Chris fumbled with the switch, and then turned it on himself and Mark.

The man studied them for a few seconds. ‘Yeah, you look English,’ he said, pushing the hatch fully open and pulling himself with surprising agility out onto the foredeck.

Chris turned back to Mark. ‘I look English? How the hell is an Englishman meant to look?’ he muttered.

‘You lack American cool,’ Mark smirked.

‘You boys want to hire this boat for a couple of days?’ the old man interrupted, scratching his chin.

They both nodded.

‘Of course we’ll pay top dollar,’ added Chris.

‘You’d have to. This is a workin’ boat. If she’s busy takin’ you boys out on a pleasure cruise, then she ain’t workin’, and that’s gonna cost.’

Chris nodded gravely. ‘I understand.’

The old man looked them over again. ‘This’ll be about the wreck out there, won’t it?’

‘The plane wreck, yeah,’ Chris admitted reluctantly. He had hoped the story would still be relatively unknown, but, it seemed, Port Lawrence was a small town.

‘So… you boys don’t look like tourists. Where you from?’

Chris pulled out a business card and handed it to the old man. ‘I work for a magazine. I want to photograph the plane. I’m doing a story on it. The name’s Chris by the way.’ He gestured at Mark. ‘This guy’s Mark. He’s a diving instructor and he’s here to hold my hand when we go underwater.’

For a moment he wasn’t sure whether the old man was going to take that literally.

The old man appeared mildly impressed with the press card. ‘What magazine? Not the Enquirer, I hope. I can’t stand that kind of rubbish.’

‘God, no!.. I work for News Fortnite, it’s a bit like the National Geo — ’

The old man snapped his fingers. ‘I know it. I got some of those.’ He looked at Chris for the first time with an expression one step up from contempt. ‘Do the pictures, huh?’