Noah’s Ark: Voyage: Noah's Ark, #4

By Harry Dayle

As Captain Jake Noah and his team struggle to unravel and understand recent events, a new hope for the future emerges. Now Jake must lead his community of survivors on their longest journey yet. But a shocking revelation from his past threatens to undermine his authority, and throws his life into disarray.

They say every cloud has a silver lining. The survivors aboard cruise ship Spirit of Arcadia have passed through many clouds. Have they finally found something to make their struggle worthwhile? Captain Jake Noah thinks so. His little fleet is heading halfway around the world in search of a new home. Somewhere safe where they can start afresh.

With criminal elements in their midst, personal problems to deal with, and perilous waters to navigate, it's a journey that is fraught with danger and difficulty. Will their efforts bear fruit at last? Or will their voyage be in vain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry Dayle
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223321910

Book preview

Noah’s Ark: Voyage

Noah’s Ark: Voyage

Harry Dayle

Shelfless

Contents

A Note To Readers

Eldorado

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Epilogue

The Adventure Concludes

Meanwhile, In Faslane

The Dark Webb Series

The Devil’s Breath

A Note To Readers

This book is as British as its author. Readers used to American English may find some spellings and phrases differ slightly from those they are more familiar with.

Gaily bedight,

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,

Had journeyed long,

Singing a song,

In search of Eldorado.

---

But he grew old—

This knight so bold—

And o’er his heart a shadow—

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.

---

And, as his strength

Failed him at length,

He met a pilgrim shadow—

‘Shadow,’ said he,

‘Where can it be—

This land of Eldorado?’

---

‘Over the Mountains

Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,

Ride, boldly ride,’

The shade replied,—

‘If you seek for Eldorado!’

---

Eldorado

-Edgar Allan Poe

Prologue

The Mediterranean air was warm and humid, the tang of salt just perceptible. The sun still didn’t shine, not properly. But every now and then it would peek through the increasingly more common breaks in the thick cloud, like a child popping its head out just long enough to tease.

That ever-present cloud, grey like the toxic ash which covered the land, was definitely thinning, he thought. The man they called Jango was sure he had detected the sun’s warmth on his face as he had followed the chief radio officer along the outer deck that afternoon. Not a direct, burning heat, just a welcome relief from the cold that had seemed to follow them from the Arctic. He would have enjoyed staying outside for longer, but he could not risk Miss Levin seeing him.

Not yet.

Now, under the cover of darkness, Jango could move more freely. The outside decks were crowded, and he blended in easily enough. Deprived of space for so long, a couple of laps of the sun deck in the evening, after most teams had finished work for the day, was a popular pastime. Couples strolled casually, hand in hand; families corralled their children along the narrow walkways, swerving and slaloming between optimistically placed deck chairs. The occasional peal of laughter could be heard above the sound of the sea as the Spirit of Arcadia cut through the turquoise waters, waves lapping against her sheer white hull.

Yet for all that, the atmosphere was anything but normal. This was a voyage, not a cruise. This was life, not a vacation. The people around him were content, but were they happy? How could anyone be happy, knowing that their world no longer extended beyond the polished maple handrail that ran the perimeter of the deck? No, the community — the women, men, and children aboard the Spirit of Arcadia — were not happy. They had simply reached a truce with the world. An uneasy equilibrium. As long as they were alive, healthy, and not being attacked, then life was as good as it was likely to get.

Jango reached the stern of the ship and found the flight of steps he was looking for. The white paint that covered the steel was flecked with grey where molten ash from the asteroid had burnt it away. The ship looked as battered and bruised as the population aboard. Like them, it had been through hell.

He descended four flights to deck seven, where the staircase ended. Few people came here, and even fewer at this late hour. The rearmost spot on the cruiser was not easily accessible, and was poorly lit. That was why Jango had chosen it, of course. The chances of anyone coming across him were slim. A solitary spotlight cast a pool of yellow on the ground. It was too much of a risk to leave it shining. He had come prepared, having scouted the place the previous night. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the stone acquired from the Farm Plaza. It had not been easy to obtain; the food-growing area was off-limits to the general population. Jango’s influence had got around that problem though. He took careful aim, squinted shut one eye, pulled back his hand, then launched the projectile with a practised flick of the wrist. He knew the shot was good before the tiny missile made contact with the lamp’s glass cover, splitting it in two and extinguishing the light.

Cloaked in near-total darkness, he sat down on the deck, his back to the wall, facing out to sea, and waited.

Twenty-six minutes passed before he stood to greet the young man who descended the same stairway, into the darkness. Neither his features nor expression were visible, just his skinny silhouette picked out against the faint glow from the upper decks.

Neither man spoke as they shook hands.

Thanks for coming, Jango said, returning to his position against the wall and beckoning the gangly young man to follow.

Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, Jango? And why take the risk of meeting out here? You know I can’t be seen.

Take it easy. Nobody’s likely to recognise you now, blondie. I had to speak to you alone. This is important. Too important for the others to overhear. Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased to get out of that cabin for a while. It can’t be easy, being cooped up day and night.

You’re all heart.

I know. Come over here, I want to show you something. Jango moved to the railing, and the very centre of the stern.

The skinny man hesitated.

Come on, Gavin. I haven’t got all night. He knew why the young man had paused. He could smell it, his fear. It amused him, and at the same time gave him a rush. Jango enjoyed that feeling of power, knowing he could command others, knowing they dared not disobey.

Gavin’s fear was not unmerited. As he reached the railing, Jango doubled over, grabbed his ankles, and lifted him cleanly over the handrail. Gavin didn’t have time to protest as he was hauled overboard in one smooth movement.

Jango watched his young accomplice twist in the air and pitch into the sea below. The boiling, churning wake created by the Spirit of Arcadia’s giant propellers would ensure that Gavin stood no chance of survival. His eventual screams were drowned in the turbulent water.

Behind him, Jango heard the clack-clack of shoes on metal. Someone coming down the stairs, perhaps for a sneaky cigarette. He took one last look over the side, but Gavin was lost to the blackness of the Mediterranean. He patted the railing twice, turned, and walked away from the steps, humming quietly to himself. Lucya would be heading back to her cabin after an evening walk with the captain, and he wanted to follow her. Just as he did every night.

One

Lieutenant Ralf Cormack’s fingers were numb from typing, yet still they danced across the keyboard at incredible speed. His face, lit only by the brilliance of the tiny laptop’s screen, was a picture of calmness and concentration. But that was a front. His heart raced as fast as the cursor blinked.

He could feel her breath on his ear.

Try as he might to focus on the virtually incomprehensible strings of symbols floating before his eyes, all he could really think about was her. A career below the waves, hacking the computer systems of unfriendly navies, fulfilled most of his worldly desires. The fact was though, that it was a life devoid of female company.

Female company was something he had enjoyed rather a lot of for almost a fortnight, much to his surprise, delight, and the envy of his colleagues from HMS Ambush. No matter how much he insisted that his time spent in the presence of the beautiful young woman was for work, they teased him endlessly. He didn’t mind; he knew full well they needed an outlet for their jealousy. Besides, the others were no better. Most of them spent their ‘shore leave’ aboard the Spirit of Arcadia in search of girls who liked a man in uniform.

I think I have the word, she said quietly, turning her head so that her fine black hair brushed his cheek.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Sorry, did I disturb you? You lost concentration.

No, it’s fine, he lied. What’s the word?

I think you would say it is verbose.

Ralf grunted. I’d say the whole Chinese language is verbose. No problem. What’s this long word then?

She giggled. No, silly! The word is: verbose. She pushed his arm playfully.

Verbose? As in long-winded? Using more words than are necessary?

Yes. She set down the book she was holding, and looked at him. Will it help?

He leaned back, locked his fingers together, and pushed his hands outwards, causing the bones to click, smiling at her grimace. Sorry, bad habit. What happened to ‘dragon’ then? I thought we’d decided yesterday that this was the symbol for dragon? He tapped a few buttons on the silver computer, bringing up a screen filled with Chinese symbols. Almost all of them were green, apart from four in the middle that were bright red. The four were identical.

Yes, the word is dragon. But you say that entering dragon four times does nothing?

Right. Which is why I think there must be another meaning for this symbol. Or there’s a special word that means ‘four dragons’.

Verbose! She stood up and pointed at the red symbols, her slender, perfectly manicured finger circling them.

Ralf winced. Please, don’t touch the screen. It leaves marks.

It’s my computer.

Oh, yeah. Still, you should take care of a screen.

Try verbose. Please?

I don’t—

For me?

He couldn’t resist those dark eyes, so he shut up and typed some more, making the screen change again, then entered the word that Miss Matsuo insisted upon. His finger sprang from the Enter key, and he leaned back in his chair once again.

It works? she enquired.

"We have to wait a minute. Your computer isn’t as powerful as the ones on board the Ambush. It has to process the file."

She looked hurt, moved away from him, and sat on the second of the two single beds that took up most of the space in the little cabin. Sorry. I make you slow. I know this is very important. You want us to go back to submarine?

No, of course not. Honestly, you’ve put up with a lot, spending all this time in the comms room. It’s great to work somewhere different for a while. Anyway, this is overtime. The committee aren’t expecting us to work evenings as well as all day.

No. Neither was I.

Sorry?

When I said come to my cabin so we can discuss codes more, I did not think we would really discuss codes.

Ralf felt his face begin to flush. You didn’t?

You are very attractive man, Ralf. Nice man. Every day, I see you are nice man. And very — she searched for the word in English — proper. Yes, you are very proper. Gentleman. I like you very much. And before, I think you like me too. But now I think I make terrible mistake. Matsuo’s eyes studied the plain carpet.

Oh…no. I mean, yes. I like you very much, Miss Matsuo.

Kimiko. We are not on submarine now. You can call me Kimiko.

Ralf’s mouth was suddenly very dry. When he tried to speak, the words caught in his throat. Kimiko? That’s a beautiful name.

It means ‘empress’, in Japanese.

You would make a good empress.

You say I am bossy?

No! That’s not what— He stopped when she looked up, a mischievous smile on her face. Oh, I see. I’m sorry, Kimiko. Listen, I like you a lot too. Really. Spending time with you has been brilliant. You’re as beautiful as your name. You’re a brilliant linguist, and I’ve enjoyed every second we’ve worked together. And you’re right, I am a gentleman. A gentleman with a very important task to complete. A gentleman who could get himself very easily side-tracked with you if he let himself. So—

The computer interrupted, bleeping obstinately. Ralf dragged his eyes away from the young woman and answered its call, tapping a key. He was about to turn back towards her and finish explaining his reasons for keeping a professional distance, but the screen changed before he had a chance. The green and red symbols filled it again, and then the four red symbols changed colour, as one. They turned yellow, then glowed bright green. Another bleep, and the symbols all vanished and were replaced by pages and pages of Chinese text that flowed past too quickly to read.

Ralf grabbed the machine and brought it close to his eyes. Matsuo rose from the bed and peered over the lid.

Bloody hell, Ralf whispered. Verbose. You’re not joking. You did it, Kimiko. You bloody did it!

It works?

He spun the machine around so she could better see the text that was flashing by at a blinding rate. I’ll say. That was the missing link. We’re in! We’ve cracked the bloody thing!

Ralf looked up to see her reaction, but she wasn’t looking at the computer. She was looking at him. There was desire in her eyes, and he felt it too. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed. The laptop fell from his hand, landing with a gentle thump on the floor as their lips met, and the two of them melted into one.

Captain Jake Noah stared at the swirling water, his eyes glazing over. He raised the glass to his lips and drained the liquid, already wondering where he could find another bottle. Rinsing the dregs of the vodka in the tumbler with stale-tasting tap water was desperate by any measure. That, he thought, was the story of their lives now. Eking out an existence. Finding new ways to make their scarce supplies stretch just a little bit further. Desperation evolved into an art form. The heavily diluted alcohol slipped down his throat, barely registering, hardly numbing the sense of pointlessness.

Cheer up, Captain. It might never happen!

Jake looked up to see the smiling face of Daniel Barrett. He’d arrived to relieve him for the night shift, taking over the chair for the darkest hours.

It already has, Daniel. It already has. He saw that Daniel had spotted the empty bottle on the floor. A gift, from Coote, he explained. It was sort of true. Divers from the Ambush had recovered a wide range of supplies from the sunken Chinese submarine that had tried to destroy them. Most of their findings had been catalogued and put into secure storage, with consumables added to the rationing system stock. The Royal Navy captain had, in his own words, spirited away a couple of bottles of vodka. Delighted with his own pun, he had offered one to Jake. Captains, he affirmed, carried an extra weight on their shoulders, and therefore were deserving of the odd tipple to help alleviate that load.

Yeah, but we survived, man. The asteroid, the disease, the Koreans. We survived it all. It’s like the big man is looking out for us. Daniel’s eyes glanced skywards.

Jake sighed. He didn’t share the young sailor’s beliefs, but it wasn’t the time for a theological debate. And to what end, Mr Barrett? What kind of life is this?

Dude, don’t talk like that. Daniel looked genuinely concerned for his captain. We’re going to Yulin, man! That’s our El Dorado, you’ll see.

What, like Crozon was supposed to be? And then Toulon? Let’s face it, Yulin will turn out to be yet another ruined submarine base. Another crater, wiped off the face of the planet.

You really think we’re wasting our time?

You don’t? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it, that you haven’t noticed. Jake knew he didn’t need to elaborate. They had all remarked that the destruction had been worse the further south they had travelled.

Daniel moved away to the front of the bridge, rested his hand on the rail, and stared out of the window. There was very little to see besides his own reflection. The lower decks, normally bathed in light from powerful halogen lamps, were hidden in darkness. The Ambush’s nuclear reactor might not need refuelling for thirty years, but it couldn’t produce unlimited power, so non-essential services were switched off at night. Do you think it’s true what they say? That the magnetic field of the North Pole drove the asteroid away?

Jake closed his eyes. It makes sense. It’s certainly a logical explanation for how we survived. What does it matter though? Yulin will be another bust. And even if by some miracle it is real, and it’s survived, we haven’t got the access codes. Ralf isn’t confident he’ll ever get into those computers.

Yeah, but we’ve got nowhere else to go. And anyway, it’s not as if we’re using up fuel getting there. So why not go and look?

Because of the cost. The human cost. Jake opened his eyes and got to his feet. He scooped up the empty bottle, went to throw it in a recycling bin near a row of consoles, then thought better of it and instead tucked it under his arm. It seems we can’t go anywhere without running into trouble. What’s it going to be this time? Another freak virus? Will we run aground? Or hit a reef? Or blow up the batteries? We’re a floating disaster zone.

You think we should just throw out the anchor and be done with it? Sorry, man, but that doesn’t sound like much of a life. As long as we’re moving we have hope. You told me that, Jake. You inspired hope in me, and in everyone else. What’s happened to bring on this bout of doom? Daniel’s eyes couldn’t help but flick to the empty bottle again.

Jake ambled towards the door, throwing a hand in the air. Ah, don’t mind me. I suppose it’s just late. And I’m worried about Lucya.

She’s doing good though, isn’t she?

Yeah, she’s doing good. She’s still not sleeping. Too much pain. Bandages can’t help with that. But she’s in a better way than McNair.

You should take a break, Daniel said. He climbed into the captain’s chair and pulled out a book from his pocket. These long shifts can’t be good for you.

We’ve got no bridge crew left. Someone has to be up here.

And here I am. Go and get some sleep, Jake. Things will seem better in the morning.

You sound like my mother. He managed a small smile. Have a good night.

Lucya and Erica’s morning routine roused Jake from a fitful sleep. He had a vague recollection of having planned on taking Daniel at his word, and leaving the young man to run the bridge for an extra hour. Once awake, his conscience kicked in and the idea was forgotten.

Hey, he croaked. Did you manage to get any sleep?

Lucya ushered Erica into the tiny bathroom to brush her teeth, and closed the door behind her. Yes, for a while. Then you came crashing in and woke me up. She scowled, and avoided looking at him, instead busying herself tidying up discarded pyjamas and the previous day’s clothes.

I came in on tip-toes. I tried to be as quiet as I could. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d woken.

Well you were wrong. And you were drunk, too. Don’t try denying it. I could smell it on your breath.

Jake eased himself out of bed, rubbing his head. He tried to put his arms around her, but she stepped away and carried on clearing up. He watched her as she moved carefully and slowly, as if thinking through every motion beforehand. The thick bandages around her torso were evident beneath her silky nightwear. It was only a glass of Coote’s vodka. I wasn’t drunk.

Lucya made no attempt to argue.

Listen, leave that. I’ll clear up the cabin. And I’ll take Erica to school, too. You get some rest. Perhaps you’ll be able to get some more sleep once we’re out of the way.

No, Jake. I’ll take her to school. You need to get yourself cleaned up, and then you have to go and see Max. You arranged a meeting with him, but you’ve probably forgotten all about it.

It had completely slipped his mind, but he chose not to confirm the fact. Daniel’s been on the bridge all night. I can’t leave him there much longer. I’ll have to move the meeting.

I’ll take a shift.

Lucya, you’re not ready. You need to rest—

She swung around to face him, this time her eyes burning deeply into his own. They were ringed with red, and tinged with a dampness that surprised and shocked him. It’s a couple of broken ribs, Jake. I’m more than capable of sitting in a chair and making sure Chuck and Dave keep us going forwards in roughly the right direction. Anyone would think you were trying to keep me off the bridge—

No, of course I’m not! I just want you to take your time to get well. And it’s not just your ribs. You’re recovering from the virus too—

We’ve all done that! Her voice began to rise in pitch and volume. We’ve all had to recover from something. McNair even took the helm yesterday, for an hour. He’s in a wheelchair! I can walk! But oh no, can’t let poor little Lucya sit down in the captain’s chair for a shift. She might…what, exactly? What are you afraid will happen? What difference does it make if I’m sitting here on my own, or sitting up there? Or is it more that you don’t want me around? You’d rather I play the little wife, waiting quietly at home for you to come back from a hard day at the office?

Lucya? What’s got into you? Of course that’s not what I want! He tried to embrace her again, but she twisted away from him, wincing with the pain of the sudden movement.

Before either could speak again, the bathroom door opened and Erica peered out, her face red. Why are you shouting at each other? Is it my fault? Is it because you don’t really have time to look after me?

Lucya got to her first, pulling her close. No, my darling. It’s not your fault. She glared over the top of the girl’s head at Jake. We have all the time in the world for you. Now, go and put your shoes on while I pull on some clothes, and I’ll take you down to school.

Erica bounced along the narrow corridor that led to the classroom, with Lucya following steadily a few paces behind. The walk was slightly longer than it used to be, as the original conference room used by Erica’s class had been re-designated as the meeting room for the committee. Their regular weekly get-together was held there, as well as the daily drop-in surgery for members of the community to come and see whoever from the committee happened to be on duty, and pose their questions and concerns about anything and everything. The old committee room was the new classroom. The two had been swapped following the tragic events that had unfolded within. It was deemed inappropriate to ask the kids to ever go back there.

Can we go and see Adam later? Erica asked, turning to face Lucya, her face pleading.

We’ll see. His mum will be working all day, so she’ll probably want some quiet time with him later. Maybe tomorrow. That way we can go in the morning.

But it’s been ages since I saw him.

You saw him last weekend. He won’t have changed since then.

He might! He might have learnt to walk by now!

Erica, I promise you, he hasn’t learnt to walk yet. We’ll go tomorrow. Come on, get moving or we’ll be late.

The young girl groaned, but skipped off to the classroom without making a fuss. Lucya followed her in, hoping to catch a word with Miss O’Hare.

The new teacher greeted them both warmly, then asked Erica to go and help the other children move the chairs and tables into a circle. Another mother was already assisting in the task.

Hi, Lucya said, shaking the woman’s frail hand.

Miss O’Hare could have applied for retired status on account of her age and relative immobility, but after Miss Linders’ demise, she insisted that she should take on the class, as the last qualified teacher on board the ship. What she lacked in physical vitality, she more than made up for with enthusiastic energy. After a wary start, the children had all taken well to her. Part of her success stemmed from the fact that rather than try and pretend the hostage crisis had never happened, she actively encouraged the youngsters to talk about it, working through their issues, and trying to understand the motivation of the men who had shown them such violence.

Hello, Lucya, Miss O’Hare said.

I wanted to check in with you, see how they’re all doing. I know the committee gets reports, but, you know…

Of course. A mother’s concern is quite normal.

Lucya felt a rush of pride at the turn of phrase. They both knew full well she wasn’t Erica’s mother. That the teacher saw her in that role meant the world to her.

They’re doing extraordinarily well, the older woman continued, her soft Irish accent adding a lightness to her words that made Lucya want to listen to her all day long. Young Erica is a delight. Considering what she went through, she’s a remarkable young lady, and a great asset to this class. The others really look up to her.

And how are you getting on?

Oh, fine and dandy, thanks for asking. It’s wonderful to be working again. And yourself? I see you’re getting about a bit more?

I’m taking a shift on the bridge today. There’s no point being stuck in a cabin, that’s not the way to get better.

I quite agree. Well, I think we’re all ready to get started here, the teacher said, smiling sweetly.

Of course. I’ll leave you to it. Have a great day.

Lucya made her way out, and at the door bumped into the mother who had been helping rearrange the classroom. She let Lucya go ahead, then when they were both outside, introduced herself.

Hi, I’m Melanie. I’m Albert’s mum. You’re Lucya, right?

Lucya nodded, and shook the woman’s hand.

I heard all about what happened…in the other room. I just wanted to say I think you’re so brave, and to thank you for risking your life like that. If anything had happened to Albert— She stopped to wipe the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. Oh, look at me, getting all weepy.

It’s fine, Lucya said, embarrassed by the attention. Honestly. Any other parent would have done the same. I just happened to be the one to have the crazy idea. And being small helped!

Even so, it’s an amazing sacrifice you were willing to make. But then you’re obviously a brave woman anyway, taking on Erica, and in such circumstances too.

We’ve all had to deal with difficult circumstances. Honestly, I’m just doing what anyone else would.

Oh, I didn’t mean… Melanie wrung her hands and looked down the corridor, as if searching for a quick escape. Well, you know. Not the circumstances in general, I meant…the fact you’re living with Captain Noah. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, I didn’t mean to bring that up. It’s lovely to meet you. I’d better get going. I have to get to work. Perhaps we could meet for lunch sometime, with some of the other mothers?

Sure, why not. What did you mean about Jake though? Why would that make it brave of me to take on Erica?

Melanie blushed crimson, and looked taken aback. I just meant, you know, with his…history. Look, I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have said anything. I really must dash. I’ll see you around. She spun on the spot and set off quickly in the opposite direction.

Lucya frowned, and went after her, cursing the pain that shot through her side with every step. Wait! Come back! What did you mean, his history?

Melanie stopped and shook her head. She turned, her face twisted, torn between saying any more or just escaping the embarrassing situation she had found herself in.

Whatever you meant, just tell me, okay? From one mother to another. What did you mean?

From one mother to another?

Lucya nodded.

I thought you knew, Melanie said, looking at an empty space above Lucya’s head. You live with him, so I thought you must know.

Know what? Lucya felt fit to burst.

About his arrest.

Lucya’s eyes widened. She waited for an explanation.

I thought everyone knew. When he was made captain, everyone was talking about it for a while. About whether he was suitable, given he’d been arrested…for…you know…his unhealthy interest in little girls.

Two

The meeting took place in Max Mooting’s dingy office. Jake always insisted on getting together with the security chief there because it proved the point that the room was plenty big enough for his needs, despite Max’s constant complaints to the contrary. Besides the chief and the captain, Grace Garet was also present. Having conducted the initial search for missing people that had subsequently led to the discovery of a black market being run from the upper decks, she was almost uniquely qualified to lead the new investigation. The fact that she wasn’t in fact leading it annoyed her intensely.

Jake settled into the guest chair opposite Mooting. Grace hung around in the corner, filled with nervous energy. She had recovered surprisingly quickly from her short imprisonment at the hands of the men the security team were now actively seeking.

Tell me you’ve got something, Max, Jake said, trying to stifle a yawn.

You want me to lie? Mooting grunted. He drummed his fingers on the desk.

Jake knew he hated having to report his progress. The committee had, to the captain’s astonishment, agreed that those reports could be as little as once a week, and directly to Jake rather than the whole group. In his eyes, nobody was taking the whole thing seriously enough, least of all the chief of security. Come on. How hard can it be? You and Grace both saw the bloke running the thing. You know what he looks like. This boat is big, but it’s not that big. It’s been two weeks. Someone must have seen him, surely?

Apparently not, Max said, arching his eyebrows. He leant back, and looked at Jake as if appraising him. If he doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be found.

So someone’s hiding him. And what about Zhang? Still no sign?

Max shrugged.

We’ve got no leads on the escaped prisoner, Grace said, filling in for her chief’s lack of explanation.

They have to eat though! Jake said, exasperated at the apparent lack of concern. "Where are they getting their meals from? It’s been a week since the new restaurant rules were introduced. Nobody can collect meals for a third party, right? All meals collected