The Spear of Atlantis

Book 14: Wilde/Chase

by Andy McDermott

Genres: Action & Adventure; Thrillers

Synopsis

After King Solomon's Curse comes Andy McDermott's newest Wilde and Chase novel, in which the intrepid pair find themselves in a race against time — to stop an ancient Atlantean weapon (more powerful than an H-bomb) from falling into the wrong hands... before modern civilization is brought to its knees...

Release date: January 28, 2020

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 480

Sample

Prologue

The Islands of Thera

1627 BC

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ said Kora nervously.

Lunos gave his companion a mocking look. The heavyset youth was useful as a strong pack mule, but his cowardice was becoming tiresome. Once they returned to the mainland, it might be time to strike out alone again.

But for now, there would still be a lot to carry. ‘Second thoughts, my boy?’ he said. ‘A little late for that.’ He surveyed their sun-baked surroundings. The isle of Kameni sat in the centre of the ring-like Theran archipelago, the blue Aegean shimmering beyond the distant cliffs. Higher up was the town of Intiri, squat buildings clinging to the gnarled slopes.

And it was completely deserted.

Kameni’s highest peak was a fire mountain, home to the gods beneath the earth – and a few days earlier they had made their presence felt, shaking the islands as they spat out smoke and ash. Such occurrences were not rare, but this eruption had been particularly fierce, waves pounding the surrounding shores. The leaders of Akrotiri, Iathis and other Theran cities had taken it as a bad omen and ordered an evacuation. Everyone had fled . . .

Leaving their homes ripe for the picking.

Lunos reasoned that the closer a place was to the fire mountain, the more likely its fearful inhabitants were to have left valuables behind. And nowhere was closer than Intiri. Another earthquake the previous day had almost changed his mind, but though smoke was still rising from the mountaintop, the gods were, for now, minding their own business.

It did not take long to reach the town. Lunos stopped in the shade of an olive tree and looked around. Nobody was in sight, no smoke rising from kilns or ovens. ‘I think everyone’s gone.’

They approached a small house. The two men exchanged wary looks, then entered. ‘I don’t think we’ll find anything worth much here,’ said Kora, disappointed, as he took in the simple wooden plates on a low table.

‘Maybe not, but I was right that they’d leave in a hurry, wasn’t I?’ Lunos countered. ‘They didn’t even finish their food.’ Flies were making the most of an abandoned meal.

A quick search turned up nothing of value beyond a necklace. ‘Might get a couple of coins for it,’ said the older man, clicking his fingers for Kora to open a sack. ‘Not much, but money is money.’

They emerged back into the morning sun. The fire mountain rose behind the town: it was not tall, but the pillar of smoke from its peak made it much more imposing. Lunos tried to judge if the dark plume had thickened. It seemed unchanged. Reassured, he was about to move on when . . .

Kora saw it too. ‘What’s that?’

‘I don’t know.’ Lunos squinted. The unexpected sight was near the top of the mountain’s highest foothill. A point of reflected light, the sun glinting off metal . . .

‘There isn’t a temple up there, is there?’

‘There isn’t anything that close to the mountain.’

‘Maybe the gods left it. Maybe it is one of the gods!’

‘Only if the gods are made of gold.’ Whatever it was, thought Lunos, the colour was unmistakable. It was bigger than a man – much bigger. It would be worth a fortune! ‘Come on, we need to see.’

He set off, but Kora hesitated. ‘The mountain, Lunos! If we get too close . . .’

‘We’re already too close, boy,’ Lunos pointed out. ‘If it starts spitting out fire and ash, we won’t outrun it anywhere on this island. Trust me, though. There are always earthquakes before that happens, and there hasn’t been once since yesterday. We’re safe.’

Conflicted, Kora scurried after him.

The trek took longer than Lunos had expected. The harsh rocky landscape was dusted in recently fallen ash, and debris spilled by landslides slowed their progress still further. ‘Gods’ balls,’ he muttered as he slipped.

Kora cringed. ‘Don’t say things like that! Not here.’

‘If the gods were going to strike me down, they would have done it years ago.’ Lunos scrabbled to the top of a small ridge.

They were not far below the hilltop, giving a clear view of the mysterious object lying amidst rubble. Lunos still had no idea what it actually was, though. A slightly squashed sphere, made of metal – and big, almost the size of the plundered house. It wasn’t pure gold, however, the tint too red. A shame – so much gold would have made him the richest man in the Minoan Empire!

Kora pointed. ‘It must have come from there.’

Higher up was a ragged hole in the hilltop. There was no ash on the sphere itself, so the landslip had exposed it after the fire mountain’s most recent outburst. ‘Must have been buried,’ Lunos said.

‘Who buried it?’

‘I don’t know.’ He had never seen any smith or sculptor make anything so large. Maybe it really was of the gods . . .

Despite his concerns, he went to it, spitting on his fingers to wipe the metal. ‘It is gold,’ he said with rising excitement. It might not be pure, but any impurities could be separated when it was melted down. ‘There must be tons of it! Tons of gold – and it’s mine! Ours,’ he hastily corrected as Kora moved past him.

The younger man wasn’t listening, though. ‘Lunos, look! There’s a door!’

Lunos followed and saw that his companion was right. The sphere was hollow. He bustled to reach the door first. The foot-thick curved slab of gold was buckled, almost wrenched off its hinges when the fall smashed it open.

A flickering glow lit the interior. But it wasn’t a fire. The light was a strange, unearthly cyan. ‘What is that?’ he said, moving closer.

Kora put a hand on his arm. ‘I don’t think you should go in there.’

Lunos regarded him sternly. ‘You telling me what to do now, boy?’

‘Look at it! This is the gods’ work, I tell you. Or . . . the Old Ones.’

‘The Old Ones are just a story,’ Lunos replied. Gods he could understand, but he had little time for the local legend of a great and powerful ancient empire that had vanished without trace. If they were so great and powerful, why weren’t they still around? The Minoan Empire certainly wasn’t going to disappear and be forgotten.

Kora was not convinced. ‘Then it must be the gods. And we’re so close to their home!’ He shot a worried look at the peak. ‘Please, let’s just go, while we still can.’

‘If the gods had made it, it’d take more than a landslide to break it.’ Lunos thumped a balled fist against the mangled door. ‘Men made this. Which means men can take it. Men like us. Or like me,’ he added, with meaning.

Kora’s anguish as he struggled to choose between riches and survival was plain. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t made by the gods?’

‘Of course I’m sure. And I’m sure about something else: nobody knows it was here. It was buried, for who knows how long? We’re the first people to find it. So whatever’s inside belongs to the two of us. We’ll be rich, my boy. Rich!’

Avarice finally overcame fear. ‘All right,’ Kora said. ‘But you’d better be right.’

‘I’m always right,’ said Lunos smugly. He turned back to the doorway.

The sphere had come to rest at an angle, the floor inside sloping steeply away from him. Whatever was casting the light was against its lowest edge. He climbed cautiously over the threshold. The chamber he entered was circular, strange angular writing on the walls between crystalline pillars. A shiver crept up his spine. The room somehow felt unimaginably ancient. Maybe there was something to the tales of the Old Ones after all . . .

At its centre was an altar, a column of dark purple stone. Its top was hollow, forming a basin. More text was inscribed around it. He peered into it, but the bowl was empty.

He could now see the source of the light, though. On the floor was something extraordinary. A jewel, or crystal, but larger than any he had ever seen, about the length of his fore-arm. In shape, it resembled a double-ended spearhead. It glowed white from within, with brilliant flashes of blue and purple and red. The basin in the altar’s top was the right size to contain it.

‘What is it?’ Kora whispered, awe and fear in his voice.

‘I don’t know. A diamond?’ Lunos moved closer, one hand holding the altar for support. He flinched at a vibration through his fingers. An earthquake? No – this was too constant, unchanging.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ he hurriedly replied, letting go. He held out his hand. The strange fire inside the jewel was not giving out any heat. Warily, he touched it.

The spearhead was the cause of the vibration, the crystal trembling. He squinted into the pulsating points of light. They were whirling around the gemstone’s very heart . . .

‘What is it?’ the youth repeated.

‘It’s ours,’ said Lunos, giving Kora a grin. ‘That’s what it is – ours! Look at it, boy! A diamond from the gods!’

‘But you said men built this place.’

‘Men who are long dead. It’s a vault, where they hid their greatest treasure. But it’s not hidden any more.’ He took hold of the jewel with both hands.

Kora recoiled. ‘Are you sure we should do that?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Lunos snapped, increasingly irritated by his companion’s fearful whining. ‘Come on then! Either help me or get out of the way.’

‘What are you going to do with it?’ asked Kora.

‘Take it back to the boat, of course. When everyone returns to Thera, I’ll find a buyer.’ He climbed back out through the opening. ‘I know a jewel-cutter in Triakas who can turn it into smaller stones. If they all shine like this one, we can name our price. Kings and queens will want them!’

‘But if you break it, the gods will be angry!’

‘The gods are always angry. Now, are you going to carry this?’

Kora reluctantly took the spearhead. ‘It’s like . . . there are little earthquakes inside it.’

‘As long as they stay inside it, we won’t have anything to worry about.’ Lunos regarded the sphere. ‘We’ll come back later. We might be able to get this door loose. Then we’ll have gold as well as diamonds!’

He began to retrace his steps downhill towards Intiri. Kora followed, holding the gemstone at arm’s length.

Lunos’s daydreams of his impending fortune were cut short after a few minutes when the younger man called out. ‘The diamond! It’s – something’s happening!’

Lunos turned impatiently . . . to see Kora was right. Even under the glaring sun, the lights were visibly brighter than before – and more violent, seething inside their crystalline prison.

‘It’s shaking more,’ Kora added. ‘And it’s making a noise – listen!’

Over the rustle of wind, Lunos heard a deep rumble, like endless thunder. But this was not far in the distance. It was coming from the gem.

‘I think,’ he said hesitantly, ‘we should put it back. Yes, you should put it back.’

‘You took it out!’ Kora protested. ‘You put it back!’ The flashes from the spearhead grew brighter still, forcing him to look away. ‘Oh gods! It’s shaking, it – it feels like something’s kicking inside it!’

The thunder grew louder, peals pounding in time with each new burst of light. Kora’s resolve finally broke and he threw the jewel to the ground. Lunos gasped, terrified that it would shatter, but it stayed intact.

Yet the noise did not stop, nor did the searing pulses of light. Both men ran, Kora quickly outpacing the older thief. ‘No, wait!’ Lunos cried, afraid now that his erstwhile partner would reach the boat first and leave him behind. ‘You shit, you whoreson! Stop!’

The crack of a thunderbolt split the air behind him. He glanced back in fear . . .

Another flash, so intense that the Minoan’s eyes seared in their sockets – then he, Kora, the golden sphere and the island of Kameni ceased to exist.

An explosion utterly annihilated everything within two miles, a fireball a thousand times brighter than the sun flashing the sea into steam. The volcano’s peak was blown away . . .

Unleashing a still more powerful force.

Deep beneath Kameni was a vast magma chamber, the isle merely the visible tip of a much bigger massif beneath the sea. The sudden release of pressure as its cap was ripped open triggered a colossal volcanic eruption. Ash and toxic smoke and lava blasted skywards, waves over a hundred metres high pounding the island chain and obliterating all traces of human settlement along the inner coastline.

Even greater waves raced outwards from the ring’s far side, sweeping north through the Aegean to hammer the shores of Greece and Turkey, and south across the Mediterranean to swamp the mouth of the Nile. But it was the island of Crete, home to the Minoan civilisation, that was doomed to suffer the most damage. The entire northern coast was drowned by a tsunami, a wall of water destroying everything for miles inland.

Those who survived the deluge suffered a slower but no less terrible fate. The sheer amount of airborne ash blotted out the sun for days and affected temperatures worldwide for years afterwards, winters that were normally hard turning lethal. The remaining Minoans lived on, absorbed into other civilisations as refugees, but as a powerful seagoing empire, their time was over.

The evacuation of the Theran islands meant there was nobody to serve as witness. Without anyone to hand down the story, the eruption passed into myth with surprising swiftness. A record of flooding in Egypt, tales of earthquakes in Greece, accounts of failed crops from as far away as China would be all that remained. Even those few settlements on Thera that survived the tidal waves were buried by falling ash, reduced to silent, empty time capsules that would remain lost for millennia.

Forgotten . . . like the strange vault buried on the hill, and its deadly secret.

And the knowledge that it was not the only one.

1

The Mediterranean Sea

Present Day

‘That,’ said Eddie Chase, ‘is a bloody big boat.’

His wife, Nina Wilde, gazed from the descending helicopter’s window. ‘You are absolutely not kidding.’

What lay before them was less a vessel, more a floating city. The cruise liner Atlantia was a great white-and-gold block of steel and glass, dwarfing the other ships Nina had seen during their flight from Malaga in southern Spain.

Their daughter, Macy, pressed her face excitedly against her own window. ‘Wow, Mom! It’s massive! Are we really going to land on it?’

‘Bit of a wasted journey if we aren’t,’ said Eddie. He got an eye roll in return; even at seven years old, Macy was well used to the bald Englishman’s drily sarcastic sense of humour.

The remaining passenger was Nina’s grandmother, Olivia Garde. ‘The helipad looks rather small. I hope that’s just because the ship is so big.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Garde,’ said the pilot. ‘We do these landings all the time – I flew another VIP in earlier today, actually. And the pad’s more than big enough for this bird.’

He hovered the Airbus H155 above the ship’s bow, lowering the landing gear and easing it on to the helipad. Macy squealed as it bumped to a stop. Crewmen hurried over, ducking beneath the whirling rotor blades to secure steel cables to the aircraft. The lines were quickly ratcheted tight, locking the helicopter firmly in place.

Nina looked across at the superstructure’s sloping front. More people waited in a doorway. ‘Looks like we’ve got a reception committee.’

‘I would certainly hope so,’ said Olivia. ‘You are the guest of honour, after all.’

‘They’re probably only here for Nina,’ Eddie retorted. ‘The rest of us have to go in through steerage. Still, at least we’ll be able to do some dancing.’

The red-haired New Yorker wagged a finger at her husband. ‘Remember what we said about Titanic jokes?’

‘What, “don’t tell any”?’

‘Yep.’

‘Come on, we’re right at the front! I’ve at least got to go “I’m the king of the woooorld!”’

‘No, you don’t. You really, really don’t.’

‘If I can’t do Titanic jokes, I’m going to do Speed 2 ones instead,’ the Yorkshireman muttered. Outside, two men in crisp white uniforms jogged to the helicopter. ‘Ay up, here they come.’

The new arrivals opened the doors and helped the passengers out. ‘Welcome to the Atlantia, Dr Wilde,’ said the older man, an imposing, craggy-faced American with white hair. ‘I’m Arnold Snowcock, the captain.’

‘Thank you,’ Nina replied. ‘I wasn’t expecting the captain to meet us right off our flight!’

‘You’re a very special guest.’ He shook her hand, then greeted the others.

‘Nice boat you’ve got here,’ said Eddie.

‘Thank you. Although it’s a ship, not a boat.’ Snowcock’s brow revealed a faint furrow of impatience, suggesting he was very particular about correct nautical terminology. ‘If you’ll come inside, Mr Moretti and his men will bring in your baggage.’

The visitors quickly made their way to the open door. Snowcock offered to assist Olivia, the nonagenarian walking with a cane, but she waved him away.

They entered the ship, a sign telling them they were on Deck 8. The reception area resembled that of a top-end hotel, the liner’s owner wanting to create a splendid first impression. Nina found the gilded decor too gaudy for her tastes, but she kept this to herself, since said owner was there to greet her.

The Emir of Dhajan, ruler of a small but wealthy emirate in the Persian Gulf, had invited her personally to join the Atlantia’s maiden voyage. He was surrounded by an entourage, standing out from his traditionally robed male companions by being the only one wearing a suit. He was several years younger than Nina, she knew, in his mid thirties, but in the half-decade since taking the throne had thrown his country full-speed into a programme of modernisation that had transformed it from an oil-rich backwater into a hub for tourism and finance with aspirations to rival Dubai and Bahrain.

‘Dr Wilde!’ he said with a broad white smile. ‘Welcome aboard the Atlantia. I am delighted to meet you.’ His English was perfect, with undertones of an expensive Western education.

Snowcock handled the introductions. ‘Dr Wilde, Mr Chase, Mrs Garde . . . and Ms Wilde Chase,’ he added, winking at Macy, ‘this is His Majesty Sheikh Fadil bin A’zam, the Emir of Dhajan – and the Atlantia’s owner, so also my boss.’ He chuckled, the Emir giving a little laugh in return. ‘Your Majesty, your guest of honour, Dr Nina Wilde.’

Nina shook the Emir’s hand. ‘It’s an honour to meet you.’

‘The honour is all mine,’ he replied. ‘To meet the discoverer of Atlantis, the Pyramid of Osiris, the Ark of the Covenant . . . incredible finds. And I am sure you will find many more such wonders.’

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got other priorities now.’

He raised an eyebrow, then turned his attention to Eddie. ‘And Mr Chase – the saviour of Mecca.’

‘Just doing my job,’ said Eddie, shaking hands. Several years earlier, he had prevented a deadly chemical attack on the Hajj, the very centre of the Islamic faith in Saudi Arabia.

‘There is no need to be modest. Every Muslim owes you a great debt.’

There was one woman amongst the Emir’s companions, wearing a long dress of royal-blue silk and a matching headscarf covering her hair. ‘You also saved your own country,’ she observed. ‘Even if you did not save Big Ben.’

Nina saw her husband hide his discomfort at the reminder of what he still considered a failure on his part. The couple had two years previously uncovered a plot by a rogue MI6 agent to bring about a coup in Britain by destroying Parliament; though their actions exposed the conspirators and warned of the impending attack in time to save many lives, Eddie had been unable to stop it from being carried out – and as a result, the iconic London clock tower had collapsed, killing hundreds.

‘Been doing your research, have you?’ he said.

‘His Majesty’s security is my responsibility,’ the woman replied. ‘Nobody meets him without having been thoroughly checked.’

The Emir quickly smoothed the awkward moment. ‘This is my sister, Her Royal Highness the Sheikha Alula bint A’zam, princess of Dhajan.’

‘Your sister?’ said Nina. She had assumed the woman was his wife, but now realised they had very similar features. Twins?

‘And also my minister of state security. A position I assure you she gained through merit, not nepotism. I believe in equality for all, men and women – before I took the throne, women in my country were not even allowed to hold political office – but also I believe in fairness to all. A person should prove they are the best for the job before they take it, no?’

From the fleeting look Alula gave her brother, Nina guessed that no such requirements were placed on the job of emir. But there was no time to reflect on the emirate’s internal politics as its leader pressed on with the introductions. The redhead responded in kind. ‘This is my grandmother, Olivia Garde, and my daughter, Macy.’

The Emir crouched to greet Macy. ‘Hello! And how are you?’

‘I’m very well, thank you,’ she replied politely. ‘I made you a present.’

‘You did?’ he said, with exaggerated surprise. ‘Why, thank you! What is it?’

She produced a small gift-wrapped object. The Emir took it. Alula watched with wary disapproval – handing unvetted items to the monarch was doubtless a security breach, Nina thought – but Fadil himself was unconcerned, peeling away the paper. ‘This is beautiful,’ he exclaimed. It was a little photo album, thick covers protecting photographs pasted to the card pages.

‘These are pictures of the best places to visit in America,’ Macy explained.

The Emir smiled, leafing through it. ‘The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building . . . are they all in New York?’

‘Well, it is the best place in America!’ she said proudly.

He straightened, slipping the book inside his jacket pocket. ‘Then I shall make sure I visit. Thank you, Macy. I’m certain I will find this very useful.’

‘My mom helped me make it,’ Macy added proudly.

‘We’ve been practising crafting,’ said Nina, smiling.

‘You have taught her very well,’ said Fadil.

Macy looked around. ‘Is this whole ship yours? You must be really rich!’

‘Macy,’ her mother chided.

The Emir laughed, unconcerned. ‘My country is rich, Macy. I merely decide where the money is spent. We built this ship, and its sister, the Pacifia, to encourage tourists to come to Dhajan. We want to give them a very warm welcome, and show them a good time. Which,’ he continued, ‘I will do when I give you a tour. But first, I will have you shown to your cabins. You have the VIP suites, the best on the ship.’

Snowcock signalled to a woman in a white jacket. ‘This is your personal steward, Ana,’ he said. ‘She’ll attend to absolutely anything you need. You’ll all get special wristbands with a call button. Wherever you are on the ship, if you press the button, Ana or one of the other stewards will be with you as soon as they can.’

‘I’m here to help,’ said Ana. She was in her mid thirties, olive-skinned with short black hair, and Nina placed her accent as Brazilian. A name tag on her lapel gave her surname as Rijo. ‘If you’ll follow me, I’ll get your wristbands and take you to your suites.’

‘VIP suites?’ said Eddie. ‘Sounds good. Definitely a cut above steer—’

‘No Titanic jokes,’ Nina interjected.

‘Tchah! Well, so long as there isn’t a bloke with a bath full of leeches next door, I’ll be happy.’

‘What?’

‘Speed 2.’

‘What’s Speed 2, Mom?’ asked Macy.

‘A bad old movie that nobody but your father remembers,’ Nina told her. ‘Thank you so much for inviting us aboard, Your Majesty.’

‘As I said, it is my honour,’ Fadil replied. ‘I look forward to your lecture. Perhaps you would give me a private viewing of the Atlantis exhibition beforehand?’

‘I’d love to,’ she said.

He bowed his head. ‘Then I shall see you again once you are settled.’

‘Please, follow me,’ said Ana.

She led the way to the exit. Nina took Macy’s hand, Eddie and Olivia behind as they headed into the vast vessel.

‘Look at this!’ Macy whooped, leaping on to the huge double bed. ‘It’s bigger than my whole room!’

‘I don’t think it’s quite that big,’ said Nina. Their suite was far larger than she had expected, though, VIPs aboard the Atlantia being given the luxury of space. ‘And stop jumping on our bed! You’ve got the single, over there.’

‘Aw, Mom!’

‘The balcony’s a decent size an’ all,’ said Eddie, opening a sliding glass door. A stiff breeze hit him; the ship had resumed its course, heading west. The suite was on the starboard side, overlooking the Spanish coast. Stepping out, he found that the curved balcony extended out from the superstructure’s vertical side, giving him a panoramic view of both the coast and the ship itself. He looked down. They were ten decks up, the sea a good hundred feet below.

Nina joined him. ‘Ooh. Long drop.’

‘Yeah. Let’s hope we don’t need those.’ He pointed astern. Five levels down, large orange lifeboats were lined up within a recess in the ship’s hull.

The starboard wing bridge jutted out several decks above, but the view ahead was otherwise unbroken. Off in the distance he could see the Rock of Gibraltar, a great dark hump at the end of a peninsula. Beyond it was Tarifa, at the southernmost tip of mainland Spain, and past that the Gulf of Cadiz, the entrance to the Atlantic – where Nina had first discovered the submerged remains of the lost civilisation of Atlantis. ‘Can’t bloody stay away, can we?’ he said.

Nina gave him a quizzical look. ‘Hmm?’

‘Atlantis. How many times have we been back there now?’

‘I kinda lost count,’ she said, amused. ‘Don’t worry, though – at least we don’t have to dive eight hundred feet down this time.’

‘Good. I’m getting too old for that.’

‘Forty-seven is the new twenty-seven, or so I heard,’ she said brightly. He made an appalled face. She grinned and went back inside, Eddie following. Their steward, who at Nina’s request had attended to Olivia in the neighbouring cabin first, was now unpacking their belongings. ‘Oh, Ana. I said you don’t need to do that.’

‘That’s okay, it’s my job,’ Ana replied with a smile. ‘You’re a VIP passenger. You don’t have to lift a finger while you’re aboard.’

‘If we need you, we’ll call you with this,’ Nina insisted, indicating the gold plastic wristband she was now wearing. She knew from a demonstration when they had first been logged into the ship’s computers as guests that pressing a button on the band pinpointed her location to within a few feet.

‘She just doesn’t want you going through her pants,’ said Eddie. ‘Especially not the sexy ones.’

The redhead was not amused. ‘Eddie! I will throw you overboard if I have to.’

Ana tried to hide a smile. ‘Whatever you say. But remember, if you do need me . . .’

‘We’ll call you, don’t worry,’ said Nina. ‘Thank you anyway.’

The Brazilian nodded, then exited. Nina followed her into the lounge, then knocked on the door to the adjoining suite. ‘Olivia! Everything okay in there?’

Her grandmother opened it. ‘Oh, yes. I’ve been on liners before – proper ocean liners, mind, not these floating vacation resorts – and this is by far the biggest cabin I’ve ever had. There are definite advantages to being a VIP guest of the ship’s owner.’

A telephone by Eddie and Nina’s bed rang. Eddie picked it up and had a brief exchange with the caller before joining the two women. ‘That was Captain Snowcock – Snowcock, what kind of a name is that?’

‘The kind you’re not going to make fun of in front of him. Or Macy,’ said Nina.

‘As if! Anyway, the Emir wants to give us a tour of the ship in an hour, before we have dinner.’

Nina put on a faux-Valley Girl voice. ‘But I have to do my haaaair!’ She reached up and pulled a hairband from her ponytail, letting her red locks fall below her shoulders. ‘Okay, done.’

‘Me too.’ Eddie rubbed a hand over his shaved head.

‘In that case,’ said Olivia, ‘I’ll see you in fifty-nine minutes.’ She closed the door.

‘So,’ said Nina, ‘what do we wear for dinner with a king?’

2

‘Wow,’ Nina said to Eddie, smiling. ‘You’re almost presentable.’

The Yorkshireman had exchanged his leather jacket and jeans for a suit, but despite looking smart, he was not comfortable. ‘Too much starch in this shirt,’ he complained, fingering his collar. ‘Like being back in bloody uniform.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ she assured him. Her own outfit was a stylish black dress rather than her usual trousers. ‘Now, do I wear heels or slip-ons? We’re about to do a lot of walking . . .’

‘Wear the heels and bring the other pair just in case,’ Eddie suggested. ‘Or call Ana to bring ’em if your feet start hurting.’

‘I still don’t feel comfortable about having someone jump every time I call. I guess I’m not cut out to be a queen.’

‘I’d like to be a queen,’ Macy proclaimed, striding into the room in a dress of her own. ‘I’d have a crown, and a sceptre, and . . .’ She tried to think of another royal accoutrement. ‘And a special crown for weekends,’ she decided.

‘This is what we ge