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Earlier that afternoon, when everyone onboard was fully occupied preparing for Vermulen’s expedition, Alix had slipped into the ship’s galley and found a large plastic garbage bag, a number of smaller food bags, and a couple of yards of twine. Now the men were all gone and she was alone in the master bedroom, preparing her getaway.

She was wearing a bathrobe, and beneath that a swimsuit. The yacht was moored less than two hundred yards from the shore. Alix was a strong swimmer-she felt sure she could cover the distance without any trouble, even allowing for the bag she’d have tied around her waist. She was taking the absolute minimum she would need: her wallet, passport, and phone; a sweatshirt; a pair of jeans; and her lightest pair of flat, slip-on shoes. Aside from the jeans and sweatshirt, each item was individually wrapped in a food bag, and then everything went inside the garbage bag, which she’d sealed with packing tape. She planned to leave around one in the morning, when there’d be only one man keeping watch from the bridge. If she could make it to shore, she’d be long gone by the time the sun came up.

There was a knock on the door and the steward’s voice. “Mrs. Vermulen?”

She shoved the bag under her pillows and called back, “Yes?”

“Message from your husband, ma’am. Captain asked me to hand it to you in person.”

“Just coming…”

She walked to the door and opened it. The steward was standing there. But he held no message in his hand. Instead, he was pointing a gun at her, and there was not a trace of his former servility in his voice as he said, “Put some clothes on. You’re going on a trip.”

She stepped back into the room, opening the door wider to let him in. As far as the steward was concerned, she was just the little blond wifey. He was taken completely by surprise when she slammed the door back in his face, flung it open again and kicked him hard in the crotch. As he bent double in agony, Alix stepped forward and drove her knee into his face. She had no idea why the crew had suddenly turned on her, but there was no time to worry about that now. She ran back to her bed, grabbed the garbage bag, and hurried out into the passageway.

The master bedroom was on the main deck. Alix raced through the saloon where Vermulen had held his briefing and out into the open air. She had got as far as the stern rail, and was just about to leap over the side when a burst of gunfire exploded just a few feet above her, and a line of bullets tore through the planking at her feet.

She looked up and saw the captain standing by the rail of the upper deck, looking down at her over the top of an automatic rifle.

“You better stop right there, Mrs. Vermulen,” he said. “Or the next burst goes through you.”

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