The Ferry Read Free Page A

for a moment. The only sound comes from the wind, howling on the other end of the line, and the light rain falling against the window next to me.
    “Sophie, talk to me.”
    “Have you managed to get a closer look?” I ask, forcing my brain into gear.
    “Not really. Conditions are atrocious.”
    “But you’re sure it’s the ferry. I mean… Are you sure it’s the ferry? The same one?”
    “Pretty sure. Looks like a sixty-footer, no markings to indicate a name or point of origin, and it appears to have no engine power or lights. It’s just drifting in the storm, plus there’s substantial damage to the hull and the bad weather’s making it difficult for us to get close. We’re going to try to launch some rescue boats to the scene, it’s about four miles off the southern Cornish coast, but I don’t know if they’ll make it. You should see this storm, and it’s still building.”
    “How many people on-board?” I ask.
    “No idea. There must be a crew, at least. Maybe passengers too.”
    “Have you pulled the records yet?”
    “There are no records.”
    I scroll down further. “There must be records,” I tell him. “No boat can be out there without records. There must be traces…”
    “I’m telling you,” he continues, “there are no records for this thing. It’s like it came out of nowhere, and it’s not responding to any attempts to establish contact. We’re still trying to track its route back, eventually we’ll work it all out, but right now we have to assume there are people on-board, and in this weather…” He pauses for a moment. “Sophie, the storm is getting worse, hour by hour. Check it out on the met pages, you’ll see what we’re up against. With waves this strong, the structural integrity of the ferry is going to be compromised. Whoever’s on-board, we need to get them out fast, or they’re going down with it.”
    I nod again, although I quickly realize that there’s no point since he can’t see me. I think I’m in shock.
    “It’s the ferry, Sophie. It’s the one we talked about.”
    “Okay, but -” I pause for a moment, reaching the bottom of the page and then scrolling back up to the video. Hitting the ‘play’ icon, I wait for a moment as the file buffers, and then suddenly my laptop’s speakers blaze to life with the sound of crashing waves. I quickly turn the volume down as I watch grainy images of spotlights picking out the waves. It takes a moment before I spot a dot in the distance, being tossed about by the storm.
    “Rescue attempts are being severely hampered,” the reporter explains, “by worsening weather conditions that make it extremely difficult to get any kind of emergency vehicle close to the ferry. With those conditions forecast to become even stronger over the next few hours, sources at the local coastguard station say that time is of the essence if anyone is to be rescued from the stricken vessel.”
    “You won’t make it,” I whisper, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen. “The waves are too strong. How many people do you really think could be on-board?”
    “A ferry that size?” Mark replies. “Could be a couple of hundred at least, maybe more if it’s an unofficial operation. One possibility we’re considering is that this boat might have been being used in some kind of people-smuggling ring, in which case it could be packed to the rafters.”
    “People-smuggling?” I reply. “This close to the UK? That’d be kind of brazen, don’t you think?”
    “Like I said, it’s just a theory, but…” He pauses again. “Sophie, I called you because I want you to get down here.”
    “Me?” I freeze for a moment, shocked by the idea. “Mark, I -”
    “I know, you quit. I was there, remember? The thing is, there might be hundreds of men, women and children on this ferry, and getting them out is going to be almost impossible in these conditions. I need my best people working with me, and five years after you walked out of here and swore