They would maybe circle and come back, watching for his return, or they might keep to the shore line, flying north, and thinking to head him off when he turned inland.

At least, he reasoned, that is what he would do if he were following an outlaw plane and saw it head out over the ocean, straight for Honolulu.
So over Tia Juana he flew and made for the sea like a gull that has flown too far from its nesting place.

He watched and saw the two planes spiraling upward, climbing to a higher altitude where it would be easy to dart down at him if he swung north.

They suspected that trick, evidently, and were preparing to swoop and follow.
The beach, pale yellow in the moonlight, with a riffle of white at its edge, slid beneath him.

The ocean, heaving gently, rolled under, the moon reflected from its depths.
Cliff sat slumped down in his seat, his head tilted upon one shoulder.
He had not moved nor made a sound, and his limp silence began to worry Johnny.