The commander shook his head. He didn’t understand. I was screwing up the plan. He returned to his telephone and more conversations with his colleagues. After a few minutes his launch peeled off and sped toward the Logan dock to prepare for our arrival. The larger boat shadowed us the rest of the way.

We docked a few hundred feet from where the water shuttle had departed forty-five minutes earlier. It had been a very long round trip. As the crew was making fast the Serendipity’s line, Alessi approached me. “I hope this search will not take long,” he said. “The plane is waiting.”

“Maybe I can help,” I said. The commander was standing just back from the dock. Behind him were several dozen men in blue jumpsuits, ready to board the boat and search it. I jumped off the stern of Serendipity and walked toward him. He moved toward me at the same time. Alessi remained back on the yacht with the captain.

“What the fuck is going on?” the FBI man said. “I’m the special agent in charge. I work with Rubino. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. There’s no point in searching the boat. Bézy isn’t here. He’s in Montreal. I’m going to interview him there.”

“That’s against orders.”

“I don’t have any orders. Anyway, I’ve made a decision. I’m going.”

A dark look of consternation and confusion came over the FBI man’s face. He turned away from me and began speaking into the sleeve of his trench coat again, and then listening through his earpiece. The conversation took several minutes, back and forth.

“We’re searching the boat,” he said. “Those are our orders.”

I looked back at Alessi. He was looking at his watch, impatient to go.

“Search whatever you want,” I said. “Bézy isn’t there. Meanwhile, that gentleman and I are going. We have to catch a plane.”

The FBI commander had one more frantic conversation into his sleeve. When he turned back to me, his eyes were on fire. He was furious, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t arrest me; he couldn’t order me; he couldn’t detain me. He moved so close that we were almost touching and spoke into my ear.

“If you go to Montreal, Truell, you’re on your own. That comes from Rubino. He’s pissed at you. He says you fucked him.”

“I know. Tell him I understand how he feels. But I’ll be okay, and so will he.”

I walked back to the yacht, where Alessi was waiting. He had a camera in his hand. Evidently he wanted to record this scene for his files.

“We can go now,” I said. “They’re going to search the boat. I told them Bézy wasn’t aboard, but they want to make sure.”