Pitt gratefully inhaled several deep breaths, then passed the regulator back to Loren and gazed upward. The hull was still sweeping past, while the main source of his fear, its churning bronze propeller, glinted as it drew near. Pitt threw his arms around Loren and gripped the coral mound with his gloved hands as the stern passed overhead. Even from thirty feet away, Pitt felt the suction from the enormous blades as they cut through the water. Sand swirled about them as they were tugged from the bottom. Then the ship passed, and a wash of sediment rained down upon them. Pitt released his grasp on the coral and kicked to the surface with Loren entwined around him. Their heads popped into the bright sunlight, and they eagerly inhaled the warm, fresh air.

“I thought for a second,” Loren said between gasps, “that you were going to kill me before the ship had the chance.”

“Ducking under seemed the more prudent tack.” Pitt gazed at the stern of the receding freighter noting its name, Tasmanian Star.

Loren pivoted in the opposite direction and scanned the sea as she treaded water beside him.

“They ran right over a sailboat,” she said, scanning the water for survivors. “It looked like an older couple. I could tell we were next in its path.”

“Quick thinking on your part saved us both, though your Morse code could use a little improvement.” Pitt joined her in searching the nearby waters, but neither spotted any debris.

“We can report it to the police once we get ashore,” Loren said. “They’ll catch up with the crew in Valparaiso.”

Pitt turned toward the coastline and was surprised to see their red speedboat bobbing a short distance away. A section of the port hull hung loose, and the boat sat low in the water, but it was still afloat. Pitt stroked over with Loren close behind. He bellied over the side, then pulled her aboard.

“Our clothes and lunch are gone,” she noted, shivering as the sun began to dry her body.

“My lobster, too,” Pitt said.

He stripped off his tank and wet suit, then stepped to the boat’s console. The key was still in the ignition, so he tried pushing the starter. The motor ground over several times, then sputtered to life, as the inboard compartment had remained mostly dry during the boat’s immersion. Easing the throttle forward, he glanced ahead at the fleeing freighter.

The Tasmanian Star was still proceeding on its same heading and apparent speed. Another mile or two ahead lay the harbor of Valparaiso, which curved to the west in the shape of an open bowl. The commercial port facilities were at the west end, yet the freighter was sailing toward the east. Pitt tensed as he tracked the ship’s path, then jammed the throttle to its stops.