‘So, what’s the plan?’ Orla asked. ‘I’m assuming there is one?’
She looked around at the others on the bridge, hoping for inspiration but getting nothing back. Chapman stood at the controls, staring out at the expanse of grey water ahead of them. ‘There was a plan,’ he said, ‘but to be honest, it didn’t go much further than getting you lot out of the Tower.’
‘People are gonna start asking.’
‘f**k ‘em,’ he said, and he meant it.
Orla turned to David. ‘Look, even if it’s vague, we need to tell them something. People need something to hold on to. They know we’re not just going to keep sailing down the Thames indefinitely. Once the buzz of getting away from the Tower has worn off, they’ll start asking questions.’
‘Why are you looking at me?’ he asked.
‘Because people look up to you, Dave
