They refilled their coffee mugs and took them out on deck.

'What do you make of the results?' asked Lund.

'They're preliminary findings, not results.'

'All right. What do you make of the preliminary findings?'

'I don't know.'

'Go on, you can tell me.'

'Bohrmann's the expert.'

'But, in your opinion, is there a link with the worms?'

Johanson thought back to his conversation with Olsen. 'I don't have an opinion,' he said cautiously, 'not yet. It's too early to say.' He blew on his coffee. The sky stretched gloomily above them. 'But I'd rather be at home than here.'

That had been yesterday.

While the new set of samples was analysed, Johanson took himself off to the radio room tucked behind the bridge. From there he could contact anyone in the world via satellite. For the past few days he'd been working on a database of contacts, firing off queries to institutes and scientists, presenting the whole thing as of scholarly interest. The first replies had been disappointing. No one else had found the worm. A few hours previously, he'd extended the search to some of the other expeditions currently at sea. Now he pulled up a chair, squeezed his laptop in among the radio equipment and logged into his account. The only interesting email was from Olsen, who'd written to say that the jellyfish invasion in South America and Australia was now out of hand:

I don't know whether you're listening to the news out there, but there was an update last night on the jellies. They're swarming all over the coast. According to the newsreaders' oracle, they're specifically targeting well-populated areas. Which is nonsense, of course. Apart from that, there's been another pile-up – a couple of container ships near Japan. Boats are still disappearing, but they've managed to record a few distress calls. No concrete details about British Columbia yet, but plenty of rumour. Supposedly the whales are getting their own back and have started hunting humans. Not everything you hear is true, though, thank God. Well, that's all the good news from Trondheim for now. Don't drown.

'Thanks a bunch,' Johanson muttered tetchily.

But Olsen was right they didn't listen to the news enough here. Being on a research vessel was like falling out of space and time. People always said they were too busy to listen to the news when in fact they just wanted to he rid of politicians, cities and wars for a while. But after a month or two at sea, they'd start to long for civilisation, with its technology, hierarchies, cinemas, fast-food outlets and floors that didn't rise and sink.

Johanson realised he wasn't concentrating. His mind was on the images that had filled the monitors for the past two days.

Worms.

The continental slope was crawling with them. The mats and seams of frozen methane had disappeared under millions of seething bodies trying to burrow into the ice. They could no longer treat it as a localised invasion. They were witnessing a full-scale attack that ran the length of the Norwegian coast.

As if someone had magicked them there…

Surely other people had come across something similar.

Why did he get the feeling that the worms and the jellies were connected?

It was a crazy idea.

And yet, he thought suddenly, the craziness looked like the start of something new.

This was only the beginning.

He called up the CNN homepage to check out Olsen's news.

Lund walked in, set a mug of black tea in front of him and smiled conspiratorially. Their trip to the lake had forged a bond between them, a kind of unspoken solidarity.

The smell of freshly brewed Earl Grey filled the air. 'I didn't know they had it on board,' said Johanson.

'They don't,' she said. 'You bring it with you, if you know someone who likes it.'

Johanson raised his eyebrows. 'That was thoughtful of you. What favour were you hoping to extract from me this time?'

'A thank-you would be nice.'

'Thank you.'

She glanced at the laptop. 'Any luck?'

'Zilch. How're they getting on with the samples?'

'No idea. I had other things to deal with.'

'Such as?'

'Looking after Hvistendahl's assistant.'

'What's wrong with him?'

'He's feeding the fish.' She shrugged. 'You know, mustering his bag.'

Johanson chuckled. Lund liked using sailors' slang. Research vessels brought together two different worlds: scientists and seamen. The two groups tiptoed around each other, doing their best to be accommodating, adjusting to their different ways of talking and living, and getting used to each other's quirks. After a while, they'd know they were in safe water – but until then there was a respectful distance between them, which they bridged with jokes. 'Mustering a bag' was the crew's euphemism for a newcomer's seasickness.

'You threw up the first time too,' said Johanson.

'And you didn't?'

'No.'

'Huh.'

'It's true!' Johanson put his hand on his heart. 'I'm a good sailor.'

Lund dug out a scrap of paper with a scribbled email address. 'Next up is a trip to Greenland. One of Bohrmann's contacts is working out there.'

'Lukas Bauer?'

'You know him?'

Johanson nodded slowly. 'There was a conference a few years back in Oslo. He gave a lecture. I think he was working on currents.'

'He's an engineer. He designs all kinds of things – oceanographic equipment, pressurised tanks. Bohrmann said he even had a hand in the deep-sea simulation chamber.'

'And now he's in the Greenland Sea.'

'He's been there for weeks,' said Lund. 'You're right about his interest in currents, though. He's collecting data there. Another candidate for interrogation in your quest for the worm.'

Johanson hadn't come across the expedition in his earlier research.

The Greenland Sea… Weren't there methane deposits there too? 'How's Skaugen getting on?' he asked.

'Slowly,' Lund told him. 'He's been gagged.'

'By the board?'

'Statoil's a state-controlled company. Need I say more?'

'So, he won't learn anything new,' said Johanson.

Lund sighed. 'The others aren't stupid, you know. They'll notice if someone's trying to pump them for information without giving anything in return. And, anyway, they've got their own code of silence.'

'That's what I told you.'

'Oh, if only I had your brains.'

There was the sound of footsteps outside, then one of Hvistendahl's team poked his head round the door. 'Meeting in the conference room,' he said.

'When?'

'Now. We've got the results.'

Johanson and Lund exchanged a glance. Deep down they already knew the truth. Johanson closed the lid of the laptop, and they followed the man to the main deck below.

BOHRMANN STOOD AT THE TABLE, leaning forward on his knuckles.

'So far we've found the same state of affairs all along the slope,' he said. 'The sea is saturated with methane. Our readings concur with those from the Thorvaldson. There are a few variations, but the basic picture's the same.' He paused. 'I don't want to beat about the bush. Something has started to destabilise large sections of the hydrates.'

No one stirred. No one spoke.

Then the Statoil team all started talking at once.

'What are you saying?'

'So the hydrates are dissociating. I thought you said worms can't destabilise the ice!'

'Is the water getting warmer? Because if it isn't…'

'But what happens if-'

'OK!' Bohrmann gestured for everyone to be quiet. 'That's the situation. I still don't believe the worms are capable of causing serious damage. However, we shouldn't forget that the incidence of the worms coincides time-wise with the breakdown of the hydrates.'

'Very helpful,' muttered Stone.