“You’re hurting me!” Erica protested, but she didn’t cry, or scream.

Jake felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when he saw her. “Erica, be brave, darling. You’re going to be fine, okay? We’re going to get the ship for these men, and everything will be fine.”

“Don’t make me go with them!”

“It’ll be alright. Trust me. We’re going to help these men, just like we helped your father. We’ll look after them just like we looked after him. Do you understand me, Erica?”

She looked at him, the question written across her face.

“Like your father, like your mother. We’ll take care of them, okay?”

“But…” A moment of confusion, then comprehension dawned. “Okay,” she said, and Jake knew that she had understood the message.

“Clever girl. You clever, clever girl,” he said to himself as he turned away, leaving the security men to take up close positions at the door once more.

• • •

The situation on deck two was, as far as Max could see, under control for now. His men had the room covered. Any hint of action and he’d hear about it. The rescue plan, which as far as he was concerned was completely deranged and bound for certain failure, was out of his hands. He had an hour and a half to kill before the others realised it, kids started getting shot, and chaos would ensue. He wouldn’t miss that for the world — what was left of it — but in the meantime, he decided to make himself useful.

Deck ten wasn’t somewhere the security chief spent much time. His visits there were generally confined to the short walk from the lift to the bridge. Going in the other direction, there was nothing of interest to be found, just endless passageways filled with doors to staterooms. They weren’t even the nicest rooms.

Number 1084 wasn’t such a long walk. Max knocked once, more out of habit than anything else, then slid his master key card into the lock. A click, a tiny green light, and he was inside.

Grace’s uniform was laid out on the bed. It was the only item that was out of place. The rest of the room was immaculate. Spotlessly clean drawers held neatly folded clothes. He wondered how she managed that, with the access to the laundry so tightly rationed. When he checked the bathroom, he found the answer. She washed her own garments in the shower; a towel rail covered in drying underwear and a couple of blouses bore testament to that.

Her notebook was neatly stowed in the single cabinet by the bed, along with her ration card, her passport, and a photo of a man that Max took to be her fiancé. He was a clean-cut blond-haired guy, all muscles and uniform. “The all-American hero,” he said to himself.

Max eased himself into the one armchair in the room, opened up the book, flipped through the pages until he found the most recent entries, and began to read.

• • •

“Ready?” Martin’s voice trembled, just the tiniest bit.

Lucya pretended not to notice. She nodded.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you look amazing in that wetsuit.” He chuckled nervously.

“I think the shower cap and gym shoes might be ruining the effect,” she said, smirking.

“Not for me!”

Vardy was there too. “Remember. No cuts. No noise. Take a minute before you release the virus. The shallower your breathing, the longer you’ll be able to hold your breath.”

“Yes, I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me. Can we get on with it? We’re wasting time.”

Vardy nodded to Martin. “Do it,” he said.

Martin turned to the control panel on the side of the blue-and-yellow box that was the size of a small room. He twisted a key, already in the lock. An indicator light changed from green to yellow. After a second’s hesitation, he hit the round red stop button with the palm of his hand.

A klaxon sounded locally, and almost immediately the giant fans inside started to spin down, their droning noise dropping in both pitch and volume.

“Right. Um, good luck.” Martin stood awkwardly, waiting. “Listen… I’m sorry if, in the past, I’ve been…you know…”

“Shut up, Martin.” Lucya punched him playfully in the shoulder. “You make it sound like I’m not coming back. I’m coming back. Okay?”

Before he could say anything, a second klaxon sounded.

“Saved by the bell,” Vardy said. “Good luck, Lucya.”

Martin, relieved the moment had passed, gripped a long black handle and pulled it towards him. The whole side of the massive box swung open, revealing a stack of yellow fans, like a jet engine laid on its end. Around it, in the walls, row after row of round openings. He stepped inside, and counted the rows of holes.

“This is the one,” he said, stopping and sticking a bright marker on a dark circle halfway up the far wall.

“It would have to be one of the smallest ones,” Lucya said.

“I did warn you.”

She followed him in, then, using other openings as a ladder, she clambered up the wall, stuck her hands and head in the pipe, and pulled herself in. Her legs kicked in the air as she struggled for traction. “Er, a hand please, guys?”

Martin put his hands on the soles of her feet and pushed, ramming her inside the narrow tube.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “The sound has nowhere to go. Even from here, they might hear you in the conference room.

She held up a hand, just visible in the small space above her head, to acknowledge she had heard.

“We’ll give you ninety seconds, then the fans have to go back on. I’m starting the clock…now.”

Lucya heard his footsteps as he retreated, and the clicking of the huge wall-door closing behind. In the total blackness, she began to wriggle and squirm her way forwards.

• • •

Jake couldn’t help but glance at his watch every few minutes as he made his way to deck two.

“It’s two minutes since the last time you checked,” the sailor by his side said, adding at the last minute: “Sir. Relax, it’ll be fine.”

“You’re right, Daniel. Sorry. It’s just…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s the kids. Really gets to you.”

“Do you have children?” Jake looked surprised; the man looked like he was barely out of school.

“None of my own. Two nieces though, and a little brother…” His voice tailed off.

Jake knew why, and he knew better than to press the subject.

They arrived at the starboard passenger hatch to find a welcoming committee. Four more sailors that Jake knew vaguely were waiting for them. In the time he had negotiated an extension with the Koreans, they had successfully re-established a walkway to the Lance.

“The engine is running. We’re ready to go when you are,” the man nearest the exit announced.

“Thank you, er…”

“Cummings, sir. Billy Cummings.”

The other three introduced themselves in turn. Jake made no particular effort to remember the names. He doubted they would spend enough time together for it to matter.

“So, we’re just waiting for one more.” Jake looked around, checking his watch again. Another minute gone by. Another minute closer to the Koreans’ deadline. He fought the urge to walk the short distance to the classroom standoff. He knew there was nothing to be gained by returning there, but the desire to see Erica, to check she hadn’t been harmed, was powerful.

“I think this is them, sir,” Cummings said.

“Looks like it. And please, all of you, just call me Jake, okay? We all know I’m in charge. Beyond that, who cares about rank?”

Coming towards them, a nurse pushed a wheelchair in which was sat a thin and frail-looking woman.

Jake held out a hand. “Captain Jake Noah. You must be…Mrs Kolstad?”

The woman shook her head. “No, I’m not Ove’s wife. I haven’t seen her. My name is Bodil Solem.”

“You’re a science officer?”

“Yes, specialising in deep-sea research.” She spoke perfect English with only a hint of an accent.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“It is not physical work, Captain. My legs might be weakened, but my mind remains intact.”