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Behind him, Henri bustled the wounded engineer into the room with his comrades. ‘Stay here and guard them,’ Alex said, and Henri nodded. One heavily-armed man was enough to keep the crew covered as none possessed the foolhardy courage of the wounded engineer.
    Alex ran along the corridor separating the lines of crew cabins and past the offices allocated to the captain and his senior officers. Ahead of him was the door leading to the bridge. He knew it would be locked. Alex opened a nylon pouch on his vest and drew out the small hunk of plastic explosive, already fitted with a detonator. He slapped it next to the lock and primed it. ‘Back! Fire in the hole!’ he called to the others behind him. He used the three seconds of relative peace remaining to unclip the stun grenade and pull out the pin.
    The hearing protectors and tinted lenses worn by Alex and his men muted the explosion to an uncomfortable bang and buffeting, but the ship’s senior officers who had mustered inside the bridge had their senses assaulted by the blinding flash of light and gut-thumping bang that erupted from the stun grenade.
    Alex stormed through the doorway into the smoke-filled bridge just as another blast signalled the breaching of the door leading to the port bridge wing. The other assault team, Novak, Kevin and Kufa, would be waiting outside on the port wing in order to round up any crewmen who escaped. If they entered they ran the risk of walking into crossfire if the bullets started flying.
    The narrow, high-intensity beam of the torch attached beneath the Steyr’s shortened barrel picked out a man huddling in a foetal position on the deck below the helm, another staggering towards the far opening.
    Alex heard a bang and a whoosh, and raised his left arm and staggered back a pace just in time to miss an incandescent red ball that screamed past his face. Smoke and flame seemed to fill the bridge as the hand-launched distress flare bounced off the rear wall of the bridge, then ricocheted off the thick windows, glanced off the carpet and finally sailed out the open port door.
    â€˜
Holy fuck!
’ Alex heard Novak yell in his earpiece. ‘That was bloody close, man.’ Ship’s officers were coughing and crawling around the deck at his feet. Alex saw a red-bearded man at his feet holding the smoking tubular flare launcher and staring up at him with defiant rage.
    Alex centred the beam of light from his rifle on the man’s chest. Blood pounded in his ears, but he checked the rage he felt at the man’s stupidity. Alex covered the two metres between them in a bound, leaping over the curled-up man at his feet, and swung the Steyr’s plastic butt down into the side of the idiot’s head. The man crumpled to the floor.
    â€˜
Clear this side
,’ Novak said into his earpiece.
    â€˜Bridge secure. Get all the doors open. Clear the smoke,’ Alex added.
    Alex scanned the control panel in front of him and found the engine controls. He knocked them out of reverse and into neutral. The ship shuddered and slowed.
    The red-bearded man at his feet groaned and rolled over. Wiping blood from a split lip he looked up at Alex. ‘Get off my ship, you bastard.’
    Alex looked down at the captain, the barrel of his rifle pointing at the man. ‘This is
my
ship for the time being. Don’t do anything stupid and you can have it back soon.’
    He swung the helm, changing course, and pushed the engine into full ahead.
    â€˜You’re heading straight towards the coast,’ the captain said.
    Alex ignored him. ‘Keep a close eye on the depth as we get closer,’ he said to Kevin, the Australian member of his band. ‘Take the helm.’
    â€˜Right-o, boss.’
    Alex undid a Velcro-flapped pouch on his vest and pulled out a portable GPS unit. He hit the go-to button and selected a pre-entered coordinate. He confirmed the ship was on the right heading and cross-checked their