The Delta Solution by Patrick Robinson Page A

landed. All of it miles from help.”

    “Hmmmm,” said the general. “But what about that operation in the Arabian Gulf two or three years ago? When the SEALs shot three pirates who’d captured the US captain?”
    “That was very different, sir. The pirates had taken the captain off. He was an important US citizen from Vermont as I remember. And they had him at gunpoint for several days, held prisoner in a lifeboat. Our guys had a target, and they had the ship as a platform from which to attack. It was only a short distance to the lifeboat.”
    Mary-Ann said, “Wait a moment. I’ll pull it up.”
    “There’s probably a dozen heavily armed pirates on board the Niagara Falls right now,” said Admiral Bradfield.
    “I think we’d take unavoidable casualties if we stormed the ship either by sea or air. And I really don’t want that to happen. For a start, the public would hate it. They think SEALs are gods.”
    “So do I,” said the general.
    “Here we are,” interjected Mary-Ann. “She was the Maersk Alabama , a 17,000-ton container ship. Captain was rescued on Easter Sunday night. She was owned by a private shipping line and operated by a steamship company. She was only thirty yards from the lifeboat. SEAL snipers.”
    “The trouble with the public,” said the general, “is they know very little. But they have good memories. In their minds, the way to end a hijack at sea is to send in the United States Navy SEALs. They did it last time. Ask’em to do it again.”
    “But this is different,” said the admiral. “If you want my opinion, it would only be possible if we accepted there would be a lot of dead SEALs in the Indian Ocean. And Andy Carlow will not send his guys on a suicide mission. The answer is obvious. We get the price down and then pay the sonofabitch pirate. Get the ship moving, get that cargo to the people who really need it. No dead bodies.”
    “When’s this friggin’ Blackbeard coming back to us?”
    “’Bout half an hour.”
    “You going to take control?”
    “No choice. He won’t speak to anyone else. And he says he’ll shoot the second mate plus an able seaman immediately if we don’t agree to his terms.”
    “Bastard,” grunted the general. “Listen, you guys get back up to the navy
offices and deal with him when he calls. I’m going to scout around and see if I can find a way to pay the ransom. It’s no good chasing up blind alleys. We need to go with what might work.”
    “Okay, sir. Meanwhile, you want me to touch base with Admiral Carlow? SPECWARCOM needs to be kept informed. Just in case.”
    “Good plan,” said General Lancaster.
    Before the three navy personnel were even out of the doorway, General Lancaster had summoned the youngest of his three personal assistants, Air Force Major Harry Blythe, a thirty-four-year-old ex–fighter pilot, veteran of the current Afghan strife, and native of Memphis. He’d once been shot down in the Iraqi no-fly zone but escaped and made it back to base, dressed as a tribesman, riding a camel. Harry Blythe was very smart and cunning as a Tennessee fox.
    General Lancaster briefed him carefully and concluded by saying, “Harry, we want to pay up and get that ship free with no more bloodshed. The strong-arm route is no good to us, not right now. I want you to locate a civilian organization that will pay the ransom for us.
    “I don’t like it, but I am not ordering SEALs to die for no reason. And we need to move fast. See what you can do.”
    Harry moved fast. He Googled the ship and located data on the captain, who was, thank god, an American citizen. Then he spoke to the duty officer at Military Sealift Command and then the head of the US Navy Fleet Auxiliary, both in Washington navy yards. That was Niagara Falls ’s former life. Now in effect, she was civilian, and Harry needed advice.
    The Fleet Auxiliary controls more than one hundred ships, which provide combat support, oilers, hospital ships, cable repair vessels,