Help! The man calls.

It's a test. Whitlow says for the second time.

Stop saying it's a test.

Hagan shouts.

We all know it's a damn test, but what kind?

Her raspy voice makes me wince as it invades my left ear.

I stepped to my right, putting some distance between us.

Then I resume staring over the side of the yacht,

at the man thrashing in the water some 30 yards distant.

We have to help the guy, Lundberg says in a slow, bassy voice.

Why doesn't he just swim to the island? Rinaldi asks. Or to us?

I've been wondering the same thing. The man is between us and the island.

But it's not a very big one, and it doesn't look to be inhabited.

Plus, we're closer to him than he is to the small landmass. Does it look like he can swim?

Whitlow asks.

Her voice, equal parts, anger and concern.

He's drowning. I don't know, Rinaldi says.

He's been keeping that head above water for as long as we've been watching him.

Seems to be doing okay.

I glanced at Rinaldi, seeing the smirk he wears on his

splotchy face. His gray eyes stare at the struggling man in the brilliant Azure Sea.

I've only known these people for a day, but I already don't like Rinaldi. He has the kind of

...