gangplank; it just reached the rear door of the odd airplane. The hatch opened and the banker expected to see the bearded pilot walking out, hopefully carrying a bag of the good stuff.
What he saw instead were four men in ragged clothes pointing assault rifles at him.
The banker froze. The girl screamed. The first two men came across the gangplank and hit the banker hard, knocking him to the deck. Terrified, the girl ran through the cabin—two of the men chased after her. The banker tried to get to his feet but was knocked down again. This time, his assailant kept his bare foot on the banker’s throat, not allowing him to move. The banker could see that, in addition to his rifle, the man was carrying a huge machete in his belt.
These guys aren’t the police, he thought.
The next thing he knew, the banker was looking up at Colonel Cat. In the panic and confusion, the banker thought that somehow these armed men had hijacked the pilot and his plane. But then he saw Cat looking down at him and grinning darkly.
“How’s your vacation so far?” Cat asked him snidely.
“I trusted you!” the banker screamed back at him.
“Sorry, dude,” Cat replied. “I really am … but I got needs.”
For the first time, the banker saw Cat was holding a small copper pipe with a silver bowl—a crack pipe.
“You’re a fucking crackhead,” the banker cursed at him. “Doesn’t that figure.”
Cat shrugged. “And I got a bad gambling habit, too. But you’re a lame dick pothead. So what’s worse?”
The banker was yanked to his feet and brought into the yacht’s cabin. By this time, the other intruders had captured the girl and were holding her on the deck face up. One was forcing her to drink saltwater.
“What are you doing to her?” the banker screamed at him. “ Who are you people?”
One of the intruders hit him hard with his open hand, sending him to the deck yet again. That’s when the banker realized that all of the intruders, including the pilot, were wearing clear surgical gloves.
They don’t want to leave fingerprints, he thought.
The girl was pulled up to her knees. The saltwater caused her to vomit heavily, expelling her large diamond ring, swallowed just moments before.
Two intruders then ransacked the yacht, going through the couple’s luggage and finding money, BlackBerrys and more jewelry, all while the two others held the banker and the girl down on the deck with their bare feet.
The girl was looking over at the banker, absolutely terrified.
“Don’t worry,” he managed to tell her. “It will be OK.”
* * *
THE GUNMEN TOOK just five minutes to go through the sixty-five-foot yacht.
They not only stole all the couple’s valuables, they also took the yacht’s GPS system, its satellite radio and its flat-screen TVs.
They were incredibly efficient, despite their ragged appearance. Through it all, Colonel Cat sat on the stern, taking tokes from his crack pipe.
The ransacking over, the gunmen prepared to leave. Two carried their booty onto the airplane; Colonel Cat returned to the cockpit and started the engine. The banker and the girl were pulled to their feet. Both were praying the pirates would just leave. But that wasn’t the plan.
At the point of two machetes, the banker and the girl were marched into the floatplane, and soon, the strange aircraft was airborne again.
* * *
CAT STEERED THE Arado northeast, heading toward the open ocean.
The pirate named Crabbie was sitting beside him, counting the wad of cash they’d taken from the yacht. Crabbie was the senior man of the group. The rest of the gang was in the passenger compartment holding down the banker and the girl.
“How far out do you want to go?” Cat asked the pirate.
Crabbie looked out the cockpit window; the half moon was glowing off the calm sea below.
“You have two more pigeons to visit tonight?” he asked Cat in heavily accented English.
“Yes—I think good ones, or at least as good as
What he saw instead were four men in ragged clothes pointing assault rifles at him.
The banker froze. The girl screamed. The first two men came across the gangplank and hit the banker hard, knocking him to the deck. Terrified, the girl ran through the cabin—two of the men chased after her. The banker tried to get to his feet but was knocked down again. This time, his assailant kept his bare foot on the banker’s throat, not allowing him to move. The banker could see that, in addition to his rifle, the man was carrying a huge machete in his belt.
These guys aren’t the police, he thought.
The next thing he knew, the banker was looking up at Colonel Cat. In the panic and confusion, the banker thought that somehow these armed men had hijacked the pilot and his plane. But then he saw Cat looking down at him and grinning darkly.
“How’s your vacation so far?” Cat asked him snidely.
“I trusted you!” the banker screamed back at him.
“Sorry, dude,” Cat replied. “I really am … but I got needs.”
For the first time, the banker saw Cat was holding a small copper pipe with a silver bowl—a crack pipe.
“You’re a fucking crackhead,” the banker cursed at him. “Doesn’t that figure.”
Cat shrugged. “And I got a bad gambling habit, too. But you’re a lame dick pothead. So what’s worse?”
The banker was yanked to his feet and brought into the yacht’s cabin. By this time, the other intruders had captured the girl and were holding her on the deck face up. One was forcing her to drink saltwater.
“What are you doing to her?” the banker screamed at him. “ Who are you people?”
One of the intruders hit him hard with his open hand, sending him to the deck yet again. That’s when the banker realized that all of the intruders, including the pilot, were wearing clear surgical gloves.
They don’t want to leave fingerprints, he thought.
The girl was pulled up to her knees. The saltwater caused her to vomit heavily, expelling her large diamond ring, swallowed just moments before.
Two intruders then ransacked the yacht, going through the couple’s luggage and finding money, BlackBerrys and more jewelry, all while the two others held the banker and the girl down on the deck with their bare feet.
The girl was looking over at the banker, absolutely terrified.
“Don’t worry,” he managed to tell her. “It will be OK.”
* * *
THE GUNMEN TOOK just five minutes to go through the sixty-five-foot yacht.
They not only stole all the couple’s valuables, they also took the yacht’s GPS system, its satellite radio and its flat-screen TVs.
They were incredibly efficient, despite their ragged appearance. Through it all, Colonel Cat sat on the stern, taking tokes from his crack pipe.
The ransacking over, the gunmen prepared to leave. Two carried their booty onto the airplane; Colonel Cat returned to the cockpit and started the engine. The banker and the girl were pulled to their feet. Both were praying the pirates would just leave. But that wasn’t the plan.
At the point of two machetes, the banker and the girl were marched into the floatplane, and soon, the strange aircraft was airborne again.
* * *
CAT STEERED THE Arado northeast, heading toward the open ocean.
The pirate named Crabbie was sitting beside him, counting the wad of cash they’d taken from the yacht. Crabbie was the senior man of the group. The rest of the gang was in the passenger compartment holding down the banker and the girl.
“How far out do you want to go?” Cat asked the pirate.
Crabbie looked out the cockpit window; the half moon was glowing off the calm sea below.
“You have two more pigeons to visit tonight?” he asked Cat in heavily accented English.
“Yes—I think good ones, or at least as good as
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