around the world. Surprise made him mute and the man stopped and looked
down at him.
Allen? asked Nicholas Berg quietly. His voice was low and level,
without accent, but with a surprising timbre and resonance.
Yes, sir. Welcome aboard, sir. When Nicholas Berg smiled, the edges of
sickness and exhaustion smoothed away at his brow and at the corners of
his mouth. His hand was smooth and cool, but his grip was firm enough
to make David blink.
I'll show you your quarters, sir. David took the Louis Vuitton suitcase
from his grip.
I know the way, said Nick Berg. I designed her.
He stood in the centre of the Master's day cabin, and felt the deck tilt
under his feet, although the Warlock was fast to the stone dock, and the
muscles in his thighs trembled.
The funeral went off all right? Nick asked.
He was cremated, sir/ David said. That's the way he wanted it.
I have made the arrangements for the ashes to be sent home to Mary.
Mary is his wife, sir/ he explained quickly.
Yes/ said Nick Berg. I know. I saw her before I left London.
Mac and I were ship-mates once. He told me. He used to boast about
that. Have you cleared all his gear? Nick asked, and glanced around
the Master's suite.
Yes sir, we've packed it all up. There is nothing of his left in here.
He was a good man! Nick swayed again on his feet and looked longingly
at the day couch, but instead he crossed to the port and looked out on
to the dock. How did it happen? my report Tell me!
said Nicholas Berg, and his voice cracked like a whip.
The main tow-cable parted, sir. He was on the afterdeck.
it took his head off like a bullwhip. Nick stood quietly for a moment,
thinking about that description of tragedy. He had seen a tow part
under stress once before.
That time it had.and killed three men.
, Nick hesitated a moment, the exhaustion had slowed and softened him so
that for a moment he was on the point of explaining why he had come to
take command of Warlock himself, rather than sending another hired man
to replace Mac.
It might help to have somebody to talk to now, when he was right down on
his knees, beaten and broken and tired to the very depths of his soul.
He swayed again, then caught himself and forced aside the temptation. He
had never whined for sympathy in his life before.
All right,, he repeated. Please give my apologies to your officers. I
have not had much sleep in the last two weeks, and the flight out from
Heathrow was murder, as always.
I'll meet them in the morning. Ask the cook to send a tray with my
dinner. The cook was a huge man who moved like a dancer in a snowy
apron and a theatrical chef's cap. Nick Berg stared at him as he placed
the tray on the table at his elbow. The cook wore his hair in a shiny
carefully coiffured bob that fell to his right shoulder, but was drawn
back from the left, cheek to display a small diamond earring in the
pierced lobe of that ear.
