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rested in. The two bodies closest to him had slumped down, but a third, towards the rear of the cabin, still sat
unnaturally upright.
    Aristides crossed himself, then eased forward gently into the cabin, careful to avoid touching either of the first two bodies, until he could see the third one clearly. Then the reason for the
corpse’s unnatural stance immediately became clear. A shard of metal, probably aluminium and apparently ripped from the fuselage of the aircraft itself, had speared through the back of the
seat and was still lodged between two vertebrae of the corpse’s neck.
    Hanging suspended centrally amid what was left of the cabin, Aristides swung round in a complete circle, his eyes following the torch beam as he searched for anything of value or interest. He
stopped the beam between two of the seat frames and focused it on a dark bulky shape squatting among the marine growth and debris covering the buckled floor of the cabin.
    Aristides moved carefully towards this object, transferred the torch to his left hand and then extended his right arm. He gave the thing an experimental prod, and it moved slightly across the
floor. Then he pulled it towards him and studied it more closely. Made of what appeared to be rotting leather, it looked like the kind of bag usually carried by doctors.
    Putting the torch down carefully on the floor, and wedging it so that it illuminated the bag, Aristides pulled the heavy diving knife from its sheath strapped to his right calf. Holding the bag
firmly with his left hand, he stabbed the knife into the side of it and then ripped it open. He tipped the bag onto its side and looked down in puzzlement as a cascade of corroded medical
instruments tumbled out.
    Aristides mentally shrugged and transferred his attention to the object that caught his attention immediately he had peered into the cabin. Unlike the leather bag, this was bouncing gently and
improbably against the ceiling of the aircraft cabin, rather than lying on the floor. That meant that it was either naturally buoyant or, more likely, waterproof and airtight.
    Picking up his torch again, Aristides reached for the object of his interest. Only then did he notice what appeared to be a small silvery tail dangling from it. As he peered more closely, he
realized that this tail was actually a handcuff and immediately he recognized the bulky briefcase. The handcuff, which had presumably once been fastened around the wrist of one of the corpses below
it, suggested that the case contained something valuable. Light, certainly, but valuable.
    Professionally conscious of the passage of time, Aristides checked his chronometer and backed out of the aircraft’s cabin, now holding the briefcase in his left hand. He wanted to try to
identify the aircraft itself, if he could, before having to surface.
    Aristides secured the case to the line holding the lifting air bag, then swam back to the remains of the fuselage. He noticed what appeared to be part of a registration number visible near the
rear end of the cabin, on the starboard side, and rubbed his gloved hand over it until he could make out the first letter. He couldn’t interpret any of the following digits until he’d
scraped off some of the marine growth with his diving knife. That revealed three numbers which, together with the initial letter ‘N’ – Spiros instantly interpreted this as the
Greek capital letter nu – he wrote on his waterproof pad. It looked to him as if there was another number, perhaps even two numbers, but it or they were indecipherable without shifting
more growth.
    Aristides wondered if the registration would be repeated on the other side of the cabin, and swam around to check. But when he spotted the jagged hole in the fuselage, he forgot all about
checking numbers.
    Southern Adriatic Sea
    There was a brief silence on the frequency, then the squadron Senior Pilot, flying Tiger One, responded.
    ‘Tiger Two from Leader. Can you make it back