Shepherd unhooked his MP5 from the webbing. Gannon had made it clear at the briefing that no one was to be hurt unless absolutely necessary. The mission was to apprehend Carpenter and take control of the vessel. The tanker was then to be sailed into US waters. The Americans would take it and the drugs, the British would apply for Carpenter to be extradited to London. Everybody would win. Except Carpenter and Carlos Rodriguez.

Gannon waited until all of the troopers had landed, stowed their chutes and oxygen tanks, and checked their weapons. Then he motioned for them to head towards the superstructure. He and Shepherd led the way. Four of the troopers moved across to the port side, and the second brick took starboard. They moved slowly, keeping low.

It took them several minutes to reach the base of the three-storey superstructure. Three hatches led from the deck into it, one each on the port and starboard sides, and one in the centre, facing towards the bow. Four men headed for the port, four went starboard, and Gannon and Shepherd took the centre. They opened the hatches and slipped inside, Heckler & Kochs at the ready.

The captain took his binoculars away from his eyes and spoke to the communications officer in Ukrainian. He replied tersely.

‘No communication,’ the captain translated for Carpenter’s benefit but the officer’s shaking head had already told him that much.

In the distance, the plane was climbing again, showing that it wasn’t having engine problems.

‘Whatever the problem was, they seem to have sorted it,’ said the captain.

‘And there’s no ship heading our way?’

‘Nothing within fifty miles,’ said the captain.

‘And they weren’t talking to anyone?’

‘No radio communications,’ said the captain. ‘The direction they were heading, they might not even have seen us.’

Carpenter nodded thoughtfully. He still had a bad feeling about the plane. He left the bridge and headed down to the mess. It was deserted, but through the open doorway he could see half a dozen Colombian heavies sitting at a table. Roast meat was piled high on a platter and they were helping themselves to rice. Three more Colombians came up from the cabins. They had handguns in shoulder holsters and were all wearing skin-tight T-shirts with designer jeans. They headed into the canteen. They, too, regarded him as a nuisance.

As Carpenter turned for the stairs to the cabins, he heard footsteps. Several people, moving quickly. He frowned. There were five guards on the bridge, nine in the canteen. That was the full complement. The crew who weren’t on the bridge were in the engine room.

Carpenter dropped behind a sofa, his heart pounding. He knew instinctively that the men running up the stairs were connected with the mysterious plane. And that they meant trouble.