“This is the United States Navy,” the young man said. “You are instructed to turn on your transponder, your navigation lights and your strobes, then to make a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and fly a heading of zero six zero until you have the beacon of the Brunswick Naval Air Station in sight, then to land there on runway two. Do you read?”

“Negative, can’t do it. I don’t have the fuel.” That was no lie. He was down to almost eighteen gallons. It would take a little time for them to locate him again. Without the transponder on, he was only a primary target on radar, and a small one, at that. The moon was in and out in the partly cloudy sky, and they would have trouble getting a visual on him, too.

“Then you can land at Portland International on the same heading. You’ll be met there.”

“Negative, Navy. Can’t do it.” Teddy was a couple of miles from the beach, and he turned toward it, flipping on every light on the airplane. He wanted to be seen now. The two jets roared past him a second time.

“Listen, pal,” the young voice said. “I don’t give a fuck if you dump that thing in the Atlantic. My instructions are to force you to land or shoot you out of the sky, and those are my intentions. What’s it going to be?”

An excellent question, Ted thought. He was no longer a step ahead of them, and he had no doubt that the young pilot meant what he said. He began tightening straps and unbuckled his seat belt. “Navy, do you read me?”

“I read you,” the pilot said, “and I have a visual.”

“I’m afraid I can’t fly back with you, and it would be best if you stay well clear of me.”

“Don’t worry, little guy; I’m not going to bump into you.”

They would be setting up their shot from landward, so that any rounds that missed would end up in the sea. “That’s not what I mean,” Teddy said. “Just stay well clear.” He was coming up on the coastline, now, and he dropped the landing gear to slow him down quickly. The two jets blew past him again, causing him to laugh. “Sorry about that, fellas,” he said into the mike.