Afternoon, August 17th

Laura walked down the natural wool plush carpeted halls of the Cecaelia toward her stateroom, the gracious hallway wide and paneled to her waist in blonde, satin finished wood. The panels shone with dense ripples and swirls and matched together like mirror images below walls of muted dove gray. Understated nickel light fixtures hung from the ceiling. The hallway reminded Laura of a seafaring Apple store. It's a hell of a lot nicer than the GSA-rate hotels the FBI put us up in, she thought.

An attendant greeted her in a crisp, dark suit. He smiled broadly, looking about thirty years old with dark hair and a neatly trimmed short beard. He reminded Laura of a waiter at an expensive restaurant, flirtatious and handsome. He raised a glass of champagne streaked with small bubbles.

"You must be Laura Constantine."

Laura rolled her suitcase to a stop against the hallway wall. She accepted the proffered glass with a nod. "That's me." She took a sip and felt the cool effervescent champagne, full of pears and light pastry. "Let me guess." She paused to nose the glass. "Veuve Clicquot Yellow Brut?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Impressive. I've never had a guest do that."

"It's a fun party trick."

"I'll say. Did you have a long journey here?"

"No, thankfully. I live in Seattle. No worse than a drive to the office."

"Fantastic. We're delighted to have you on board." He winked in a small, sly way. "The couple next door flew in from Dubai for this. I'd take your trip, hands down. My name is Francis." He pointed to a small engraved metal name plate on his lapel. "I will be your cabin steward aboard the Cecaelia. Great choice of luggage, by the way. Is that a Zero Halliburton?"

"It is." She smiled. "It looks like I'm not the only one with a party trick."

"Well, huh. I guess so. When you check as many people in as I have, you get a taste for these things. May I show you how to use your Amulet?"

"Sure." Laura raised the small metal disk on its lanyard.

He gestured at a small brushed nickel panel next to her door with a small screen mounted above it. "If you tap it here, your room will unlock. The screen will greet you."

Laura tapped the aluminum disk against the panel. A hidden circle of lights glowed green and a pleasant chime sounded. The display woke up and displayed:

Welcome, Laura Constantine

Day 1: Embarkation

Francis stepped back. "May I show you the room?"

"No thanks, I like to settle in on my own."

With that, Francis nodded. He lightly touched her elbow as he glided past her down the hallway, and continued on soundlessly. She caught a whiff of expensive cologne like a crackling fireplace.

Laura stepped over the threshold into a spacious room. She smelled a faintly herbaceous and sweet, warm smell. Was it vetiver? It was lovely. She walked first into her bedroom, and found a bed made with soft, creamy satin sheets and draped with a saffron yellow wool blanket with a small label from Iceland. Jewel-like lighting shone on a large abstract oil painting hung on the wall in a black frame. She set her champagne on the night stand and rolled her suitcase against the bed. She sat on it and took off her flats with a deep exhale.

Walking into the living room, she smelled the sweet musk of lilies. A small, minimalist ikebana arrangement sat in the center of an impeccably clean glass coffee table. Francis had dutifully plucked the pollen from them. Was this Helen's idea? Thought Laura. She thought back to their days in their shabby college apartment, when Helen would bring a bouquet of lilies home from the grocery store, wrapped in crinkly plastic. She remembered settling into their sagging thrifted couch to watch episodes of Eligible, their favorite campy dating show.

Below the flowers, the coffee table floated on bent metal legs, like a delicate sculpture. A chestnut colored leather sofa sat against one wall, across from an Eames lounge and a long mahogany side table. Laura shook her head. Laura scoffed. Jesus, this chair is more expensive than my car. A slim TV spanned above it, surrounded by what looked like a picture frame. It was playing a relaxing video of a calving iceberg.

A glass sliding door opened to a small balcony outfitted with teak balcony furniture. The teak railing sat above a seamless sheet of frosted glass. A pleasant, cool marine breeze drifted by.

A soft chime sounded, and the intercom carried a woman's voice with a crisp upper-class British accent. "Attention guests. We trust your embarkation was smooth and pleasant. Welcome aboard the Cecaelia. As a reminder, our welcome drinks reception and dinner will begin shortly in the Wayfarers' Lounge. We can't wait to meet you all."

Laura put her shoes back on, and made her way to the dining room. The elevator bank gently came alive with Brian Eno's Ambient 1/Music for Airports. An elevator opened, full of impeccably dressed guests. Laura stepped inside. The elderly woman to her right sparkled with jewels the size of lozenges. Her husband smiled and nodded. Laura noticed a Breitling watch on his wrist, encircled with small diamonds.

The elevator opened on the fifth deck. A wide atrium stretched in front of Laura. On her left, a long gleaming desk brimmed with attentive employees helping guests. At her right, a small bar nestled into an alcove. A bartender shook a cocktail over his shoulder with a shunk, shunk, shunk of ice.

She kept walking. The space cleaved in two, forming a large mezzanine. Below, a group of employees stood between green card and roulette tables in crisp croupier's uniforms with cleanly pressed white tuxedo shirts, arm bands, and visors, huddled in a pre-game meeting before guests filtered into the casino.

At one end of the mezzanine, a shop sold jewelry and watches. The display cases were clear, long rectangles with metal frames set into wood tables. Laura wondered what kind of person impulse bought expensive jewelry on a cruise. But then again, she hadn't spent much time around the hyper-rich. Maybe they proposed to their third wives on the ship, she thought. Or maybe they bought a Rolex as a vacation souvenir, the way normal people collected fridge magnets.

Across the wide mezzanine, a desk was loaded with neatly rolled towels. Employees stood in head-to-toe white. One checked a woman in on a tablet, nodding attentively. A couple emerged, in matching bathrobes, looking serene. A sign above advertised the Lotus Eaters' Spa. Laura wondered about the analogy. Hadn't the lotus eaters spent all day eating narcotic fruit, instead of attending to life's concerns? Was that a parable being taken literally, or a little bit of tongue in cheek?

Past the Casino, the space opened into a giant atrium, surrounded by two-story windows overlooking the water. She descended a spiral staircase, one of three in the large space, the center filled with an abstract blown glass sculpture, lit from within. It resembled a jellyfish, and the light pulsed slightly to mimic a gentle floating motion. Across the atrium, a coffee bar sat below another staircase with a large orange juicer. A shining chrome tube of vibrant oranges shot upward through the center of the staircase. Impressive, thought Laura, but how do they refill it?

At the center of the atrium, the Wayfarers' Lounge came into view as a collection of leather armchairs and couches arranged in small seating groups. The columns and edges of the staircases showed diagrams of old biplanes and Land Rovers, exploded to show their nuts and bolts. The side of one staircase was emblazoned with a large roundel of old British Lee-Enfield rifles, their bayonets fixed and pointed to the center.

Laura strode into the tangle of seating, walking over a patchwork of persian rugs and between end tables made of old riveted steamer trunks topped with glass. Laura felt like she was walking through an old hunting lodge, or Amelia Aerhart's hanger. Laura settled into an armchair, and the smell of rich leather drifted to her nose.

At the edge of the tangle stood a tall, sandy blond man, his lanky frame draped in a cream colored raw silk suit. He raised a microphone with a long trailing wire and spoke with a strong Australian accent. "Good evening, everyone. Hope your journey here was safe and comfortable. My name is Arthur Wilson. I am your Cruise Director aboard the Cecaelia."

He paused as the shuffling crowd began to settle into seats. "Some people ask me what a cruise director does. It's simple! I am the entertainment man. If you're not having fun, my head will roll." He smiled and scanned the room.

There was a scattered light laugh from the group. More people filed in. "The only things I don't laugh about are 'shrimps on the barbie' and 'crikey!' If you joke about the late, great Steve Irwin, God bless his soul, I WILL throw you overboard. Myself. And I can't throw you that far." This got a large laugh.

"Well, now that we're all settled in. We have a lovely cruise planned. We will be stopping in Ketchikan, Glacier Bay, Anchorage, and finally Dutch Harbor. We're here for 13 days, all told. So, we should get to know each other. Let's have some drinks and get our cruise started!" A phalanx of wait staff swirled into the group from a tight circle, towels folded over their arms. They were carrying trays of cocktails. "Crikey, they're quick, aren't they?" He swung a playful wagging finger around the group. "I can say it, but you can't. It's simple." He laughed. "But please, enjoy some drinks and appetizers. Afterward, our lovely chefs have a delightful dinner planned for you."

Laura leaned back into her chair. The elderly couple across were dressed in sharp evening wear but looked comfortable. To her left, a man in his mid thirties found her eyes and smiled. His tan, hard biceps showed below his polo shirt sleeves as he extended a hand. "I'm Brian Park. Pleased to meet you."