The two yachtsmen had seen the boat coming and had carried on heading for Greece under full sail. The wind was lacklustre at best, and even with all the sails unfurled they weren’t making much more than four knots. Not that running was an option. The Faiakas Class boat was just short of twenty-five metres long, came with a .50 calibre heavy machine-gun, and could reach thirty-two knots in calm water. The two men had their story prepared. They were a couple of Greek sailors showing their English friend the delights of the Mediterranean. The patrol drew closer and a uniformed sailor with a megaphone shouted at them to heave to. They furled their sail and allowed the men on the boat to tie up to their yacht. Armed sailors stood looking down at them as an officer carefully made his way down a metal ladder to their deck. He was in his late thirties, totally bald with a sunburned scalp. His gun was holstered and his shirt sleeves rolled up. ‘ID,’ he said in Greek. They handed over their ID cards.
