No Escape: The most addictive, gripping thriller with a shocking twist. Lucy Clarke

weather reports. In the centre a sheet of white paper has been pinned, headed with the title, ‘The Blue: Crew List’.

      Lana’s insides tighten. The names of the crew have been written in thick black marker pen and she scans each of them, her fists balled at her sides, palms sweating.

      Each and every one of those five names dredges up memories that come flooding to the surface of her thoughts. Her heart pounds. It is only when Paul Carter takes a small step to the side, blocking her view of the noticeboard, that she looks up.

      ‘Can I help you?’ he asks coolly.

      She swallows. ‘I’m Lana Lowe. I called earlier about The Blue.’

      ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’

      ‘There wasn’t anyone on reception,’ she tells him.

      ‘I’m afraid you need to leave—’

      ‘I know the yacht,’ Lana says desperately. ‘I used to sail on it.’

      That catches his attention. ‘You did? When?’

      ‘Earlier this year – from January to March.’

      ‘Are you familiar with what safety equipment and communication devices they had on board? We’ve only had limited contact with them.’

      She thinks for a moment, sweeping her mind over the yacht. ‘There were just the standard things – a life raft, life jackets, a grab bag, flares, an EPIRB. There was the VHF radio, and maybe another type, too.’ She can’t remember the names of things any more – the details of the yacht that were once so familiar are now beginning to slip away.

      ‘What about a satellite phone or personal locator beacons?’

      ‘No, not that I know of. None of those.’

      Paul Carter nods, taking this in.

      Lana asks, ‘What happened out there?’

      ‘I’m afraid I need to get back to my desk now.’

      ‘Please,’ she says. ‘My friends are on board.’

      Paul Carter looks at her, then across at his female colleague. ‘All I can say at the moment is that the crew got into difficulties and had to abandon the vessel.’

      ‘Is there any news? Are the crew safe?’

      ‘Search and Rescue are doing everything they can, but no, there’s no news yet. A distress broadcast has been put out to all the vessels in the region, and a sailing yacht and merchant ship are diverting course to approach the search area.’

      ‘Approach? No one is even there yet?’

      ‘Both vessels were over forty miles away at the time. The Search and Rescue helicopter is already in the search area and we’re expecting more news soon.’

      ‘Did the crew make it onto the life raft?’

      ‘We have no information about that, I’m afraid.’

      ‘So … they could be in the water?’

      ‘It is possible, yes.’

      *

      Lana is desperate to remain in the Operations Room, knowing that Paul Carter will be the first person to receive any news, but he tells her, ‘One of my colleagues has organized a waiting room for relatives. Other family members are on their way here.’

      Who, she thinks? The only crew with family in New Zealand are Aaron and Denny. She imagines Denny’s parents would want to be here; she remembers him talking about how much he missed them. It would be over two years since he saw them last.

      ‘I’ll take you there now.’ He looks over his shoulder. ‘Fiona, which room have they allocated?’

      ‘I think it was Twelve A,’ she says, hands poised above a keyboard.

      Somewhere in the office a radio begins to beep. Paul Carter moves towards a desk where a large monitor is mounted. He picks up a hand-held device attached to it. A voice at the other end is saying, ‘Maritime Rescue, Maritime Rescue, this is Team One, this is Team One. Can you hear us?’

      Paul Carter holds the radio handset to his mouth. ‘This is Maritime Rescue. Go ahead, Team One.’

      ‘We have been tracking the EPIRB for The Blue and have now located it.’

      Lana holds herself still, hope rising in her chest. Denny once explained that an EPIRB is a device that is set off in any rescue situation. It is registered to a vessel and gives off the precise position via GPS, and then continues to transmit its position until the device – and hopefully crew – are located.

      ‘Go ahead, Team One. What is the current position?’

      ‘The position is 32*59.098′S, 173*16.662′E. I repeat, the position is 32*59.098′S, 173*16.662′E.’

      Paul Carter leans over his desk, typing the coordinates into one of the three screens that are set up on the main desk. ‘Copy that. Do you have a visual? Is the EPIRB aboard the life raft?’

      There is a delay, then the rush of static.

      Lana looks at Paul Carter’s expression. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is fixed in a serious line. ‘I repeat, is the EPIRB aboard the life raft?’

      The reply comes over the radio, filling the room. ‘There is no life raft in sight. The EPIRB is attached to a body.’

       8

       THEN

      The Blue turned lazily on its anchor, a light breeze stirring the water. On deck Heinrich was fiddling with a radio that he’d taken apart, the innards laid out on a tea towel, and beside him, Shell was sitting forward writing a postcard to her parents.

      Lana had her sketchbook balanced on her knees, and was leaning close to the page, the tip of her tongue pressing against her front teeth. She moved the pencil in short, quick strokes, sketching a coil of rope that lay on deck in front of her. Looking at the page, she could see that the detailing at the end of the rope – where it trailed out of the coil and across the deck – wasn’t quite right. She tore the edge from the rubber she held and rolled it into a sharp point so she could erase with precision.

      She spent a few minutes re-drawing until she was satisfied with it. Then she lifted the sketchbook from her knee and held it at arm’s length. Closing one eye, she studied it. The detailing in the curve of the rope was pleasing. She liked that the image spoke to her of order, things coiled tight, yet she’d also captured the weave of the rope where the threads had come loose – giving the suggestion of it starting to unravel.

      Lana closed the sketchbook, setting her pencil on top. When she looked up, Joseph was storming down the deck, his face set in a heavy frown, his lips pinched. He came to a stop in front of Heinrich, casting him into shade.

      ‘Hello, room-mate,’ Heinrich said with a false smile. It was no secret that the two of them disliked sharing a cabin; often one of them ended up sleeping in the hammock on deck to have their own space.

      ‘Have you been through my backpack?’ Joseph demanded.

      ‘Your backpack?’

      ‘It is not how I left things! Someone has been through it!’ His fingers clenched and unclenched around his loose shirt sleeves.

      ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’ Heinrich asked leadingly.

      ‘Have you?’

      Heinrich rolled his eyes. ‘You really think I want