It was hard to say why exactly. Just a feeling that important things might happen there. Probably the boat was at the heart of my wondering. It was so big and improbable a vessel to find in that particular place. The only other boats to call Port Holland home these days were a few fishing cobles, good enough in their own way but nothing compared with Meridion. From the beach Meridion looked big, but from the start of the jetty it seemed enormous, a real oligarch’s yacht. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn it was one of those with its own submarine and helicopter. Probably a missile battery, as well, in case the mackerel started attacking in numbers. ‘What do you want?’ I turned. Three men were walking towards me. Crew members, I assumed. They were dressed alike, in navy trousers and sweaters, and padded jackets. ‘I don’t want anything,’ I told the spokesman. ‘Just having a look round.’ Unsmiling, he stared hard at me and said, ‘Get off the jetty.
