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anchoring him, Crown could not have escaped. He was forty yards from the shore opposite the boat moorage. Evasive swimming maneuvers, even if successful a time or two, would quickly sap his strength. The boat would simply herd him like a cowboy herds cattle, until the bowman got him in his sights or the trawler ran over him. There was nothing to divert the gunmen's attention. No escape route. No offensive maneuver. By any calculation, he and Maura were dead. The boat was twenty yards off and lunging toward them. The bow gunman raised his pistol again.
    "One of us can make it. Two cannot. Leave," Maura shouted above the engine. He craned his head toward Crown and commanded in a lower voice, "Leave."
    It was the diversion, a simple tactic used when all other routes were closed. The mathematics of the diversion wereplainly and succinctly stated by Maura. It demanded immediate action. No farewells.
    Crown kicked off and swam frantically away from Maura. When he was three yards out of the boat's course, he stroked toward the moorage from where the fishing boat had just come. The boat plunged by him. Its wake lifted him above the waterline as the trawler bore down on Maura. The gunman's steady arm pointed at the Basque as if the boat's bow alone would not do a thorough job on its floating target.
    Three seconds before impact, Miguel Maura's arm lashed out. Crown saw a steel glint flash in the air. The gunman lurched and clutched his neck. Blood spurted through his fingers. Maura's throwing knife was embedded in the assassin's throat. The gunman stumbled blindly against the bow railing, lost his balance, and toppled over the rail into the river. The boat plowed into Maura and the henchman at the same instant.
    Crown swam wildly toward the river shore. He knew the remaining murderer could easily see him as the boat swerved port to make another pass. The handgun popped, and a shaft of inky water shot into the air two feet from his head. His arms churned the water. Crown's back was an easy target for the gunman's next shot. His spine tightened in anticipation of the bullet.
    Crown's knuckles slammed into the stern of a fishing boat moored to the river shore. Skin ripped off three fingers. He reached for the deck of the boat to pull himself on board, but he didn't have the strength to kick himself high enough, and he slipped back into the water. The assassin fired again, and wood chips burst from the boat near the waterline.
    The trawler was now thirty yards from the moored boat. Crown kicked to the moored boat's stern. The boats werelined bow-to-stern in a long row along the shore. Twelve inches separated the stern of the boat from the bow of the next. Crown grabbed the hull of the next fishing cruiser and pulled himself through the gap.
    The gunman's trawler abruptly throttled back. Crown heard the muted clang of the gear lever being rammed into reverse. The engine growled and strained as it slowed the fishing boat.
    Crown was trapped in the water between the boats and the vertical slope of the concrete dock. The mooring lines were out of his reach. No steps descended from the shore to the waterline. He pulled himself along the slip of water. The moored boat drifted to shore. To avoid being crushed against the concrete, Crown inhaled deeply and dipped beneath the surface. He came up ten feet farther along the slip, where the boat's listing could not catch him. He paddled to the stern, paused, wiped the oily water from his eyes, and peered through the boats into the center of the river just as the gunman's boat glided into view. Maura's murderer was casually patrolling the shore, knowing Crown was trapped. The line of boats was endless. There was no way to climb out of the water. The gunman was leisurely waiting until Crown either showed himself and was shot or froze to death.
    Crown plunged into the next gap between moored boats and kicked at the water to propel him to the cover of the next fishing vessel. A bullet crunched into the