They raced low over the ocean. Charlie told the pilot to head for the spot where the ransom had been dumped, and ignore David’s boat. A window was rifled back and Kelly felt a blast of cold air. The sharpshooter was moving into position, shouldering his rifle. The helicopter searchlight flashed on. The white beam stabbed the gray surface. A moment later the light from the second helicopter joined them, searching.

There were no other boats in the vicinity.

There was no one in the water. That they could see.

David continued on his merry way to Catalina.

“What just happened?” Vicki demanded. They were fifty feet above the surface. The wind from the rotary blades fanned the water. Furious ripples pressed against small swells. There was no container, no cash, no diamonds. Vicki turned on Charlie, wanting an answer.

Charlie put his hand to his head to ease the pressure. “Get people in scuba gear.”

“You think he’s below us?” Vicki asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, uncertain.

“But you said the water is too deep here.”

“It is, it should be. But—”

“What?” Vicki asked.

“Something’s wrong.”

“If he’s down there, we’ve got him. He can’t get away,” Vicki said.

“Really? How long before our scuba team can get here?” Shaking his head, Charlie added, “We’re missing something.”

“Should I call for scuba divers or not?” Vicki demanded.

Charlie shrugged. “Do it. But he’ll be long gone before they get here.”

“He can’t go that far,” Vicki said. “We’ll catch him when he comes up.”

Charlie spoke softly. “No. He’s thought of that. He’s thought of everything. We won’t stop him, not tonight. He has the cash and the diamonds, and he’s already gone.”

Kelly saw his pain, his certainty. “Will he give us the child back?”

Charlie sighed. “I don’t think so.”

SEVEN

SEVEN

As David Techer drove north on the San Diego Freeway back into Los Angeles County after being led all over Orange County, Matt Connor was already in the water two miles out from the Marina Del Rey harbor. The exact distance was important to Matt, and he helped establish his position with the help of a waterproof GPS device he carried along with his other equipment: a plastic-enclosed cell and tape recorder, scuba gear, binoculars, and two Farallon underwater propulsion devices.

The average ocean depth between the harbor and Catalina was in excess of five hundred feet. But two miles off shore there was an underwater plateau—where the depth was only a hundred feet. Matt had discovered it in the last month while studying underwater maps supplied by the Coast Guard’s office.