Those in Peril
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In Those in Peril, a nail-biting tale of adventure, bestselling author Wilbur Smith brings his matchless storytelling to bear on the violent, ruthless world of twenty-first-century piracy.
While cruising on the family yacht in the Indian Ocean, nineteen-year-old Cayla Bannock is attacked and taken hostage by Somalian pirates. Her kidnappers demand a staggering ransom: twenty billion dollars. And Cayla's not just anyone--she's the daughter of Hazel Bannock, heiress to the Bannock Oil Corporation, one of the world's foremost oil producers.
The sensitive global political climate means not even the most powerful groups in the world can intervene. Left to handle the problem on her own, Hazel calls on Hector Cross, head of the security agency that protects Bannock Oil. As threats increase and evidence arises of horrific torture, the need to take action becomes more urgent than ever--and soon Hazel and Hector will have no choice but to take the law into their own hands...
count. Make no response. They must believe that they have achieved total surprise.’ The order was redundant; Stamford and his crew had rehearsed this drill many times. ‘Roger,’ he said. ‘Minimum retaliation and quick submission.’ ‘That’s the medicine, Cyril,’ Hector agreed and changed frequency on the radio. On another screen they saw Nastiya sit up from under the bedclothes and reach for her radio set. ‘Voronova.’ ‘The pirates are aboard. They will be in your cabin in a few minutes. Do not
Uthmann Waddah squatted in the clearing on the periphery of the tent city above Gandanga Bay. He had the satphone pressed to his ear, and in front of him was a fine view out across the anchorage to where the great ship lay at anchor. Although he had watched it for over an hour as it came in sedately through the mouth of the bay and anchored off the beach, still he was amazed by its enormous size. It did not seem possible that anything of that magnitude would be capable of floating. Its open deck
them were knocked down. As Hector watched all three AAVs reached the beach together and rolled ashore with their steel tracks churning up the sand, and hurtling them up the slope and into the village. The winding streets were too narrow for the huge armoured machines and they drove straight through the flimsy shacks without a check, flattening them and then disappearing from view as they raced for the stockades in which the captured seamen were imprisoned. When Hector and Tariq arrived at the
the north. Quickly he pulled off the road and parked behind a clump of windswept thornbushes. He ordered all of them to dismount and sit behind the truck which was camouflaged by its thick coating of dust and dried quicksand. He crouched down behind the trunk of one of the thorny trees and watched another passenger bus grinding southwards, effectively wiping out their own tracks with its wide double tyres. As soon as it was out of sight he and Tariq each cut themselves a tree branch from one of
stoker glanced down. The point of the stiletto was aimed at his crotch. The colour drained from his face and he stood up hastily, abandoned his pork cutlet and hurried out of the mess. Rogier ate his fish with genteel relish. His elegant manners seemed out of place in these surroundings. Before leaving he paused at the hatch and waved his thanks to the chef. Then he went up on the stern deck where the crew were permitted to exercise or to relax in their off-duty periods. He looked up at the