room.
'Hector! Paddy! Come quick!'
'What is it, Tariq?' Hector demanded as he sprang to his feet.
'New radar contact. Strange ship closing with us. Smells like trouble.' They abandoned the meal, even the Malconsorts wine, and trooped down the companionway to the lower deck, where they gathered in front of the display screens. The contact that showed on the repeater from the ship's radar was bright and solid.
'Big ship,' said Dave. 'Let me get her speed.' He worked quickly with the ranger and then leaned back in his chair. 'Forty-three point six knots. Merchantmen don't burn gas like that. This is a warship.' He checked his other instruments. 'Cyril is holding a constant course and speed.'
'You bet he is!' Hector said grimly. 'No way can he run away from a greyhound like that one. I just hope this isn't the US cavalry charging in to rescue us, and trampling all over the roses.' Anxiously they watched the images being transmitted from the camera on the top of the Goose Goose's communications mast. The strange ship came swiftly up over the horizon. She was grey and austere, functional as the blade of a battle axe.
From the bridge of the Golden Goose Golden Goose the approaching ship was still below the horizon. Kamal did not have the same height advantage as the covert camera on the masthead, but he was studying the radar image avidly. When he was no longer in any doubt he turned to Cyril Stamford. the approaching ship was still below the horizon. Kamal did not have the same height advantage as the covert camera on the masthead, but he was studying the radar image avidly. When he was no longer in any doubt he turned to Cyril Stamford.
'You are Yankee, yes?' he demanded. Cyril was from south of the Mason-Dixon line but he did not think it wise to split hairs.
'I am American, yes.'
'The strange ship is going to intercept us. It is certainly an infidel warship; perhaps English or more likely American. You will speak to them.' He seized Cyril's shoulder and spun him around to glare into his face menacingly. 'If they wish to board and search us you will stop them. I don't care what or how, but you will tell them something to make them leave us. You understand, okay?'
'I understand, okay,' Cyril said quietly.
'If a boarding party comes across to us, you will be dead before it arrives.' Kamal drew his dagger and pricked Cyril's throat. A drop of bright blood welled up from the tiny wound. 'You understand that I am serious?'
'I understand,' Cyril agreed. He was standing very still but he swivelled his eyes and went on in the same quiet tone. 'The strange ship is in sight already.'
Kamal turned away quickly and stared over the starboard quarter. The approaching vessel's superstructure showed clearly above the horizon, and at that moment the marine frequency channel on 156.5 MHz crackled to life in the Goose Goose's radio room at the back of the bridge.
'Bulk tanker on the port bow! This is Commander Robins aboard the United States Navy destroyer USS Manila Bay Manila Bay. What ship are you?' Cyril glanced at Kamal.
'You wish me to reply?'
'Yes. But remember you will be the first to die if you make a mistake.'
Cyril nodded. He crossed the deck to the radio room and unhooked the microphone. He took his time. He did not want to appear over-willing or efficient. The other captain would expect a certain amount of slovenliness from a merchantman.
'Hi there! Manila Bay. Manila Bay. This is the This is the Golden Goose Golden Goose. Captain Stamford. En route Sidi el Razig in the Persian Gulf to Jedda in Saudi Arabia.' There was a long silence, then Robins came back on the line.
'Captain Stamford, sir! You wouldn't happen to be an American citizen by any chance?'
'Son of a gun! How d'you know that?' Cyril exaggerated his accent slightly. 'Darned right I'm an American. Cyril Stamford, late commanding the US Navy cruiser Reno Reno. They put me out to grass for being too old and decrepit.' He chuckled. From the destroyer there was a momentary silence.
'What is your port of registry and the name of your owner?'
'My owner is Bannock Cargoes and the port of registry is Taipei.'
'Okay! That checks out. Captain Stamford, sir! Did you perhaps have a son graduate from Anapolis in 1996?'
'Sure did, Commander.'
'Is his first name Timothy?'
'You sure as hell know that it was not. His name was Bobby. And yours is Andy. You two were shipmates. Bobby brought you to our house for a barbecue one time. Have you forgotten?'
'No, sir, Captain. I remember pretty good. I was just making sure. Your wife cooks a great apple pie.'
'Thank you. She would have been pleased to hear that, Andy. But sadly she passed away four years ago.'
'I am so sorry, sir.'
'So am I, Andy.'
In the situation room Hector whistled softly. 'Where the hell did you find this guy, Paddy? He is a prince.'
'Sharp as a Samurai sword,' Paddy agreed. 'Let's see how he staves off a boarding party.' Delicately Andy Robins came back to the business in hand.
'Captain Stamford, are you in full command of your ship?'
Cyril laughed easily. 'I darned well hope so. Not senile yet, despite what the Navy thinks of me.'
'If you need me to do so, I could send a boarding party across to you to render any assistance, sir.'
'Very good of you, Andy, but that would disrupt both our routines. I assure you it is not necessary. Everything is under control. I am on a strict timetable.'
But Andy came back again. 'Are you aware that you are sailing into an area of the Indian Ocean which is a hotspot of pirate activity? Only four days ago a Japanese whaler was reported taken by the pirates in the Gulf of Aden.'
'I heard about that,' Cyril agreed. 'However, my owners have made arrangements with the government of Puntland. Puntland has guaranteed us free passage of its waters. We should be safe enough from molestation.'
'Do you trust the word of a pirate, Captain?'
'My owners do,' Cyril responded. 'That has to be good enough for me.'
'It's your call, sir,' Andy Robins acquiesced reluctantly. 'Bon voyage, Captain. But tell me before you go, how is my old pal Bobby?'
'The Taliban got him in Afghanistan, Andy.'
'Bastards!' said Andy quietly but intensely.
In the situation room they watched the Manila Bay Manila Bay turn away and head back in the direction from which she had appeared. Hector stood up and stretched. turn away and head back in the direction from which she had appeared. Hector stood up and stretched.
'There you have it, my lady and gentlemen. Free passage to Gandanga Bay, compliments of Captain Cyril Stamford. Let's go and polish off that bottle of Malconsorts, before it too becomes pirate booty.'
Sheikh Adam decided to move his entire household from the Oasis of the Miracle to Gandanga Bay to welcome the Golden Goose Golden Goose when Kamal Tippoo Tip sailed the infidel booty into the bay. The arrival of captured prizes had become so commonplace that Adam seldom stirred himself from the security and comfort of his fortress. when Kamal Tippoo Tip sailed the infidel booty into the bay. The arrival of captured prizes had become so commonplace that Adam seldom stirred himself from the security and comfort of his fortress.
He had seven wives. Three more than the Koran allowed him. The mullah had assured him that a ruler of his stature could take more wives than a commoner. In addition to the wives he had over one hundred concubines. He was never sure of the exact number as it changed continually. His procurers scoured the entire country for nubile young girls. As Adam grew older his taste in females became increasingly paedophilic. Any girl over thirteen years of age held little appeal. They interested him only until they began exhibiting the first signs of puberty. He liked to feel them tear open as he forced his way into them. He liked the feel of warm blood spreading over his belly and the sound of their screams and weeping. At the present time he had thirteen of these little things locked in his harem, awaiting his attentions. He only enjoyed them once, then he sent them back to their families in the villages, with a present for their fathers of one hundred dollars Americani. His peculiar tastes and his generosity were so widely known throughout Puntland that when his procurers arrived at any of the remote villages there were always several families waiting for them with all their youngest children on offer. Adam had discussed his treatment of the girls with the mullah, who had reassured him that all females had been placed on this earth by Allah for one reason only, and that was the gratification of all desires of men, including the provision of children but not limited to that duty alone.
Adam had assembled a personal bodyguard of almost two hundred men, enlisted and trained by Uthmann Waddah. His network of spies stretched across all of the Middle East, from Cairo to Jordan and beyond. He had a communications centre equipped with state-of-the-art electronics, through which he was in constant touch with his bankers and investment advisers in Iran, China, Taiwan and other Far Eastern countries which were beyond the thrall of the US Federal Reserve's watchdogs and other Western regulatory bodies. Adam had long ago learned how to open secret doors with large sums of money.
He had built an airstrip in the desert close to his fortress. Daily his personal jet flew in every indulgence and extravagance he could imagine or desire. There was very little reason why he should ever leave the Oasis and venture out into a world that he did not completely control. Especially as he was aware that Hector Cross and his American harlot were waiting out there for him with hot vengeance in their hearts. Very little reason indeed to venture abroad, except to welcome into Gandanga Bay the greatest prize that had ever sailed the oceans: the Golden Goose Golden Goose and his two most virulent enemies led before him in bonds and completely at his mercy. and his two most virulent enemies led before him in bonds and completely at his mercy.
His retainers had erected a city of colourful tents on the higher ground overlooking Gandanga Bay. All the closest members of his family, his most loyal household retainers and his bodyguards, his horses and hunting dogs and falcons with their handlers and four of his as-yet untapped little girls had all been moved down to the coast in a convoy of trucks. When they were settled into the city of tents and all was in readiness to receive him, Adam and Uthmann Waddah flew from the Oasis of the Miracle to Gandanga Bay in one of the Bell Jet Ranger helicopters. Uthmann was at the controls. He had taken instruction in Iran with the airforce of that country, which was well disposed to Puntland and its new Sheikh. The Iranians strongly approved of Adam's devotion to Islam and enthusiastically supported his undeclared war on the shipping of the infidel nations. Over the past years Uthmann had become a skilled helicopter pilot. He had shown a natural aptitude for the work, and he possessed the hand-eye coordination that it called for.
He circled the bay at low altitude, hovering over each one of the captured ships for Adam to admire them, while one of his militia officers seated in the rear of the helicopter reeled off their tonnages and the value of every hull and its cargo. There were several hundred million dollars' worth of shipping lying at anchor below them. However, Adam was not satisfied. He lifted his eyes from the ships and gazed out hungrily over the empty waters of the eastern ocean.
'Soon! Very soon Kamal will come, bringing me not only immense wealth but also the man who has murdered half my family. It will be the sweetest day of my life when I watch the Golden Goose Golden Goose sail into the bay. All else that I have ever achieved will be as nothing against this treasure.' He was consumed with impatience. He glanced sideways at Uthmann Waddah in the pilot's seat and considered ordering him to leave the bay and fly out to meet the tanker. They could land on the tanker's deck and he could begin to enjoy his triumph two days earlier. Then he shook his head. He knew it would be futile to ask Uthmann to fly out to sea. Uthmann was a highly capable and resourceful pilot. However, the intensity of his aquaphobia was such that if he ventured out beyond gliding distance from the shore he would become so paranoiac as to be almost completely incapable of rational thought or action. If it were possible, this terror would have been aggravated still further by the sight of the huge sharks cruising the waters of the bay below them. These scavengers had been attracted by the sewage and other rubbish that had been dumped overboard from the captured ships. Then Adam considered taking one of the high-speed attack boats and having a crew run him out to meet the tanker. If he were ten years younger he would not have hesitated, but of late he had become soft and accustomed to a safe and comfortable existence. A small fast boat in any kind of sea would be extremely unpleasant; he felt a sneaking sympathy for Uthmann's loathing of water. sail into the bay. All else that I have ever achieved will be as nothing against this treasure.' He was consumed with impatience. He glanced sideways at Uthmann Waddah in the pilot's seat and considered ordering him to leave the bay and fly out to meet the tanker. They could land on the tanker's deck and he could begin to enjoy his triumph two days earlier. Then he shook his head. He knew it would be futile to ask Uthmann to fly out to sea. Uthmann was a highly capable and resourceful pilot. However, the intensity of his aquaphobia was such that if he ventured out beyond gliding distance from the shore he would become so paranoiac as to be almost completely incapable of rational thought or action. If it were possible, this terror would have been aggravated still further by the sight of the huge sharks cruising the waters of the bay below them. These scavengers had been attracted by the sewage and other rubbish that had been dumped overboard from the captured ships. Then Adam considered taking one of the high-speed attack boats and having a crew run him out to meet the tanker. If he were ten years younger he would not have hesitated, but of late he had become soft and accustomed to a safe and comfortable existence. A small fast boat in any kind of sea would be extremely unpleasant; he felt a sneaking sympathy for Uthmann's loathing of water.
No, he decided, there were many distractions in the tented camp ashore to allow him to pass the time pleasantly enough until Kamal's arrival. All the headmen and chieftains for a hundred miles around had already arrived to pay homage. Adam had developed an appetite for extravagant praise and cringing subservience. In addition Uthmann had promised the execution of a number of criminals who had been captured by his men, or brought in by the headmen who knew of his interest in the dispensation of justice and punishment. He could rely on Uthmann to be creative and inventive. This was in effect a dress rehearsal for the sentences that he would pass on Cross and his harlot. Uthmann would see to it that the hunting dogs were given a good run. When that sport palled there were always his little babies to play with. He wriggled in the seat of the helicopter with pleasure and then tapped Uthmann on the shoulder and pointed back to the assembly of multicoloured tents on the hillside. Uthmann nodded and banked the helicopter. Adam smiled as he saw the throng waiting on the ground to welcome him. They were dancing, waving flags and banners and discharging their weapons into the air in a feu de joie feu de joie.
The sea under the Goose Goose's hull changed its colour and temperament as the ship approached the African continent. It lost the sapphire sparkle of deep water and became dun and sullen, the swells were steeper and they ran before the wind in closer ranks. There were clumps of seaweed and other flotsam drifting aimlessly with the current and seabirds hovering and diving over the seething shoals of small fish. As the sun set and quenched its flames in the waters the GPS showed the distance to run to the entrance of Gandanga Bay as sixty-eight nautical miles.
During the night, the fourth since the taking of the ship, Hector and Hazel were on watch in the situation room. One of the hidden cameras was focused on the bridge and they overheard Kamal ordering Cyril Stamford to reduce speed and alter course four degrees westward. Since Cyril had placated the captain of the American warship and sent him on his way, Kamal's treatment of his captives had become if not exactly magnanimous, at least slightly more lenient. For the last forty-eight hours he had not been down to the cabin in which Vincent Woodward was imprisoned to curse and kick him, and use the rifle butt on his head. He had even allowed the guards to give Vincent a mug of water and feed him a plate of slops. None of them dared to take food or drink to Nastiya. The doors to the suite remained locked and barricaded, but behind them Nastiya was comfortably ensconced. She had discovered several large cans of Beluga caviar in the refrigerator of the kitchenette, in addition to packets of sliced springbuck biltong, smoked salmon and Swiss chocolates.
On the bridge Cyril suggested to Kamal that he should send one of his men to the ship's dispensary to fetch the first-aid kit; he agreed and Cyril disinfected and bandaged the stump of Kamal's finger and made him swallow a handful of antibiotics and powerful painkillers. Kamal's mood improved quite dramatically. He actually took over the watch from Cyril Stamford, and allowed him to stretch out and sleep on the bunk in the radio room for a few hours. When he sent one of his men to rouse Cyril and order him back to his station, instead of forcing him to stand at gunpoint he allowed him to sit on the captain's stool, and chatted with him quite amiably about the sailing and handling characteristics of the Golden Goose Golden Goose, the operation of the navigational console and the engine configuration of the ship. He seemed particularly interested in the depth-sounding equipment. Now when he ordered the change of course and speed he condescended to discuss this move with Cyril.
'We are coming very close to our destination but I do not wish to arrive during darkness. The roads and entrance to the harbour are difficult to negotiate in the dark. Also my beloved Sheikh and many thousands of my people will be gathered to welcome our arrival. When they see the size and importance of this vessel they will be filled with happiness. I do not wish to deprive them of this pleasure. They must see the splendour of the prize I am bringing to them in full daylight, with the rising sun behind it. I must be able to bring it in as close to the beach as is safe.'
'I am very happy for you, sir.' Cyril had not made the fatal mistake of letting Kamal know that he was aware of his identity. 'However, can you tell me what will happen to my ship, my passengers, my crew and myself once we reach port?'
'Your passengers will become the honoured guests of my Sheikh.' Kamal smiled coolly at his own understatement. 'You, your crew and your ship will remain with us for a while, but only until arrangements can be made with your owners and their insurance company. When that is done you will be free to continue your voyage without suffering any harm. Inshallah! Inshallah!'