research, and surveillance. The senior command was of a high order, and Captain Jack Carling suggested he contact the Seafarers International Union of North America out at Camp Springs near Andrews Air Force Base.
This was the main trade union, an umbrella for several other seamen’s unions, representing deep-sea personnel and the crews of merchantmen that worked the Great Lakes. It took Harry less than a half hour to get the chairman of the union on the line. Everyone in America jumps for the Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The word “Pentagon” is apt to make people very nervous.
He outlined the problem and confided in the union boss that he, the
US Navy, and the chairman himself believed this was a time to pay up and free the ship. Any other course of action, under the circumstances, was a stupendous pain in the ass and may fail.
The union’s chairman wanted to know what role he was supposed to play.
“We would like you to pay the ransom,” said Harry.
“Who me?” exclaimed the chairman. “How much is it?”
“Somewhere between 5 and 10 million dollars.”
“You must be out of your mind.”
“Sir,” said Harry, “we’ll give you the money. We just can’t be seen to pay off pirates. The policy of the United States is that we don’t negotiate. So in this case, the lives of the crew will be saved by the Seafarers International Union, which has nothing to do with the government.
“If the ransom’s, say, $6 million, you get $6.25 and you can keep the change. We’ll take care of the delivery, just so long as you arrange the cash and handle any press announcements.”
“So the party line is the ship is a civilian merchantman on an aid mission to Somalia? We just stepped in to save our personnel.”
“Precisely. I expect they’re all members anyway.”
“They will be. I just tapped in the name of Fred Corcoran and he’s one for a start. Major, this is very good for us. And I’m grateful you called.”
“No problem,” said Harry. “I’ll call you as soon as we know the precise sum negotiated. Then you can send your bankers in to see us, and we’ll get it done.”
Five minutes after Harry Blythe had relayed the good tidings to General Lancaster, the phone rang in the CNO’s office two floors above. Admiral Ismael Wolde was on the line, direct from the bridge of the Niagara Falls .
“Okay, sir. I have been in conference with my people,” he told Admiral Bradfield. “And we have decided to reduce our demand to 7 million dollars. Have you decided to cooperate, or will I just go ahead and shoot the prisoners and then sell off the cargo?”
“The attitude of the US Navy is not flexible,” said the admiral. “They will not negotiate with you. So far as they are concerned, you can go right ahead and kill anyone you like, because we believe it will be a very small price to pay if we can reduce your future activities against innocent ships and their crews.”
“Is that your last word, sir?”
“No,” replied the CNO, “because we have a serious complication here. The Niagara Falls flies an American flag but is no longer a US Navy vessel. Which disqualifies us from paying out many millions of dollars for her release. She’s not ours.”
“Well, who are her owners?” asked Wolde.
“That won’t help you,” replied Bradfield. “She’s on charter to a US aid agency. Which is also government and cannot negotiate. No one else cares. My high command, incidentally, is disgusted by your actions since the ship is bringing voluntary aid, millions of dollars worth, from my country to yours, as a gift.”
“We are businessmen,” said the assault chief of the Somali Marines. “We are interested only in the price. Not the morals.”
“Evidently,” replied Mark Bradfield, somewhat loftily. “However, we are still working on this and would like you to call back in thirty minutes. We may have a way forward.”
“Well, that will be 0400 our time,” replied Wolde.
This was the main trade union, an umbrella for several other seamen’s unions, representing deep-sea personnel and the crews of merchantmen that worked the Great Lakes. It took Harry less than a half hour to get the chairman of the union on the line. Everyone in America jumps for the Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The word “Pentagon” is apt to make people very nervous.
He outlined the problem and confided in the union boss that he, the
US Navy, and the chairman himself believed this was a time to pay up and free the ship. Any other course of action, under the circumstances, was a stupendous pain in the ass and may fail.
The union’s chairman wanted to know what role he was supposed to play.
“We would like you to pay the ransom,” said Harry.
“Who me?” exclaimed the chairman. “How much is it?”
“Somewhere between 5 and 10 million dollars.”
“You must be out of your mind.”
“Sir,” said Harry, “we’ll give you the money. We just can’t be seen to pay off pirates. The policy of the United States is that we don’t negotiate. So in this case, the lives of the crew will be saved by the Seafarers International Union, which has nothing to do with the government.
“If the ransom’s, say, $6 million, you get $6.25 and you can keep the change. We’ll take care of the delivery, just so long as you arrange the cash and handle any press announcements.”
“So the party line is the ship is a civilian merchantman on an aid mission to Somalia? We just stepped in to save our personnel.”
“Precisely. I expect they’re all members anyway.”
“They will be. I just tapped in the name of Fred Corcoran and he’s one for a start. Major, this is very good for us. And I’m grateful you called.”
“No problem,” said Harry. “I’ll call you as soon as we know the precise sum negotiated. Then you can send your bankers in to see us, and we’ll get it done.”
Five minutes after Harry Blythe had relayed the good tidings to General Lancaster, the phone rang in the CNO’s office two floors above. Admiral Ismael Wolde was on the line, direct from the bridge of the Niagara Falls .
“Okay, sir. I have been in conference with my people,” he told Admiral Bradfield. “And we have decided to reduce our demand to 7 million dollars. Have you decided to cooperate, or will I just go ahead and shoot the prisoners and then sell off the cargo?”
“The attitude of the US Navy is not flexible,” said the admiral. “They will not negotiate with you. So far as they are concerned, you can go right ahead and kill anyone you like, because we believe it will be a very small price to pay if we can reduce your future activities against innocent ships and their crews.”
“Is that your last word, sir?”
“No,” replied the CNO, “because we have a serious complication here. The Niagara Falls flies an American flag but is no longer a US Navy vessel. Which disqualifies us from paying out many millions of dollars for her release. She’s not ours.”
“Well, who are her owners?” asked Wolde.
“That won’t help you,” replied Bradfield. “She’s on charter to a US aid agency. Which is also government and cannot negotiate. No one else cares. My high command, incidentally, is disgusted by your actions since the ship is bringing voluntary aid, millions of dollars worth, from my country to yours, as a gift.”
“We are businessmen,” said the assault chief of the Somali Marines. “We are interested only in the price. Not the morals.”
“Evidently,” replied Mark Bradfield, somewhat loftily. “However, we are still working on this and would like you to call back in thirty minutes. We may have a way forward.”
“Well, that will be 0400 our time,” replied Wolde.
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