We were too far off to pick out faces, but several of the water taxis, lightweight and overloaded with rescues from the lost rafts, were riding dangerously low, probably shipping a ton of water. At least one raft still in tow was upside down, its cargo ruined or lost to the depths. The smaller boats, like the Tommy patrol boats, were being roughly tossed about. Every boat had bailers hard at work.

The waiting was worse than the travel. I wished the skippers would be braver about the entry and hurry the hell up. No real idea when the two storms would combine and reach their peak, but if the convoy wasn’t inside the stadium soon, we’d have disaster on our hands. The snow had turned to wind-whipped pellets that bit our cheeks and coated every surface with a rime of ice. My muscles were screaming from the work of simply staying upright and being jerked to the full extent of my harness whenever a wave came at us from an unexpected angle, driving Melville sideways toward the southern shore until Daniel could force our head up again. If we rode broadside up a steep enough swell, we could capsize.

I’d been listening for a while without realizing it, picking up a slight change in the storm din rushing past my ears. A distant, high-pitched buzz, like cicadas used to make, coming at us from the northwest.

I nudged Daniel. “Hear that?”

He was fighting the tiller, playing Melville’s engine like a fine instrument. But he threw a glance around—like, had I heard shooters, though it made no sense, out here in the middle of the bay?

The buzz rose and fell with the swell. I pointed upriver. “Sounds like a boat. A fast one.”

Which could be shooters. Daniel’s eyes lidded in exhaustion. “Not more. Not now. We’re so close!”

He raised our speed to avoid the tangle of boats slipping into the stadium two, three at a time, putting us between the convoy and the incoming.

The intruder was being pushed to the limit, like a mad animal screaming, fit to burn out its engines. And just the one. A suicide mission?

“What if it’s a bomb? Should I get Breakers up here?”

“No.” Daniel’s head went up. “Wait. That sounds like . . . no. How could it . . . ?”

The incoming crested a wave, a splash of white and blue against the sullen water, then dropped from sight.

“Get the binocs! Hurry!”

I had to snap out of my harness and crawl hand over hand to reach the right storage locker. Balanced on spread legs like a circus act, I waited for the intruder to rise on the next swell. He was much closer this time.

“Oh, my god! Daniel, it’s Sea Sprite!”

He nodded once. “Sounded like.”

“They changed their minds!” So why didn’t he look more relieved? He was getting his family back.

“Keep watching!”