“Hey, this was state of the art once!” Lucya called back.

The phone nearest Jake rang, he picked it up.

“Bridge.”

“Anchors are up, sir,” came the voice on the other end of the line.

“Thank you.” He replaced the handset.

“Well then,” Jake drew a deep breath, “let’s get this boat turned round and get out of here.”

He stepped up to a control console near the middle of the bridge, flipped some switches, and took hold of a small joystick. As first officer he rarely got to pilot the ship anymore, and he felt a thrill as, with the deft movement of fingers, he sensed the vibration of the engines powering up, and the gigantic bulk of the vessel start to move under his control. Turning around a ship of this size was not a rapid operation, and Stacey’s excitement at seeing how the bridge operated soon turned to boredom as the slow pace of the manoeuvres became clear. She retired to a chair near a window, and settled in, hoping Melvin would be back soon so that she could go and do something more interesting.

• • • • •

“So this is your guy? Older than I was expecting,” Max said, looking the man in front of him up and down. He had an unusually red face, was mid fifties, and was just the wrong side of average weight. What Max’s ex-wife would have called comfortably rounded.

“Flynn is ex army. I know most of your men are ex navy types, but I think Flynn is just what you’re looking for,” Melvin was trying to sell it, and wasn’t entirely sure why. Flynn had been helpful in getting him onto the bridge, his planning had been meticulous and his instincts spot on. Even so, Melvin didn’t feel he owed him anything, Yet there was something compelling about the guy. He had the sort of personality that made you feel like you’d known him forever, that he was looking out for you, that you could trust him. Melvin thought that was a good trait, and wished he shared some of that charisma and instant likability, it would be useful when it came to elections, when he would need to beat Jake in being the people’s choice to run the ship.

“And is he able to speak for himself?” Max raised his eyebrows.

“Yes Mr Mooting, Sir.” Flynn said.

“No need to call me sir, not yet at least. So what’s your background? What makes you think you’d be useful on my security team?”

“I was in the United States Army for eighteen years. Led fifty men into battle on three separate campaigns, only lost two men in all.”

“Why did you quit? And how?”

“Honourable discharge. I felt I had done my duty by my country. It was time for me to move on and put my time into my own projects”

“What sort of projects? What do you do now? Apart from cruising the Arctic I mean.”

“Personal…”, he paused, unsure how much he should say,”…building projects.”

“Ah, home renovation? Yeah, I can understand why you’d need time for that. Do you keep yourself in shape Mr Bakeman? Do you think you can keep up with my guys?”

“Absolutely. I run at least three miles a day. I’ve been in the gym every day we’ve been on the ship, until yesterday of course.”

“I see,” Max said. He was starting to think that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Having an outsider on the team might help keep his own men honest. “And tell me, how do you see the role of security officer?”

“First and foremost to keep the peace. To offer protection and reassurance to everyone on the ship.”

“Protection from what?”

“Mainly from themselves.”

That did it, Max was impressed. “Well Mr Bakeman, it looks like you got yourself a new job. Welcome aboard, metaphorically speaking.” He shook Flynn’s hand enthusiastically.

Flynn smiled at Melvin, giving him a quick wink when he was sure Max wasn’t looking.

• • • • •

Progress was painfully slow. Although the Spirit of Arcadia was now facing away form the icebergs and heading south, a quick look behind through a rear facing window showed just how far they had not come.

Melvin returned to the bridge. Stacey tried to introduce him to Dave and Pedro, but she’d already forgotten their names so she simply said that they were involved in “the driving”. With her task out of the way she disappeared quickly, hoping to be first in the queue for the lunchtime service.

Melvin toured the bridge as if he was invigilating an exam. Hands clasped behind his back, large quiet strides, he made his way up and down in front of each row of consoles, peering over. He paid particular attention to the map table, and asked a number of questions of Dave. Lucya was all too happy to let her subordinate do the talking. As far as she was concerned the less time she spent around Melvin, the better.

Silvia appeared at lunchtime. With the help of one of her staff she brought up trays of food for the crew. Claude and his team had managed to whip up salt cod and potatoes cooked in milk. It was rich and delicious, but like breakfast, the serving could have been bigger. The bridge crew ate mostly in silence, everyone too involved in their job to talk about anything else. Lucya and Dave worked away at calculations, constantly updating their assumed position on the chart. Pedro had taken the helm and was steering a steady course through a flat calm sea. Jake oversaw the operation, checking in with each post regularly. This was his day job and he felt at ease here. Although he was working, it was a true rest from the responsibilities of captain. He longed for things to go back to how they were before. The job wasn’t so bad, he told himself. One last cruise and he would have been free to go to Africa. Now though, even once he was done being temporary captain, he realised he was probably going to be required on the bridge indefinitely, given he was the best qualified and most experienced officer of the watch on board.

A ringing telephone broke his train of thought. He answered it, casually.

“Bridge.”

“Jake? Martin. We may have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Lucya and Melvin both looked up. Jake cursed to himself, he knew he should have spoken more quietly.

“Fuel. We’re keeping an eye on it, and the rate of consumption is higher than we anticipated.”

“By much?”

“Not a lot, but over twelve hours or so it’s going to make a difference.”

“Are we talking never going anywhere else ever again difference, or won’t be able to keep as many lights on difference?”

We’re probably going to have reserves for one less full day’s cruising than we thought.” Martin couldn’t hide the disappointment from his voice, and there was something else there too. Shame, Jake realised. He was ashamed they’d got the calculations wrong.

“Okay, keep an eye on it and keep me appraised.” He hung up the phone, saw all eyes were on him. “Nothing to worry about, just Martin being extra cautious.” The bad news could wait until later, he had a feeling there was going to be more of it when they saw land.

Another phone rang, Lucya answered it, spoke a few words, and hung up. “That was Claude, they finished serving lunch half an hour ago. The restaurants have emptied everyone out, sent them back to their cabins, closed up.”

“Right then, time to call curfew,” Jake announced.

Thirty-One

LARISSA KNOCKED AT the door to cabin 854. She carried a wide bag over her left shoulder, and a folder under her right arm. The arm was aching from writing, and she decided that whoever was inside 854 was going to fill in the form themselves.

There was a click of a bolt turning, and the door opened inwards.

“About bloody time,” the man inside said.

Larissa closed her eyes for a second, told herself to remain calm. “Good afternoon, I’m Larissa, I’m here to complete the passenger census.”