Titanic 2020 t2-1 Page 8

  'She saw it.'

  'How do you know?'

  'She . . . told me . . . and there was a child's handprint on . . .'

  'Yes, she claimed that as well. I checked myself. No sign of it.'

  'That doesn't mean . . .' Jimmy sighed. 'That's just . . . so typical!' He folded his arms and glared at the floor. It was good to be alive. But it would have been so much better to have been alive and believed. 'We nearly died in there!'

  'Yes, you did.' But it wasn't Scoop, it was another officer, standing in the doorway, smiling in. 'Jimmy, isn't it?'

  The officer crossed to him and extended his hand. Jimmy took it somewhat warily. 'I'm Doctor Hill. Frank. Frank Hill. I saved your life. No need to thank me, but if you ever strike it rich a nice cheque would be appreciated.'

  He was warm and sunny. Jimmy was feeling exactly the opposite of warm and sunny.

  'Pedroza tried to kill us,' he said.

  'He's been trying to kill us for years,' laughed Dr Hill. 'Have you tried his scrambled eggs?'

  'This isn't funny!' Jimmy exploded.

  Dr Hill nodded thoughtfully. 'No — you're right. It's not funny. Scrambled eggs are a serious business.' He laughed again, put a hand on Jimmy's brow, checked his pulse, then made a brief note on a chart at the foot of his bed. 'Not too much damage done, Jimmy — no missing fingers or toes due to frostbite, but I'd still like you to stay in bed for the rest of the day. 'Then he gave Jimmy a wink, replaced the chart and left the room, humming.

  'I hate this!' Jimmy roared. 'Why does nobody believe us?'

  He thumped the bed in frustration.

  Scoop reached down beside his chair and picked up a sheaf of papers. 'Well — maybe you won't hate this! He held up a copy of the first dummy edition of the ship's newspaper, the Titanic Times. Jimmy saw the main headline, Mysterious Virus Affects California, in big bold letters, but his attention was focussed on the line beneath: by James Armstrong.

  'James?' he asked.

  'It sounded more professional than Jimmy. Your interview with Pedroza is inside.'

  Scoop rolled across and set several copies of the Times on Jimmy's bed. 'I'll leave you to have a read through, Jimmy.' He paused as he was about to turn away again. 'Son — you've done a good job, and you show a real talent for writing. You should give some thought to maybe doing this for a living. But don't be led astray. Claire's a bit of a wild one and she nearly got you both killed today. Never forget, though — her family is super rich. If she gets into trouble they will always look after her and sort her out and smooth over any hiccups. But they won't do the same for you. Will you remember that for me?'

  Jimmy looked at him.

  Then he shrugged.

  13

  Scoop's Secret

  Now that he was safe, and alive, Jimmy was confused on several different levels. He wasn't entirely sure now that Pedroza had intentionally locked them in the freezer. His explanation that he was merely closing the door and switching it on in preparation for use made sense. Scoop assured him that he'd seen it written on the day's rota. Who knew what the evil smile he'd displayed while closing the door really meant? Perhaps that was just his smile. Perhaps he had just been thinking happy thoughts and really hadn't noticed them in the darkened interior.

  What then of Claire's story? What about the family she claimed to have seen? Why would she make it up? To get attention? Because she was evil to the core?

  That evening, while Jimmy rested in bed, Captain Smith visited. He assured him that a thorough search of the ship had been carried out and that no group of stowaways had been found.

  Jimmy maintained that he'd managed to stay hidden for a couple of days, so why not this lot?

  'Claire was talking about nine or ten individuals, with children — young children. Jimmy — it's simply not possible that he could keep them hidden.'

  'We found a hand-print, a child's. . .'

  'Perhaps you did. But we had a dozen different school tours over the past few months and they all came through the kitchens. Do you not think it more likely that some mucky schoolkid has left his mark?'

  Jimmy sighed.

  He didn't know what to make of Claire at all. They'd gotten off on the wrong foot, without a doubt, but their relationship had thawed somewhat — even while they were freezing. But maybe they'd gotten on in the freezer because they had to. Now that they were free again . . . well, she hadn't come to see him yet. Captain Smith, in his own way, was warning him off her, and Scoop certainly hadn't pulled any punches. Jimmy was pretty expert at getting himself into trouble. Did he really need to hang about with someone who was clearly much, much better at it? Despite all his high jinks in Belfast, he'd never come even close to getting seriously injured. A few hours working alongside Claire and he'd almost frozen to death.

  What he did feel good about — and he'd positively glowed when the Captain himself had praised it — was his work for the newspaper. He knew it was only a little paper, but there was something special about seeing his name in print. There were only two days left until their arrival in Miami, and the plan was to produce a paper for each of those days. Jimmy was determined to get right back to work.

  ***

  Dr Hill twice caught him trying to sneak out of the Titanic's hospital. Jimmy finally accepted that he would have to spend the night there and settled into a fitful sleep. Next morning he was up bright and early, and as there was no one around to stop him he hurried straight along to the Times office. But as he was going in, Dr Hill was coming out. They were both surprised to see each other. Dr Hill immediately blocked his way.

  'I'm better,' said Jimmy. 'Really, I'm fine.'

  'It's not you, Jimmy. Scoop's not well. . .'

  'Oh.'

  'You'd better run along.'

  'But I've work to do.'

  'That may be, but he's not up to it. Now . . .'

  'I know what I have to do, I don't need any help.'

  Dr Hill blew air out of his cheeks. 'Jimmy — do you know what's wrong with Scoop?'

  'Apart from the legs?' The doctor nodded patiently. 'Well — his eyes and his blood pressure and his balance and . . . well, no, not exactly.'

  Dr Hill looked up and down the corridor, then ushered Jimmy back into the newspaper office and closed the door. 'Listen Jimmy, this is his last cruise. Do you know that?'

  Jimmy nodded. 'Yeah, he said. But if you report he's sick then he won't get—'

  'His pension. Yes. And I've been covering for him as best I can. But I have other duties. Do you know what they call what he has, Jimmy?'

  Jimmy shrugged.

  'Scoop is an alcoholic, son.'

  'Oh. I thought it was like his heart or cancer or some other kind of disease.'

  'Jimmy, son, that's exactly what it is — a disease. Just you don't get much sympathy if you have it. If you really do know how to put the newspaper together, then do it. Because he's in no state. The Captain is expecting tomorrow's paper to be ready this evening. Is that too much to ask?'

  Jimmy shook his head, although he really didn't know. He'd written a news story for the front page of the Times and a feature for inside, but there were at least ten other pages to fill.

  Dr Hill glanced towards the bedroom. 'He'll sleep now — hopefully right through — but if you really can do this for him, well, it would be marvellous. Can I depend on you?'

  Nobody had ever depended on Jimmy to do anything in his life, or if they had, they had invariably been disappointed. With the best will in the world, and being perfectly honest with himself, the best Jimmy could muster in response was, 'Probably.'

  ***

  In fact, his response should have been, 'No.'

  It was just too big a job for one person. It wasn't that he couldn't do the work — he could write the stories, he could design the pages, he could even print the thing, but he simply couldn't do them all at the same time. Just to add to his problem, he deleted two stories by mistake and then he lost the Internet connection for an hour (although that
wasn't his fault).

  He needed help.

  There was only one place to go.

  He found her on the top deck, sunbathing. She was wearing a red bikini. They were getting close to America now and the temperature had warmed considerably in the past few days. The grey water of the Atlantic was gradually giving way to the turquoise hues of the Caribbean.

  Jimmy sat down beside her. She didn't acknowledge him. 'I need your help.'

  'Is that like support?' Claire snapped. 'Because I got none from you!'

  'Claire . . .'

  'You know it was Pedroza! You know there were people in there! You know I'm not making this up!'

  'I never said you were.'

  'They think I'm a liar, they think I'm just looking for attention, that's all they've ever said about me!' She jabbed an accusing finger at him. 'So why didn't you back me up?'

  'I was still defrosting!'

  'After!'

  'Because!'

  'Because why?'

  'I don't know!'

  'I told you what happened!'

  'I know you did!'

  'And I showed you the hand-print!'

  'I know!'

  'And we both saw him laughing!'

  'I know that!'

  'So?'

  'It's not enough!'

  'It's enough for me!'

  She turned her face away. Jimmy stood and stared out across the water. He was a pale and freckled Irish boy who only saw the sun for a few days each year and he could already feel it starting to burn. He turned back to her. 'Look Claire — it doesn't matter if I believe you. It's what they think, it always is. I know what it's like, I've been up to my neck in trouble all my life, but I don't do half the things they think I do and I still get blamed. So unless we can absolutely prove that Pedroza's responsible, then they're never going to believe us. So if you want to try and do that, then let's do it.'

  She thought about that.

  'But in the meantime, I need your help.'

  'Huh.'

  'I'm serious. Scoop is sick.' He told her about the urgency of getting the paper out, and the chance of the old reporter losing his pension. He didn't mention that Scoop was an alcoholic. It was something he did instinctively. He had spent a lot of time at home apologizing on behalf of his dad, who was always getting into drunken scrapes. 'He needs your help. I need you help. Please.'

  Her eyes flitted up. 'And we can investigate Pedroza as we go?'

  'Yes, of course.'

  She thought about it some more.

  'Another hour's sunbathing, then I'll come down.'

  Jimmy folded his arms. 'No.'

  'What do you mean, no?'

  'There isn't time. We need to start now.'

  'God. You are such hard work.'

  Claire rolled off her bed, picked up her towel and marched off. Then she stopped and looked back at him. 'Well? Are you coming or not?'

  Jimmy smiled and immediately started after her.

  As she started walking again she glanced back. 'One comment about my bum,' she warned, 'and you're dead.'

  14

  Jonas Jones

  While Scoop's snoring reverberated gently through from next door, Jimmy and Claire read in silence the worrying reports coming in from around the world. The 'Red Death' was mutating. People were dying in their thousands. Yet no two reports were the same. In London people were dead within hours of contracting the virus. In one village in China an entire school came down with it within an hour, but by the next day all of the children were back in class, apparently perfectly healthy. New York was going to work as usual. Contact had been lost with Oklahoma City: the telephones were no longer working and all of its television and radio stations had fallen silent. In Kentucky the town of Hopkirk was reported to have lost eighty-five per cent of its population. But in Rawlings, three miles away, there wasn't a single reported case. Scientists had believed it was passed on by human contact. Yet there were villages in parts of Russia that were so remote that they had had no visitors in weeks, but people were dying there as well. Scientists were now saying that it was carried on the air, and that your life might depend on which way the wind blew.

  The American President addressed the nation and assured them that a cure was on the way, which was quite close to what he had promised last time. Leaders of China and India and Great Britain had also placed their faith in the great abilities of scientists to develop a cure, a vaccine or a pill.

  America remained the worst-affected country. Understandably, people were starting to panic. As workers fell ill, food supplies were becoming erratic. There were reports of riots and looting. The National Guard — at least those members well enough to report for duty — had been called on to the streets of several cities.

  'This is horrible,' said Claire.

  'And we're sailing right into it.'

  The only good thing that could possibly be said about all this was that it focussed their minds away from Pedroza. Suddenly the fact that he might be trying to smuggle a few people across the Atlantic seemed unimportant.

  Jimmy remembered Scoop's advice about noting where the passengers would be coming from, and to be sure to give them information about their home states — but not so much that they panicked. To this end they made sure to include good news stories too. People being cured of the virus. A beached whale being successfully towed back to sea. A hundred-year-old woman who'd just gained her pilot's licence. Plenty of sports results (while not dwelling on the fact that many football and baseball matches had been cancelled).

  In the early afternoon Jimmy and Claire travelled down to the vast engine room to meet the Chief Engineer, a heavily-muscled Welsh man called Jonas Jones.

  'Should we call you JJ?' Claire asked.

  'No, Jonas Jones is my name. When I was growing up it was always "give me your pocket money, Jonas Jones; what are you looking at, Jonas Jones; do you want a thick ear, Jonas Jones?" I was a skinny little thing, see. That's why I have all these muscles now, I went out and growed them. Now when I go home, it's all "hello, Mr Jones; how are you, Mr Jones?" And I say, my name is Jonas Jones, and I'm right proud of it.'

  Jimmy thought Jonas Jones was all right, only he rattled on a bit. It was clear that he loved his ship. He enthusiastically described his responsibilities — looking after the massive engines, the air conditioning, the heating, plumbing, refrigeration, ventilation, the water de-salinization systems, the electrics and every aspect of technical repair.

  'You see, each propeller is driven by a double- wound three-phase synchronous motor with four-bladed bronze propellers. The motors are mounted directly on the propeller shaft inside the pod, arranged so that the centre propeller is . . .' He waved his arms across the vast engine room as he excitedly explained the Titanic's capabilities, but as he glanced back at the young reporters and saw their dumbfounded looks he hesitated and said, 'Do you follow?'

  They both shook their heads.

  'Once more,' said Jimmy, 'but this time in English.'

  Jonas smiled. 'Well, this isn't only the most powerful cruise ship in the world, it's the most powerful ship. If only we had some big guns upstairs we could . . . Well, what I'm saying is . . .' and he smiled down at Claire, '. . . your daddy didn't waste any money here. We have the best of everything. Did I mention the fuel? We go through four thousand gallons an hour . . .'

  He went on for ages. Jimmy was frankly worried that his article would end up reading more like an engineering manual than a chatty piece about the life of a chief engineer. When it came time to take the photos Jonas insisted on gathering his crew around him.

  'We're a team,' he said. 'Can't do anything without my team.'

  Claire posed them in half a dozen different ways, but it was difficult to take in the huge size of the engine room without making the engineers themselves look the size of ants.

  Jonas watched his team disperse, then pointed to the epaulets on his white shirt. There were four gold stripes sewn on to a burgundy-coloured patch. 'It's the
colour of blood,' he said, 'in memory of the engineers who went down with the first Titanic.' He shook his head sadly. 'No lifeboats for them. Battled the freezing water down below right to the end.'

  The memory of that disaster quietened him for a moment.

  'Mr Jones?' Jimmy asked.

  'Jonas, please.'

  'Is this Titanic unsinkable?'

  Jonas shook his head. 'No ship is unsinkable. The sea is the mightiest power on this planet, if it wants to sink you, well, it damn well will. But I'll tell you this, it's not the sea that sinks most ships, it's men. Men sank the Titanic, men who thought they were smarter than the sea, men who tried to go too fast, who tried to cut corners. This Titanic ought to be unsinkable, the way it's built; but I never underestimate the capacity of human beings to make stupid decisions.'

  'So can I put in the paper that the ship's great but the Captain might run us into a big rock?'

  Jonas burst into laughter. 'Be the last voyage I ever make if you do!'

  ***

  Jimmy and Claire hurried back to the Times office, doing poor impressions of the Welshman's accent. Now Jimmy had to turn all those facts and figures into something interesting and Claire had to work on her photos. There was only space for one picture — but a single shot of the engineering crew wouldn't convey the power and majesty of the ship they ran, while just a picture of the engines would be rather boring. However, there was a software program on Scoop's computer that might allow her to merge two different shots so that the engines remained impressive while the crew could still provide the human interest without looking either like ants or giants.

  Jimmy entered the office first and surprised Claire, following in behind, by swearing out loud. But then she saw what he was upset about: the computers had been overturned and lay on their sides on the floor, which was covered in reams of torn and crumpled paper.