by Bear Grylls
But that was the only good news.
They were a hundred miles from anywhere. They had no boat. They had no way of reaching Island Alpha, or the mainland, and somewhere nearby there was a hungry shark.
CHAPTER 31
Beck fought back the panic.
He had never been in such dire straits as this ever before.
Yes, he had been stranded, and in tight spots – many of them – but he had always been on land, able to get his hands on something that would keep him alive. Food, even if it was only insects. Water, even if it was his own wee. And there had always been the hope of rescue, or of being able to make his way to a safe place.
Here, he had nothing – just a half-submerged, upturned raft and a sea full of hungry sharks.
He knew he was in trouble.
Miles from land. No kind of shelter. The sun would get higher and broil them alive, if the sharks didn’t take them first. He squeezed his eyes tight shut in despair. It was over.
But then it came like a whisper into his head.
Never say die, Beck . . .
Two human figures moved for a moment among the dancing patterns at the back of his closed eyes. He knew immediately who they were.
He was a small boy, crying because he had fallen and hurt his knee. Never say die. He had been trudging across Dartmoor, frozen and soaked to the bone, just wanting to give up and go to sleep. Never say die. It had been the motto of their lives.
Beck opened his eyes and the figures vanished. Their memory remained. ‘I won’t die, Mum . . . I won’t die, Dad,’ he murmured.
It had all taken only a couple of seconds.
‘OK,’ he said out loud. He marshalled his thoughts. Priorities: stay out of the water as much as possible. Defend against sharks. Conserve food and water.
The first was relatively easy. ‘We need to take turns up on the boat. An hour each. Um – alphabetical order? I suppose that makes you first,’ he said to Abby.
‘And you second, and me last!’ James protested.
Beck glared at him. ‘Fine,’ he said sarcastically. ‘How about age order? Then I’ll be last!’
‘That’s enough!’ Farrell took command. ‘We’ll go clockwise in the order we’re in now, which means James, Beck, Abby, then me. James, let’s give you a hand . . .’
James didn’t need to be told twice. With much splashing and kicking and shoving from below, he wriggled onto the narrow platform that was the boat’s floating stern.
He was about two centimetres out of the water, and balanced precariously. Beck reckoned he wouldn’t have much chance if a shark decided to give the boat a knock. But being out of the water meant being out of the cold. The rest of them clung onto the lifelines down the side of the boat.
‘Here, take these.’ Farrell passed the boxes and the water up to James.
‘Hey,’ James said, ‘we can still make water, like we did on the island!’ He looked so pleased with himself that Beck managed a discreet smile. Someone else with the never-say-die attitude.
‘And this . . .’ One of the boat’s oars was floating nearby: Beck pulled it in and passed it up to James. ‘Whoever’s on the boat will need to be our main shark lookout – and shark defender. See anything?’
James quickly scanned their limited horizon, turning in a full circle. ‘No fins. Not at the moment.’
‘OK, what next?’ Abby asked.
Beck thought for a moment, then started to unwrap the length of bandage from around his arm. ‘Sharks don’t like large groups – they prefer to pick off individuals. So we all stay together. I’m going to make sure of that . . .’
It took a few minutes, but he was able to thread the bandage through the straps of each person’s lifejacket.
‘This way,’ he said as he tied the last knot to the captain’s lifejacket, ‘we can rest and no one will drift away.’
‘And the sharks?’ Abby reminded him.
‘Right. We only move about when we have to. And we do it slowly. Make as few splashes as possible. Especially avoid lots of kicking.’ He said this with a sideways glance at James, who had been churning the water up with his feet as he wriggled up onto the boat. ‘Try not make the sharks think we’re an injured animal.’
Beck thought again. His experience with sharks hadn’t been all bad. He had scuba-dived with them in the Red Sea. When they weren’t trying to eat you, they were amazing creatures – lithe and graceful, flicking through the water like lazy torpedoes with the tiniest motions of their fins. As long as the sharks were not hungry, and not disturbed, they were safe.
They’d had a guide armed with a spear gun, but that was just precautionary. His job was to keep an eye on the sharks and spot the ones likely to turn nasty. He had told Beck what to look out for – and Beck now passed the information on to the others.
‘Just because you can see a fin doesn’t mean it’s going to attack. If they’re just swimming about, smooth and slow, that means they’re passing through. Maybe they’re curious. If they start swimming quickly, dodging this way and that – that means they’re getting agitated. And if they arch their back, put their head up, start zigzagging towards you – that means they’re attacking. When they do that, whoever’s up on the boat gets ready to hit out again. Right, James?’
James was pale, but he clutched the oar in both hands and braced himself. ‘Right. Thanks.’
‘Cool. Next . . .’ Beck looked at Abby and couldn’t help grinning. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad?’
Her eyes narrowed; she was obviously wondering what he could possibly find amusing at a time like this. ‘Let’s have the good.’
‘Sharks see in black and white to give them a clear contrast between shapes. There’s a particularly poisonous sea snake that colours itself black and white to warn the sharks off. Which means that a lot of other creatures are black and white too, to fool it. So, with that black-and-white outfit you’re wearing, hopefully the sharks will think you’re a poisonous snake and won’t come near.’
James actually laughed for a moment, and even Farrell bit back a smile. Abby’s face went cold.
‘How reassuring. And the bad news?’
‘You need to take your ring off. And I’m removing my watch too.’ He unclasped it from around his wrist. ‘Anything like jewellery gives off glints and reflections, which they mistake for fish scales.’
He put his hands underwater and felt for the pocket where he had put James’s silver ring earlier. He tugged the zip open and slid his watch in to join it.
Abby held up her hand and studied the ring. She looked very doubtful. ‘I don’t know, Beck. It’s very valuable. I wouldn’t want it to fall out of a pocket.’
‘Mum!’ James protested. ‘Just do it! Unless you want to hold your hand out of the water for ever?’
She scowled at him.
‘I’ve got a pocket with a zip,’ Beck assured her. ‘I can look after it.’
To his amazement, Abby still looked uncertain. Eventually she reached a decision and pulled the ring off her finger.
‘That won’t be necessary.’ She slid her ring into one of her lifejacket pockets and zipped it up. ‘Happy?’
Beck didn’t bother answering. He still couldn’t believe that anyone would think twice about taking off a silver ring if it meant they had a better chance of staying alive. But that was her problem.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now, the sun’s going to be harsh. Whoever’s up on the boat, you can take off your lifejacket and wear it like a hat. The rest of us will have to shelter in that person’s shadow as much as we can. Captain, we’ll need your shirt – we’re going to set up the still again. We’ll put it on the boat with James.’
Farrell rolled his eyes in a good-humoured way, and nodded.
‘And . . .’ This was the key question that Beck carefully hadn’t been asking out loud. But they all deserved to know the answer. ‘Will they still be looking for us?’
‘Yes,’ Farrell said. ‘When the rescue services don’t find us al
ong the route we should have taken, they’ll broaden the search. They’ll find us – if we are lucky. It’s just a matter of how many boats and planes they use. The more they use, the sooner they’ll manage it.’
He sounded hopeful, but Beck noticed him bite his lip for a moment when he had finished speaking. Was Farrell as sure as he sounded? Or, like a good captain, was he just trying to keep morale up?
Beck let it pass, because the last thing anyone needed was him pointing out, You don’t really mean that, do you?
‘Cool,’ he said instead. ‘OK, I’ve still got that flare.’ He patted his pocket to confirm it, and felt the thin metal tube there. ‘Have you still got yours?’ he asked Abby. She nodded. ‘Then we keep a lookout, and if necessary we’ll fire the flare off. But we only do it if they’re close enough to notice us.’
Beck had had another reason for asking about rescue. It was the sharks, again. Sharks were more likely to attack at night.
He didn’t tell anyone this. There was no point in making them worry. They had the whole day ahead of them. He would let them know about night attacks if they were still there when the sun went down.
CHAPTER 32
Time passed, very slowly. The small party huddled in James’s shadow, moving and talking as little as possible. There wasn’t much to say, and they had to conserve energy.
Eventually James’s hour was up and it was Beck’s turn to go on the boat. The sun was well up by now. The small platform of the stern was dry and warm to the touch. James actually looked quite relieved to be slipping back into the water, where it was cooler.
Beck gloomily surveyed what he could see from his vantage point. Just more sea. No signs of fins – good. No ships either – bad. He glanced up.
The trail of an airliner was making its way across the sky, marking out a line of pure white behind it. He gave a wry smile. It had been just like this twenty-four hours ago, their first new day after the ship sank. If only just one airliner would fly lower – like, three miles lower – then they might have a chance of being spotted . . .
His fingers were picking idly at the flaky paint of the lifeboat. It passed the time, if nothing else. Without realizing it, he had exposed most of a letter ‘O’.
After a while he glanced up again, and this time his eyes narrowed. The trail was still there. Usually they turned fluffy within minutes; less than an hour and they were gone, or just a very faint smear of white cloud. This one was still sharply defined.
It stayed that way for most of Beck’s allotted time on the boat. Every now and again he looked up at it to check. This meant one thing. It was a clear sign of low pressure – which indicated that a storm was on its way. Was it the hurricane he had spotted on the weather radar? Or just – just! – a normal storm?
Either way it would be very bad news for their small party of survivors. But it would help keep the sharks away . . .
Maybe.
He deliberately looked down, pushing the telltale cloud away from his mind. Again, there was nothing he could do about it. If the storm struck, it struck. They would have to ride it out as best they could.
Beck’s fingers were still working away at the paint. After the ‘O’ there was what looked like the first part of an ‘S’. Before it, he found half an ‘M’.
Suddenly Beck’s eyes went wide and he stared down at the letters. No! It couldn’t be!
But he couldn’t let it rest. He picked away – harder now, digging his fingernails into the paint to tear it away.
And then there was no doubt about it. Beneath the paint were the letters L.U.M.O.S.
‘Lumos . . .’ he breathed.
Abby looked up sharply. ‘What about it?’
Beck paused, then sighed. ‘Nothing. This boat belonged to Lumos. That’s all.’
He shouldn’t have been surprised. Steven had been working for the organization, and Steven had been the one to get him on the ship. So it shouldn’t be a shock to find that the ship also belonged to Lumos.
Beck cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at the letters. It was the first time he had seen them picked out like that, with full stops in between. It meant that Lumos wasn’t just a name; it stood for something. He hadn’t realized. He wondered what it was.
‘Losers Unite . . .’ he murmured, but he couldn’t think of what the last three letters might stand for.
And then a shock like freezing water seemed to flow over him.
‘Beck . . .?’ Farrell sounded worried.
Beck must have gasped out loud. His mind had offered up another connection. How had he seen that? Maybe it was because the first three letters he had cleared away were the ‘M.O.S.’
Beck scrabbled at his zipped-up pocket and pulled out James’s ring. He angled it so that he could read the words engraved on the inside.
MASTERY. OBEDIENCE. SUCCESS. LOGIC. UNDERSTANDING.
That was how he had read them when he first saw them. But they were engraved in a circle. Any of them could be the first words. Say you started with LOGIC . . .
LOGIC. UNDERSTANDING. MASTERY. OBEDIENCE. SUCCESS.
L.U.M.O.S.
His mouth dropped open. He stared at James. James met his eyes briefly, and then his face went pale and he looked away.
‘You . . . you said your grandfather founded the family business . . .’ Beck stammered. ‘The family business . . . is Lumos?’
‘Yes!’ James blurted. ‘Lumos. It’s all about Lumos. No, wrong. It’s all about you, Beck Granger. Everything that has happened has been about you.’
CHAPTER 33
James fell silent, though his chest was heaving and tears brimmed in his eyes.
Abby gazed at him with tenderness. ‘James, sweetheart, you knew this moment would come. Don’t let Mummy down now.’
‘Let you down?’ James gasped. ‘Mum, you got us into this, and he’s doing his best to get us out of it! Can’t you see that?’
She just rolled her eyes and looked away, like a mother with a toddler having a tantrum.
‘Abby, just what the— Just what is going on?’ Farrell demanded.
‘Are you going to tell him?’ James asked Abby.
‘I don’t see that it makes much difference,’ she said quietly. Then, more conversationally, ‘Yes, Beck, Lumos is the family business. It was founded by my father, Edwin Blake. I’ve worked for him ever since I was a child – he taught me everything he knew – and lately I’ve been training James up to work alongside me, to take over one day. This journey was part of his apprenticeship. I’m the “cleaner”.’
‘A . . . cleaner?’ Beck repeated. He couldn’t quite picture Abby in an apron, pushing the cleaning trolley around the offices.
‘She cleans up the company’s problems,’ James muttered.
‘What kind of problems?’
‘Problems,’ said Abby brightly, and then her voice changed, and darkness passed across her face. ‘Problems like Beck Granger, the most annoying, obstructive, interfering brat who has ever walked upon the Earth. Problems that will insist on sticking their nose into our business, over and over and over again. Or problems like Beck Granger’s parents, who started it. We thought the problems would go away when they did – and, of course, that’s what happened, for a few years.’ She paused.
‘Until Beck got older. Then the problems started up again. Whenever we have a money-losing setback, Daddy makes a note of who to blame. He will allow anyone to hurt us once. Accidents do happen, after all. No one’s perfect. But if the same name starts showing up over and over again . . . You, Beck, have cost us an oil refinery and a uranium mine, and several people with useful skills that we liked to employ from time to time have ended up behind bars. You have become a problem. Do you get my meaning?’
Beck couldn’t speak.
Deep down inside he felt energy begin to flow, ready to surge and explode out of him, and do . . . what? Throw himself at her? Hold her underwater until she drowned?
Ever since he had learned that his parents had been murdered, he’d
had dreams about this moment. Tracking down and confronting the killers. Reducing them to quivering, helpless heaps. Closing off every escape route, every option so that they had no choice but to face him, and then he would destroy them. Somehow.
In practice what he’d do, he knew, is hand them over to the law. Vengeance makes for good movies, but it’s rubbish in practice. Killing his parents’ killers would just reduce him to their level. Much better to get them behind bars for the rest of their lives, where every day until they died they would know that they had failed and that he was still alive and well.
He had fantasized about it happening in many different ways, but he hadn’t expected it to be like this.
‘But,’ he added, ‘if all this was about getting rid of me, it’s a pretty stupidly complicated way of doing it. I mean, I go to school every day. You could have killed me with a faked hit-and-run accident. Or you could have . . . you could have just burned down the house! How did organizing a cruise come into it?’
Abby shook her head. ‘It had to be this way,’ she said decisively. ‘It had to be on one of your adventures. You had to be seen to fail, and we had to discourage all the little Beck Granger wannabes out there.’
Unlike Beck, Farrell was decidedly uncalm. ‘You can’t mean that!’ he exploded. ‘Beck . . . Beck’s a boy!’
Abby regarded him coolly. ‘And just think what harm he could do once he’s a man. We had the PR all set up – a carefully planned set of press releases that we would publish over the next few months, after his tragic death, to show how the mighty Beck Granger was just a spoiled brat who used his celebrity status to insist on taking the Sea Cloud even though we told him it wasn’t safe, and how he bullied a sad, weak wreck of a ship’s captain into pressing on . . .’
Farrell’s face showed that he was slowly working out what Beck had realized immediately he learned the truth about Abby’s work. Somehow, she had been responsible for the sabotage of the Sea Cloud. And the captain had none of Beck’s reservations about taking revenge. He let go of the boat with one hand, then the other; he turned towards her and said, almost conversationally, ‘I am going to take your neck, lady, and—’
