Ellis said something, and then Randall added, “I leased my boat to a company in the Caribbean for the winter. They bought it to use in those waters. They forgot to remove it from the boat.”

The waterfront was directly in front of them. Randall pointed to a paved road that ran next to a parking lot. “It takes you straight to the jetty.”

Kate jammed on the brakes two feet from the edge of the dock. They flung open the car doors and stared in shock at the harbor. “Oh, my God.”

The encroaching dawn revealed a container ship plowing through the water by the northwest tip of McNabs Island. Then it executed a hard starboard turn at the Ives Knoll navigational buoy. A massive wake surged behind it.

It now headed northeast toward Indian Point buoy.

After it cleared that shoal, it would be minutes from CFB Shearwater.

And Ellis was nowhere to be seen.

Randall swung down the ladder to the Ex Parte, his feet barely skimming the bars, and jumped into the cockpit. “I’ll start the engine. Kate, untie the stern.” He disappeared down below to start the engine.

Kate dialed Ellis’ number while she knelt by the large cleats and unwound the rope, tossing it onto the deck. Below decks, the diesel engine growled to life.

The detective answered right away. “Ellis, where are you?” she asked.

“I’m five minutes away.”

She looked across the harbor. The dark silhouette of the ship neared Indian Point. “We need to go now or it’ll be too late. It’s getting close to Shearwater.”

Ellis exhaled. “Go. But you’re going blind. The GPS jammer will jam all cell phone communications. The ship can’t communicate with the tug. Maritime Force can’t communicate with us. You’re on your own until the Coast Guard intercepts you—”

Kate didn’t hear the rest because Randall put Ex Parte’s engine into gear. It strained against rope as she untied the final loop.

“Jump now!” Randall called. Kate scrambled halfway down the ladder and leapt into the cockpit, Randall steadying her landing. As soon as she had both feet on the deck, he swung the wheel away from the dock, slammed the engine into top gear and steered the yacht toward Georges Island.

They hunkered down, Randall at the wheel, Kate in the cockpit. There was nothing to do but watch Georges Island loom closer, and pray that they could catch the ship before it was too late. They needed to be within feet of the container ship for the jammer to work.

“I’m going to cut it close to Georges Island,” Randall called over the wind and engine noise. “It’s more direct.”