CHAPTER ONE

Two years ago. Arabian Sea. Off the coast of Somalia.





Abdi Dalmar’s bald black head bobbed in the water like an upside down fisherman'

lure. 

Between gasps for air, he wondered how he had gotten himself into this situation.

His hands were tied behind his back — his ankles were bound with rope and tied to

a large piece of wood that jutted over the side of a boat that was picking up speed

by the second. Dalmar could hear men onboard the Sea Wolf laughing as they

carried out his torturous sentence. The boat hopped through the water

while his head bounced in and out of the ocean, filling his nostrils and mouth

with tepid sea water. He tasted sea salt mixed with his blood each time the

force of the waves lacerated his scalp. He remembered watching this process

from the other side on more than a few occasions, and his mind cut to scenes of

shredded faces and torsos pulled back on board after other men were tortured to

death.

     Today, however, would be another of those days that confirmed in Dalmar’s mind

 that he was indeed more than lucky. He was, to his thinking, touched in some way.

 The wooden plank, weakened from years of stress, had snapped like a tree hit by

 lightning and catapulted itself into the ocean. By the time drunken crew members

noticed, Dalmar was far in the Sea Wolf's wake. When he realized his good fortune,

he smiled. Raising his head from the water, he vowed a bloody revenge.