If he’d had the choice he’d have looked around for a better bolthole, but the computer at reception, which Stacy had allowed him a brief glimpse of, hadn’t shown a suitable alternative. A total of 2,892 passengers. The Sultan’s cabins were totally booked out apart from this one renovation case where he’d been hiding for twenty hours.

What a shitty trip!

Tiago sat in bed, his back leaning against the padding of the cabin wall, using the remote control to surf the channels of the television which he’d set at whisper volume. The light was dimmed, the door joints covered with towels so that no one passing would notice the cabin was being used.

What a nightmare.

He hadn’t even stolen enough to cover the fare and he was buggered if he was going to spend the rest of the passage in this sweatbox.

Tiago’s stomach grumbled. He’d long since finished the pack of nuts from the minibar, but his hunger wasn’t so great that he’d dared leave the room.

Outside. To the thugs, who must know who he was by now and were just lying in wait for him to show his face again.

‘Were you listening in on us?’

He’d barely slept and spent most of the time in his new abode mulling over the mess he was in. He kept imagining he could hear the voice of the officer:

‘You’re dead.’

As dead as channel 5 of the on-board television programme, which he had alighted on, and which showed images from a selection of outside cameras. From the bridge looking forwards and to the stern. At this time they were all black. The only variety was provided by a banner running along the bottom of the screen, letting Tiago know that they were sailing at 19.4 knots with moderate swell and heading westwards.

How did I get into this mess?

This much was certain: he’d been witness to a violent episode of blackmail. Apparently a young girl was on board, a stowaway perhaps, and the cleaning lady knew of this secret which, according to the officer, was worth a lot of money. So much money that it was worth feeding chambermaids with broken glass.

Or am I just paranoid?

Quite possibly the two madmen were no longer interested in him. The more time that passed without someone who’d been witness to a violent attack showing their face, the safer they might feel.

Might. Perhaps. Possibly.

The most uncertain words in the world.

Tiago would never have made it so far if they’d been part of his lexicon. Here, in this windowless cat loo, he was safer than anywhere else on the ship. Cabin 4337 wasn’t on any cleaning plan. Nobody knew that he was here.

Hopefully.