“He did show me some screen grabs. It sure looks like a warship, guns and all.” Sebastian replied. “Oh, he did mention one more thing that seemed odd,” Sebastian said as he rinsed the fingers of his right hand in a small bowl of water and lime. “The day they found the wreck, there was this big commercial diving ship anchored right over the spot. He asked if I knew anything about it or its owner. I said I didn’t. The crew seems to keep to themselves and stay onboard, even when they’re docked in Batticaloa, working on that harbor project.”

Tusker was wolfing down his curry, shoveling it inexpertly into his mouth from the plate. He stopped chewing. “What is the ship’s name?”

“The DSV Depth Charge,” Sebastian said.

“Rausing,” Tusker said and slid back his chair. He recalled the silver-haired man at the China Bay Club who’d taken such interest in the Taprobane.

“Yes, I think he’s the owner,” Sebastian said absent-mindedly. He had opened a laptop and was scrolling through GoPro video footage from that day’s diving on the Hermes with the Russians.

“I’d like to dive the Taprobane again tomorrow,” Tusker said. “Can you take me out? Maybe join me for the dive? I’d love to get your take on what I found this morning.”

“I’m afraid I’m back on the Hermes again tomorrow,” Sebastian said. “But Samanthi will be here and I’m sure she could go along.”

“OK, sounds good,” said Tusker. “I’ll find her in the morning. Good night, Sebastian.”

He got up and walked out of the dining area’s island of light and into the dark night. The path was hard to see and he stumbled. Something scurried away under his feet. He found Room 4, put the key in the lock, went in and shut the door behind him.

Across from Room 4, in the dark beneath the low-hanging branch of an almond tree, the orange tip of a cigarette sizzled to life and then dimmed.

Tusker flipped on the light and did his usual scan of the floor and walls for insects and reptiles. Nothing. He kicked off his cheap rubber slippers and switched on the ceiling fan. The room was still and hot, but he dared not open the windows, lest a swarm of malarial mosquitoes come for his moist, pale skin. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. It was close to midnight. He was exhausted, but something wouldn’t let him sleep just yet.

In the corner of the room, Upali’s belongings were neatly arranged. He padded over and gingerly sorted through them. It seemed almost sacrilege. A large black cockroach flitted out from beneath the duffel bag, making straight for the bathroom door. Tusker jumped back, swore, and nearly stomped on it before realizing he was barefoot. “You live another day,” he called after it.