Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  Time Bandit’s rear canvas was secured and her engines were running. The subtle whistle of her turbo chargers were the heartbeat of the construction industry. The engine’s rumble settled his thoughts. The noise of the beast beneath his feet as it came to life medicated his nerves and fueled his adrenalin. No pill could take the place of 1200 horsepower diesel engines coming to life. Pushed to his mental limits, he had temporarily suppressed the depressing demons from his mind. His lethal, obsessive compulsive thoughts were defeated.

  He began detaching the dock lines when MacJames came running down the dock and jumped onto the boat. “I’ll grab the bow lines.” Immediately she went forward and undid the lines from the bow cleats. She returned to the cockpit. Mitchelli’s large nylon bag was in the center of the cockpit floor. “You stay with me one night and you’re moving out. That’s the story of my life.”

  “I’m not using you anymore; I’m finished hiding behind your skirt.” Mitchelli picked up his bag and brought it below into the salon.

  MacJames yelled down, “The two of you act like school boys. You’re more alike than you’ll admit.” Her love fought against the spirits in his mind and the criminals trying to kill him. Stay by his side, don’t leave, comfort him, distract him, make him forget.

  “Don’t sell me, MacJames. We’re well beyond that.”

  “Both of you want to rescue our missing men. The two of you want Kaitlin and Peter protected.” She had mistakenly struck a nerve.

  “He made me beg for that; he wanted no part of it!" Mitchelli fumed.

  MacJames got behind the helm. “That’s not true and you know it. He didn’t buy your reasoning; he would never let anything happen to your children.” MacJames used the transmission levers and not the computer control to ease the boat out of the slip. She pushed the levers in the opposite direction, rotating the boat ninety degrees. The boat headed up the east river towards the crime scene, Lake Erie, as storm clouds gathered.

  “You’re two stubborn men. You share the same objective, that’s what’s important. Not who’s right or wrong.” She had to keep Mitchelli under control and functioning with the team.

  “Angela, I’m not sharing what I know until it’s time. It will get sold to Handly and we’ll never find those men.” Focusing on his mission in the southern tier was making his mind stronger. Mitchelli adjusted the radar plotter. He was impressed with MacJames’s seamanship. “I want time to investigate the sight myself, I’ll maybe need a week.”

  “You think I can hold Bob and Secretary Stuart back for a week?”

  “I was hoping we could call Secretary Stuart tonight and tell him our plan.”

  She looked beyond the bow as she navigated the boat. “Our plan? You mean your plan, which includes no one else.”

  “You think I’m crazy.”

  “I think you act like crazy man, there’s a difference.”

  “A hunter, even a kid, could have taken a potshot at our plane today. We were flying at treetop level for over an hour; a redneck may have gotten pissed off and lost his head. I don’t want to waste the team’s time. I need a week, maybe five days to check out the area.” He had to convince MacJames he had to go alone.

  “What else?” MacJames knew there was more. He couldn’t survive in his condition alone in the woods for a week.

  Mitchelli grabbed MacJames’s hand. “I need my truck and some supplies,” he said.

  “What kind of supplies?”

  “Camping gear, explosives, food, and water for a week.”

  MacJames was furious. “You’re ready for the psychiatric ward, Peter. This is too much for you, physically and mentally. Your hands have been trembling ever since we saw that radar blip. Look at your hand and tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Let it go; you’re not going to change my mind. I’m working alone, don’t try to help me!”

  She looked towards the bow and yelled, “Explosives! What do you know about explosives?”

  “You think I’m crazy. Why the hell did you come with me?”

  “Don’t give me that crap. You know what I meant, don’t change the subject.”

  “Ok back on topic, Dom needs to select the explosives; I’m not sure what’s adequate.” Mitchelli was breathing again. The throb of the engines, the vibration of the bow pushing through the water, and MacJames at his side arguing with him were the distractions he needed.

  MacJames stopped the boat four miles from the mouth of the Niagara River, several miles off the shore of Buffalo. “Camping gear to explosives, did you prepare a grocery list for me? Peter, when the hell did you plan all this?” She thought she knew how to manage her civilian operative.

  “Ok, I’m afraid of flying so I prepared a brief mental list in flight in an attempt to take my mind off of crashing. It didn’t work.”

  MacJames narrowed the distance between them. She placed her hands on Mitchelli’s and the two embraced. “What the hell were you thinking when you took that plane? Martin thought you flew it by yourself.”

  “How the hell do you know, you didn’t follow me?”

  Mitchelli you’re good, but not that good. Yes, I followed you. I stayed out of Martin Aircraft until your friend showed up. I got Martin out of his office right before you received takeoff clearance. We listened to you bully your way onto the runway.”

  “Get out of here, you didn’t!”

  “He kept speaking Yiddish, especially when you took-off. He told me your plan.”

  “Did you flash him your credentials?”

  “It meant nothing to him. He only told me what happened when I threatened he’d never see your last cash payment.” They looked out over the water. The sky was turning black and heavy clouds were quickly approaching from the west. “Peter, you’re pushing yourself to hard. You need to back off. I can’t let you go by yourself.”

  “I can’t let another friend get shot. Besides, if the other members of the team go, it increases the probability of the mole getting the information. Hoover brainwashed you FBI detectives to leave a garbage trail of paper work every time you do something. The damn janitor is probably pulling memos out of the garbage and selling them to Handly.”

  MacJames knew Mitchelli had some valid points. The documenting paper trail was enormous, thanks to the Bureau’s founding Director, Jay Edger Hoover. “Peter, what if I go with you?”

  Mitchelli shook his head. “You’re too important, what about your promise to take protect my kids? Besides, I won’t be able to focus with you near me. You’re the only person on the team… I can trust with Kaitlin and Peter. Besides the Assistant Deputy Director shouldn’t be crawling around in the woods.”

  “That’s how I climbed the ladder to the top. What if I insist?”

  “Now you’re using your seniority.”

  MacJames pressed her body against Mitchelli’s, rubbing his arms then moving to his chest. She placed her hands on the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. She touched her lips against his. Mitchelli did not respond. Embarrassed, she awkwardly put her head down. “You’re using my emotions against me, taking advantage of my love for you.” Mitchelli did not answer. “Ok, Peter, don’t answer. I’m a big girl, stop squirming.”

  Mitchelli reached for her hand but she quickly pulled it away. Embarrassed MacJames looked towards Buffalo. “Man, it’s getting dark. You can’t even see the city now.” The fog hovered over the water.

  “We should head in, I’ll take the helm.” MacJames moved away from the helm and Mitchelli pressed a series of buttons, engaging the autopilot. He took his hands off the wheel and moved the throttles forward. The steering wheel turned on its own while Mitchelli kept vigilant watch on the radar screen. The boat’s electronic autopilot GPS mapping system would navigate their return, retracing the boat’s course.

  MacJames looked out the windshield, scanning the water for hazards. Her nerves went cold; visibility was only fifty feet. “Peter, increase the radar sweep,” she said. MacJames was worried they were alone and vulnerable on the water. T
he fog made it impossible for backup to assist them in an emergency.

  Mitchelli increased the radar’s range to one mile. No blips; they were alone. The boat was on plane traveling twenty-four miles an hour. The wake behind the boat was seven feet, high enough to register on the radar screen. MacJames stared at the radar, the green glow from the screen reflected off her eyes. Suddenly from the radar signature of the inner harbor break wall, one, then two boats appeared heading directly towards Time Raider. She brought them to Mitchelli’s attention. Her anxiety rising, Mitchelli moved the throttles forward, increasing the mechanical throb of the diesel engines.

  “Peter, they’re on an intercept course for us.” MacJames immediately removed her phone from her bag and called Freed, relaying their position and status. Mitchelli quickly scrolled through screens and dialogue windows on the navigation system. “Peter, what are you doing?” Mitchelli didn’t respond. “Peter!”

  He never looked up from the screen. “I’m looking for a track, a serious of coordinates I programmed. The boat will maneuver a serpentine course towards water hazards. If they follow us, we have an issue; no boater would chart the course I laid out. The track is aggressive; it’s no Sunday joyride, so hang on. I plotted the points while you and Kaitlin were on the beach weeks ago, never thinking I would ever use it.” Mitchelli pressed several buttons and the panel beeped. “I found it. Angela, look at the screen. Every time we pass a waypoint the autopilot will ask you to confirm, it wants to make sure you’re not sleeping at the helm. You need to push this button before the third audible to confirm to the computer you’re at the helm and alert, understand?”

  MacJames looked at the screen and moved her hands over the button, “Yes, where the hell are you going?”

  “I’m going below. Remember, the faster we travel, the more abrupt the boat will turn. It’s a vomit ride.” Mitchelli went below.

  MacJames watched the radar screen; she counted the rings on the screen, which indicated distance, as the boats drew to within a quarter mile. Looking nervously towards the stern, searching for the boats she could see nothing. Her heart racing, she kept looking over her shoulder.

  Her phone rang. “Bob, they’re within a quarter mile and closing fast.”

  “The two helicopters at our disposal are down, one for maintenance and the other pilot refusing to go up in this weather. I’ve dispatched snipers to take up position on the Peace Bridge.”

  Mitchelli came up from the salon, his windbreaker off, exposing his shoulder holster. His Glock pistol was under his left shoulder and his magazine pouch under his right. He held his black shotgun in his hands, the bandolier with addition slugs around his neck and shoulders.

  MacJames yelled into her phone. “Bob, make sure you describe Peter and his boat to the sniper so they don’t shoot at him!” She looked behind her again.

  “Dom, gave them the description of his boat,” Freed said. “I think he downloaded a picture and sent it to them. The Sheriff’s patrol boats are in the lake and headed your way. Why the hell did you go for a boat ride?”

  “Bob, you tell me! Where else we can go, how about dinner and a movie in the city! What the hell are you thinking?”

  “Alright, I’m sorry. We’re doing what we can; I’ll stay on the line.”

  Mitchelli looked at MacJames. “Do you know what you have to do?”

  “YES,” she yelled over the engine noise.

  “Where’s your pistol?”

  “Under my blouse, remember? Do you want me to throw the magazines at your face again?” She saw the worry in his eyes, the concern for her safety. She knew his nerves were wearing thin. Mitchelli’s hands shook as he loaded his shotgun; he struggled to load the shells. MacJames was shocked at how quickly he had deteriorated. Mitchelli was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Do you want me to load that?”

  “NO!” He racked the shotgun slide chambering a round and then inserted another cartridge into the magazine tube. He then scanned the area behind the boat, his eyes watering, nervously flinching. His body twitched; he was on the edge of losing control. Small goals, Peter. Take it one goal at a time. Draw their attention away from Angela. The cockpit roof, height is an advantage. Take the high ground, win the battle, fight for your children.

  “Peter, you’re on the brink of a breakdown. Give me the shotgun, you can take the helm.”

  “No, I’m not having a breakdown. For Christ sake just let me be a man and defend you. I’ll be ok. Go full throttle.” MacJames moved the levers forward. “Angela, how’s my friend doing, Leonard?” He had to know if his friend was ok, one less item for his mind dwell on.

  “His arm was broken, no pins or graphs needed. The bullet was a small caliber. He’s going to be ok. Dom says he didn’t want you to worry. Peter, everything’s going to be ok. We’re headed towards help and there are snipers on the bridges ahead.” MacJames held Mitchelli’s hands--he could not stop them from shaking. The autopilot beeped and she knew she had to acknowledge it by the third tone. She let go of his hands and pressed a button. The boat made a violent turn to port, towards Canada. MacJames and Mitchelli braced themselves against the helm seats.

  “Just hang on and stay low, we should be at the bridge in a couple minutes,” he said. Suddenly a bullet whistled by their heads and struck the windshield, making a perfect hole. Mitchelli pushed MacJames down, the sudden movement allowed him to conceal his trembling body. His anger turned his eyes black. “Get down, stay as low as you can. Whatever happens stay low. They took a blind shot at us in the fog using their radar.” Get to the cockpit roof, distract them, draw their gunfire from Angela. You know how and what to do, Lenny was right, you’re killer. No one lives.

  She listened to his deep voice as he spoke his commands loudly. His hands had stopped shaking and MacJames knew the devil was by her side. “That’s a blind shot?” she asked.

  “Pretty good shot, this boat is worth more than a pickup truck. I hope it’s in Freed’s budget.” Another bullet whistled by missing the boat; they could barely hear the gunshot crack above the noise of the engine.

  Mitchelli yelled over the noise, “Tell Freed our position!” He looked at the radar screen: the boats were close, probably two hundred feet away. “Stay down, as low as you can.” Mitchelli pushed her torso below the dashboard and placed her hand near the autopilot acknowledge button. “Keep down, you don’t have to see; the boat will follow the course.”

  MacJames screamed, “Peter what about you?” For a moment, their eyes locked. His eyes confirmed her thoughts, the rumors were true. I know who Peter Maximus Mitchelli is: builder, developer, auxiliary Sheriff, civilian operative, NO! Peter Mitchelli is a killer.

  He moved to the back of the boat just as the boats appeared. He fired two rounds at the boat to his right, racking the shotgun slide instantly after each shot. The boats separated, heading back into the fog. Mitchelli quickly followed the narrow deck around the cockpit glass enclosure to the bow of the boat. MacJames lifted her head to check his location. He stood on the foredeck bracing himself. The autopilot beeped and MacJames pressed the button acknowledging the waypoint. The boat turned violently to starboard, knocking Mitchelli off his feet.

  MacJames screamed, “Oh my God, Peter!” She heard the thud as he hit the deck. He rolled slowly over and then kneeled on the deck facing the cockpit, looking sternly at MacJames.

  She yelled at him, “Back off, it’s not my fault! You plotted the course!”

  Mitchelli ran towards the windshield, running up the angled glass to the cockpit roof. Lying prone, he slid his body under the radar arch, which was two feet above the roof. His eyes desperately searched the fog for the boats. Wedged between the roof and the bottom of the arch, his shaking stopped. His field of fire was limited to the stern of the boat. The forty foot blue hulled boat appeared directly behind Time Raider and he raised his shotgun as the second black hulled boat was approaching to his left. Mitchelli focused on the boat to his stern first. He took aim at the driver behind the windshie
ld, firing two rounds. The first slug hit the deck just in front of the windshield and the second hit the driver, knocking him back in his seat and killing him upon impact. The man beside him stood there stunned and grabbed the steering wheel. The boat peeled away behind the black boat to Mitchelli’s left. The black boat quickly pulled closer to Time Raider and the gunman released a flurry of machine gun fire, strafing the hull in an attempt to knock out the engines. The fiberglass splintered as the bullets ripped through Mitchelli’s boat. The bullets penetrated the starboard stainless steel diesel fuel tank mounted on the outside perimeter of the engine bilge. The steel of the fuel tank protected the engine, but sacrificing its fuel, which began to flood into the engine compartment.

  As the machine gun bullets ripped through his boat, Mitchelli fired at the black boat. The black boat veered to starboard away from Mitchelli, anticipating they had dealt a fatal blow to the yacht’s engines. Mitchelli reloaded his shotgun.