Jake spotted the man he had come to find straight away. He strolled over to him, making his way along the decked path that wound through earth that had, until recently, been home to flowerbeds, lawns, and of course palm trees. Now that dirt had been turned over and was being sown with crops.

“Joseph!” Jake called to the head of the farming team, a rugged retired farmer with ruddy cheeks and a warm heart, and a work ethic that put most former crew members to shame.

“Aha, Captain Noah. Nice morning.”

Joseph shook Jake’s hand, his firm grip making him wince. Jake didn’t think Joseph quite knew the strength a lifetime of hard labour had given him.

“I must say, Joseph, you and your team have done an impressive job. Every time I come here it looks different again.”

“They work hard, but they could do better. There is always room for improvement.”

“I swear there’s more growing space here than there used to be. How is that possible? Is it an illusion? Does the ground look bigger when it’s bare earth like this?”

Joseph smiled. He was a restrained man of few words. He rarely offered information, but when pressed, would open up and share from his immense wealth of experience. “No illusion, Captain. There is a lot more soil on this ship than that found in the Plaza. We have been relocating it, making better use of resources.”

Jake pondered this. “Okay, go on. Where are you getting more soil from?”

“It is all around. Almost every deck. Pot plants, floral displays; some of the restaurants have huge planters in them. Many, many cubic metres of earth are to be found. All one has to do is open one’s eyes.”

“So you’re gathering up all that soil and bringing it here? Wow, I would never have thought there would be enough to make a difference.”

“It is a big ship, Captain Noah. By the time we have finished, we will have increased the growing area by a third.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Impressive, Joseph. Really impressive.”

“Let us not get carried away. This will never feed everyone.”

“No, but anything we can grow here has to help. The Faslane food won’t last forever. Whatever we can do to supplement it is important.”

Joseph nodded sagely. “It is also a long-term effort. We are towards the end of the season. Going further south will help, but it is going to be months before we see the fruit of this labour. I don’t want you to be under any misconception about that.”

“No, you’re right, of course. Even so, what you’ve achieved here already is nothing short of a miracle.” Jake stared around him. Farm workers toiled like bees, turning the ground with improvised instruments. Some had proper gardening tools, forks and spades, recovered from the gardeners’ stores, but many more were using tools that had been constructed by Martin’s engineering team. “At least you’re not short of manual labour. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m here. I need to talk to one of your team.”

“We work in shifts. Not everyone on my team is present. Who is it you need?”

“One of the prisoners. Zhang.”

“Then you are in luck, Captain. Mr Zhang is mixing compost from the kitchens with the soil being brought here from around the boat. A thankless task, and a physical one.”

“Excellent. His punishment will contribute to the greater good.”

“Come with me, I will show you where he is.”

The two men walked slowly across the plaza. Joseph pointed out the different areas and what each would be used for.

“Potatoes in there. They’re in, and they’ve started growing. If we keep heading south we’ll have a good crop.”

“I don’t suppose Claude gave up his last reserves easily?” Jake smiled. The chef could be difficult to deal with.

“You suppose right. I promised him he would get back at least three times what he provided us with, and he saw the advantages.”

“What about wheat? The kitchens didn’t carry grain stocks, did they?”

“No. But we were very fortunate to find a little among the Faslane reserves. Maize as well. Not much, but enough to give us a start. It is a shame we did not visit the Svalbard Global Seed Vault when we were so close by. It was designed for just this sort of eventuality. We could have had a much wider variety of crops.”

“I understand your frustration. Without the teams established, and your knowledge available to us, it wasn’t something we were even aware of at the time. Although, I don’t suppose such knowledge would have stopped Flynn from heading south anyway. Still, nothing says we can’t go back there in time.”

“That would be to our advantage. The first crops here will be set aside almost in their entirety as we establish our own seed bank. Probably the second crops too. Once we have created a good stock of grain, then we can begin turning some over to Claude. Depending on the meteorological conditions, I am confident we can get two crops of maize before the end of the year. Martin’s group is upgrading the existing irrigation system to something far more substantial. That will help, but the sun is something we don’t have control over. Here, Mr Zhang is over there, with his minder.”

“Thank you, Joseph.”

The men parted, Joseph returning to get hands-on with his farm.

Zhang’s work looked like a backbreaking task. Soil was being delivered in wheelbarrows, and he was mixing it with a rich black compost in a heap on the ground. As a prisoner, his rights and liberties had been taken from him. He was locked in a cabin for twelve hours a day, and worked much of the rest of the time. Whilst out of the cabin, he was permanently under supervision by one of the security team. There was no danger of ‘escape’: the whole ship was effectively a prison to all those on board, and everyone knew Zhang’s face. Everyone knew the face of all the captured disciples. Even so, due to the violent nature of his crimes, they weren’t taking any risks. Jake wasn’t sure who had the worst job: Zhang, or the minder who looked on, bored. It felt to the captain like a waste of a good security officer, someone who could be doing more useful work, contributing to the community in another way. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was the best the committee could come up with.

“Hello, Zhang,” Jake said coldly, before turning to the minder and shaking his hand.

Zhang stopped shovelling and looked up. He said nothing. His eyes looked dead, lacking any emotion at all. He didn’t appear angry, or upset, or frustrated. It wasn’t so easy for Jake to remain detached. Zhang had been directly responsible for the death of Pedro Sol, helmsman, and Jake’s friend. He’d used him as a human shield when submariners from the Ambush had retaken the bridge. In the end, Pedro had been killed, and Zhang was seriously wounded. Jake couldn’t help but wish his injuries had been fatal.

“It’s time for you to repay a little more of your debt to society. I require your help with something.”

Zhang turned away and continued to mix soil, loading his shovel with compost and dumping it into the growing pile of earth before twisting and turning the tool, combining the two types of dirt.

“Zhang! The captain is talking to you!” the minder barked at his charge, who sighed, stopped, and stood up straight, facing Jake. He was shorter than the captain, but there was no doubting he had a certain menacing presence about him. Jake was glad they were keeping him under close guard at all times.

“I need you to look at this.” Jake pulled out a notebook from his inside jacket pocket, and flipped it open. He found the page onto which he had copied the symbols from the life raft, and held it out for the prisoner to see. “Is this Chinese? Do you know what this says?”

The corners of Zhang’s lips turned up, just a tiny bit, but Jake noticed. Zhang knew what the symbols were, but he wasn’t saying.

• • •

Grace Garet had committed a cardinal sin. The thirty-six-year-old detective from Iowa had barged into Max Mooting’s office without warning, catching him dozing on the job. Again.