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The 42-foot white yacht, with the painted-over name, backed out of the slip and turned to make its way to the mouth of the small harbor near the middle of the Baja’s Pacific Coast. The four men on deck pulled up the bumpers and stored the dock lines. They had fueled that morning while their boss had a business meeting.
“As soon as we clear the jetty, get us back to Ensenada by the afternoon,” Enrique told the man at the helm, who nodded silently, maneuvering around smaller boats as they made their way to the open ocean.
David followed Enrique out to the deck at the stern. They watched the small town of San Quintin grow smaller. Enrique checked his phone.
“No word if the hit went down?” David asked, noticing his boss’s agitation.
David had kept to himself while they were in town, be
