Out on the bow, Sura, Hartono, Goki and Boerman were making obeisance on their knees. Presumably facing in the direction of Mecca, they were enveloped in a dense pre-dawn mist which made for an ethereal scene. Nash was surprised to see no sign of Saworno, for the devout engineer had been out there every other morning.

Douglas appeared with a mug of black coffee and spat into the invisible river.

‘Kaboro won’t get underway until this bloody mist clears.’ He gave Nash a speculative look. ‘Feeling any better?’

Nash could have mentioned Frank’s insufferable snoring, which was even worse than mulling over bruised pride when it came to sleep, but instead he grinned.

‘Don’t let the bastards wear you down.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Douglas punched him on the shoulder. ‘Let’s get some breakfast before they stop wailing and eat all the eggs.’

It wasn’t until 0900 that the Albany finally cast off. The locals waved farewell enthusiastically, and it seemed to Nash that they could have happily stood there all day. How different life was here from the insane juggle back home. He and Natalie had worked like maniacs during their time; now those rare moments of simply being together were the precious things. If only they had known.

At a steady 20 knots, they moved up the wide river. Pockets of rainforest thickened as the swampy sago plains gave way to the foothills of the still-distant mountains. Flattened down thickets of kunai grass served as pathways for local villagers who stopped to gawk at the sight of the helicopter mated to the ship like some lascivious dragonfly. Although little rough water was expected, Hartono had lashed it down with heavy-duty ratchet straps and covered the engine intakes with PVC covers to protect them from the tropical weather. He was wiping the chopper’s Plexiglas when Nash approached.

‘Morning, Ricki, how is Saworno? I didn’t see him this morning.’

‘He’s working.’

The pilot’s eyes were unreadable through dark Ray-Bans, but his tone suggested Nash should mind his own business.

Beneath the crane on the bow, Sergeant Singkepe was putting his bare-chested squad through a callisthenics routine. Jaap Boerman joined in the star jumps and burpees, and the deck reverberated alarmingly under his huge boots. It seemed to Nash he was trying to put them to shame. Boerman’s massive oak-like physique was gym-honed, and despite the fact the soldiers were all in excellent condition, they looked like schoolboys in comparison.

Sura Suyanto was spectating from the bridge. Wearing a light tropical shirt cinched in with an army belt, she was smiling, but there was no warmth in it. Nash gave her a wave and went up to the bridge to approach her about the film, but when he got up there, she had retired to her cabin and the disagreeable Goki was leaning against her door.

Oh well, thought Nash. It can wait.