Yet since shots had been fired, trouble had been hard to come by. There had been a mass movement of people away from the port side of the ship, away from danger. Then there had been a remarkable sense of calm.

In one of the public areas a lively debate was taking place, but it was good natured. Those who had been against taking on new people saw themselves as having been vindicated. Those with the opposing view maintained that the survivors deserved a chance, and that coming to find them had still been the right thing to do. Grace was asked to share her opinion. She politely but firmly refused to be drawn into the discussion. She was there to do a job and was required to keep a professional distance from such things.

As she moved on, heading towards the rear of the deck, she became aware of someone following her. She spun around, ready to defend herself. Her follower posed no threat. She was an elderly woman, walking with the aid of a stick.

“Hello! Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you, love. You’re one of those police people, aren’t you?”

Grace relaxed. “Yes, ma’am. I am with the security team. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Ooh, what a lovely accent. And so polite. I don’t know if you are the right person to speak to. I have a small concern. It’s silly really, probably nothing. I don’t want to bother you with it if you think it’s not important.”

“Ma’am, if you have something on your mind, please tell me and I’ll do my best to help, or to find someone who can.”

The lady looked unsure, but decided to continue. “It’s just that I haven’t seen my friend for a while, and I was a trifle concerned for her. Oh, you see, now I’ve said it, it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I’m just being a silly old woman.”

“No, ma’am, you’re not. When did you last see your friend?”

“Do you mind if we sit down, love? My legs aren’t what they used to be.”

“Of course. Excuse me, that’s very rude of me.” Grace glanced around. The long passageway ran the length of deck nine, and was punctuated by wide open spaces where the stairwells ran through the ship, as well as other open seating areas next to picture windows looking out to sea. The stairwell behind them was still full of those arguing the merits of allowing new people on board, so Grace took the lady’s arm and helped her to the next window, where they could sit around a low table. In the distance they could see the Lance. She looked innocent, harmless, but they knew differently.

“Very angry,” the old lady said, “the people on that ship. I wonder why they are so upset? Shooting at that nice Captain Coote, and young Captain Noah too.”

“So your friend? When did you last see her?” Grace took out her notebook and started to scribble. The woman eyed her suspiciously.

“Is this going to be an official thing? I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

“You won’t get anyone in trouble. I’m taking some notes so I don’t forget anything important.”

The woman nodded. “If you think that’s for the best, love. I last saw my friend, Mrs Hayton, Marie…ooh…it must have been when we were in Scotland. You remember, when we went to that big loch?”

“Yes, Gare Loch. And did you see Mrs Hayton frequently before that?”

“Oh yes. Every day. She accompanies me on a promenade around deck eleven. Every afternoon at four. Except that time it rained. We didn’t go outside in the rain. But everyone was sick then anyway, so we didn’t go anywhere.”

Grace’s pen scratched at the thick paper, inscribing the details as they were recounted. “What cabin is Mrs Hayton in?”

“974. With her husband, Sammy. I haven’t seen him either, but I don’t know him so well. He prefers to spend time with his gentleman friends, chewing the cud, putting the world to rights. You know what men are like.”

“You’ve been to their cabin, I assume.”

The lady gave Grace a withering look. “I may be frail, but my mind hasn’t gone yet, love.”

“Sorry, I had to ask. Okay, I just need a few more details. Can you give me your name and cabin number?”

“I’m Mrs Slade. Cabin 978.”

“And can you describe Mrs Hayton for me? Do you remember what she was wearing the last time you saw her?”

“Yes. A Laura Ashley print dress, a green one. I remember it because I said it was a bit young for her. Oh, I do hope I haven’t upset her. That’s probably why she’s stopped promenading with me, isn’t it? She’s upset because of what I said. Golly, I do hope I’m not wasting your time.”

Grace assured Mrs Slade that no, she wasn’t wasting her time, and that on the contrary, her time was there to be used for the purposes of assuring the security of everyone on the ship. That included finding those who had gone missing. She took down some more details about the missing couple, then thanked the lady and told her she would be in touch.

When she left the cosy window alcove, it was with a smile on her face. She could finish her patrol in no time at all, and then she would be free to delve into her second missing persons case in as many days.

• • •

The loudspeakers in the ceiling of the bridge hissed and burbled. They relayed the conversations of men and women in three different locations, but right now, nobody was speaking.

Jake was beginning to regret having eaten his lunch rations before the operation got underway. Now his body was diverting its energy resources to digesting the steak and kidney pie and mashed potato, making him feel quite dozy. He was grateful to head chef Claude for cooking up something so substantial and hearty, no doubt with the intention of reinforcing the morale of the community, but he regretted having wolfed it down so rapidly.

“They’re entering the airlock now.” Ralf’s metallic voice crackled above.

“How confident are you, Ralf, really?” Jake asked. “It’s just, the Lance seems such a long way away.” His words were sucked up by microphones embedded in the ceiling, whisked away to a computer, chopped up and digitised, then hurled down the line to the Ambush where they were reassembled and blasted out of a speaker in the communications control room.

“The infra-red detectors we have are state-of-the-art. I’m telling you, there are only sixteen people on that ship, and they’re all in the central section: on the bridge and the upper decks. I can see them as clearly as I can see Jason’s ears sticking out. The boys aren’t at risk.”

“We can hear you!” a very muffled voice said. “And don’t worry, Jake. We have total faith in Ralf.”

Jake wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He could see them his mind’s eye, Ewan and Brian, kitted out in their diving gear, cramming themselves into the tiny airlock at the base of the conning tower. As he imagined it filling slowly with cold seawater he felt very glad indeed that he had rejected his father’s insistence that he join the navy. “It’ll be good for you!” he’d said repeatedly. “Character building!” Jake felt that his character had been more than adequately reinforced by the events of the last couple of months. He had nothing but respect for the crew of the Ambush, but he harboured no regrets at not having taken the same path.

Someone put a cup of hot coffee down beside him. He turned to see Lucya’s smiling face. “Courtesy of Claude,” she said. “He sent up coffees for all of us. Said they had some left over.”

“I don’t believe that,” Jake said. “Claude is far too efficient. He must want something.” He took a sip of the gloopy brown liquid.

“We’re out,” Ewan announced. “I’m going to collect the DPV.”

“Firing now,” Ralf said.

“Didn’t hear a thing,” Jake remarked.

“We have good soundproofing. Don’t want the enemy hearing Coote’s singing while we’re trying to sneak up on them.”

Lucya whispered in Jake’s ear, “What’s a DPV?”

“Diver Propulsion Vehicle. It’s like an underwater scooter. They fire it out of the torpedo tube and the boys swim round and get it.”