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.
'Jimmy — it's him, it's Pedroza, he's . . .' and then they heard a groan, and then a cough, and they hurried across the office and there was Scoop, lying face down but trying to get up on to his knees. He pulled himself halfway up, then collapsed down again and threw up.
'He's been attacked!' Claire cried. 'Pedroza's. . .'
But Jimmy had spotted something — what Scoop had been trying to get hold of. A bottle of vodka.
'He hasn't been attacked, Claire.'
Claire stared at Scoop. Her hands went to her face. 'The Red Death.' She took a step back.
'Nope,' said Jimmy. He picked up the bottle and turned the label to show her. Her eyes widened.
'Vodka . . .?'
'Yup.'
'You mean he's drunk?'
'Yes he is . . . and most of the time, apparently. He's an alcoholic. Dr Hill told me.'
Claire looked sadly down at the old reporter. He was snoring gently now. But her sympathy only lasted for a few moments. 'He's wrecked the place! All our work!'
Jimmy stood beside her, nodding. 'If we tell on him, your dad will sack him.'
'My dad wouldn't . . .' But then she stopped. 'Yes he would.'
'So what do we do?'
Claire thought for a moment.'OK. You clean up the sick, I'll check the computers.'
'I don't think so.'
'OK. I'll get him back into his room, you clean up the sick.'
'I think not.'
'Well, someone has to do it. We'll call the cleaners.'
'And make them promise not to tell anyone? I don't think so.'
'Well what then?'
'We do it between us.'
'We . . .' She looked truly horrified. 'But. . .'
'Come
on,'
said Jimmy.
***
Through a combination of dragging, pushing, prodding and shouting — mostly at each other, because Scoop remained out for the count — they managed to get him back into bed.
Then they cleaned up the sick.
They were nearly sick themselves.
They righted the computers and tried to switch them on, convinced that Scoop's frenzied assault on his own office — a crazy
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.
'Jimmy — it's him, it's Pedroza, he's . . .' and then they heard a groan, and then a cough, and they hurried across the office and there was Scoop, lying face down but trying to get up on to his knees. He pulled himself halfway up, then collapsed down again and threw up.
'He's been attacked!' Claire cried. 'Pedroza's. . .'
But Jimmy had spotted something — what Scoop had been trying to get hold of. A bottle of vodka.
'He hasn't been attacked, Claire.'
Claire stared at Scoop. Her hands went to her face. 'The Red Death.' She took a step back.
'Nope,' said Jimmy. He picked up the bottle and turned the label to show her. Her eyes widened.
'Vodka . . .?'
'Yup.'
'You mean he's drunk?'
'Yes he is . . . and most of the time, apparently. He's an alcoholic. Dr Hill told me.'
Claire looked sadly down at the old reporter. He was snoring gently now. But her sympathy only lasted for a few moments. 'He's wrecked the place! All our work!'
Jimmy stood beside her, nodding. 'If we tell on him, your dad will sack him.'
'My dad wouldn't . . .' But then she stopped. 'Yes he would.'
'So what do we do?'
Claire thought for a moment.'OK. You clean up the sick, I'll check the computers.'
'I don't think so.'
'OK. I'll get him back into his room, you clean up the sick.'
'I think not.'
'Well, someone has to do it. We'll call the cleaners.'
'And make them promise not to tell anyone? I don't think so.'
'Well what then?'
'We do it between us.'
'We . . .' She looked truly horrified. 'But. . .'
'Come
on,'
said Jimmy.
***
Through a combination of dragging, pushing, prodding and shouting — mostly at each other, because Scoop remained out for the count — they managed to get him back into bed.
Then they cleaned up the sick.
They were nearly sick themselves.
They righted the computers and tried to switch them on, convinced that Scoop's frenzied assault on his own office — a crazy
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