Spada disappeared around the side of the boat, taking Jung with him. When I saw him again, he was alone and standing at the boat’s controls, his back to me. Was he taking the boat out into open water? Finally there was the sound of sirens; I turned, hoping to see the blue flash of police lights, only there weren’t any yet. The cops were coming, but they weren’t nearly close enough to be much help. I turned back to the Magnifique just as Spada started her up, the loud rhythmic rumble of the engine as loud as rolling thunder. He’d apparently heard the sirens, too, and he was taking off. I raced for the slip, the sirens louder. Now I could see the blue pulse of police lights as at least a half-dozen squad cars streamed up the Drive from Balbo and raced over from Michigan Avenue, heading my way. But the Magnifique was heading out now. They weren’t going to make it in time. I dug in, desperate to hit the slip before the boat tore away from the dock.

My lungs on fire, my heart in my throat, I hit the pathway, the boat almost clear of the slip. I was too late. I slammed into the marina gate. It was locked. I shook it, kicked it, then grabbed hold and clambered up and over, landing hard on the other side. The boat was going. Jung was going. I raced down the dock, watching the boat’s towline drag along the surface of the water, trailing behind the escaping vessel like a tiger’s tail. In Spada’s haste to get away, he’d failed to retract and secure it. I shot a quick look toward the lot. It was now lit up by flashing lights. The cops were here.

I watched the towline as it slowly disappeared below the water, the boat’s powerful engine churning up waves. The Magnifique, seconds from escape, steamed ahead toward the breakwater. There was no use yelling for the police. They wouldn’t hear me. I watched dejectedly as they headed for the marina office. The wrong way. Out of time. I couldn’t wait.

I raced to the end of the dock and dove in, landing squarely in the boat’s wake, my hands fumbling for the end of the sinking towline. It took a few terrifying moments before I managed to grab hold of it underwater and clutch it tight, bobbing and twisting in the midst of the muddy chop, winding the thick rope around my forearms so I wouldn’t lose it in the dark. The shock to my system that the cold water gave me nearly blasted my hands from the line more than once, but I held on.