Holding Lisa’s letter, he’d slowly approached the cabin which only yesterday he’d searched for cash. Now there was an unusual level of activity here for this time of night. Although he couldn’t see or hear the people inside, their bodies cast flickering shadows in the corridor whenever they got in the way of the light streaming out of the cabin.

He stopped and wondered whether there was any point in turning himself in. Tiago knew why the door was open. What the people in there were looking for. It was in the letter, which now he put back in his pocket.

He realised that he couldn’t hear engine noises any more. The ship was swaying but he felt no vibrations. Just as Tiago was touching the handrail against the wall with the tips of his fingers, he stepped out of the cabin.

Shit.

Tiago turned around, but not quickly enough, unfortunately. The security officer had recognised him.

‘Hey!’ he heard the man call out, the same man who’d tortured the chambermaid with the shard of glass, and even this Hey! sounded as if glass shards wouldn’t suffice as a starter in the menu he had in mind for Tiago.

Tiago made the mistake of turning around. They were alone in the corridor. He and the officer, who launched into a sprint without any discernible transition.

Fucking shit.

Tiago ran back the way he’d come. The thud, thud, thud in his ear of heavy shoes on thick carpet was accompanied by the rushing of his own blood – the soundtrack of his growing fear.

He banged a shoulder against the swing door to the stairwell and pushed the lift button, but when none opened he dived down the stairs without thinking. For if he had he’d have realised that he was heading towards the ship’s basement, where the surfer type knew his way around.

He ran down a wide corridor. A brass sign told him where he was.

Deck 3. Where now? Where?

The shops were closed, the atrium empty, the theatre closed. He stopped, looked around.

The casino. This is the casino. It’s open round the…

Crash!

He heard the crunching of his own bones as he fell to the floor, as if hit by a demolition ball.

Tiago tried to breathe, but something was lying on his face. Something was lying on his entire body.

He felt a kick between his legs and a roller of pain ground up his spinal cord from his stomach. Something was tugging at him, his head was hitting against it somewhere (or was it something hitting his head?) but no force in the world would have been capable of removing his hands, which he pressed against his crotch without being able to relieve even a hint of the pain that was bringing his balls to bursting point.