Alaric looks at the dark water. The waves are black mountains, capped with white foam. The wind is picking up. A storm is brewing to the west. "We have to abandon ship," Alaric says.
"Into the water?" I look at the freezing sea. "We’re miles from shore."
"We have the emergency raft," Charon says, moving to the stern locker. He yanks it open. Empty. He stares into the void. "It’s gone."
"Charles," I whisper. "He sabotaged the escape routes."
We are drifting. Powerless. Beacon broadcasting. Fifteen minutes until the wolves arrive.
"Think," Alaric growls, pacing the small deck. "Think, damn it. Structure. Variable. Solution."
I look around the boat. There are life jackets. There is a flare gun. There is the satellite phone Alaric used to call Charon. And there is the USB drive in my pocket—the two hundred million dollars that is currently useless plastic.
"The current," I say.
Alaric stops. He looks at me. "What?"
"The current," I repeat. "We are in the Ligurian Sea. The current flows north, toward the coast of Italy. If we stay with the boat, they find us. If we swim... we freeze." I point to a dark shape floating in the water about a hundred yards away. "But what is that?"
Alaric follows my gaze. It’s a buoy. A massive, rusted navigation marker, bobbing in the swell. It has a solar panel and a service ladder.
"A channel marker," Charon says. "Deep water navigation."
"It’s metal," Alaric says, his mind catching up to mine. "It reflects radar. If we get to it... we can hide in its radar shadow. When the helicopters come, they’ll see the boat. They’ll blow the boat. They won't look at the buoy."
"It’s a hundred yards," Charon argues. "In this swell? With the water temperature?"
"We don't have a choice," Alaric says. He starts stripping off his tuxedo jacket. He kicks off his shoes. He looks at me. "Can you swim, Elodie?"
"I grew up with a pool I wasn't allowed to use," I say, unzipping the red dress. "But I learned."
I step out of the heavy silk dress. I am left in the sheer black lingerie and the holster. I take the SIG Sauer. "It won't work if it gets wet," Alaric warns.
"It’s a SIG," I say. "It’s designed for hell." I wrap the gun and the USB drive in the plastic bag from the survival kit. I tuck it into my bra.
Alaric grabs three life vests. He tosses one to Charon, one to me. He puts his own on. "We swim together," he commands. "No one separates. If you get tired, you hold onto me."
Charon looks at his boat—his livelihood. "I have to scuttle her," he says. "If they find the boat intact, they’ll trace the registration to my family."
"Do it," Alaric says.
Charon grabs a jerry can of gasoline. He pours it over the console. He pours it over the seats. "Go," he tells us. "I'll light it when we're in the water."
We climb onto the gunwale. The water looks like ink. Alaric takes my hand. "Trust the cold," he whispers. "It wakes you up."
We jump.
The shock is absolute. It is not like the river in the cave. This is the ocean. It is immense, crushing, and terrifyingly cold. It steals the air from my lungs instantly. I surface, gasping, tasting salt. The waves toss me like a ragdoll. Up. Down. "Elodie!"
"I'm here!" I scream, spitting water.
Alaric is beside me. He grabs my life vest strap. Charon is on his other side. "The buoy!" Alaric yells, pointing. "Swim!"
We swim. It is a nightmare. The waves are walls of water that crash over us, burying us, spinning us. I kick my legs, but the boots—I kept the boots for protection—are heavy anchors. My arms burn. My chest aches. I think of the piano.Rhythm.Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Breathe.
Behind us, aWHOOSH. Then a flash of heat. I turn my head in the water. Charon’s boat has exploded into a fireball. The gasoline ignited. It is a beacon now. A burning pyre on the water. They will come to the fire.
"Don't look back!" Alaric shouts. "Keep moving!"
