“There was…an accident. The fish were not suitable. We had to throw them back. But there will be fish today, I promise you. Stieg and his men have proved the net. Right now they are deploying it again.”

“And after the fish? Without fruit, without vegetables, what then?”

“I’m working on it, Claude, I’m working on it.”

“You put a lot of faith in your navy friends I think, yes? Their base in Scotland?”

“What choice do I have?”

Claude shrugged. “I don’t ’ave the answers, Captain Noah, that is your job.”

“Maybe you can answer me this, Claude: is the smoke coming from that grill normal?”

The ventilation grill that was smoking was linked to the next store room. Claude opened the interconnecting door before Jake could stop him. Flames ripped through the air, the searing heat sending the tiny chef flying backwards. Had he been even marginally taller he would undoubtedly have suffered terrible burns. As it was, only his hair and the top of his head was singed.

“Shut the door, Claude, shut it now!” Jake screamed. The chef crawled forwards on hands and knees, pushing the door closed with an outstretched hand.

The fire had already caught a cardboard box on one of the shelves. Jake searched in desperation for something with which to douse the flames. Instinctively he opened the only working refrigerator. An entire shelf was stocked with five litre bottles of orange juice. He grabbed one, pulled off the cap, and squeezing the plastic hard between his hands, sprayed the thick liquid over the burning box. It sizzled and smoked, the flames becoming less ferocious, allowing him to get closer in and pour the remaining contents over the cardboard, putting out the small fire.

Smoke continued to bellow out of the grill. It was turning black and smelt toxic. It had started to fill the small store room and Claude was on the floor choking. Jake dropped to a crouching position, grabbed the Frenchman’s ankles, and dragged him backwards towards the main door.

Once safely out in the kitchen he located a fire alarm button and smashed the glass with his elbow. An ear-splitting klaxon rang out throughout the ship. Sprinklers burst into action in the kitchen, and suddenly the whole place was being deluged with icy water.

“Extinguishers!” Jake shouted at the top of his voice. The assembled kitchen workers gawped at him, mouths open. “There’s a fire, in the stores. Get the extinguishers, now!”

After a moment’s hesitation, the men and women flew into action. One rushed forwards with a fire blanket, someone else found a small red extinguisher. It was clear to Jake that these would not be any match for the fire. Even so, he grabbed both and returned to the store room. As soon as he opened the door, black smoke billowed out. A couple of people screamed, but the others seemed to be spurred into action by the sight. A young man with a tomato-stained apron began shouting orders, directing the others to fill saucepans with water.

In the meantime, Jake was using the blanket to block up the grill between the two store rooms, stopping any more smoke from escaping, and—he hoped—blocking off at least some of the air supply to the fire. The sprinkler system did not extend to the stores. Jake wasn’t surprised; any chance to cut corners and save costs was okay with Pelagios Line, the ship’s operator.

Behind him the door was being propped open. Extractor hoods in the kitchen whirred into life, sucking out the acrid smoke and clearing the air. The water falling from the ceiling had slowed to a trickle.

The fire klaxon stopped, and shouting from the corridor leading to the kitchen announced the arrival of a team of two from engineering. They brought with them a bigger extinguisher, and a tiny mobile fire appliance. This comprised a small petrol powered pump on a trolley, and two rolled hoses. A woman in blue overalls unfurled the hose in a single smooth action. While she ran to a window and lowered her end of the tube into the sea, her colleague attached the other end to the pump. The second hose was already attached. He pulled three times on the starter cord, and the motor sputtered into life. The hose from the window popped into three dimensions as water was sucked up and pulled through it.

“In there!” Jake cried, pointing towards the store. “Through the second door.”

The mechanics nodded to each other, then ran forwards and into the room. Jake picked up the large extinguisher they had brought with them and followed them in.

“Ready?” the woman asked. Her hose-wielding colleague nodded. She pulled open the door, and instantly the flames roared through. The heat was incredible, unlike anything Jake had ever experienced. But he was running on adrenaline and without hesitation he aimed the nozzle of the sturdy red cylinder towards the floor and pulled the handle. The unit discharged with a whooshing sound, sending clouds of white gas into the inferno.

At the same time, the column of water snaking through the hose finally reached the nozzle, escaping at high speed, the momentum causing the mechanic to struggle for balance. Gallon upon gallon of cold green seawater was pumped into the store, drenching every inch of the place, starving the fire of fuel. The flames began to recede, and the mechanics chased them down until they had nowhere to go. Within minutes of them entering, the fire was out.

“Cut it!” the mechanic shouted to the woman. It was hard to hear over the roar of the water coming from the hose, but she knew the drill, and ran back to the pump, cutting the fuel line and silencing the motor. The hose went limp, and then there was silence.

Eight

JAKE DIDN’T HANG around to assess the damage. He thanked the mechanics and left them and the kitchen staff to begin a clean-up operation. His priority was to get Claude to the medical centre where they could treat him for smoke inhalation.

Fortunately for the two men, Lister’s rooms were not far from the kitchens, just two decks down via a nearby staircase. Jake ran as fast as he could, still dripping with water from the sprinklers, to find a wheelchair.

“Good morning, Captain, what is the rush?” the doctor asked as Jake burst through the door.

“Wheelchair!” he managed to say, still trying to catch his breath. “Need a wheelchair.”

“Kiera! Bring us the chair! What is it, Jake, who has been taken ill now? Is it the legs?”

“The legs? No, it’s smoke.”

“Ah, yes, I heard the alarm. What happened?”

“Fire in the kitchen,” Jake said. Grau’s rooms were clean and dry; the sprinklers had been set off only in the zone in which the alarm had been raised.

“That does not sound good. Ah, here is the wheelchair. Shall I accompany you?”

“No need, thanks.”

Jake grabbed the chair and charged back to the kitchen, this time using the lift. He found Claude sitting in a pool of water on the floor, still coughing and spluttering.

“Here, help me up with him,” he said to a nearby pastry chef. They lifted the head chef into the chair, and Jake set off back in the direction from which he had just come.

Grau and Kiera were waiting for him, armed with an oxygen mask and a burns kit.

“No, not the treatment room,” Kiera said, blocking Jake’s path as he went to go through. “Patient in there, not a pretty sight,” she added by way of explanation, seeing his inquisitive look.

Doctor and nurse worked quickly together, attaching the mask, and treating Claude’s scorched skin. When he began to complain about the fuss they were making, they knew he was going to be alright.

Grau took Jake to one side, leaving Kiera to finish cleaning up the chef. “As you are down here, I need to fill you in on the woman we brought down to the morgue yesterday. What was left of her anyway.” He proceeded to bring the captain up to speed on what had happened with Maryse.