They were unlucky, however, that the ceiling of clouds had dropped, forcing them to an altitude of four hundred feet and thus cutting how far they could see to the horizon. For ten minutes, as the chopper’s turbine sucked gas like a drunk at an open bar, they crisscrossed grid lines Gomez had laid out on his kneeboard chart. And they found nothing.

“I don’t want to add to our woes,” Adams said over the chopper’s communications net, “but we’ve got about five minutes of fuel remaining.”

Linc didn’t take the binoculars from his eyes when he said, “Pessimist.”

And a moment later, he was proven correct. “There.” He pointed ahead.

Juan leaned forward between the two front seats and accepted the glasses from the former SEAL.

Like a belly-up fish floating dead in the water, the capsized hulk of the once beautiful luxury craft lay lost and forlorn, with waves crashing along its length and remarkably little debris around it. As they drew closer still, Juan saw two people, who’d been sitting near where one of the propeller shafts emerged from the hull, stand up and begin to wave frantically. For a moment he was hopeful one was Linda Ross, but it quickly became apparent they were both men dressed in identical dark suits.

“Security guards,” Juan said. “They must have been on deck when she flipped. They would have been thrown clear and then swam back to wait.”

Gomez flew them in, hovering over the yacht just aft of amidships. He timed the hulk’s gentle roll and settled the helo with its skids straddling the Sakir’s keel. He killed the engine and powered down the electronics. The two guards rushed over to them, ducking below the still-spinning blades to reach the chopper.

Juan swung open his door. “Is it only the two of you?”

“There was a third,” the more senior man said. “He was with us on deck, but he never surfaced after the ship flipped over.”

“Any sign of other survivors? Have you heard anyone tapping from inside the ship?”

It was clear neither had thought to listen. Linc was already on his hands and knees sounding the hull with a giant wrench, his head cocked like a dog’s listening for a response.

Juan began to gather up his scuba equipment. “Let me get my gear out, and you two can sit in the chopper and warm up.” The guards were soaked to the skin and looked grateful for the opportunity to get out of the wind and rain. “My ship should be here in another hour or so, and we’ll get you some dry clothes and a hot meal.”

“Who are you?”

“Juan Cabrillo of the Corporation.”

“You’re the outfit the Emir hired for additional security.”

“The irony isn’t lost on me,” Juan told them.