On the deck of the Ibiza, Arpad Bako looked at the police boats, then down at the men struggling to climb aboard the yacht. “Leave the stragglers,” he shouted. “There’s no time.”

Poliakoff turned to Bako. “First you want to stay and then you want to abandon our men? Who’s the coward now?”

Bako pulled a pistol from inside his coat and fired.

Poliakoff’s face seemed astonished. He looked down at the front of his white shirt, where a red bloodstain was blossoming quickly. His eyes acquired a faraway look, and the next swell arrived to rock the yacht and toppled him onto the deck.

Bako snatched Poliakoff’s radio from the deck, pressed the talk button, and shouted, “Take evasive action. Get this boat out to sea now.”

“Sir?” said the captain. “Mr. Poliakoff said—”

“Poliakoff’s dead. He’s been hit. Get going!” As Bako turned, he seemed to notice Étienne Le Clerc again. Le Clerc saw his expression and tried to run for the bridge, but Bako fired three more times, and Le Clerc lay dead. At least there would be no witness.

From the bridge the captain could see that most of the able-bodied men were aboard now, and he knew the others would only be extra trouble. He could also see that if he was going to make a run for it, he’d have to do it before the first police boat brought a boarding party. He shifted to forward and pushed the throttle. The big engines roared into life and the yacht surged forward, leaving a gurgling wash behind it, the twin propellers projecting water into the void behind the stern. As the stern swung about, he heard shouts from men either shaken from the sides of the yacht or chopped by the propellers, but he couldn’t help that now. The yacht gained speed, leaving one lifeboat swamped and the other drifting sideways into the surf.

When the Ibiza began to move, the captain of the Mazatlan saw it and had a small vision of the near future. If the Coast Guard and police had been fooled long enough to let the Ibiza pass them to open ocean, they would not ignore the Mazatlan. They would have twice the ships and men to devote to preventing the Mazatlan and every man aboard from escaping. And then they would blame every crime committed by anyone on the highest-ranking man they had caught, the captain. He shifted his engines into forward gear and hit the throttle. The Mazatlan surged forward, just as the Ibiza had.