The captain’s cabin was small but orderly. Medals and mementos filled the walls and bookshelves. Ivar Costas was an old navy man. Twenty years of service to his country, then twelve more to his company before starting his own small fishing business. The Gabriel was the oldest of his three ships trawling the Mediterranean. Over the years, the captain had grown increasingly apolitical—business, family, a quiet retirement—these had crowded out what were once passionate concerns about nations, peoples, and the gloomy fate of the civilized world. But he was a loyal friend of Andrew’s uncle, and friendship and financial gain were enough to entangle him in this bit of maritime intrigue.