y yelled.
"Lay flat and be ready to roll. I'll turn so the motor is moving away
from you. When I tap you, we'll be directly in line with the cove
entrance."

Rick moved out of the seat, keeping low, and lay on his side along the
gunwale, facing Scotty. He put the mouthpiece in place and made sure he
was getting air, then pulled his mask down. He was ready. The impact
with the water would be hard, at this speed, but his tank would cushion
the shock. He tensed for the signal.

Scotty swung the boat to the left, held it on course for a moment, then
began a shallow turn to the right. That way, the motor would be steering
itself away from Rick when he went over.

The boat came abreast of the cove entrance and Scotty slapped Rick on
the shoulder. Instantly Rick rolled, one hand reaching for the back of
his head, the other grabbing his mask. He hit the water on his back, his
hand and the tank breaking the shock of the stunning impact. He threw
his legs upward, and his momentum took him under the water instantly.

The racing motor receded, leaving him in silent darkness. He rolled over
into normal swimming position and consulted his wrist compass. The creek
entrance ran on a course of 80 degrees. If Scotty had gauged things
correctly, that course would take him into the cove. If Scotty hadn't,
Rick Brant would end up on the beach like a stranded whale.

Rick considered. The boat was gone, and it was extremely unlikely anyone
had seen him leave it. The turn had caused the boat to tilt, lifting the
side away from him. He was certain that the guards had not seen the
maneuver. That being so, and taking into account his distance from the
creek entrance, he thought it would be safe to look and check his
course.

He held the compass in front of his eyes, and rose to the surface. He
broke through slowly and without a splash. One look was enough. He
should have trusted Scotty. He was dead on course.

Rick went to the bottom and began the long swim, counting his leg
strokes. He and Scotty had practiced estimating underwater distance by
the number and timing of their leg strokes. It wasn't an exact method,
of course, but it was practical.

There were no underwater obstacles, and the depth was great enough. Rick
remembered from the chart that the entrance into the creek varied from
eight to eleven feet, dropping inside the creek mouth to about seven. No
bullet could harm him if he stayed on the bottom. If the night watchers
fired