Twenty-eightGrand Cayman Island › Sunday, December 7, 2008 › 08h00
Tony piloted the Queen through mild crosswinds and gentle waves on a compass heading due south. He sailed the yacht as gracefully as a migrating whale. Above the bridge, a British Blue Ensign cracked and snapped like a whip. The Star-Spangled Banner on the stern fluttered in the yacht’s slipstream. The gps read sixteen knots, coordinates 19°27’53.6”N 81°28’29.7”W, which put them 16 miles northwest of George Town, as a seagull flies.
Tanner and Will joined Tony on the bridge deck. They drank coffee and discussed Henry’s plan.
“You guys sure about this?” Tony said.
Will rubbed his chin, nodding lightly. “I admit, it sounds crazy. But really, what’s there to lose? He left us thirty-five grand.”
“If we lose the Zodiac, we’
