With the help of the southern wind, the Pearl raised its sails and shut down its engines, so the rumble of machinery below deck was replaced by the sound of the calm sea: the sound of sea water slapping below the ship, the sound of sea wind blowing above the sails, and the creaking of tackle and rigging when subjected to the force of the wind.
Watching from a Predator surveillance plane four miles out of sight to the naked eye, the schooner Pearl sailed westward along Iran's south coast and into the Sea of Oman.Here she turned her course to starboard, adjusted her sails for the tailwind, and headed for the narrow sea known as the Strait of Hormuz between Iran and the Arabian Peninsula.
In this narrow waterway, only eight knots wide from the tip of Oman's Musandam peninsula to the coast of the Persian Gulf, large tankers pass frequently: some deep-drafted, laden with crude oil bound for the West, others Pass by without a load, go to Saudi Arabia and Kuwait in the Gulf to load crude oil.
Small boats like this sailboat sail close to the shore to give ocean liners enough deep water and room to maneuver.Once a supertanker encounters any situation on the route, it is not easy to stop.
Since it was not in a hurry, the sailing ship Pearl anchored overnight between the islands east of the Kumzar Naval Port in Oman.On a plasma screen at an air base in Scotland, it clearly shows: Sitting on the raised poop deck on a warm night, Martin sees by moonlight the two "tobacco ships" and hears the The roar of engines outside as the two ships raced through Omani waters towards Iran's southern coast.
This was the smuggling ship he had heard about.With no loyalty to any country, they engage in smuggling.On some empty beach in Iran or Balochistan, they meet their receivers at dawn to unload cheap cigarettes and load up on angora goats, which are valuable in Oman.
This pencil-shaped aluminum boat has two 250-horsepower motors outboard.After the cargo is tied to the middle of the hull, if the crew risk their lives to drive, the speed can reach more than 50 knots on a calm sea.This kind of speed boat cannot catch up. The crew members are familiar with every reef and shoal, and are used to sailing with lights off, crossing the route of the tanker in the dark, and reaching the hidden place on the other side.
Faisal bin Salem smiled indulgently.He was a smuggler himself, but far more dignified than these bayou smugglers he could vaguely hear.
"So friend, what will you do when I bring you to Arabia?" he asked quietly.The Omani sailor was busy in the bow trying to add a fish to his breakfast.He had already said evening prayers with two others.Now is the time for pleasant conversation.
"I don't know," Martin said frankly. "I just know that if I stay in my country I will die. Pakistan has closed the door to me because they are Yankee lackeys. I hope to find other true believers and ask for help." Fight with them."
"Fight? But there is no war in the United Arab Emirates. They are also completely on the side of the West. The inland is Saudi Arabia, and you will be found immediately as soon as you enter the country, and you will be escorted back. So..."
The Afghan shrugged. "I only ask for the service of Allah. I have lived for so many years. I will leave my destiny to Allah."
"You're saying you're willing to die for Allah," said the mild-mannered Qatari.
Mike Martin reflects on his childhood in Baghdad and his time in prep school.Most of the students were Iraqi boys, but they were the kids of the rich and the elite, whose parents expected them to speak perfect English and be bosses of big companies, doing business with London and New York.All subjects at the school are in English, including the study of traditional English poetry.
Martin has always loved the story of how Horatius of Rome defended the last bridge in the face of Tarquin's invading army after the Romans tore down the bridge behind him, leaving him nowhere to retreat.Martin and his classmates often read a poem in class:
"If I could die for the cause of Allah's jihad, then of course I would," Martin replied.
The sailboat captain thought for a while, then changed the subject.
"You're wearing Afghan clothes," he said. "You'll be spotted right away. Wait a minute."
He went under the cabin, and when he came back, he brought a freshly ironed white cotton robe that could wrap a person from shoulders to ankles.
"Put on," he ordered. "Throw the Taliban clothes and turbans into the sea."
After Martin changed into his robes, Ben Saleem handed him a new turban, the cloth turban with red dots common to Arabs in the Gulf, and a black ribbon to tie it around.
"It's much better," said the old man when his guest had changed his attire. "You're quite an Arab now as long as you don't talk. But there's an Afghan community in the Jeddah area. They've already Lived for generations, and they speak much like you. Just say you are from that place, and strangers will believe you. Now let us sleep. Tomorrow is the last day of our voyage, and we shall rise at dawn."
Predators in the air saw them lift anchor off the island, slowly round the reef-strewn Cape Qanam, and turn southwest towards the United Arab Emirates.
The UAE is made up of seven emirates, but usually only the biggest and wealthiest are remembered: Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Sharjah.The remaining four were small, poor, and not well-known.Two of them, Ajman and Umm Al Quwain, are close to Dubai, which is the most developed of the seven emirates because of its oil production.
The Emirate of Fujairah sits on the other side of the peninsula, facing the Gulf of Oman to the east.The seventh emirate is Ras Al Khaimah.
It lies on the same coastline as Dubai, but further north, near the shores of the Strait of Hormuz.This is a very poor, traditional area.So it craves Saudi Arabia's gifts, including huge investment in mosques and schools - but all preaching Wahhabi.In the eyes of Westerners, Ras Al Khaimah is a hotbed of fundamentalism, al Qaeda sympathy and jihad.On the port side of the slow-moving Pearl, this will be the first place to go.As the sun was about to set, the sailboat reached Ras Al Khaimah.
"You don't have a certificate book?" Captain Salim said to his guest, "I can't provide it either. But it doesn't matter, the certificates are all meaningless things made by the West. The important thing is money. You take these."
He slipped a roll of UAE dirhams into Martin's hand.At this time, they were braving the afterglow of the setting sun, slowly passing the city of Ras Al Khaimah on the water a mile offshore.The first lights of the buildings on shore began to flicker.
"I'll get you ashore on the coast ahead," said Ben Salem. "You'll find the coastal road and go back. I know there's a little guest house in the old town. It's cheap and clean, Also very secluded. That's where you live. Don't go out. You're safe there and I may have a few friends who can help you."
The Pearl was approaching the shore.It was completely dark when Martin saw the lights of the hotel.Ben Salem knows this all too well.Originally the Al Hamra Fort, the hotel has since been converted into a beach club for foreign guests and a dock for small boats.In the dark of night, no one noticed there.
"He's disembarking," said someone in the control room at Ezell Air Force Base in Scotland.Although it was pitch black, the Predator thermal imaging camera at 20,000 feet above could still see the nimble figure jumping from the sailboat to the dock, and then the sailboat backed up to the deep water and back to the sea.
"Ignore that ship, and follow this moving figure," Gordon Phillips said, leaning over the operator's shoulder to examine.Orders were passed to Tumlet, and the predator was ordered to follow the thermal image of the man walking along the coast road back to Ras Al Khaimah.
After a five-mile walk, Martin arrived in the old town in the middle of the night.He asked the way twice, and finally came to this guest house.It is only 500 yards away from Sheikh's home, the family of Marwan Sheikh who hijacked a passenger plane and crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center in New York on September 11th.He remains a local hero.
The landlord was sullen and suspicious, until Martin mentioned Faisal bin Salim and added a stack of dirham notes, and the suspicion disappeared immediately.Martin entered and was ushered into a modest room.There appeared to be two other paying guests staying, but they had gone to their rooms to rest.
The landlord graciously invites Martin to have a cup of tea with him before he goes to bed.Over tea, Martin explained that he was from Jeddah and was of Pashtun descent.
With his dark appearance, black beard and repeated references to Allah, Martin convinced the owner here that he was also a true believer.They said goodnight to each other and went to bed.
The owner of the sailing ship continued the night voyage.His destination was the port in downtown Dubai known as "The Gulf".Once upon a time, it was a foul bay that stinks of dead fish and men darned their nets in the hot sun.Now, this has become the last "scenic line" of this vibrant city. Opposite the towering modern hotel, there is a golden farmer's market.Here, where the sailing ships engaged in the nautical trade enter the port and berth side by side, it is the place where tourists come to see the last piece of "old Arabian flavor".
Ben Saleem hailed a taxi and told the driver to take him three miles north to the emirate of Ajman, the smallest of the seven emirates and the second poorest.There, he dispatched a cab and staggered into the covered farmers market, whose maze of aisles and bustling stalls quickly overwhelmed him, freeing him from all the " tail", if there is one.
Not so.Predator surveillance planes eyeing a guest house in central Ras Al Khaimah.The owner of the sailboat emerges from the marketplace, enters a small mosque, and makes a request to the Imam.A boy was sent out, who hurried through the city and brought back a young man who looked like a student.He was indeed a student at the local engineering and technical college, but he was also a graduate of the Darenta training camp owned and run by al Qaeda outside Jalalabad until 2001.
The old captain whispered softly in the young man's ear, and the young man nodded and thanked him.Then the captain returned, walked through the covered farmers' market again, emerged, hailed a cab, and returned to his cargo ship in "the bay."He had done his best, and now it was up to the young man.
※※※
On the same day, but later due to time differences, the cargo ship The Countess of Richmond sailed slowly out of the mouth of the Mersey outside the port of Liverpool and into the Irish Sea.Captain McKendrick steered the ship south.The freighter will pass Wales on the port side, out of the Irish Sea, past Cape Lizard and into the English Channel and East Atlantic.Then continue south, through Portugal, across the Mediterranean Sea and the Suez Canal, to the Indian Ocean.
The icy waters of March beat against the bow of the Countess of Richmond.In the cargo hold below deck, the "Jaguar" car was carefully packed in wooden crates and shipped to Singapore.
※※※
Four days later, the Afghan reclusive in Ras Al Khaimah received his guests.As he was told, he never went out, at least not in the streets.But he had gone to the closed courtyard behind the house to get some air.There are two eight-foot-high heavy gates between the backyard and the street outside, and delivery vans often pass in and out.
While he was in the yard, he was spotted by an aerial predator, so his rangers in Scotland found out he had changed clothes.
These customers don't come to deliver food, drinks or laundry, they come to collect them.They backed up and brought the van close to the back door of the house.The driver remained in the car while the other three entered the house.
The two tenants are working outside, and the administrator of the house is busy in the shop outside according to the agreement.All three understood the instructions they had been given.They went straight to the door identified in advance, and entered without knocking.The figure in the room who was sitting and reading hurriedly stood up, but found that he was facing the muzzle of a black hole.The gun was held by a man who had trained in Afghanistan.All three were wearing face coverings.
They are quiet, but quick to move.Martin had seen many fighters, and he found these guests to be experts.A hood covered his head and fell to his shoulders.His hands were twisted behind his back and he was placed in plastic handcuffs.Then he walked, or rather, was pushed—out the door, down the tiled hallway, and into the back of the van.Lying on his side in the compartment, he heard the door slam shut and felt the van jolt from side to side and out the gate into the street.
Predators detected this situation, but the caretaker thought they were there to deliver laundry, so they didn't pay attention.A few minutes later, the van was gone.Modern reconnaissance technology can do many wonders, but humans and machines can still be fooled.The hijacking squad didn't know there was a Predator overhead, but they cleverly chose the time of day rather than midnight to carry out the hijack, fooling the rangers in Ezell, Scotland.
It was only after three days that they realized that their men were no longer showing up in the yard to give that "sign of being alive."In short, he disappeared.They are watching an empty house.They don't know which of the several vans that came took him.
In fact, the van didn't drive very far.Behind the hinterland of the city of Ras Al Khaimah lies a barren, rocky desert that stretches to the mountains of Ras Jabal.Here, apart from goats and salamanders, no other living things can survive.
In order to prevent the person they hijacked from being monitored by others, the robbers don't give them any chance whether he knows it or not.There were several dirt roads in the desert leading into the hills, and they drove onto one of them.In the back of the car, Martin felt the car lift off the asphalt and start bouncing over the potholed dirt road.
If there is a trailing vehicle behind it, it will definitely be detected.Even if kept out of sight, the sand and dust it kicks up as it drives across the desert will give it away.A surveillance helicopter is even more obvious.
The van stopped after five miles of dirt roads and hills.The leader, the one with the pistol, raised a pair of high-powered binoculars to scan the valley and coast behind them in the direction of the old town.There is no tail behind.
Satisfied, the van turned around and drove out of the hill.Its real destination is a villa with a wall and a yard on the outskirts of the city.After the van drove into the fence, the gate was locked again, and the rear of the van faced an open door.Martin was shoved out of the car and walked down another tiled corridor.
The plastic handcuffs were removed, but a cold metal handcuff was placed on the left hand.There would also be a chain, he knew, to an unturnable bolt in the wall.When the mask was removed, he found that now it was his captors' turn to cover their faces.They backed away and closed the door with a bang.Then he heard the sound of the latch being snapped.
This is not a real prison cell.It is a fortified room on the ground floor.The windows had been bricked, and though Martin couldn't see it, a window had been painted on the outer wall so that even a man with a telescope peering across the wall would be fooled.
For Martin, who had previously undergone anti-interrogation program training in the SAS Regiment, this kind of treatment was very comfortable.There is a light bulb on the ceiling of the room, protected by a wire mesh to prevent it from being smashed.The lighting is a little dim, but enough.
There was a camp bed in the room, and the chains hanging from his hands were just long enough for him to lie down and sleep on the bed.There is also a straight back chair and a urinal.These are all within reach, but in different directions.
Around his left wrist was a stainless-steel handcuff connected to a chain that was fastened to an iron ring on the wall.The length of the chain prevented him from reaching the door through which the robbers brought him water and food.There was also a peephole in the door, which meant they could watch his every move at all times without him seeing or hearing them.
At Forbes Castle in Scotland, intelligence experts had a long and heated discussion about whether he should wear a tracker or not.
Modern whereabouts transmitters are small enough to be implanted under the skin without incisions.It's about the size of a pin.They are heated by blood and require no power source.But their launch distance is limited.Worse, they can be spotted with super sensitive detectors.
"These people are certainly not stupid," Philip once said emphatically.His colleagues at the CIA's counterterrorism center agree.
"They're very well educated," MacDonald said. "Their mastery of high technology, especially computer science, is amazing."
At Forbes, everyone believed that if Martin's body was instrumented to discover the secret facility on his body, he would be killed immediately, which is beyond doubt.
In the end, it was decided not to install a tracker or signal transmitter on Martin.An hour later, the kidnappers came to him again, still wearing their masks.
The body search was very careful and thorough.First the clothes, he was stripped naked, and then the clothes were taken to another room for inspection.
They did not perform throat and anal searches.These jobs are done by the scanner.The instrument detected every inch of his skin, and if the detector made a "beep" sound, it meant that non-body tissue substances were found.Only when testing the mouth, the instrument beeped.They forced his mouth to open wide and examined every inlay.Other than that, nothing was found.
They returned his clothes and were about to leave.
"I left mine at the guest house," said the prisoner. "I don't have a watch or a pouf, but I know it's time to pray."
The boss stared at him through the peephole.He didn't say anything, but two minutes later he brought the pouches.Martin thanked him solemnly.
Food and water are delivered at regular intervals.Every time the other party came in with a plate, he waved a pistol to drive him back, and then put the food where he could get it.Urinals are cleaned in the same way.
Three days later, his interrogation began, this time with a mask on to keep him from looking out the window, and he was led down two passages.He was taken aback when his mask was removed.Before him was a man, sitting quietly behind a carved dining table, like an employer interviewing a job candidate.Here is a young, elegant, civilized man with metropolitan airs, without a mask.He speaks pure Gulf Arabic.
"I don't think there's any point in wearing a mask," he said, "and the same goes for using a fake name. Well, my name is Dr. Khattab. I'm not going to play around with you. If you are who you say you are, you can make If I am satisfied, then, we welcome you to join us. In this case, you will not betray us. If you are not, then, I am afraid you will be executed immediately. Mr. Izmat Khan, you really are The Afghan they said?"
"They're going to focus on two issues." Gordon Phillips had warned him during the discussion at Forbes Castle, "Are you really Izmat Khan? Did you take part in the Karajjaj Prison Riot? Is it the same Izmat Khan? Or did five years at Guantanamo Bay turn you into someone else?"
Looking back at the smiling Arab, Martin recalled Tamian Godfrey's warning: "Don't worry about the bearded screaming, watch out for the clean-shaven, smoking and drinking , with women, who can be confused with those among us, who are completely Westernized, who are human chameleons, who are full of hatred and hide their secrets. This kind of person is absolutely deadly. There is a word...' Tower Kefir'."
"There are many Afghans," he said, "who call me 'that Afghan'."
"Oh, you have been silenced for five years. There have been a lot of gossip about you after the Kara Ijagi incident. You don't know me, but I know you well. Some of our people have come from Guantanamo Bay Released. They think highly of you. They say you never confessed. Is that true?"
"They asked me about myself. I told them that."
"But you never pointed a finger at anyone or mentioned any names. That's what other people said about you."
"They wiped out my whole family. Most of me was dead. How do you punish a dead man?"
"Good answer, friend. So, let's talk about Guantanamo Bay. Tell me about the situation there."
Martin had heard repeatedly about what had happened to him in that prison on the Cuban peninsula.Arrived on January 14, 2002, hungry and thirsty, covered in dust, smelling bad, wearing a mask and shackles.The beard and hair were shaved off, and he put on an orange jumpsuit and staggered around with a mask on...
Dr Khattab took copious notes, writing on yellow notepads with an old-fashioned fountain pen.All the way, he now has all the answers.He paused and gave his prisoner a gentle smile.
Later in the afternoon, he brought a photo.
"Do you know this man?" he asked. "Have you seen this man?"
Martin shook his head.The upturned face in the photo is that of General Jeffrey Miller, the successor to Warden General Rick Backus.General Backus attended the trial, but it was General Miller who briefed the CIA intelligence team on the matter.
"Yes," Khattab said, "according to our friends who have been released, he has seen you, but you always wear a hood because you don't cooperate. So when did things get better? ?”
They kept talking about the sun setting, and finally the Arab stood up.
"I'm going to do a lot of checking," he said, "and if everything you say is true, then we can continue in a few days. If not, I'm afraid I'll have to give the proper order to my subordinate, Suleiman. "
Martin returns to his cell.Dr. Khattab quickly gave instructions to the guard squad and left.He drove an ordinary rental car back to the Hilton Hotel in Ras Al Khaimah overlooking Shaker Deep Water Port.He spent the night in a hotel room and left the next day.At this time, he was wearing a well-fitting cream-colored suit of the tropics.When he checked in at the British Airways counter at Dubai International Airport, his English was impeccable.
In fact, Ali Aziz Khattab was born in Kuwait, the son of a senior bank employee.By Bay Area standards, that meant his family was well off and living a life of privilege.In 1989, his father was promoted to deputy manager of the London branch of the Bank of Kuwait, so the family moved to the UK, thus avoiding the war disaster of Iraq's invasion of the motherland in 1990.
At that time, Ali Aziz was already able to speak very fluent English.He entered a British school at the age of fifteen, and graduated three years later with perfect English and excellent grades.When his family moved back to Kuwait, he chose to stay and enrolled in Loughborough Institute of Technology.Four years later he earned a degree in chemical engineering and went on to pursue a Ph.D.
While in London, he started going to the mosque run by a provocative preacher who hated the West and became what the media called a "radical".In fact, at the age of 21, he has been completely brainwashed and has become a fanatical supporter of "Al Qaeda".
A "smart Bole" advised him to visit Pakistan, which he accepted.He went there, crossed the Khyber Pass, entered Pakistan, and spent six months in a terrorist training camp for al Qaeda.He has been deemed fit to go "undercover" and to lead a low-key life in Britain, never to attract the attention of the authorities.
Back in London, he did what they asked: he reported to the Kuwaiti embassy that he had lost his passport, and applied for a new one, without the suspicious Pakistani entry and exit stamps.If anyone asked, he said he had been to the Gulf to visit family and friends, but had never been anywhere near Pakistan, let alone Afghanistan.In 1999 he took a lectureship at Aston University in Birmingham.Two years later, American and British forces invaded Afghanistan.
For the first few weeks he fidgeted, fearing to leave any trace of his visit to the horrific training camp, but Abu Zubaid, al Qaeda's personnel chief, got his affairs in order.All traces of Khattab's presence there have been erased.So he remained undetected and rose to become the leader of al Qaeda in the UK.
※※※
When Dr. Khattab's flight to London took off, the cargo ship Java Star was slowly leaving its berth in Brunei Sultanate in the northern Kalimantan island of Indonesia and headed for the open sea.
Its destination was the port of Freemantle on the west coast of Australia. The Norwegian captain Knut Hermann never imagined that something extraordinary would happen on this voyage.
He knew it was the most dangerous sea in the world, but not because of shoals, rapids, reefs, storms or tsunamis.The danger here is rampant piracy.
From the Strait of Malacca in the west to the Sulawesi Sea in the east, more than 500 incidents of pirates attacking merchant ships and 100 incidents of hijacking crew members occur every year.Sometimes crew members are released after the owner pays a ransom.But sometimes, they will all be killed, and no bones will remain.In such incidents, goods are often stolen and sold on the black market.
If Captain Herman sailed for Fremantle with ease, it was also because he was convinced that his cargo was of no use to pirates.But for this voyage, he was wrong.
The first leg of the voyage was northbound, in the opposite direction of his final destination.It took him six hours to reach Sabah and the northernmost tip of Kalimantan, passing through the crumbling city of Kudat.From there, he would turn southeast into the Sulu Islands.
He wanted to take the deep-water channel between Tawi Tawi Island and Hele Island, avoiding those coral reefs and jungle islands.Once you enter the southern part of the Sulu Islands, you can go all the way south across the Sulawesi Sea and finally arrive in Australia.
While he weighed anchor in Brunei, he was watched and made a call on a mobile phone.Even if it was intercepted, the content of the call was nothing more than saying that a sick uncle would be discharged from the hospital in twelve days.In fact, this means that it will be intercepted in another twelve hours.
The call, made to a small harbor on the island of Wole, was answered by Mr. Lampung, a new client of Mr. Alex Siebert, a London-based shipping broker, who was no longer a businessman from Sumatra, Indonesia.
Under the cover of night in the tropics, he commanded twelve cold-blooded killers to act.These killers get paid well, so they are very obedient.Criminal offenses aside, they are also Muslim extremists.The Abu Sayyaf rebels in the southern Philippines have their last stronghold on the peninsula just a few miles from the Sulu Sea.Not only do they have a reputation for being religiously extreme, but they also serve as bounty killers.Mr. Lampung paid them to serve both purposes.
At dawn, the two speedboats they took arrived at their predetermined position between the two islands and waited.An hour later, the Javanese star approached them as it entered the Sulawesi Sea from the Sulu Sea.Taking it down is a piece of cake, the bandits are well trained.
Captain Hermann, who had been in command of the ship himself throughout the night, relinquished the steering to his Indonesian mate when the Pacific dawn appeared on the port side, and went down to the cabins.All ten of his crew slept in cabins in the forecastle.
The first thing the Indonesian chief mate saw was two speedboats chasing up from the stern, one on the left and one on the right.The dark-skinned, bare-footed, agile man easily climbed onto the deck from the speedboat, and ran towards the superstructure and the bridge where he was standing.As soon as he pressed the emergency button to notify the captain, those people had rushed in through the side door of the bridge.Then a sharp knife lay across his throat, and a voice screamed: "Captain, captain..."
In fact, there is no need for this.A weary Captain Knut Hermann was coming up to see what was going on.He stepped onto the bridge at the same time as Mr. Lampung, who was holding a submachine gun.The Norwegian captain knew it was best not to resist.These pirates will negotiate the amount of ransom with the headquarters of the shipping company in Australia.
"Captain Herman..."
This guy also knew his name, so he obviously came prepared.
"Ask your first mate, has he radioed in the last five minutes?"
There is no need to ask this question.Lampung is speaking English.For the Norwegian and his Indonesian first mate, English is their working language.The mate screamed that he hadn't even touched the radio button.
"Excellent," said Lampung, and proceeded to issue a series of commands in the local dialect.Captain Hermann did not understand a word, but he understood it all when the bandit threw back his lieutenant's head and slit his throat.The first mate convulsed a few times and died.Captain Herman had never been seasick in forty years at sea, but now he leaned on the wheel and vomited everything in his stomach.
"The two puddles need to be cleaned," said Lampung. "From now on, Captain, if you refuse to obey my orders, one of the crew will be treated to this 'treat' every minute. Enough said." understand?"
The Norwegian captain was escorted into the small radio room aft of the bridge, where he selected the international distress frequency on Channel 16.Lampung took out a piece of paper.
"You can't read this in a calm tone, Captain. After I press the 'fire' button and nod, you have to shout this message in a terrified tone. Otherwise, your men will die, one by one. Are you ready?"
Captain Herman nodded.There was no need for him to pretend to be in this state of extreme terror.
"May help, help, help, Java Star, Java Star...the cabin is on fire, I can't save myself...my location..."
As soon as he read it, he knew the position was wrong.This is in the Sulawesi waters about a hundred nautical miles to the south.But he doesn't want to argue.Lampung turned off the radio transmitter, put the Norwegian at gunpoint, and led him back to the bridge.
Two of his sailors were already scrubbing blood and vomit off the bridge floor.He could see eight other crew members lined up on the hatch, terrified, and six bandits watching them.
The two pirates stayed on the bridge.The other four went and ripped off the life raft, life belt, and two inflatable life jackets, and threw them into a speedboat—the same speedboat with a spare fuel tank amidships.
When they were all ready, the speedboat left the side of the Java Star and sped southward.In calm tropical seas, at fifteen knots, they could be a hundred miles to the south in seven hours, and return to their little pirate harbor in ten hours.
"Changing course, captain," said Lampung.Although his tone was very gentle, there was a deep hatred in his eyes that shot at the Norwegian.
The new route is to turn around and head northeast, leaving the numerous islands of the Sulu Archipelago, crossing the international demarcation line and entering Philippine territorial waters.
The southern province of Mindanao is part of which Philippine government forces dare not set foot in.Here is the site.Here they can safely recruit, organize training, and enjoy the spoils of war.The cargo of the cargo ship Java Star, while not marketable, is still a trophy.Lampung discussed with the pirate leader in the local dialect.The man pointed to the entrance of a shallow bay ahead, with dense jungle on both sides.
What Lampung asked just now was: "Can your people drive this ship there?" The pirate leader nodded.楠榜向围着海员的那伙人下达了命令。那些人迫不及待地把船员们赶到栏杆旁，然后开枪了。水手们尖叫着翻落进温暖的海水里。在水下的某处，鲨鱼循着血腥味游了过来。
赫尔曼船长大吃一惊，两三秒钟后才反应过来，可已经来不及了。楠榜射出的子弹击中了他的胸部，他也翻滚着从船桥的侧翼落进了海里。半小时后，在一辆几周前偷来的小拖轮的拖带下，在一片尖叫声和欢呼声中，爪哇星辰号货船靠上了一个由结实的柚木建成的新泊位。
丛林将它密实地遮掩起来。同样被遮掩了的还有两座长长的、低矮的用白铁皮盖顶的车间，里面摆放着钢板、切割机、电焊机、发电机和油漆。
爪哇星辰号轮船通过十六频道发出的绝望求救信号被十几艘船舶接收到了。与它所给出的位置距离最近的船舶是一艘冷藏船，载运着新鲜和易腐的水果横跨太平洋去美国。在芬兰船长拉科纳的指挥下，该船立即掉头驶往出事地点。在那里，他发现海面上漂着救生筏，那是一种遇水自动打开的充气筏垫。他绕了一圈，又发现了救生带和两件救生衣。全都标有爪哇星辰轮船字样。拉科纳船长尊重《海商法》，于是他继续降低船速，放下船载小艇，去查看救生筏内的情况。里面都是空的，于是他只得下令将其沉入海中。他已经损失了几个小时的时间，不能再滞留了，再待下去也没有意义。
他心情沉重地用无线电报告说，爪哇星辰轮已经沉没，船员全体遇难。在遥远的伦敦，劳埃德保险公司收到了这条消息。于是在英国，劳埃德商船名册上注销了这艘船。在这个世界上，爪哇星辰轮已经不复存在了。
Notes:
Notes: