Double Pirate Trouble

By David and Linda Broughton

Derek Samuels, former Navy Seal, and his old buddy, Woody, are mustered out, and fending for themselves. Woody got out long before Derek, he's got a lucrative deal going with some very wealthy and powerful people, working as a trouble shooter. He need's Derek's help on this one, there's a lot of trouble to shoot, two different bands of pirates, and those behind them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David and Linda Broughton
• Release date: Dec 16, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458031853

David and Linda Broughton

The love of my life, Linda, is deceased. There will be a few more books by us, since more are written, they are not edited yet. In her honor I will try to get them edited and out to the public, but it's not easy for me. I have a new writing partner now, as well as a partner in life. No it will never be the same, nor should it. To those that review my books. I would greatly appreciate it if you actually READ the entire book before you write the review. Skimming it and posting a review just minutes after you buy it doesn't give a full understanding of the work. One person did this with "Grumpy Old Spy" and totally missed the entire story, and got what they did catch all wrong. I don't appreciate that. If you're not going to do an honest assessment after reading the entire book, don't bother to review it at all. In fact, if that person would contact me, I'll give them their money back for the book, providing they pull the cheap shot review.

Book preview

Prologue

Somewhere in the hills of Iraq,

Over fifty clicks from the closest Green Zone.

Derek and his team are searching a cave complex. It's known to be used by the enemy, whatever the friggin brass is calling the enemy this week. It's slow going, with the night vision goggles on, the view is restricted, so it makes for a curious head bobbing, side to side head motion as they slip along nearly noiselessly. Nobody wants to trip an Improvised Explosive Device, so they look carefully as they go, watching every step. IEDs are the common choice of this enemy, nearly as prevalent as the damned old, but very lethal, AK-47s that abound in the region.

Derek has one slung over his back, since ammo for them is easier to come by in the field than for his variant of the AR 15, widely known as an M-16, at their inception during the Vietnam era. Now it's more hi-tech, with a grenade launcher slung under the barrel, a folding stock, and a night sight, it bears little resemblance to the old M-16, unless one looks close.

The night vision goggles let Derek catch something moving up ahead, he hand signals halt to his team by raising a fist in the air. What was it he saw, some type of animal? He only got a glimpse of something, he's not sure what. He moves forward slowly, in a crouch, his right side close to the cave wall. Thinking he's too much of a target that way, he slowly rises to full height, but puts his back nearly up against the wall. He side steps along slowly, ever so cautiously, doing the head bob and weave to check for anything.

Suddenly, muzzle flashes render Derek's goggles useless, nearly blinding him when they flare out. The blast of the AK's is loud, though he has com unit earpieces in his ears. The echoes make it worse. He returns fire automatically, hosing the area the muzzle flashes came from. As soon as he can, he pulls the goggles down, they are of no help now.

Derek triggers his grenade launcher, hopefully in the direction the shots came from. The blast from the grenade going off is nearly deafening. There are no more shots from that area.

Derek creeps forward, his eyes still aren't seeing much, he doesn't know if it's his eyes or the darkness, he's not trying the goggles again. He holds his carbine so he can use the night sight to sweep the area, he can see some, but not as well as he should. The scope not being right up to his eyes will lessen the problem if there's another flash. There's no visible movement at the moment.

Suddenly, a dragon's fire stream of AK fire is leaping out at him from behind a boulder. It lights up the cave in an eerie strobe effect. He's taking hits, his vest is stopping them, but it feels like a real heavyweight champ is punching him relentlessly. Derek fires blindly toward the area, the muzzle flashes of his and his team's AR's are again blinding his now very sensitive eyes.

Another snake of fire slithers Derek's direction, seemingly in slow motion. Derek feels an intense pain in his side, below the vest, more in his right leg than his side. Derek feels himself falling, he can't seem to do anything about it. The white-hot pain in his side and legs sends his mind reeling. Is this the end? The searing, intense white light fades to gray, then to black.

Chapter 1

The ocean is a brilliant blue here off the coast of Greece. Derek Samuels is kicking back on the rear deck of this rented boat, having a beer, watching the other small boats that work or play between the small islands of this area. It's kind of a busman's holiday for Derek, until recently he made his living as a Navy Seal.

Officially, he's still in the Navy, still a Seal, but that's only until the paperwork is completed. After three months in a hospital, then six more months rehabilitating himself after his wounds healed, the Navy in their infinite wisdom decided he's no longer fit for service. His body healed, its coming back nicely, it's the nightmares that are getting him booted. They're claiming he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder.

The damn doctors think I'm wacko. Hell, I probably am wacko, after ten years of being in the water for this or that, here I am, on my own time, on Woody's dime, playing around in the Greek islands.

His long time friend, also a former Seal, Mark, Woody Woodson asked him to join him here, he paid for the ticket. Woody is in the head at the moment, landlubbers call it a bathroom. He's been in there a hell of a long time, something must be wrong. Maybe he can't figure out how to flush the thing.

Derek starts into the small cabin, then instantly changes his mind. I best stay out in the open air, the stink in there could be deadly.

Derek grabs another beer out of the ice chest, then sits back down on his deck chair. I hope the stink will dissipate. If not, Woody will never get his deposit back on the boat, they might make him pay for scuttling it, it's that bad.

Eventually, Woody joins Derek on deck. Damn, Woody, what the hell happened to you? Did somebody shove a stink bomb up your ass?

Woody grins, I reckon so, it must be that damn Ouzo we had last night, that stuff is rougher on my system than tequila.

Derek looks to his old buddy, he still seems to be in fighting trim, I know. You've been out of the Navy what, six months now?

Technically yeah, I had two month's leave built up before that, so I haven't been on a base for eight months.

Derek gets a puzzled look on his face, How do you support yourself? You don't qualify for a pension, how the hell do you afford to go to places like this, to have fun? I have some savings, I know you didn't. You spend money like you've got millions.

Woody smiles wide, I don't, but I know people that do. They call on me from time to time to solve problems. It pays pretty well.

Derek's eyebrows go up, What do you mean, solve problems? You haven't become a hit man for hire, have you?

Woody shrugs, I wouldn't be above that, if a scumbag deserved it, but no, nothing so drastic, yet. I kind of work like a private eye, getting things back that go missing, maybe having a come to Jesus meeting with somebody giving a client a bad time, stuff like that.

Derek is half facetious when he asks, Need any help?

Woody gets that certain grin on his face that means somebody's about to be in trouble, probably Derek if he isn't careful. Actually, that's kind of why I suggested this little outing. I do need help … on this case at least … you're the only guy I know that I trust … that also has the skills that may be needed.

Derek has to ask, his curiosity overcoming his better judgment, What the hell are you into?

In a low tone, as if he doesn't want to be overheard, Woody replies, Chasing down leads on some pirates.

Derek's disbelieving look could say it all, but he voices it, Pirates? Swashbuckling, sword wielding pirates? This isn't the 1700's.

Woody shakes his head, These are modern-day pirates, they use fast boats, Uzi's, things like that. Actually we believe there are two major groups of them working the region.

Derek is still disbelieving, Who's we?

Me and my computer guy, Charlie. Hell of a computer wiz, not at all interested in the rough stuff.

Derek takes a healthy pull on his beer then replies, "Hell, that means he's smart. Okay, so if I'm interested, which I haven't made up my mind about yet, what makes you think there are two groups of pirates?"

Woody grabs a beer for himself, then takes a seat next to Derek, There are probably many more groups, but two main groups that I'm interested in. One group goes after high-end yachts, they set the crew off in lifeboats, wear masks, generally they're thieves, they don't hurt anyone unless they have to, though occasionally some crewman or passenger has made a silly move and got put down, but not killed. They don't seem interested in killing anyone, that would bring too much heat, rich bastards getting their playthings taken away doesn't draw that much heat.

What about this other group? Are they some of those poor, stupid Somali's that were causing so much trouble a while back?

Woody shakes his head no, This group that I'm interested in isn't like that at all, so far as we can figure out. Somebody may be recruiting such poor bastards to do the dirty work, but it's not the ransom type deals they used to try. This group, the one that's got my backer's interest, takes freighters, usually ones with high value cargos. Sometimes not so valuable cargo, it doesn't seem to matter. They off the crew, toss them in the drink, then ship and all disappears. The only reason we know a damn thing about them is one crewmember played dead. He got tossed in the drink, but survived, mostly because a fishing boat picked him up. We figure like most stolen ships, they sail them down to some port … around Liberia, most likely. They make them over, then sell them or maybe they use them to transport contraband materials. We have no way of knowing what the hell becomes of them, once they disappear.

Still curious, Derek asks, So, who's your client?

Woody looks Derek in the eyes, Sorry, until you tell me you're in or out, I'm not going to tell you.

Derek knows this routine, SAP in the service, In that case, answer this, is there more than one client paying the freight?

Woody nods, his now longer, wavy black hair bounces as he does, Yes, several very wealthy, very pissed off clients have weighed in on it. There's plenty cash to be earned, plenty of expense money, that's how I afford this boat rental.

Derek asks, Wouldn't we be better off buying something?

Woody catches the 'we' in that question, but lets it go for the moment, No, not yet, this way I change boats every couple of days or so. I don't want to be too obvious.

Derek nods, Okay, what would be my cut if I go in with you?

Woody is still being a bit cryptic, That kind of depends on how successful we are, I can guarantee you fifty grand for the effort, a hell of a lot more if we find these guys.

The important question in Derek's way of thinking must be asked, What do we do if we find them?

Woody shrugs, That's not our department, though it could be. I don't think we really want in on that end of it. These clients are really pissed off, they'll probably want them offed, wherever they're found.

Derek isn't in the know at all, so he has to ask what might seem like silly questions, though he learned long ago, the only silly question is the one that doesn't get asked. What about the authorities, will we be getting in their way?

Woody's tone becomes more authoritative, That's the crux of the problem, really. These guys can operate pretty much with impunity, so long as they stay in international waters. There's nobody that really has the authority to do a thing about it, and the manpower to pull it off.

Derek downs the remains of his beer, tossing the bottle in the trashcan from his seat, bullseye. Why are you here, in this area, not out at sea somewhere?

Woody takes the silly sounding question in stride, It's a big damn ocean, you know that. What am I supposed to do, sail all over the ocean and hope I run across them in the middle stealing a ship?

Derek smiles a bit, now realizing how dumb that question sounded when asked that way, "That's not what I mean, why here, in particular?"

"Because a lot of the yachts, and many of the freighters sail out of here, it's sometimes their last port of call before they're hijacked. I'm trying to get a line on how the pirates get their info from here. They must have somebody on shore feeding them the info. Once I find that out, I'll follow that lead to them."

Derek shrugs, So, what do you need me for?

Back up, mostly, here take the binoculars, see that big yacht anchored over there near that small island?

Derek takes the binoculars, adjusts the focus. As he looks at the yacht he asks, Yeah, what about it?

We think that's the next target of the ones stealing the yachts.

"Why is that?

Charlie caught some email traffic mentioning the Western Skies, that's the name of that yacht.

That proves nothing.

Woody nods, No, it doesn't, it's scheduled to sail out of here in two more days. I have a better boat to trail it at the ready, but it's not the kind of thing you go out on a day cruise on, so I won't use it until we're ready to go.

Derek consciously makes a decision, one he now realizes he had actually already made, Okay, I'm intrigued. If nothing else it's some time on the water, where I love to be. Any ideas how you'll track down the other group?

Woody shakes his head, Not yet, Charlie is working on it, so far, I've heard nothing. He'll come up with something, sooner or later, he always does.

Okay, I'm in, at least for the first part of this gig. I don't know that I want to mess with the kind that will kill for a ship, or it's cargo.

Okay, that'll work, for now. Until that yacht is ready to set sail, we can pretty much take it easy. I've been keeping my eyes open for anyone keeping surveillance on that boat, I haven't noticed anything yet.

Derek replies, You probably won't, until right before it sets sail. They apparently know it's schedule, they wouldn't risk being spotted in the area too much beforehand. Any ideas how they get their info?

The info itself is public knowledge. Non-military vessels have to file their manifests and routes with the authorities in the country they're leaving, and with the next stop. Anybody can get the info, it's not difficult. I'm looking for the conduit, whoever it is that gets the info to them.

Is that the same with cargo ships?

Not quite, that's a different authority, I don't imagine its any more difficult to get the info, a phone call would probably be all it takes.

That will make it hard to track them.

"True, but … well … see Charlie can get a line on where calls requesting information are made from. There's hardly any cell coverage in this area, so it's probably a land line or a ship to shore call, there will be something that shows up, I'm not exactly sure how all that works … it's not exactly legal, either.

Derek asks, Do you have tracking devices on that boat?

Woody replies with a grin, Not yet, I needed somebody to dive with, that I know can keep their mouth shut. If I do it openly, somebody might get wise. I have a hunch they check for anything of the sort onboard the boat. I'll be using something a little more difficult to find.

While we're at it then, we should plant a small charge on the rudder mechanism. If they can't steer, it will be hard to run.

Woody nods, We could put one there for back up, but if it gets taken, we should follow it to wherever they take it.

That could be problematic, they might have more people there, major weapons, or who knows what.

"True, but taking them down isn't our department, remember. The people paying the freight can have a brigade of mercenaries land to take care of the situation. We're only the bird dogs, so to speak. I'm sure they would rather round them all up, not part of them. They'd like to get whoever's behind it, not the slubs that do the dirty work."

Derek has to agree, True, who ever is in charge could get more crews … that wouldn't be difficult.

Yeah, that's the idea, we want to flush out the whole nest of them, nota bird or two.

Derek smiles a sly smile, Okay, lets go in, rest up for a bit, get some dinner, then see if we can whisper sweet nothings to some of the local ladies.

Yeah, okay, but no more Ouzo for me.

Amen to that!

Woody fires up the boat from the flying bridge, they motor back to the marina on the mainland, where the boat was rented. They tote their things, mostly fishing gear, that went unused, and the ice chest to Woody's pickup truck. It's an old beast, like many in the area, again probably used for cover.

On the ride to the hotel, Derek asks, So, who are your clients?

Keeping his eyes on the street and traffic, Woody answers, "Magnus Ferguson for one, Gregorios Theophilus for another, though they aren't the only ones involved."

Two of the biggest shipping tycoons in the world? How the hell did you become acquainted with the likes of them?

Woody smiles, Oh, I happened to meet Ferguson's daughter, via his granddaughter …you know how that goes.

Yeah you old hound, you're lucky he didn't have you offed for messing with his granddaughter.

Hey, she was twenty-two at the time, we had a grand time, she wasn't looking for a long term thing. I was on leave in Naples at the time, so I filled the bill nicely for her.

Derek knows Woody's womanizing habits from their many sorties together, with Derek often playing wingman. Yeah, a lady not looking for a long term thing would figure a sailor on leave is a safe bet. So how did you get to working for him … the old man?

When I tried to look her up again, in Ireland, she was dating this guy … a real loser … Grandpa couldn't get her to leave the scumbag alone. Anyway, her mother introduced me to the old man, he asked me to solve that problem for him. I did, since then word's gotten around amongst the extremely wealthy that if they need something fixed, I'm the guy to see.

Derek raises his eyebrows, What did you do, off the guy?

Woody chuckles, No, but he sure thought I would. Hell, I might have, if he forced my hand. I simply made him understand that if he saw Mary again, he would lose his private parts.

I'll bet Mary will be pissed at you when she finds out.

I doubt it, she's moved on. I really think she was dating the scum to tick off her folks and the old man. She's got a rebellious streak she's never outgrown.

Derek shakes his head, I see, leave it to you to chase some tail right into the money tree.

Woody chuckles, Yeah, that's the first time me chasing tail ever paid off … in cash.

Derek grins, Yeah, you old hound, you're lucky you're not diseased and shriveled up by now.

Hey, any sailor knows to use protection. That's one thing I never forget. No shot can cure some of the stuff going around these days.

Derek nods, That's a fact. Let's go clean up then see about chasing some of the local stuff.

I'm all for that. They pull into the hotel parking lot. It's a nice hotel, but not the extremely fancy kind, only middle of the road, the kind most tourists would choose. They leave every thing except the ice chest in the truck, apparently Woody isn't too worried about it being stolen. It's not fancy new gear anyway, probably some junk Woody picked up somewhere. It might not be functional.

Chapter 2

After a short nap, then a shower, Derek gets dressed for dinner, rather casually. A button down shirt with some decent slacks, plus deck shoes worn without socks. He still wears his high tech thin bulletproof vest, as always. His Colt Commander pistol, is in a shoestring holster in the small of his back. He goes nowhere unarmed, legal or not. These days, with terrorists running amuck everywhere looking to off tourists, especially Americans, he's not about to go around unarmed. His hand-to-hand skills are considerable, but not worth a damn against guys with AK-47's or the like. He knows that Woody goes around armed too, he always carries a Glock in .45 auto, at the very least.

Derek takes the stairs down, something he does now instead of taking elevators, to try to keep in some kind of shape. He won't do it for twenty stories, but since they're on the fifth floor, it's easy enough. Woody is waiting for him in the lobby. They head out, taking a cab instead of that beat up pickup.

Piraeus is more or less a suburb of Athens these days. It's still a shipping center, though it's not what it once was. Many of the larger shipping companies have moved their shipping enterprises to the north of Athens, in an effort to get out of some of the congestion of shipping traffic around Piraeus, all that did was move the congestion a little further north, Piraeus is still very active for international shipping.

The smaller harbors nearby are popular with the wealthy yacht owners. This makes for a very interesting city, with about every ethnic group represented, accompanied by about every kind of food that there is. The choice of where to have dinner isn't an easy one.

Having been here a few times, Woody chooses the restaurant. He's always had a nose for great food. Tonight, they settle on authentic Greek food again, but at a different spot than last night, Derek's first in this area. The place where they ate last night was fairly upscale, this place is decidedly not, it's not so much a tourist haunt. This is a place where mostly locals hang out. Woody and Derek decide on various dishes. Woody does the ordering, speaking the names of the dishes like a native. He's got Restaurant Greek down pat.

When the food arrives, Derek isn't sure what they are eating, he's not sure he wants to know. It does taste great, that's all that matters. Seals often have to survive on MRE's, which all the military men say stands for Meals Refused by Everyone. Good, fresh food that has some taste beats the hell out of those, no matter what it is. They've often eaten some rather strange things in strange lands, anything was better than the MRE's.

After dinner, Woody leads the way to a local bar a few doors down from the restaurant. It's a local people's place, not a trendy tourist spot. There aren't very many unattached women around tonight, so they have one beer, then decide to try their fortunes elsewhere. Perhaps, one of the tourist spots would have more available women.

Woody and Derek cab it to the ritzier part of town, where the higher end hotels with views of the water are located. This is the epicenter of Athens nightlife, loud, boisterous, and likely to spill onto the streets at any moment. This is what Woody and Derek call a target rich environment. Pretty women are everywhere, hopping from one club to the next, for no more reason than maybe they don't like a song that's being played. More than likely, it's for no reason at all.

Unfortunately, most of the women aren't much more than girls. Oh, maybe they're twenty-one, if not using phony ID. Derek likes his women more experienced than that. He prefers women between 35 to 45 years of age, give or take a couple of years. He and Woody start hopping the bars, checking things out, scoping out the women. At first, they're not having much luck. They're a bit older than these kids, though still in great physical shape. Derek wonders when thirty-two for Woody, thirty-four for himself, got to be considered older. They're definitely older than most of the girls Woody's checking out.

They move to yet another bar, where Derek sees something that makes him think they may have hit pay dirt for both him and Woody. A more mature woman is chaperoning two very lovely twin girls. She's not their mother, that's for sure, but could be some relation, there is a resemblance. Woody has to lean close to Derek's ear to be heard above the din, "Damn would you