It was part of an advertising postcard that was distributed for free in every cabin. It was just a torn-off edge, but big enough to see that the image on the front was an aerial picture of the Sultan.

Martin turned the card over.

THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GO STICKING YOUR NOSE IN EVERYWHERE…

He read out the message that had been scrawled in block capitals. It was in English and written with a black biro that was starting to run out of ink.

‘What happens?’ Bonhoeffer asked. ‘What does the bastard mean by that?’

‘Oh, fuck,’ Martin said as if paralysed by shock. He’d turned around to ask Elena’s opinion. The answer to Bonhoeffer’s question was literally written on her face.

‘Jesus Christ, Elena, what’s wrong with you?’ the captain screamed. He too had turned to his fiancée and noticed her disfigurement. The doctor’s face had completely swollen: cheeks, brow, lips. It looked as if her face were about to burst. You couldn’t make out her eyes any more, only the tips of her lashes stuck out of the swollen bulges.

THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GO STICKING YOUR NOSE IN EVERYWHERE…

The entire sight of her was ghastly, but worst of all were the swellings on the right-hand side of her face, where she’d come into contact with the grease.

‘Elena, darling, say something, please!’ Bonhoeffer cried, beside himself with worry. But Martin realised that the doctor, who was grabbing her throat and choking, was no longer capable. After her eyes, lips and cheeks, now her windpipe seemed to be swelling too.

34

00.24 nautical time

50°27’N, 16°50’W

Speed: 21.5 knots, Wind: 18 knots

Swell: 10–15 feet

Distance from Southampton: 592 nautical miles

Martin Schwartz failed to notice the danger that approached him from behind. With his eyes closed, he was standing against the railings on the aft-port section of deck 17, the highest freely accessible outside area of the ship, allowing the powerful wind to blast his face. He could taste the salty air, but it seemed to be saturated with soporifics rather than oxygen.

With every breath he felt weaker and wearier, which may have also been down to the toothache that was still simmering on a medium flame in his upper jaw, while those PEP pills must also be discomforting him still. At least he hadn’t suffered any headaches for a while now.

He took a deep breath. Tasted the salt in the air.

Did you stand here too, Nadja, and contemplate death?

Martin bent over the railings and peered seventy-five metres down.

It was a moonless night. The seething crests of the waves were lit up solely by the ship’s outside headlights. He tried to imagine how it must feel to slam against the surface of the sea down below.

You can’t have wanted that death, Nadja. Nobody can want that.