lights of the boat was in complete blackness.
He heard someone outside on deck and pulled back behind the door and out of sight. His immediate question was if he should capture them as they stepped into the corridor or let them pass. If he was going to take this boat, dealing with the crew one at a time was the perfect solution and a gift from God if he could have them all that way. He decided not to pass on this opportunity, especially since the target would have his back to him. He would shove the barrel into the back of the man’s head and take him somewhere where he could secure him. Hank gripped the weapon tightly, clenched his jaw, determined and ready to be ruthless. But whoever it was continued along the deck past the open door. Hank released the chest full of air he had been holding and relaxed his grip on his weapon to let the blood flow back into his fingers.
He stepped out from behind the door and looked outside once again, this time poking his head out enough to look left and right. There was no sign of life. Up to a few metres out from the side of the boat the water was bathed in light. Beyond that it was black. He could just about make out the far bank, a dark line a good hundred feet or so away. There were clusters of lights up and down the river but none directly opposite other than in the far distance, perhaps a mile or so away.
He stepped back into the corridor and walked along it to the opposite end to explore the other side of the boat. The door was not fully closed and there was a gap large enough for him to see through. The edge of the quay was a couple of feet higher than the rails and there was a gap of a few feet between it and the boat. Hank would have to climb on to the rail and scramble on to the quay, which didn’t present a problem other than he would be in full view of the deck above and the bridge.The quay itself looked quite open, the nearest building at least thirty yards away. There wasn’t a soul in sight. If a lookout wanted to take a shot at him as he ran they would have a fair amount of time to do so. Where he headed to depended on the country he was in.The Med or Atlantic, Seamus had said. Hank suddenly thought of that poor bastard and where he was right now. No doubt at the bottom of one of those seas.
He gleaned nothing about the country from the few silhouettes of buildings he could see. There was a sign on the warehouse or factory opposite but not enough light for him to make out the letters. His confidence in being able to escape increased yet again and he therefore decided to stick with the plan and recce the rest of the boat. It was time to check the deck above and then perhaps get a look into the bridge.
He moved back to the centre of the corridor, where the central staircase ran up another two flights, and made his way up to the next deck. He peeped through the open doorway into the corridor and counted four internal doors, cabins most likely, and noted the heavy doors either end of the corridor that led to the outside were closed.
He decided to ignore that deck for the time being, moved back into the stairwell, and cautiously climbed the last flight of stairs until the bridge door came into view. There was no glass in it as he had hoped but he could hear men’s voices. It sounded as if they were speaking English but he couldn’t be sure. Only for a second did he think about rushing in on them, but since he did not know the layout of the bridge or the number of people in it, it was not the wisest idea. Even if he survived unscathed, a gunfight would bring others and things might then come unstuck. The risk was more than he was prepared to take. This was about survival first and being a hero second. He had every intention of going home to his wife and children in one piece. Taking the boat was a bonus, not an essential. But so far, the option was still open. While he had the advantage and the freedom he would continue to test its feasibility.
He went back down to the corridor and stepped inside. He ignored the four cabin doors and headed to the heavy metal door at the port-side end. He released his weapon to hang by its strap and carefully unclipped the six dogs that surrounded the door and then gave it a little shove with his shoulder to open it an inch. He paused to listen. There was nothing unusual. He opened the door enough to step through and shut it behind him, turning one of the dogs to hold it closed.
The water shimmered below as he stood on a platform with stairs running down to the main deck and up to the bridge wing, a larger platform outside the bridge.
Hank focused his attention above and climbed the steps, high enough to be able to see the bridge over the lip of the bridge wing. The bridge itself was surrounded on three sides by plate glass from the ceiling down to rail level. It was slightly darker inside than it was outside making it difficult to see. Hank took another step up and could then make out three men and possibly a fourth on the far side.
‘Don’t fall off there, Pat,’ came a man’s voice from below. Hank almost did exactly that as he fumbled to turn and level his gun. When he looked below a man, wearing a red work jacket and blue bobble hat, was heading casually along the deck to the bows. He had obviously mistaken Hank for the young Irishman, the owner of the coat. Hank quickly climbed back down the steps and into the corridor. This was becoming risky, he warned himself.The more he moved about the greater the chance of bumping into someone, and the longer he took increased the odds on someone becoming curious about the whereabouts of the two men he whacked.The ship-takeover was becoming less of an option. If he sneaked off right away all signs indicated he could manage it without anyone noticing.
Spinks had maintained a running commentary on his radio, describing the activity he had seen on the boat in every detail. He had counted eight different persons since he moved into his OP and had become familiar enough with four of them to differentiate. The man in the red coat and blue bobble hat had been given the name Red. He was the most active on deck and probably the duty crewmember since he was the only one who seemed to be doing any work. There were two who wore yellow waterproof jackets, known as Yellow One and Yellow Two and Spinks had confirmed that both carried SMGs under their jackets. Yellow One was about six foot and Yellow Two, dark-haired, shorter and stockier than his mate, had not been seen for a while. A new crewman, also in a yellow coat and carrying an SMG, had appeared on the main deck level a short time ago and Spinks named him Yellow Three. The most recent movement was Red passing along the main deck while Yellow Three climbed the superstructure staircase halfway to the bridge seemingly looking for something. After a brief word with Red, who carried on aft, Yellow Three went down and back into B deck superstructure.
Bob, on the roof of the corn exchange, shared his space on the ledge with an M squadron sniper and another operative holding a directional microphone aimed at the bridge. They had a good view of the top of the boat and the starboard side and Bob confirmed or added to Spinks’s commentary when appropriate.The combined observers and listeners updated every movement on board so the assault teams could establish routines, habits and most importantly pinpoint the whereabouts of each crewman, information that would be useful when they got the ‘go’.
In the makeshift ops room behind the corn exchange Captain Singen and the team leaders pored over blueprints and plans of the boat that had been faxed from London. Everyone was dressed and ready to go at a second’s notice. Over their Kevlar assault suits they wore biological warfare suits, a one-piece outfit made of absorbent material and a neutralising agent. It had a hood designed to fit completely over the head and snugly around a gasmask.The suit generally made things more cumbersome but no one complained or considered going in without one. Each man was aware what could be on board and what the consequences might be if it were released. The possibility that the bio might even be thrown at one of them had been considered and so each man carried a decontamination spray as well as a bag of absorbent powder. There was nothing more they could do to prepare themselves.
Most of the men sat back and waited, keeping movement to a minimum to avoid overheating. Their faces were already wet with perspiration just sitting still. Not that they cared much at present. Each was thinking of his own role in the upcoming assault. They had been told that there was a very high chance they would be going in hot. That was as good as it got in this job. When the signal was given it would be a simultaneous multi-pronged attack. Snipers would take aim as three teams sprinted from the shadows of the corn exchange. When the teams were halfway to the target the snipers would take out anyone in view using the silenced, high-velocity 22.250 rifles, more ideal for this scenario than the Barking Dogs. It had been decided not to use incendiaries, percussion devices or entry charges for fear the bio, should it be in a glass container or similar, might not take kindly to the shockwaves. All weapons were suppressed, meaning they were virtually silent but for the metallic clatter of the breach mechanism as it shunted back and forth like a piston, picking up and firing bullets. Speed and stealth were the watchwords. The most difficult order to interpret was that if a target was even suspected of holding the bottle he was not to be shot unless he was an absolute threat to life.
‘Red from aft to stern-port side,’ came Spinks’s voice over each man’s earpiece.
Lieutenant Stewart flexed his back and stretched his arms to test the movement in his extra large bio-suit.
