Tidal Rage

the downdraft from the rotors washed over them.
Hofgarten was a mere few hundred metres from the consulate.
On exiting the Puma, Max stooped down automatically to shield his face from the downward turbulence of the spinning rotors. Cutler walked to the waiting Land Rover, which had a small United States flag sitting proudly on the hood. He was met by a huge, black-uniformed military policeman. “Sir, you need to come with me immediately.”
Cutler was a professional; he knew that whatever was coming up was not good. In his time with the Service, this was the first time he had been summoned to a consulate or embassy.
The military policeman had hands as large as the steering wheel he manipulated on the short journey to the corner of Schönfeldstrasse and Königstrasse, where the consulate was situated.
The military policeman guided Cutler through the lightly guarded consulate reception area to the police changing rooms, where he gave Cutler a new shirt.
“Consul is a graduate of Kogod School of Business, not seen much blood I’m afraid, sir,” the military policeman said, as Cutler changed into the slightly large starched, crisp white shirt.
Cutler was directed through the marble corridor and up the stairway to the floor housing the consul’s office.
Kalvin Ryan was a small, bespectacled man with hair receding from his forehead and wispy, straggly hair at the sides. Cutler thought he must have family connections or an extraordinary brain, as he was not the typical suited and booted official representative of the American government.
Ryan rose and introduced himself as the American consul from Munich.
“Max—you don’t mind if I call you Max, do you?” the consul asked.
“People usually call me Cutler; it’s been a long time since anyone has used my Christian name, Mr Ryan.”
“Very well, Cutler it is,” the consul responded, as he cleared his throat.
“First and foremost, I’ve been brought up to speed with the operation to stop the ever-resourceful Werner, and I believe congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you, but I’m pretty positive you haven’t brought me here to massage my ego,” Cutler replied.
“No, it’s not the main reason, I’m sorry to say. I’m afraid I have some disheartening news, Cutler; news from back home.”
“Is it one of my parents?” Cutler asked, controlling the rising fear emanating from within his chest.
“No, it’s not about your parents, although it does concern them. You see, they were on holiday, more specifically a cruise out of Seattle. From the little information I know, they were cruising the Inside Passage in Alaska with your sister, Elisa.”
Considering what Cutler had gone through that day, his heart rate had remained a steady sixty-five beats per minute; now his heart raced and was beating at ninety-two beats per minute. He knew bad news was on the way.
“I believe she’s eighteen years old,” the consul said. “It seems your sister has gone missing, Cutler. Off the coast of Juneau. Very little information at this time, I am afraid,” he said, far more quietly.
Cutler looked confused and asked, “You’re telling me my sister is missing in Juneau, Alaska?”
“Not in Juneau. The ship had not docked at the time she went missing. It appears she disappeared from the vessel while at sea. She is not on board. It seems she may have gone overboard, the captain thinks,” the Consul explained, with all the sympathy he could muster.
“Overboard?” Cutler repeated, incredulously. “You realize what you’re telling me, Mr Ryan? It’s June, and the water around there will still be freezing. She would not last five minutes. You’re telling me she’s dead.”
“You need to go home, Cutler. You need to be with your family. There is a flight out tonight from Munich; one stop in Gander, Newfoundland, arriving at La Guardia at 7 am, then a connection on from there. You should be home in twenty-four hours.”
“I’m not going home; I’m going to Alaska to find my sister,” Cutler whispered.

Chapter Seven
Cruising was becoming much more popular and accessible to the working and middle classes due to supply and demand forcing the prices downward. As the ships got larger, with increasing numbers of cabins, prices for cruises fell. Presently, a full-board cruise with flights would cost anywhere between eighty and a hundred dollars a day for the holiday makers. For those wishing outside cabins with balconies, the price rose to several hundred dollars a day, and up to tens of thousands a day for those who could afford the extra luxuries such as suites and butlers.
The affordability and multitude of cruises and geographical locations had pushed America into prime position for cruises. Old and new cruise ships headed north out of New York to Canada and south to Florida. On a weekly basis, ships left the East Coast and Florida to ports to the Caribbean and South America. On the western coast of the United States, they sailed from San Diego to Hawaii and Mexico and beyond; from Seattle to Alaska and Japan. America had grown into the hub of the cruise line industry.
It was inevitable at some stage that Sebastian would either land at one of these ports by ship or fly into one to board a ship for local destinations.
His acclaim as a cruise pianist was extremely high, and he was in constant demand. Sebastian was ahead of the pack. He was much sought after, because he could double up, perform classics with the onboard orchestras on the large ships as well as undertaking his piano bar sessions each night.
Sebastian was in demand and could choose to work for any of the cruise lines. To date, he had worked on three different cruise lines out of America over the past five years, and it would soon be time to find new pastures.
Sebastian had berated himself after the fiasco in Malaysia. That had been seven years ago, and it still angered him to think of