In the deep channel outside Cap de Formentor on north Mallorca in the morning the day before

Finally it had happened anyway. What he thought would never happen. Instead of sheering ninety degrees port and setting course toward the woman in the big house down by the beach in Cala Sant Vicente, he continued right out into the deep channel. Entered a new course on his GPS navigator at the same time as he congratulated himself that Esperanza always had her fuel tanks filled. Enough diesel to take him three hundred nautical miles to Corsica, where there were many like him and at least one he trusted unconditionally. Who could give him a refuge for the remainder of his life.

Not like the woman, who said she was from the U.S. and was renting the large house on the beach in Cala Sant Vicente. Who talked about her wealthy husband whom she never saw. Who was twenty years younger than him, with her long dark hair, her white teeth, her large, pendulous breasts and the promise in her eyes. The one who had approached him only a week ago when he was scrubbing the deck on Esperanza to make her fine before autumn, when the vacation season was now finally over. The one who asked him if he spoke English, if he knew any good places where she could dive. If perhaps he, or someone else, could help her?

The woman who could actually dive as well as he could and who had shown that the very first time she went with him out to sea. The woman he was supposed to have picked up at the large house in less than an hour. The woman who must have betrayed him, despite the promise in her eyes. Because there was no other explanation. Because Ignacio Ballester had come to see him early in the morning. Told him what his nephew had said and chose to warn him instead of betraying him.

He only had time to take with him the essentials and the small bag that was always packed. Completely sufficient, because there was nothing in that cottage that could say anything about him or the life he had lived since that Friday evening at the intersection of Tunnelgatan and Sveavägen more than twenty years ago. He had left his car because it was safest that way, and what would he do with it now? Ignacio drove him down to the harbor and Esperanza. Shook his hand and wished him luck at sea. There was no alternative, and that was why Esperanza was berthed there. A beautiful little boat, but also an insurance policy and a constant reminder.

Security, freedom, and at a low price. Simply yet another day and night at sea.