Sealing the Deal

It was a serious challenge in Nicolas Sarkozy’s view because Sarkozy is the embodiment of the French national system. He stands five feet five inches tall. As an intent law-and-order man, he was opposed in principle to negotiations with the pirates, and eager to show them the fist of France. He was, however, merely a president, and like others he was less powerful than he was made out to be. Politically it would have been difficult to order an assault on the Ponant before exhausting all alternatives. Furthermore, the ship’s owner, CMA CGM chairman Jacques Saadé, was making it clear through back channels that he intended to pay some sort of ransom. Sarkozy and Saadé were acquaintances and political allies, if not close friends. It is said that Sarkozy invoked principle to persuade Saadé not to pay, but to no avail. Saadé understood the reasoning, but in practice he had to place the safety of his crew and ship first—a decision compounded by the certainty that casualties would impose costs higher than the paltry $3 million demanded. Besides, the money was not going to be paid directly by CMA CGM, but by its insurance company—which, according to the Paris-based Intelligence Online, was the now-notorious American company A.I.G. This was private money, floating free of national constraints, and it could be spent quite legally on ransom. To be clear about the rules that apply: extortion is illegal everywhere, except when it is construed as taxation; the payment of extortion, however, is legal, unless it is construed as bribery. This meant that for a while Sarkozy’s hands would be tied. Reluctantly he agreed to give Saadé several days to work out a deal before he would damn the consequences and send the French Navy into action. He summoned the families of the crew to a confidential meeting in the presidential palace, where he is reported to have said, “We’re dealing with crooks. They want money. We’re going to give it to them. But afterward it’s my affair.”

Jacques Saadé intended to pay, but only after maneuvering for advantage. At two a.m. on the second day of negotiations, Rodolphe Saadé called the Ponant and offered $1.2 million. Marchesseau called him back some minutes later with the pirates’ vigorous rejection. The night wore on in this ballet, until the pirates made a final demand—for $2.15 million. The Saadés kept trying to bargain, but to no avail. In the afternoon the pirates declared a freeze on any further discussions. Marchesseau knew that they were serious. They allowed him to make one final call, during which he informed the Saadés that they had come to the end of the line. Rodolphe remained noncommittal. After the conversation, the possibility of an assault seemed even more real. Jamah said to Marchesseau, “In any case, you are the first one we will kill.” But that night Rodolphe called back and agreed to the deal—the release of the crew and ship in return for $2.15 million, to be delivered in cash. The game was not over yet. Looming ahead was the difficult question of how to arrange for the handoff of the ransom, and the safe disengagement of the pirates, and the liberation of the crew. But after the deal was struck, everyone on the Ponant had a lot to lose if things went wrong.

One night Jamah predicted to the assembled crew that they were all going to die. He had found a book critical of the invasion of Iraq, The Assassins’ Gate, by George Packer, and it seemed to have riled him up. Jamah announced that he was against the war in Iraq, against al-Qaeda, and in favor of an Iranian nuclear bomb. No one much cared. For most of the crew, life with the pirates had settled into a routine. The crew spent the nights in the lower lounge, woke every morning at eight, moved up one level to the aft restaurant for the day, and returned to the lounge at sundown. There was not much to do but wait. They played cards and board games—poker, Trivial Pursuit, Monopoly, Pictionary. They ate well. They drank in moderation. They celebrated one birthday. The couples did not make love, because they lacked the privacy and were held under guard at all times, but a new couple did form, a sailor and a receptionist. It was assumed that they had noticed each other before, but had been shy until now. The bartender Bertrand Viallet believed that their relationship would endure, and he was thoughtful in such matters. He was thoughtful about the pirates too. Later he went around saying that he might have become one himself, had he been born on the coast of Somalia. He meant it more as a declaration of fact than of sympathy. Whether because of the barriers of language and culture, or the active risk of being shot, none of the crew members seem to have bonded with their captors. They did, however, learn to distinguish between the bad and the better among them, and they relaxed enough to laugh about the pirate teetotalers suffering hangovers for the first time. One of the *Ponant’*s women tried khat. One of the pirates tried French cooking. Some of the pirates got into American adventure movies on the library’s DVD TV, dialogue be damned. Others got into women’s fashion magazines. By degrees, they lowered the muzzles of their weapons.