As if someone had magicked them there.

It was the same for the worms.

As if someone had magicked them there.

'. . . breeding in the shallows,' Olsen was saying. 'And another thing. When they say "unusually large numbers", they don't mean thousands, they mean millions. And the government says it's under control! There have been far more than fourteen deaths, believe me.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Are you listening?'

'Of course. More than fourteen deaths. What were you saying about conspiracy theories?'

Olsen laughed. 'Very good. But seriously, though, I think it's definitely an anomaly. It might look like a cyclical phenomenon, but I think it's something else.'

'Interesting.' Should he tell Oslen about the worms? But it was none of his business, and Statoil wouldn't be happy if the story hit the headlines – Olsen talked too much.

'How about lunch tomorrow?' asked Olsen.

'Sure.'

'I'll see if I can find out more. Fish for some information.' He chortled.

'Great,' said Johanson. 'See you tomorrow.' He hung up. Then he remembered that he'd meant to ask Olsen about the missing boats. Never mind – he'd mention it tomorrow.

He wondered whether the jellyfish story would have made such an impression on him if he hadn't known about the worms. Probably not, because the jellies weren't what interested him. He wanted to know about the connections – if there were any.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, on the way to the NTNU, Johanson listened to the news, but there was nothing he hadn't heard already. People and boats were going missing in different parts of the world, giving rise to endless speculation but no satisfactory explanation.

His lecture was scheduled for ten. Enough time to read his emails and glance at the post. It was pouring with rain, and the grey sky hung heavy over Trondheim. He'd scarcely turned on the lights and sat down at his desk with his coffee when Olsen poked his head round the door. 'It's never-ending,' he said, 'all this bad news.'

'You mean the missing boats? I was going to ask you about that yesterday, but I forgot.'

Olsen came into the room. 'Are you going to offer me some coffee?' he said, looking around intently. Curiosity was one of Olsen's useful but slightly wearisome traits.

'It's all next door,' Johanson told him.

Olsen leaned into the adjoining office and asked for a coffee at the top of his voice. Then he sat down and let his eyes rove round the room. Johanson's secretary marched in, slammed a mug in front of Olsen and stalked back to her desk.

'What's wrong with her?' said Olsen, surprised.

'I pour my own coffee,' said Johanson. 'It's all laid out. Flask, milk, sugar, cups…'

Olsen took a noisy gulp. 'So you didn't listen to the news?'

'I heard it in the car.'

'Ten minutes ago there was an emergency newsflash on CNN. I've got a telly in my office – I keep it on all day.' The overhead lighting shone on Olsen's emerging bald patch. 'A gas tanker's exploded off the coast of Japan, then two container ships and a frigate collided in the Strait of Malacca. One of the ships sank, the other isn't seaworthy, and the frigate's gone up in flames. It belonged to the military. There was an explosion.'

'Christ.' Johanson warmed his hands on his mug. 'As far as the Malacca Strait is concerned,' he said, 'I can't say I'm surprised. It's astonishing there aren't more accidents.'

'Sure, but it's quite a coincidence.'

Three stretches of water competed for the title of busiest waterway in the world: the English Channel, the Strait of Gibraltar and the Strait of Malacca, which formed part of the main route between Europe, South East Asia and Japan. Six hundred tankers and freighters passed through the strait each day, and sometimes the channel between Malaysia and Sumatra carried as many as two thousand vessels. The strait was eight hundred kilometres long, but its narrowest point was only 2.7 kilometres wide. India and Malaysia had urged the tankers to use the Lombok Strait further south, but their pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Taking a detour would decrease the profit margin, so 15 per cent of international shipping continued to stream through the Malacca Strait.

'Does anyone know what happened?'

'Not yet.'

'How awful.' Johanson sipped his coffee. 'So, what's all this stuff about disappearing boats, then?'

'Oh, that. You haven't heard?'

'Well, if I had, I wouldn't ask,' said Johanson. His temper was starting to fray.

Olsen lowered his voice. 'It turns out that swimmers and small fishing-boats have been going missing for some time in South America, but the media didn't report it – or not in Europe, at least. They say it started in Peru. The first person to disappear was a fisherman. His boat was found a few days later, a little reed craft, drifting out to sea. At first they thought a wave had caught him, but the weather's been perfect for weeks. Since then, people have been vanishing left, right and centre. The latest victim was a trawler.'

'Why hasn't anyone mentioned it?'

Olsen spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. 'Because no one likes to advertise this kind of thing. Tourism's crucial to the region. And, anyway, it was happening on the other side of the world.'

'But the jellies made the news.'

'Oh, come on, Sigur, that's totally different. American citizens have died. Plus a German, and God knows who else. And now a Norwegian family has vanished off the coast of Chile. One of the local companies organised a deep-sea angling trip – one minute they were all on the trawler and the next they were gone. Norwegians, for God's sake! That kind of thing's always reported.'

'OK, I take your point.' Johanson leaned back in his chair. 'Did no one radio for help?'

'There were a few distress signals, nothing more – the boats that went missing weren't exactly high-tech.'

'And no sign of a squall?'

'For Christ's sake, Sigur, no. At least, nothing that could sink a vessel.'

'And western Canada? What's going on there?'

'You mean those boats that were in collision? No idea. According to one witness, they got into a fight with a bad-tempered whale. Who knows? The world's a cruel place… Now how about another coffee? Actually, I think I'll get it myself.'

DRY ROT WAS EASIER to get rid of than Olsen, but eventually he left. Johanson checked his watch. Nearly time for his lecture. He rang Lund.

'Skaugen has contacted other teams working in exploration,' she said, 'oil companies all over the world. He wants to know if anyone's found anything similar.'

'Like the worms?'

'Exactly. He thinks the Asians know at least as much as we do.'

'Why?'

'You said it yourself. Asia is trying to exploit gas hydrates. I thought that's what they told you in Kiel. Skaugen wants to sound them out.'

It wasn't a bad idea, thought Johanson. If the worms were crazy about hydrates, the companies that wanted the hydrates would have come across them too. The trouble was … 'I can't imagine the Asians will be open with him,' he said. 'They'll be as cagey as he is.'

'So you don't think Skaugen'll mention it?^'

'Certainly not the whole story. And especially not now.'

'But what else can he do?'

'Well…'Johanson scrabbled for words '. . . I don't mean to insinuate anything, but suppose someone decided to build a unit regardless of the worms.'

'Impossible!'

'Just supposing.'

'But I told you, didn't I? Skaugen's taking your advice.'

'All credit to him. But this is money we're talking about. Some people would decide it's OK to pretend not to know about the worms.

'You mean they'd go ahead and build the unit?'

'You never know, it might go smoothly. And if it didn't… Well, a firm can be liable for technical incompetence, but not for methane-eating worms. Sure, they knew about them beforehand, but who could prove it?'