The Devil's Triangle

Also by Mark Robson

Imperial Spy

Imperial Assassin

Imperial Traitor

The Dragon Orb series

Firestorm

Shadow

Longfang

Aurora

First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Simon
and Schuster UK Ltd, a CBS company.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor, 222 Gray’s Inn Road, London WC1X 8HB

www.simonandschuster.co.uk

Text copyright © Mark Robson 2011

The right of Mark Robson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-84738-978-7
eBook ISBN: 978-1-84738-979-4

Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed in the UK by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading RG1 8EX

For Sam and Neve.
A special reading adventure for you.

And for Katharina (Kitty),
who has been like an extra daughter this year.

CHAPTER ONE

‘Row 41. These are ours.’ Niamh dumped her little backpack on the nearest of the three seats and reached up to open the overhead locker. ‘Bags I get the window seat.’

‘It’s yours,’ Sam replied, leaning forward to look out through the little porthole window. ‘It’s a naff view anyway. All you can see is the wing. Do you mind if I have the aisle seat, Cal?’

‘Sure,’ Callum replied amiably. ‘Fine by me.’

And it was. At this moment he didn’t care where he sat. It was just exciting to be here. Sam and Niamh might be casual about heading out to the Florida Keys for the summer holidays, but this was the trip of a lifetime for Callum. The furthest he’d ever been from home before was to Paris on a school trip. He could still hardly believe he was about to fly to America.

‘Cool!’ Sam exclaimed as he settled into his seat. ‘This is one of the jets with the new entertainment systems. Not all the 747s have these. Loads of films and games on demand. It helps the time pass no end, Cal. The flight takes forever without it. If you’d come with us a few years ago . . . aw, Dad! Do you have to?’

Callum leaned forward and instinctively pushed his glasses up his nose. Curious to see what had put the exasperated note into his friend’s voice, he looked across the aisle at Mr Cutler. Matthew Cutler did not seem in the slightest bit bothered by his son’s outburst.

‘Yes, Sam,’ he replied calmly, glancing across the aisle and then returning his attention to finding his page in the book he was holding. ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’

‘But you must have read that book a dozen times already,’ Sam grumbled. ‘You’ll freak out the other passengers. Haven’t you got anything else in your bag?’

‘I’ve got my old friends Berlitz and Kusche. Would you rather I read one of those? Besides, you exaggerate. I’ve only read this one a couple of times and while Quasar is something of a sensationalist, his work is much more recent than the others. Some of the stuff he’s dug up is very interesting.’

‘Can I have a look, sir?’ Callum asked, intrigued to see what they were talking about and keen to ingratiate himself with the man who was paying for his holiday.

‘Certainly, Callum,’ he replied, leaning across the aisle and passing the book. ‘But please, call me Matt or Matthew. I have enough of being “sir” during the school term time.’

‘OK . . . Matt,’ Callum agreed hesitantly. After the formality of St George’s Grammar School for Boys, where all adults were ‘sir’ or ‘miss’, it seemed strange to be calling Mr Cutler by his first name, but the smile he received for using the familiar form immediately made him feel more comfortable with it.

The book had a dark cover picture of a stormy sea with a map of the North Atlantic Ocean superimposed over it. A line of dashes joined Bermuda to Puerto Rico and Miami, and the title read
Into the Bermuda Triangle
in bold red type.

‘Is this true?’ Callum asked, pointing at the statement in smaller white type at the bottom of the front cover that declared ‘More than 1,000 ship and airplane disappearances in the past 25 years’. ‘I mean, I thought the Triangle was a sort of modern-day myth.’

‘Well, as I said, Gian Quasar, the author, appears to be a bit of a sensationalist,’ Mr Cutler replied carefully. ‘He’s probably right about the total, but not all of those ships and planes vanished without trace – far from it. The vast majority of the incidents are perfectly explainable, with little mystery about them. The Triangle is renowned for its unpredictable weather. It’s had a bad reputation with sailors since the time of the early explorers. Of course it wasn’t called the Bermuda Triangle then. It’s been given many dramatic names over the years: the Hoodoo Sea, the Twilight Zone, the Port of Missing Ships, the Limbo of the Lost. My favourite is the Devil’s Triangle. Perhaps that’s because the name implies an
intent
behind the disappearances.’

There was a strange note in Mr Cutler’s voice as he spoke.

‘So you think there might be something more to it than just weather,’ Callum suggested thoughtfully, turning the book over and skimming his eyes across the blurb. ‘Is the Triangle a hobby of yours?’

Something dug sharply into his right side. He twisted to get comfortable only to discover Niamh was jabbing him with her fingers. He opened his mouth to ask her why, but stopped. Her expression was full of warning. She was using him as a shield to keep from being in her father’s line of sight. The slightest shake of her head was enough to tell Callum this conversation was not one he should be pursuing.

‘I suppose it could be called a hobby,’ Mr Cutler said, oblivious to his daughter’s intervention and his voice sounding suddenly grim. ‘Do I believe the Triangle holds some strange mysterious force that causes ships and planes to disappear?’ He paused. ‘My head tells me no . . . but then my heart . . . well, let’s just say that I’m not sure quite what to believe any more.’

‘Give the book back,’ Niamh whispered softly to Callum. ‘And change the subject.’

Callum didn’t need any further hints. He handed the book across the aisle just as a stewardess in her red and white uniform approached on her seatbelt check. She twisted her head to glance at the title of the book and chuckled as she read it.

‘Oh, you don’t want to read that today, sir,’ she said, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘We’re going to be flying right through there, you know.’

‘Are we?’ Callum asked, surprised. A nervous knot tightened in his stomach. ‘I hadn’t realised.’

‘I shouldn’t worry too much,’ the stewardess said, her smile clearly genuine. ‘Our pilots today have a pretty good track record of finding their way to Miami.’

Almost as if he had heard the comment, the aircraft’s public address system burst into life and the pilot began his welcome to the passengers.

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Phil Hanson and I’m going to be your captain today. Together with my first officer, Mark Gillies, I’ll be flying you out to sunny Miami. Our estimated flight time today is eight hours and fifty minutes and we’ll be cruising at an altitude of . . .’

‘Eight hours fifty!’ Sam groaned.

‘Is that longer than usual?’ Callum asked, the feeling of tension in his stomach twisting a little tighter.

‘Not much,’ Niamh said calmly, flicking through the in-flight entertainment magazine she had pulled from the seat pocket in front of her. ‘Ignore Sam’s moaning. What’s a few minutes here and there when you’re going to be stuck in this seat for the best part of the day anyway?’

The captain finished his announcement by requesting all passengers to watch the safety video and the demonstration of the location of the nearest emergency exits by cabin staff. Callum was happy to comply, though he saw that Sam and Niamh weren’t paying the slightest attention, and Mr Cutler was already lost in his book. There was a buzz of happy excitement in the aircraft. Young children were chattering excitedly and parents were trying to keep them in their seats and amused while the cabin crew began their final checks.

Callum failed to notice the movement at first, but then he did a double take as his eyes glanced around at the window.

‘We’re rolling backwards!’ he gasped.

‘Relax!’ Niamh chuckled. ‘It’s totally normal. We’re being pushed back away from the terminal building, that’s all. Haven’t you flown before?’

‘No. Never,’ Callum replied, doing his best to look casual about it. ‘Does it show?’

‘Only a lot!’

‘Well, I guess I’ll just have to live with that,’ he muttered.

Taking off was the most exhilarating experience Callum had ever felt. As the powerful engines of the enormous Boeing jet accelerated them down the runway, he could not help wondering how such an enormous machine could ever climb into the air. It didn’t seem right that air could support something that weighed so much. Just as he felt sure the laws of nature were agreeing with him and the runway must be running out, the front of the aircraft tipped upwards. Much of the vibration ceased instantly, and the dominant sound changed from the deep rumble of wheels on tarmac to the clean roar of the jet engines driving them away from the ground. They had been airborne for more than a minute before Callum realised his fingers were clasping the seat arms in a white-knuckled death grip.

‘Wow!’ he breathed, relaxing his fingers and wiggling them to release the tension.

Niamh glanced down at Callum’s hands as he interlocked his fingers and flexed them back and forth. ‘So did you squeeze us into the air today?’ she asked, affording him a knowing smile.

Callum could feel his face flushing. ‘I’d have thought you’d be thanking me,’ he replied quickly. ‘We’d be sitting in a smoking wreck halfway to Windsor if I hadn’t squeezed at the critical moment.’