The silver cutter advanced on the dock in the half-light of early morning that bleached all color from the landscape. Dirty-white seabirds wheeled overhead, their squawks lost in the screaming wind. As the cutter filled the narrow passage between docks and breakwater, it churned water into steep waves that spilled over the decking and sloshed onto my sneakers. It hardly mattered. I was already soaked, and my hair had come loose from the ponytail and was whipping around my face. I jammed a handful of loose hair behind an ear and waited. A grinding noise. The cutter's captain had gone into reverse; its powerful twin thrusters churned, but still the cutter waltzed forward. Closer to the granite blocks that marked the end of the channel.
Coming into view behind the cutter was the abandoned yacht they'd found in the ocean off Spanish Cay and taken in tow. The yacht—fifteen tons and no working engine—surged ahead.