| Abstrakt: |
The night is murky, with neither Moon nor starry constellations to lighten the dark expanses of sea and sky. There isn't enough wind to drive us through the heavy swell of the Seychelles archipelago; the conditions are nauseating. It is almost 0230. I hear a strange noise, a new hum above the familiar throb of our engine. An unlit narrow open boat is accelerating towards us, a skiff packed with shadowy figures. I fear the worst. Two shots ring out, and I drop my torch in fright. The skiff slams into our side. Eight men, mostly young and gangly, scramble over the rails. Five rifles point menacingly at me. 'Paul, please come up,' I call out tensely to my husband. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER] |
