Ann’s years of springboard diving kicked in. She stiffened her body as she dove and stretched her hands above her head, reaching for the sea. She hit the water at a vertical angle, the desired rip entry barely producing a splash. The cool Pacific made her body shudder as she dove deep, then turned and swam toward the Mexican boat.

Surfacing off its outer beam, she moved in close alongside to stay concealed. She heard a man jumping aboard, then noticed the boat was drifting clear of the Drake. With a swift kick she reached up the side of the hull and grasped a rail stanchion on the deck. Then the engines rumbled, and the boat lurched forward. Ann held firm and let the boat’s momentum drag her across the surface as she swung one leg up and caught her foot on the deck. She yanked her torso up and rolled aboard on the narrow deck that ran alongside the enclosed cockpit.

She lay patiently, catching her breath and building her nerve, as the boat raced toward shore. It would be a half-hour journey. With darkness her ally, she waited for the sky to turn black. Salt water sprayed her face, and she bounced like a rodeo rider, battling to hold her position while praying no one looked her way.

Pablo and his men hung on the stern deck rail for several minutes, watching the Drake behind them. The barge faced them, obscuring the launch of the small Zodiac from its stern. After several minutes, the party moved into the cabin. Pablo made a phone call, then sat and drank a bottle of Dos Equis.

When a charcoal wash crossed the skies, Ann crept backward along the rail until she could catch a peek at the open deck. A dark, heavy-set man sat on a side bench, cradling a handgun as he gazed off the stern. He had a high forehead and a long full beard, reminding Ann of a young Fidel Castro. Secured on the deck in front of him was Heiland’s crate, which he used as a footrest.

Though the odds were against her in a gunfight with the full crew, this lone man she could subdue, especially with the element of surprise on her side. Her objective was simple: just get the crate over the side by any means she could. Perhaps Pitt and the NUMA ship could find it later. At least it would stay out of foreign hands.

She inched backward along the side rail and dropped quietly to the deck. Voices came from the main cabin, which was several steps below deck and out of clear view. Just above the cabin was the boat’s cockpit, where Ann could see the pilot’s legs a few feet away. With the boat closing in on the coast, she could only hope the pilot kept his eyes on course.