They climbed back down to the sand, then waded into the surf and set off, perpendicular to the beach, in a quiet, energy-efficient breaststroke. Once they’d covered fifty yards, they turned south, parallel to the beach, until they drew even with the dock. They stopped and treaded water.
“Movement?” Sam asked.
“I don’t see any.”
“Head for the Rinker.”
They set out again, arms sweeping them forward, their eyes scanning the dock area for movement. Soon they reached the Rinker’s transom. They took a moment to catch their breath, listening and looking. From the Njiwa’s cabin they heard muffled voices, then a pounding sound. Silence. More pounding.
“Someone’s hammering,” Sam whispered. “Touch that engine.”
Remi touched the Rinker’s outboard with the back of her hand. “Cold. Why?”
“This one will have more gas. Wait here. Time for our insurance policy.”
He took a breath, ducked under, and swam alongside the first Rinker to its twin at the head of the dock. He grabbed the gunwale, chinned himself up, and looked around. No movement. He boosted himself over the side onto the deck, then crawled forward to the driver’s seat. He checked the ignition. Not surprisingly, the keys were missing. He rolled onto his back, opened the maintenance hatch beneath the dashboard, and wiggled inside. He clicked on his penlight and studied the wiring bundle.
“Just like old times,” Sam muttered. Five months earlier he’d found himself doing the same thing with another speedboat on a lake in the Bavarian Alps. Luckily, like that boat’s, this Rinker’s wiring was simple: ignition, wipers, navigation lights, and horn. Using his Swiss Army knife, Sam severed each wire, taking as much length as he could. He rolled them into a tight ball and tossed it over the side, then wriggled back out and closed the hatch. He crawled back to the gunwale, did a quick check, then rolled back into the water and returned to Remi.
“Okay, if all goes well, this’ll be our getaway boat. We grab the bell, disable the Njiwa if we can, then bring the bell back here—”
“How?”
“I’ll manage it somehow. We’ll worry about the hernia later. We bring the bell back here and slip away before anyone knows what’s happened.”
“And if all goes unwell? Never mind; I already know. We play it by ear.”
THEY STROKED AROUND the dock to the Njiwa’s stern and immediately realized the yacht was bigger up close. The stern rail was ten feet above the waterline. Remi fished the dhow’s sea anchor from her backpack. Sam examined it.
“Too short,” he whispered into her ear, then gestured for her to follow. They stroked back to the Rinker’s transom. “Time for Plan B,” Sam said. “I’ll try the ladder.” Remi opened her mouth to speak, but he pushed on. “It’s the only way. If I jump from the dock, it’ll make too much noise. Get into the Rinker and be ready to take off.”
“No.”
“If I get caught, run.”
“I said—”
“You run and get back to civilization and call Rube. He’ll know what to do. With you missing, Rivera will assume you’ve contacted the authorities. He won’t kill me—not right away. He’s too smart for that; dead bodies are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Remi frowned and gave him a withering stare. “Let’s call all that Plan C. Plan B is you don’t get caught. We’re up to our chins, Sam.”
“I know. Keep a sharp eye out. I’ll signal you when it’s clear. If I raise my hand and spread my fingers, it’s safe to come; a raised fist, stay where you are.”
He took off his shirt and shoes, stuffed both in his backpack, and handed the pack to Remi.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Clothing drips and shoes squeak.”
“Sam, have you been taking commando classes on the side?”
“Just watching the Military Channel.”
He kissed her, then ducked beneath the surface, stroked under the Rinker, and resurfaced under the dock. Another breath and another duck brought him alongside the Njiwa’s white hull. He stroked forward beneath the companion ladder, then paused. He could hear muffled voices coming from the cabin. Two men, perhaps three. He strained to catch any words or isolate the voices but failed. He boosted himsel
f onto the dock, laid flat, waited and listened, then got up and crept up the ladder. Below the top rung he paused, poked his head up, saw nothing, and crawled onto the deck. He stood up and pressed himself against the bulkhead.
The sliding door opened. A rectangle of yellow light angled onto the deck. Heart in his throat, Sam did a rapid sidestep along the bulkhead and around the corner to the forecastle, where he froze and took a few calming breaths.