“Carrying a lot of hardware, aren’t they?” Janvier said.

Duclos nodded. “I don’t like the look of this at all. It could be messy enough to rub off on all of us. Perhaps they’re after someone in the crew. An O.A.S. man trying to get out of the country or something like that.”

The sailors came over the side quickly. Three of them unslung their sub-machine-guns and stayed in the well-deck and the young officer mounted the ladder to the upper deck, briskly followed by the other three.

He held out his hand and smiled. “Captain Duclos? My name is Fenelon. Sorry about all this, but I’m only obeying orders, you understand.”

The man who came up the ladder next had a scarred and brutal face and cropped hair. Like Fenelon, he wore a naval reefer jacket and rubber boots, but no cap. He leaned casually against the rail and lit a cigarette. The other two sailors spaced themselves behind Fenelon, machine-guns ready.

Duclos began to feel distinctly uneasy. “Look, what’s going on? What’s this all about?”

“All in good time,” Fenelon said. “You complied with my request to maintain radio silence?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Fenelon turned and nodded briefly to one of the sailors, who crossed the deck to the wireless room which stood at the rear of the wheelhouse, opened the door and went inside.

A cry of alarm was followed by a burst of fire. A moment later the radio operator staggered through the door, blood on his face. He dropped to his knees and Janvier moved quickly to pick him up.

“The radio/ the man moaned. “He put a burst through it.”

There was a sudden, ugly murmur from the crew in the well-deck that was answered by a volley of firing, bullets hissing through the steel rigging lines. Duclos glanced over the rail and saw that a heavy machine-gun had been mounted on a swivel on the rim of the conning tower. Even allowing for the difference in height between the two vessels, it was still capable of reducing most of the deck area of the Kontoro to a bloody shambles.