Despite this surveillance, though, no one had realized that the pirates had smuggled the captain off the tanker. It wasn’t until Harvath and his team had retaken the ship that they discovered his absence. At that point, they were left with only one option. They had to recover him.

Their hope was that the last thing the pirates would ever expect was that their pursuers would risk following them to their own village.

As was typical with Somalis, the pirates had imported engineers—mostly from Kenya—who could operate the hijacked vessels until their owners, or more often their insurance companies, paid whatever ransom was being asked for. In the case of the Sienna Star, though, the tanker’s navigator had been murdered in the initial throes of the hijacking and the ship’s owners wanted to send a message. They wanted all of the pirates killed.

Considering that the Somalis had murdered a crew member, Harvath didn’t have a problem with that. If any of them posed a threat, they’d be dealt with accordingly. That was exactly how his team had handled retaking the ship. The Kenyan engineer recruited by the pirates was another matter entirely.

Not only had he been helpful on board the Sienna Star, but Mukami had assisted Harvath in drawing up a rescue plan for the captain. He knew where the pirates were holding him and had even offered to take Harvath there, if the price was right. Harvath had agreed to his terms.

Mukami had come up with the idea to turn the tables on the pirates by hijacking their own supply boat when it came out to resupply the tanker with food, water, and fresh khat.

In addition to getting paid, the man had requested only one additional item. He had asked that his cousin Pili, also an engineer from Kenya and who would be coming out on the resupply boat, not be harmed. Harvath had agreed to that as well.

Leaving their injured colleague plus an additional man behind to hold the Sienna Star, Harvath and his remaining teammate—a former SEAL named Matt Sanchez—used a smiling and waving Mukami as bait and successfully took the pirates’ resupply boat when it pulled up alongside the tanker. Within seconds of the three dead Somalis being tossed out of the resupply boat, the great white sharks that infested the Gulf of Aden tore the corpses to shreds.

Mukami’s cousin, Pili, simply thought he was coming out to take over the Sienna Star for a few days. The shooting of the three pirates had taken him completely by surprise. He was in a state of quasi-shock, and so Mukami piloted the resupply boat into port.

As Harvath and Sanchez checked and cleaned their weapons, they went over the plan with Mukami once more.

They would berth at the northern end of the small harbor where the supply boats normally picked up and dropped off. The car Pili and Mukami shared was already there waiting. While Pili stayed with the boat, Mukami would drive Harvath and Sanchez past the house the pirates owned, in order to give them a quick look. He would then drop them off around the corner and continue on to the house himself.

It wasn’t unusual for the Kenyan engineer, upon arriving back in port, to show up at the walled compound to be paid, before proceeding on to his hotel. Usually, the pirates invited him to drink, smoke the hookah, and gamble with them. If they did so tonight, Harvath had told him to accept their offer.

Mukami was carrying a satellite phone Harvath had given him, along with a plausible excuse for it. If the phone was discovered, he would state that the Sienna Star was experiencing an electrical issue and that he needed to be available should his cousin require technical assistance.

Once inside, Mukami was to try to ascertain where the Greek captain was being held and transmit that information to Harvath and Sanchez. The two former SEALs would handle the rest.

When they were done going over the operation, Harvath had a personal question for Mukami. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” the Kenyan replied.

“Why do all this? Why work with the pirates?”

“For the same reason everyone else does. For money.”

“But the pirates are bad people.”

“Unfortunately, in Africa,” said Mukami, “we don’t have the luxury of deciding from whom we take our money.”

“But you and your cousin seem like good guys. You’re educated. You’re polite. You speak multiple languages. For men like you, there have to be other ways to make money.”

“No, not true. Not for the kind of money we need.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harvath.

“My sister and Pili’s sister went abroad. They paid bad men to smuggle them into Europe. They were told they would be given jobs and would be starting over with an opportunity for a better life. It was a lie. They were trafficked. That was two years ago. We have not seen or heard from them since. The men tell us that for more money they can get our sisters back. This is why we have been working for anyone who will pay us, and pay us well.”

It was one of the millions of heartbreaking stories that existed throughout the third world. It was also none of his business and Harvath was sorry he’d asked. A hush fell over the boat and there was only the sound of the diesel engines as they made their way toward shore.

When the resupply boat pulled into the pirates’ port it was well past midnight. The pier they tied up to was completely deserted, except for a few other supply boats, their crews long since returned home for the evening. On the other side of the tiny harbor they could see a stem-to-stern string of pirate mother ships and fast attack boats. While Somali piracy may have been down overall, this village still seemed to be making a very good living at it.

Peering out of the boat’s wheelhouse, Harvath and Sanchez took one last look up and down the pier before allowing Mukami to disembark and ready his vehicle. Pili would stay aboard and wait for everyone to return.

They watched Mukami walk down the dock to a battered brown Mercedes sedan with one white door and a missing rear window. Once the car was fired up and running, he turned the lights off and then back on to signal the coast was clear.

After one more thorough look around the harbor, Harvath and Sanchez stepped out of the wheelhouse and onto the dock. Though they had taken steps to disguise themselves with Somali clothing they’d found aboard the Sienna Star, they would never fool anyone up close. That was fine by both men, though, as they didn’t plan to get personal with anyone other than the people they intended to kill.

As soon as his passengers were inside the car, Mukami turned onto a side street and made for the pirates’ stronghold. He knew better than to drive up the narrow main drag.

The village wasn’t very big, but judging from the satellite dishes clustered on the rooftops, as well as the expensive foreign cars parked in front of some rather impressive compounds, Harvath’s opinion about the profitability of the local piracy trade had been right on the money.

Mukami slowed as they approached one such stronghold and told Harvath and Sanchez it was coming up on the left. Music could be heard from inside and lights could be seen from the upper windows. There were no guards in front, which Sanchez immediately remarked upon.

“They’re pirates,” replied Mukami. “They have many, many guns. Who would be dumb enough to steal from them?”

Just because it hadn’t ever happened didn’t mean it wouldn’t, and the fact that even Somalis suffered from normalcy bias made Harvath shake his head. The pirates were about to learn a very painful and hopefully very expensive lesson.

Pulling around the block, Mukami dropped his passengers at an abandoned fisherman’s shack, its windows missing and its roof caved in.

“You know what to do?” Harvath asked.

Mukami nodded and, before Harvath could ask another question, drove off.