Jimmy studied the Captain intently. 'Can I ask you something, first?'
'Yes, of course.'
'One day, will you take the Titanic home to Belfast?'
Captain Smith looked surprised. 'I thought you were going to ask for money.'
'I would have,' said Jimmy, 'but it appears to be worthless at the moment.'
The Captain smiled. He took Jimmy by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. 'One day, I promise, the Titanic will return to Belfast.'
Jimmy put out his hand. 'OK, as long as we have the freedom to write it as we see it, if we have unlimited access to every meeting, every decision, every event, then I'm happy to accept.'
Captain Smith hesitated. 'Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret this?'
Jimmy gave an innocent shrug.
The Captain shook his head, then instead of offering his hand, saluted. Jimmy, somewhat awkwardly, followed suit.
***
As they emerged on to Deck Two Jimmy and Claire spotted the two small landing parties preparing to go ashore. One, led by Jonas Jones, would go straight to the fuel depot and attempt to replenish the ship's supplies. The other, led by First Officer Jeffers, had less specific instructions — just to find out the conditions in the city. Jeffers was passing out weapons to members of his eight-man squad when Jimmy and Claire lined up with them.
'And where do you think you're going?' he asked.
'Ashore, with you,' said Jimmy.
'Reporting,' said Claire, 'for the Titanic Times.' She held up her camera.
'We'll see about that.'
Jeffers lifted his radio and turned away. They couldn't quite make out what was said, but when he faced them a couple of minutes later he looked rather flushed.
'All right,' he said, 'but stay close, and if I tell you to do something, you damned well do it.'
***
A single gangplank was lowered on to the quayside. Jeffers' squad cautiously made its way off the ship first, with guns raised. When it had secured the immediate area, Jonas Jones' squad followed and was then escorted to the fuel depot. Once Jeffers was satisfied that there was no immediate threat Jones' group was left with a single guard to undertake the refuelling. The rest of Jeffers' squad commandeered two abandoned vehicles and drove towards the centre of the city.
Jimmy and Claire were in the rear of the second vehicle, a Jeep. Jimmy was still wearing Ty's T-shirt. Claire was looking altogether cooler in a red T-shirt with a long white skirt. As they roared along she took photos of smouldering shops and wrecked cars. The most remarkable thing here was the complete and utter lack of people. There was no noise, but for the occasional bark of a dog.
'Where is everyone?' Claire asked.
'Maybe they fled the city because of the plague. Or they're all dead.'
'There's one and a half million people live in San Juan. They can't all be dead.' She paused. 'Can they? There'd be bodies everywhere.'
The smoke was bitter and harsh on their throats. Everything smelled rotten.
Jeffers, driving the lead vehicle, led them along Calle Cruz towards City Hall. There they left two men to guard the vehicles and mounted the steps into what had been the seat of Government. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Papers were littered everywhere. But still no sign of anyone. When they returned to their vehicles Jeffers took out a street map. 'The smoke . . . seems to be coming from . . . here . . .' The section of the map he was pointing to was marked as the historic fortress of San Cristobal, situated on high ground to the east of the city but invisible now because of the smoke. 'Perhaps it's some kind of a signal fire. We should check it out.'
Progress was slow because of the increasing number of abandoned vehicles on the road, and soon the smoke grew so dense that Claire gave up trying to take photographs and concentrated on holding the neck of her T-shirt up over her mouth. The crewman in the front passenger seat passed back a bottle of water for them to wash their stinging eyes.
As they wound up the road towards the fortress the wind at last began to change direction and they soon emerged from the turgid smoke into the summer sun. Jeffers stopped his Jeep in the shadow of a high wall at the rear of the fortress and the second vehicle pulled in behind. Even from the outside, they could feel the intense heat being given off by the fire within. Jimmy climbed out and put his hands against the wall, which appeared to be a metre or so thick, yet was hot to the touch.
Jeffers left two guards with the vehicles then led the rest of them up a set of stone steps to a metal gate which should have given them access to the fortress's central courtyard, but was bolted closed from the inside Jeffers rattled the gate in frustration, then took a step back and looked along the wall for some other means of access.
Jimmy said, 'I'm the lightest. Give me a hand up and I'll get over and open it from the inside.'
'Actually, I'm the lightest,' said Claire.
Jeffers looked from one to the other. 'Let me see — the stowaway or the daughter of the owner of the ship. Mmmm. Let's go for the stowaway.'
Two of the squad gave Jimmy a lift up. The climb was easy enough, but was complicated by the barbed wire strung across the top. As he contemplated the best way to get through it, he tried to identify the source of the heat, but the breeze circulating within the walls was blowing smoke in every direction and for the moment he could see nothing. Jimmy pulled at several strands of the barbed wire and managed to prise them apart. He slipped one leg through the gap and followed with the rest of his body, then lowered himself part of the way down the other side of the wall while pulling his other leg through behind. He was almost cleanly over when his shoelace snagged and he found himself hanging in midair; he pulled once, twice, then on the third attempt ripped it free. The force of it caused him to fall hard on to the concrete rampart below, knocking the wind out of him, and forcing an involuntary cry from his lips.
'Jimmy — are you all right?' Jeffers called from the other side.
'Ugggggggghhhhhhhh . . . yes. I think so.'
He was sore, but nothing seemed to be broken.
'Open the door then!'
'All right — hold on to your . . .'
He stopped. The wind had changed direction again, clearing enough of the smoke to give Jimmy his first proper view of the inferno below. The base of the fire not only covered almost the entire circumference of the courtyard, it was also built up several metres high. A steady roar came from the blazing heap and there was a staccato popping and snapping as branches splintered and split.
Then he realized that they weren't branches.
They were bones.
Thousands of them, twisted and broken.
He saw skulls, with flames licking through hollow eye sockets.
White hands opening and closing in the heat. Fingers pointing . . . pointing at him.
'Oh my . . . oh my . . .' Jimmy whispered.
'Jimmy! Open the door!'
Still dazed by the horrific sight before him, Jimmy nodded vaguely and began to turn — and then his heart almost stopped.
A man stood before him, with a rifle raised and pointing at him. His skin was almost translucent, his eyes were red and raw, his hair matted. He wore a military uniform blackened with smoke and ripped and stained by unknown fluids.
'Who are you?' the soldier demanded, his voice raspy and jagged. 'What are you doing here?' He jabbed the gun at Jimmy.
Jimmy held his hands up. 'I . . . I . . . I . . .' He pointed vaguely towards the sea. 'The ship . . . I'm from the ship . . .'
The man didn't even look. He was mad with panic and fear. His finger was already curled around the trigger and his hand was shaking. All of him was shaking.