Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Jake stepped out of the Daihatsu hatchback. He was deeply tanned, and wearing long pants and a long-sleeve shirt, but everyone on the street was staring at the white man before his first foot hit the ground.
Like many buildings in tropical Somalia, the cream-colored Exchange had no windows or doors, just a wide entrance in front and window-sized openings on the other three walls. The interior was a single open room, maybe fifty feet by thirty feet, with a dusting of windblown sand over its tile floor and a raised dais on the far side. Affixed to the walls were relics from past pirate missions. The provenance of each had been inscribed on the wall next to it, but the Somali script was faded and illegible.
Pickens walked between a ship’s bell and a porthole window with a bullet hole in it, while Jake wandered to the back and stepped onto the dais. There were two window-sized openings on the far wall. Hung above them was a weather-beaten ladder that was missing a leg. The soft wood had been bleached white by years of exposure to salt spray and the sun.
Jake wondered how many pirates had climbed its rungs over the years and how many seafarers had died because of it. Though the building had the feel of a museum, Somali pirates had killed and tortured countless men, funded criminal and terrorist organizations, and perpetuated the civil war that had destroyed their country.
Jake was curious, but he wasn’t an admirer.
“Hey, Pick, can you read this?” he said.
The inscription under the ladder was in better condition than the others. The big man joined Jake on the dais and grimaced.
“It’s something about the building being a gift of Allah’s will, the broken ladder, and a lion.”
“No offense,” Jake said, “but I think you might need to go back to language training.”
“I don’t know the dialect,” Pickens protested with a laugh. “Let’s head back to town and see what shakes loose.”
Jake looked to the street. “Whatever it is, it’s about to start shaking.”
A Mitsubishi SUV with two-tone paint and a cracked windshield skidded to a halt in front of the building. Four men climbed out. They were dressed in frayed pants, faded shirts, and well-worn sandals. One wore a safari jacket and a pair of knockoff Ray-Bans. All were brandishing weapons.
While kidnapping for ransom wasn’t as popular as it had been in the heyday of the pirates, grabbing a couple of foreigners off the streets of Kitadra was about as easy as it got. Soft targets, hard currency, and no consequences whatsoever.
“John, out the windows!”