And suddenly in the middle of a charnel-house. Of the four people aboard, three are messily dead, chewed into dogfood by machine gun fire. The fourth is still alive but only just, and not for long. His right arm’s damn near off, and he’s pulsing bright arterial blood all over the boat’s bottom. He’s conscious, his eyes glazed and dulled with agony and shock. His face is streaked with blood, but I have no trouble recognizing him.