The morning wore on, the heat intensified, and the plucky Albany ploughed steadily through the chocolate river water, her deep wake stirring up the lotus in the shallows. The grassy riverbanks were topped with stately palm trees and looked as inviting as a tourist brochure, apart from the huge crocodiles sunning themselves below, mouths fiendishly agape. An egret stalking the margins stabbed the water and speared a large catfish, tossing it in the air to line up the long spines for a manageable swallow. Nash dozed restlessly in the shade until the clanging of Faiwalati’s saucepan signalled lunch.

When he got to the mess, the Indonesians were already tucking into a coconut fish curry. Goki and Sura sat at one bench, Boerman and Hartono at the other. No one made a move to give Nash room. In fact, only Sura made eye contact when he said hello.

Nash nodded as he took a plate.

‘I was thinking we could run through storyboards today. What do you say?’

‘I think that can wait until we’re on location.’ She tried softening the rejection with a small smile, then, when Nash didn’t concede, impatiently flicked the bangle on her wrist. ‘Oh, relax, Mr Nash. Why not enjoy the cruise and save your energy for when we get up there?’

Nash was baffled. Every director he’d ever worked with was totally obsessed with shooting schedules and logistics. And even if Sura was usually the talent, she must be aware of the importance of planning.

‘With respect, once we get to the cave, I’ll be so focused on the technical aspects of the diving, there won’t be time. We should begin planning now. It’s a safety issue as well.’

‘Didn’t you hear the lady, Nash?’ Boerman glowered from the next bench. ‘Let us eat in peace, man.’

‘An uncharted cave is a serious proposition at the best of times, and we’re talking about the Hoosenbeck.’

When Boerman scoffed at this, Nash decided it was time to meet the big Afrikaner head-on.

‘How much deep diving experience do you actually have, by the way?’

Boerman pushed his empty bowl aside and crossed his brawny arms. ‘Three years on the Niger Two rig operating at depths of 275 metres.’ He gave Hartono a knowing wink.

‘With a diving bell?’ Nash helped himself to a sago pancake.

‘Ja, of course,’ Boerman snorted. ‘It’s the middle of the fucking ocean.’

Nash took a bite of pancake and chewed slowly. ‘Let me guess. Five days coming up nice and slowly, chilling out with pretzels and beer while you’re watching porn?’ He laughed scornfully. ‘For God’s sake, man, you might as well be latched on to your mamma’s teat. We’re going to a place where the only thing between you and certain oblivion is my experience. So, why don’t you pull your head in and listen for a change?’