on, let’s go get a fruit shake,’ said Ruby, pulling him towards the Cherry Cup. ‘On me.’
When they got to the Cherry Cup, they took the high stools at the bar and Ruby reached for the long drinks menu. Clancy was swivelling his seat distractedly and muttering to himself.
‘Hey there you guys, what can I get you?’ called Cherry.
‘I’ll take a Strawberry–Pineapple-Fiesta and I reckon Clance could do with a tranquilliser.’
Cherry looked hard at Clancy. ‘You all right pal?’ he enquired kindly. ‘You look kinda strung out.’
Cherry was a man in his late fifties – greying hair and the sort of face that made people want to confide in him.
Clancy spilled the beans about the swimathon while Cherry blended fruit.
Meanwhile, Ruby thought about Spectrum. She was thinking about the briefing. Is there a connection? Is there something in the deep blue ocean causing disruption to sealife? Possibly. Could it be caused by the moon, the tides, an earthquake on the other side of the world even? Possibly.
But the shipping confusion? That has to be man-made. The question is, is it man-made by accident or man-made by design? If it isn’t an accident, then one can only conclude it has to be sinister.
She was jolted from her musings by Clancy.
‘So have you been into Spectrum yet?’
‘Could you keep your voice down buster? I’m not supposed to talk about this stuff,’ hissed Ruby.
Clancy looked around. ‘No one’s listening,’ he said, pointing at Cherry’s busy establishment. Everyone was chatting or engrossed in their magazines or menus.
‘That’s what you think,’ said Ruby. ‘How do you know that woman over there, the one with the little curly kid, isn’t keeping track of everything we say?’
‘I can tell,’ said Clancy. ‘I mean look at her, all she’s interested in is her baby.’
‘That’s how much you know,’ said Ruby. ‘I happen to be aware that she is a sector seven agent and that old curly top is just a cover.’
Clancy’s eyes grew to saucer size. ‘No way?’ he said. ‘Really?’
‘No, not really Clance, but don’t just assume that someone’s not listening just because they look like they’re not listening.’
It was one of her rules and an important one.
RULE 9: THERE IS ALWAYS A CHANCE THAT SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE IS WATCHING YOU.
Or, in this case, listening.
Ruby had ignored the rule a few weeks ago and had ended up tied to a chair by an evil Count and almost buried in a ton of sand, all because someone had been listening in while she yacked away on the telephone to Clancy. She had every right to be cautious, even though the woman in question was actually Mrs Frast from her mother’s bridge club. However, the worry of being overheard only made up part of her reason for keeping it zipped; the truth was that what Ruby really wanted to do was sit in her room and give the briefing some clear thought, puzzle it out.
‘Look Clance, don’t take this the wrong way, but I just need to sit and churn a few things over, you understand, don’t ya?’
‘I guess,’ said Clancy.
They finished their drinks and Ruby cycled on home.
She walked into the house and up the stairs to the kitchen. She was pretty hungry and something smelled good. Mrs Digby was nowhere to be seen. But on the bright side, there were some home-made pizza slices, just cooked, on the table and a note which said, Dig in why don’t you.
There was a PS. It said, Mrs Lemon called again, she wants you to sit for that fat baby of hers. I told her you had an infectious skin condition and it didn’t look like it would clear up for a week or two.
Ruby smiled. ‘Nice going Mrs Digby.’ She loaded her plate with pizza and poured some banana milk into a glass, then, holding an apple in her teeth, she manoeuvred her way up to her room. She closed the door firmly behind her, retrieved her yellow notebook and set about making lists, and then used the elements from the list to make a spider-map. She always found it useful to see problems visually.
First she drew a picture of a diver; he was at the top of the page. Then she wrote three headings across the paper.
One said:
CONFUSED SHIPPING.
Spidering out from that heading she wrote every single incidence of confused shipping she had learned of in LB’s briefing.
The next heading said:
UNUSUAL MARINE ACTIVITY.
There were a lot of these too.
The last heading read:
SEA SOUNDS.
Spiralling out from this were all the names of the people who had heard the strange whispering in the ocean.
And then a question:
ARE ALL THESE HAPPENINGS CONNECTED?
Ruby sat staring at her own question for some minutes before catching sight of the time. She quickly reached across and switched on the portable TV set that sat on her bedroom floor. The title music to Crazy Cops blared out and the face of Detective Despo filled the screen. She sank down in her beanbag and let her mind concentrate on the life and death matters of a fictional cop.
The great advantage for Detective Despo was that he had a team of TV writers who made sure his cases were all tied up neatly by the end of each sixty-minute episode. Right at that moment Ruby envied him; she couldn’t help wishing that she had a writer on-board to make sure her latest case came out right in the end, but regrettably for her, she didn’t live in a fictional world.
Mrs Sylvester was up on deck,
as indeed were all the other passengers,
though she was a good deal more
hysterical than most and was
screaming…
‘Pirates! Pirates! They’ll rob us blind, cut our throats and leave us for dead! They’ve already thrown that poor dog overboard.’
On hearing this, Mr Sylvester fainted.
This all provided an excellent distraction, one that Sabina Redfort made good use of. She very quickly and very quietly made her way to the wheelhouse, snatched up the ship-to-shore radio and sent out a mayday call to the coastguard.
‘Mayday, mayday, this is the Golden Albatross, are you receiving me? Over.’
She
