It was so bone-achingly cold that Nash’s teeth felt brittle on the mouthpiece. In contrast, his numb extremities felt as if they belonged to somebody else. His body was shaking uncontrollably. After three miserable stops at twelve, nine and six metres, it was time for the last and longest: eight minutes at just three metres, with the surface tantalisingly close. Halfway through, Nash realised his violent shivering had stopped. A tired laziness crept over him as his central nervous system began shutting down. Signalling to Boerman, he called the dive. It was the lesser of two evils. They had to get out. Boerman was literally blue, and nodded assent.

Hartono and Sura had to drag them out of the water and take their gear off. They had lit a large fire inside the cave mouth, but additional heat worsened the impact of nitrogen diffusion, so Nash got into his clothes as fast as his unresponsive fingers would let him.

They had none of the milder signs of decompression sickness: skin tingling, joint pain or dizziness. Yet, they could not be complacent. Surviving a close call was no guarantee of getting away with it in the future.

Predictably, Boerman glossed over his own stupidity, and tried to take credit for their escape. At this, Nash simply burst out laughing. Sura frowned and checked her watch.

‘Mr Nash, we take off in five minutes. Jaap will stay here while we ferry up your equipment.’

Nash shook his head. ‘Threaten all you like, but I’m borderline bent, and I’m not adding altitude for half an hour.’

Sura conceded, and it was a significant moment: Boerman had proven himself to be a liability underwater, and she was smart enough to know it. Nash figured he had just bought himself time – at least until they discovered the submarine wasn’t there.

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

In just four hours, the terrifying spread of veins across Frank Douglas’s body had retreated by a third. The witch doctor’s strange poultice had cauterised the entry wound, allowing phagocytosis – the healing process whereby white blood cells engulf damaged cells, bacteria and pathogens – to begin. Having lost his deathly pallor, Douglas was breathing steadily in a deep, healing sleep.

Singkepe squatted beside Mia as she pulled the blanket back over Douglas.

‘Powerful magic, eh?’

It was. But how could a filthy handful of charred organic matter mixed with human blood and saliva achieve this?

They heard the Jet Ranger returning to the Albany. Three quarters of an hour passed, and then they heard it again. She ran outside, hoping that Rob was on his way, but the Jet Ranger was headed back upriver, the machine gleaming like burnished copper in the rays of the setting sun. With a heavy heart, Mia went back inside and begged Singkepe to tell her what was happening.

‘I’m sorry, doctor, but I really don’t know.’

The obvious sympathy in his eyes was so frustrating.

‘Well, do you care, then?’