By now Martin was virtually the only person on deck where – appropriately enough for October – it had turned quite chilly. Everyone else in his evacuation group had hurried to leave the assembly point by the diving station once the thick grey clouds, which had gathered soon after the end of their emergency drill, started emptying themselves – fine drizzle, but enough to soak all clothes through.
Martin wasn’t bothered. He didn’t have a hairstyle to worry about and was wearing clothes that needed washing anyway. In comparison to how he felt at the moment, a cold might even be an improvement.
He felt terrible, although this wasn’t a consequence of his tiredness or the sea swell, which for true seadogs was probably no more than a bubble in a whirlpool. But Martin had reached the stage where he was going to ask the on-board pharmacy for Vomex.
As if responding to a telepathic command, Elena Beck joined him by the parapet. With a transparent rain cape over her head and uniform, she was wearing far more suitable clothing than him. In one hand she held a life jacket, in the other a black doctor’s bag, which looked coarse in her slim hand.
‘So here you are,’ she said, her gaze fixed in the distance.
Anyone who expected to gain an impression of the vast dimensions of the ocean on a transatlantic passage certainly got their money’s worth. Wherever you looked there was nothing but water. No land, no other boats. Just an endless, blue-black, choppy expanse. If the surface of the moon were liquid it would look just like this, Martin thought.
Some fancied they saw in the sea a symbol of the eternity and power of nature. All he saw in the waves was a damp grave.
‘I’ve tried calling you, but your phone’s off,’ Elena said. Martin pulled out his mobile and when he looked at the display he remembered.
Of course! Because of the recording. He’d deliberately set his phone so the recording of his ‘conversation’ with Anouk wouldn’t be interrupted by a call. But he hadn’t been able to block out the international alarm for emergency drills at sea (seven short sounds and one long one).
Each passenger had to participate in this exercise no later than twenty-four hours after boarding, so that they knew how the life jackets worked and where the lifeboats were. If in a number of areas the captain didn’t bother much about upholding maritime law, this was one regulation he stuck to rigidly. Martin switched his mobile off airplane mode and wiped the rain from his face. A disgruntled young couple, who must have been hoping for drier weather on their dream trip, pushed a double buggy with sleeping children past them. Elena waited until they were out of earshot before placing her doctor’s bag on a metal table in the covered section of the area where the diving instructors held their introductory class before their students leaped into the pool with scuba tanks and masks.
‘I’ve heard you had a lively discussion with my fiancé. I’m supposed to give you this.’ Elena opened the bag and took out a disc without a cover.
‘This is a CD-ROM with the passenger lists from the last five years,’ she said, pre-empting his question. ‘Plus a roll of on-board employees on all routes where a Passenger 23 was reported.’
‘What am I supposed to do with these?’
‘I asked Daniel the same question. He said he’d be surprised if you hadn’t started your research some time ago. You’ll find the Sultan’s floor and deck plans, all newspaper articles and press releases of every available missing-person case, as well as a cross-check with other liners.’
Martin’s fingers were tingling as he took the CD-ROM.
‘I’m supposed to tell you that the documents he’s assembled over the past few months are proof of his goodwill. And…’
At that moment their mobiles started to ring. Both of them.
They exchanged baffled glances and reached for their trouser pockets at the same time.
‘Shit!’ the doctor said, abandoning Martin, who had no idea who the long number on his display belonged to.
‘What’s wrong?’ he called after Elena, who stopped briefly by a swing door leading inside and turned around.
‘Anouk,’ she said. ‘We’ve directed her alarm to your mobile too, Dr Schwartz.’
*
Five minutes later Martin stepped from the steel-cased airlock into Hell’s Kitchen for the third time that day. As he crossed the entrance area of the quarantine station he watched Elena Beck slide her key card through the reader.
As he entered he was expecting another false alarm.
But then he wondered where all the blood had come from.
On Anouk’s bed.
On her body.
Everywhere.