“I can get you there,” he said. “You know my price.”
—
They sped out of the marina, passing enormous cargo and cruise ships navigating from the busy port. A white winter sun reflected off the water, sea spray flicking against the screen.
Nikki’s thoughts refused to hold steady. Heavy with fatigue, not even the jostling slam of the boat or her own worry seemed able to keep her alert. Her mind drifted, and she dreamed that she was flying just above the waves, wings reaching down to brush the white crests below.
—
They were passing Capri when Vincente said, “We should be getting close.”
Nikki spoke into the VHF: “Motor vesselProphet, this is motor vesselFidelis. Over.”
She repeated. And again. No response.
Nikki’s phone pinged. Texts from Audrey Lake.
- Nikki help
- I’m scared
Nikki called. There was no answer. She texted:I’m on my way.
No response.
—
Nikki scanned the horizon, spotting two cargo ships and a handful of sailboats. Then, in the distance, the white shape of the enormous yacht came into view. They approached, and she saw that somethingwas wrong. The boat wasn’t sailing—but it wasn’t anchored either. It drifted, rocking with the waves. Sunlight gleamed off the surface and, from the top deck, she saw thin tendrils of smoke.
Their hails went unanswered.
Vincente radioed the Guardia Costiera for help.
“I’ll see if anyone’s gone in the water,” Nikki said, bolting from her seat.
Outside, it stank of burning plastic and hot metal.
—
TheFidelismade the final turn, around the stern ofThe Prophet, where a metal ladder dangled from the aft deck into the water. Fiona Lake was clinging to this. She wore a thin dress and orange life vest. She waved frantically, screaming for help.
Nikki shouted, “Jump! Swim here!” but Fiona stayed where she was, tightly clasping the ladder.
Di Pavola saw the problem and pulled his yacht nearer—but they were still a hundred meters out, and it wasn’t safe to get closer. TheFideliswas large, not a rescue craft, andThe Prophetwas unmoored, bobbing on the waves.
“That’s it,” he told Nikki. “She needs to swim to us, or wait for the Guardia Costiera.”
But the flames in the topmost deck ofThe Prophetwere reaching higher, the stink of smoke thick in the air. By the time the Guardia Costiera arrived, it might be too late.
Nikki’s mind sought out the little girl waiting to be rescued. She couldn’t afford to wait.
—
Nikki took off her bag and heavy leather jacket, and the chill wind cut through her shirt. She crouched and unlaced her boots.
“What are you doing?” demanded Vincente.
“There are people on board,” she said. “There’s a little girl.”
