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Remi was at the top of the steps on the bridge, aiming at the young man’s head.
The man leaning against the rail glanced at her unimpressed, and said, “Take his gun.”
The man lying on the deck got up and rushed toward Sam. Sam fired a round through the man’s foot and the man fell to the deck and rocked from side to side, wincing and moaning and holding his foot.
As the young man in the expensive jeans moved his gun away from Dr. Garza’s head to aim at Sam, Remi called from above him, “Last chance to drop it.”
Sam said, “She’s a pistol champion. Do you understand? She can put a bullet through the pupil of your eye if she wants to.”
The man looked up at Remi and saw her sighting down the barrel of the pistol she held with a steady two-handed grip. He considered for a moment, then set his pistol on the deck beside him, as Dr. Garza hurried up onto the deck.
“Now, up with your friends,” Remi said. The man climbed to the deck and joined his two colleagues.
“All right,” Sam called out. “Now, all of you, into the water.”
The man at the rail said, “But—”
“Alive or dead, you’re all going to get wet,” said Sam.
The man translated for his companions
. The two uninjured men helped their colleague over the rail, then jumped in after him.
When Sam heard the final splash, he stepped to the stern of the yacht, picked up a can of gasoline, walked to the cleat where the small cruiser was tied, poured gasoline on its deck, then untied the boat and pushed it away from the anchored yacht. The five men swam toward it. When the boat had drifted thirty feet away from the yacht, Sam took out the Very pistol, fired a flare onto the cruiser’s deck, and watched the bright orange flames roar to life. There was a smattering of applause from those left on the yacht.
He walked to the foot of the steps to the bridge. “Juan!”
“Yes, Sam?”
“You and George feel healthy enough to work?”
“Yes.”
“Then start the engines, raise the anchor, and get us to that dock over there. Let’s pick up Miguel and Dr. Talamantes and get out of here.”
SALINA CRUZ, MEXICO
Dr. Talamantes and Miguel boarded at the dock a few minutes later. Both had run back to the beach when they’d heard the news that there was a yacht burning offshore and, when they’d spotted it heading for the municipal docks, they had gone to meet it. Within a few minutes, they were heading southeast along the coast again.
Three more times they stopped at darkened coastal towns to unload cases of clean water and canned food, flashlights, generators, and gasoline. Each time, the three doctors came in the first boatload, equipped with their standard medical kits.
At each stop, after a few hours the doctors would announce that the emergency cases had all been treated and that there were local people who would take care of the minor complaints now that the medical supplies had been delivered. Sam would call everybody back to the beach, and Miguel would take them back in the lifeboat. The last ones off the beach were always Sam and Remi. As soon as they were aboard the yacht again, the crew would raise the anchor, and the vessel would continue down the coast toward Tapachula.
At dawn on the fourth day, Sam and Remi were asleep in their cabin when Miguel knocked. Sam got up to open the door. “What’s up?”
“We can see Tapachula. Juan thinks you should come to the bridge.”
Sam and Remi dressed quickly and headed up on deck. When they climbed the steps to the bridge, they could see why Juan had wanted to wake them. Through the windshield they could see the distant shape of Tacaná, the second highest peak in Mexico. It was a dark blue pyramid miles back from the coast, standing alone against the sky. This morning, it was emitting a line of gray smoke that trailed off to the east.
Juan said, “It’s technically active, but it hasn’t had a big eruption since 1950.”
“Did they say on the radio that it was about to do anything?” asked Remi. “Have they told people to evacuate?”
“They don’t seem to know what’s happening yet. They say maybe the earthquake shook something loose or opened up cracks. The roads are out, so I don’t think the scientists have gotten there to measure anything yet.”
“How far is the volcano from the city?” asked Sam.
“Much farther than it looks,” Juan said. “The mountain is four thousand meters, so it looks close. But we’ll have plenty to do without the volcano. We’ll be off Tapachula in twenty minutes.”