Let The Truth Be Told

Keith had seen the boat almost flip over, and he was very disappointed, and shocked, to see it recover. He wondered if the three men on board had gotten cold feet after that or if they’d been injured. Kismet kept moving steadily east, still making the same 18 knots, and Keith kept a watchful eye on his pursuers with the binoculars. He could see that the helmsman was yelling at the others, but he couldn’t see either one of them. Finally he saw one of them crawling on his hands and knees, and then slowly pulling himself up. Keith smiled to himself. That guy was obviously in a lot of pain, probably bumped and bruised from the rough ride and their near disaster of a few minutes ago. Maybe the third man is even worse off, Keith figured, since he still hadn’t gotten up.

Keith called down to Loren using the walkie-talkie. “They’ve stopped, at least for the moment. They almost lost it a minute ago on a bad wave, so they’re probably regrouping a bit. They might have even sustained injuries.”

“OK. I’m maintaining course until you tell me different,” was Loren’s reply.

Keith looked back at the center console, and he saw them pick up speed once again. This is it, he thought to himself. They’re going to come at us fast and hard, try to spray us with bullets and either kill us or stop and board us. Keith decided to let them get within about 150-200 yards and then try to take one of them out with the rifle before they’d even started shooting. He assumed that they’d be using automatic weapons, but what they’d gain in firepower they’d probably be losing in accuracy. Keith keyed the microphone of the walkie-talkie. “Here they come” is all he said. Down below, Loren was doing her best to keep a watchful eye on what was in front of them but still stay as far away from the windows as she could. She set the autopilot so she’d be ready to move immediately when the bullets started flying, but she was determined to keep a lookout for as long as possible in case she had to veer off to avoid the debris in the water.

Keith set down the binoculars and calmly brought the rifle scope to his eye. He clicked the safety off and had his finger resting on the trigger. He had to wait for just the right shot, he told himself. The pursuit boat was bouncing around like crazy in the waves, and even Kismet had a little bit of up and down motion as it punched through the head seas. Couple that with a 20-25 knot breeze, and even the best marksman would not consider any shot at this distance a slam-dunk. When they were about 125 yards off of his stern Keith saw one of the shooters start to get to a kneeling position at the bow. This was the shot he’d been waiting for. He breathed in, and then as he exhaled he squeezed the trigger. Shit! Just as he was pulling the trigger the center console lurched to the right and his shot missed altogether. Keith cursed under his breath. Fortunately, with the loud whine of the outboards and the wind the pursuers didn’t even know they’d been shot at. Keith readied another shot. He needed to hurry because they were closing in on them quickly, but he didn’t want to rush the shot and miss again. Wait for it…wait for it…now! Keith squeezed the trigger and he put a shot right into the chest of Derek Norman, killing him instantly. Hilton and Hamilton didn’t see where the shot had come from, but they knew damn well they were taking fire.

Hamilton stood up and opened fire down the starboard side of Kismet. Bullets tore into the beautiful blue hull and windows along the salon area shattered as a dozen or more bullets hit the boat in a single blast. Loren headed down the companionway and kept low, knowing that there was virtually no way a bullet could penetrate to where she was. She wanted to rush out and see that Keith was alright, but she couldn’t dare head through the salon now with bullets flying.

The center console was now only about 30 yards off the starboard stern of Kismet, and Hamilton was popping another clip into his weapon. Keith realized that this may be his only chance. Dropping the rifle on the bridge deck, he grabbed for his pistol and got up to his knees behind the dinghy. He clicked off the safety and then raised the pistol, taking the best aim that he could under the circumstances, and quickly squeezed off six quick shots. Only two of them hit Hamilton, one in the side of the head and one in the shoulder, but it was enough. He was dead before he hit the deck.