Nathan immediately lifted his feet up. The pacu, also known as ‘the ball-cutter’, was an exotic species related to the piranha which had killed several men on the Sepik, fishing naked in waist-deep water. In its native South America, pacu grew to twenty-five kilograms on a diet of nuts and berries. But these transplanted fish had eaten all the Sepik’s vegetation and been forced to expand their diet. Inside their massive jaws was a set of disturbingly human teeth, capable of removing large chunks of flesh, and the pacu had developed a taste for it.

This pacu was by far the biggest Daniel had ever seen. Already, it had taken several huge scoops out of the bass as it snapped furiously. It was an ugly, brutal-looking fish, about sixty centimetres long, extremely thick, with an undershot jaw. Many suspected the pacu were the malevolent spirits of murdered people seeking revenge. With a cry of disgust, Daniel raised the club and began to beat the evil creature to a pulp. So intent was he on making sure it was dead, that he didn’t hear the rumble growing louder in the mist.

‘Father!’ Nathan called urgently. ‘Listen!’

Just as Daniel looked up, a huge grey ship materialised. Twin arcs of spray flew high from its knife-like bow. The sound of its engines was the same noise that pigs made when transfixed by an arrow – deep and high-pitched at the same time. Daniel couldn’t understand how something so big could move so fast. Seizing his paddle, he began to thrust through the water with all his might.

The Albany was travelling at her maximum flank speed of twenty-eight knots. She would need several hundred metres to stop and, at this point, the Sepik was not much wider than that, leaving little room for error. Nash wasted precious seconds pounding futilely on Sura’s locked cabin door, because he figured it was the quickest way of stopping the madness. When she failed to answer, he decided the only option left was to take command by force.

Entering the bridge, he was astounded to find Sura sitting with Hartono, oblivious to the crisis unfolding.

‘We’re going too fast!’ Nash bellowed at her. ‘Make him stop!’

Goki looked round and snarled in perfectly good English, ‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

Nash was registering this when, through the swirling mist, he saw a low shape dead ahead.

‘Look out!’

Too late, Goki yanked the helm over. The Albany had barely begun adjusting to the new bearing when the canoe disappeared beneath her bow. The prow struck like a block splitter, exploding the canoe with an almighty bang, which they heard and felt through the soles of their feet.

Time telescoped. Goki was still hard aport, and 235 tonnes of ship, passengers, chopper, fuel and material were headed towards the left riverbank at fifty kilometres an hour. Diving across Boerman’s lap, Nash yanked the throttle levers to full reverse.