The stunning, white baby grand piano was situated in the central part of the bar, and slightly elevated by the round marble stage, which was just large enough to sit the grand and a stool for the pianist. Semi-circular leather couches embellished with the Jules Verne Cruise Line logo spread out on all four sides of the stage to form a circle. There were gaps in between the couches for people to circulate. They went back seven rows, and there was a standing area at the bar.
The bar counter was magnificent; it looked like it had been plucked off a mountain in Alaska. To the naked eye, it was completely made of ice; in reality, only twenty percent was made of ice, but you would never know it. The mirror that adorned the area behind the bar was highly polished ice. The bar staff wore white shorts and jackets with fur collars to complete the style. Sebastian had been told previously to purchase and wear white suits only when playing in the Ice Bar.
While the guests marvelled at the gildings all around, Sebastian was more interested in other features. Sebastian noticed that there was a new design element to this ship, which far exceeded security arrangements he had seen before on any of the other ships.
The cause of Sebastian’s concern was the use of internal and external closed-circuit television cameras, or CCTV. The tell-tale signs were the black, bulbous glass protrusions on the ceilings. This type of camera gave 360-degree coverage in all communal areas; in lounges, bars, swimming areas, and in each of the many long passageways to the ship’s cabins. There were cameras placed on the starboard and port sides at intervals to cover the whole sides, as well as to the aft and stern of the ship.
If Sebastian were to continue in the same vein as previous cruises, he would have to discover the weak spots of the ship. He needed to see what the cameras covered.
During a meal on the second night on-board, Sebastian positioned himself alongside the third engineer and within the conversation, which brought up the coverage of the cameras. He was somewhat relieved to find out that the only active monitoring was in the casino and other areas such as the main lounges.
There were just too many cameras for active surveillance; the ship would need an army of CCTV operators to cover them all. Sebastian discovered that half the cameras were carcass cameras only; they were false cameras. This reduced some eighty-four cameras down to forty, of which ten were based in the casino alone. The port and starboard sides of the ship were covered with active cameras, as were the stern and aft.
The third engineer explained in a hushed manner to Sebastian that, apart from the casino and main reception, the other cameras were for recording purposes only, for evidential use only. The cameras could store recordings for twenty-four hours before being erased or transferred to the central computer in the case of an incident. If there was an altercation or someone jumped from a balcony into the sea, the camera being unmonitored would not assist but would be used to help the following inquiry and would form part of the investigation.
The trip out to Nessebar in Bulgaria was smooth; more than slight movement on the hull would be counterbalanced by the sea stabilizers. The waves of nearly three feet high would rock any other ship of this size, but not the Classical Canta Libra. You could put a tennis ball on the topmost deck, and it would not roll one inch, such was the computer-controlled environment. Even the sea could be calmed on this Leviathan of a ship.
Sebastian was joined by two of the female singers from the ship’s on-board entertainment team, Christie, and Pam, both English. Sebastian had met Christie on previous cruise liners, and he nodded to her as the pair sat on the stage perimeter in the Ice Bar.
“I Believe, please maestro,” Christie said to Sebastian.
Sebastian began to play the haunting melody I Believe from the musical Miss Saigon, a duet between Molly the American wife and Mella the Vietnamese girlfriend. Christie and Pam sang the parts perfectly.
“Yes still, I still believe, I know as long as I keep believing, I’ll live, love, and die,” they sang in unison.
Sebastian thought he liked the idea of them dying better, as he had no concept of what love should feel like; he did not believe.
The two performers received a standing ovation from the large crowd in the Ice Bar. They, in turn, raised their arms in Sebastian’s direction as he remained sitting at the piano, in recognition of the expertise with which he had played the song. The crowd cheered, and Sebastian rose and gave a slight bow to the audience.
Christie and Pam went to the bar and waited while Sebastian finished the evening session with a rendition of Sweet Caroline, which allowed the guests to approach the piano and put their dollar bills into the tip glass that sat atop the baby grand.
After collecting the tips, Sebastian walked across to the two female performers at the bar. They walked over to the Vineyard Café, one deck up from the Ice Bar. The three sat down in a cubicle that was reserved for officers and entertainers for a little privacy. Two lattes and one espresso coffee immediately appeared from the waiter; it was his duty to know what each of the officers’ and entertainers’ favourite drinks was.
All the male eyes between the ages of four and a hundred and four turned to the two beautiful entertainers. The two gay men admired the dresses and makeup, and the heterosexuals admired the low-cut sequined dresses which displayed smooth, fulsome busts, and the high hems that were scant and gave little coverage
