Faroe’s voice came back to her ear. “Lane says the locator beacons are still coming through. The government dither must be turned way up on the satellites, because the beacon on the container ship and the one on Blackbird aren’t showing enough separation to set off our alarms.”

“The yacht is getting farther and farther from Shinhua Lotus. God, what if we have the wrong one?”

“That’s why the scratch is there. What’s the transit captain’s name?”

“On my to-do list.”

Faroe grunted. “Description?”

“I’ll get back to you on that along with the name.”

“Soon.”

The phone went dead before she could say anything. She flipped it shut and tucked it into the holster at her waist without breaking stride. She didn’t notice the people around her unless they looked at her for more than a passing glance. Then she memorized them.

Nobody stood out-front, side, or behind.

So far, so good.

Belltown Marina was guarded by a gate with a coded and keyed entrance lock. Given enough time she’d be able to get the combination. But on an unusually warm October day, all she had to do was be a little lucky. People would be coming and going from their boats.

When she spotted two yachties walking up the long ramp from the water, she moved into position. As the gate opened, she caught it, holding it for the couple.

“Great timing,” Emma said. She tapped her cell phone. “I was just going to call my husband to let me in.”

The male looked her over, as if trying to decide whether she really belonged to the boating fraternity that might tie up to the most expensive overnight docks in Seattle.

Smiling, Emma pointed toward Blackbird, which was motoring at dead slow speed down one of the marina fairways, headed for the fuel dock. “We just got her delivered. Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Yeah,” the male said, still looking at her.