His best chance was to make himself look as innocent as possible. He needed to do whatever he could to make sure that in the public’s eye he was a victim and not someone who was part of a terrorist plot.
Mitchell decided that when he surrendered he needed to have an escape route. His surrender point would also be the most public place he would be. He needed to make sure that the things they were going to accuse him of wouldn’t hold up in the public’s eyes.
He made his way through the tangled brush in the darkness and out to his boat. He pulled off the palm leaves he’d covered it with and pushed the boat back into the water.
Mitch pulled the starter cord and drove the boat five miles back to a spot he’d seen earlier that morning.
It was a medium-sized marina catering mostly to luxury yachts. Several of them had “For Sale” signs on them, a sign of the Florida economy.
One of the things he’d learned when he worked in a marina was that when an owner tried to put a boat up for sale, after the first month they let go of any crew they had to save costs. Large vessels weren’t as much of a target for theft because it took too long to get them out to sea.
There was one noteworthy exception. Mitchell had heard of a man and a wife who managed to get a boat all the way to the Bahamas by taking the time to change the name of the boat on the stern and the registration to a similar boat. When Marine Patrol and the Coast Guard saw a vessel that matched the description of the stolen one, they’d run the name and registration and come back with a boat that wasn’t reported missing.
The biggest problem was fuel. Any boat he found wasn’t likely to have enough on board to get very far. That wasn’t going to be a problem for Mitchell. He didn’t need to go too far with the boat.
Mitch drove his little boat into the harbor and started looking at the different boats. He drove by one 200-foot yacht that still had its lights on. It was obviously occupied and not the ideal boat for Mitchell, but it gave him an idea.
He pulled out the iPod he’d stolen and turned it on. Sure enough, the yacht had an open Wi-Fi connection. Mitch pulled up a webpage showing a list of all the yachts and powerboats in the area that were up for sale along with all of their features.
Originally he thought about just stealing a luxury yacht and waiting for SWAT to storm the boat if the surrender didn’t go right. Then he had another idea. Why not just get a large powerboat instead? He’d never be able to outrun the full force of the federal government, but he could at least buy some time.
Mitch began looking up listings for fast boats. The kind Scarface would want to use. One in particular caught his eye. It was a model that wasn’t too obscure and would be easy to mark up as another vessel if he could get the tools to do it. What really stood out was a piece of equipment that it came with. Mitch had to have it.
Mitch put the iPod away and patrolled the marina until he found the vessel. The vessel had “Highlander” written across the stern. It was a 40-foot Donzi.
He climbed over the transom and lifted the covering that was buttoned over the cockpit area. He slid underneath. There was a row of seats in back and two chairs in front. The boat was intended for two things: scuba diving and going really fast. It was the kind of boat you’d take for an overnight diving trip to the Bahamas or the Keys to bring back lobster or a hundred kilos of cocaine.
The control console was covered with a metal sheet that was secured in place with a thick lock. The entrance to the main cabin had a similar lock. Mitchell could see there was no way he was going to be able to use his tire iron to pry the locks off. He was also certain he wasn’t going to find a spare key hidden on the deck.
If he could get past the lock on the cabin, he was sure he’d be able to get inside and get the lock for the console and the key for the ignition. He looked at the lock on the cabin again. Bolt cutters wouldn’t do it. He’d need a power tool.
Mitchell peeked out under the covering and looked at the dock in front of the boat. He could see a power outlet. He needed a metal grinder. He took out the iPod and opened up the Wi-Fi panel. He was still getting a signal from the large yacht. Mitch pulled up a list of nearby Super Centers and made a mental shopping list.
41
His last raid had been an act of improvisation. He’d been able to outrun the old greeter to get to where he needed and get some of the things he wanted. Items like the paintball gun and a few other things were useless to him in the store that prior night while still in their packages.
Mitchell had come to realize that when people raged out and went homicidal, they lost whatever kind of control that made them rational and capable of planning. He hadn’t seen anyone throw punches or try any kind of stylized fighting technique. This gave him some kind of advantage. He could predict how they’d come at him — at least he thought he could.
While he now had more insight and preparation to help him, he was going to need a little more than a paintball gun and pepper spray. This store had a police car parked on the curb out front — a precaution that was undoubtedly influenced by the previous night’s raid in the store 40 miles to the south.
Mitchell looked at the car from a row of hedges that faced the store. He contemplated walking the three blocks back to where he’d parked his johnboat in a canal and making other plans. The cop car meant at least one armed police officer, maybe more.
“Fuck me,” said Mitchell. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head that bad things only happened to him when he was ashore.
The previous night he’d been lucky with the deputy who got caught off-guard. This time there was someone waiting for him.
There were a few cars in the parking lot. Nothing screamed unmarked police car. Mitchell pulled the scanner from his pocket and turned it to the frequency he found on RadioReference.com. He listened for a half-hour while he watched the parking lot. He heard various dispatches to different areas of the city but nothing that sounded like it was near him.
If there were some kind of covert surveillance going on, it was likely they were using scrambled frequencies. The scanner could only tell him what was going out on public frequencies. If the cop parked in front of the store called for more units, he could hear that. The scanner could also tell him where the dispatcher was trying to coordinate police cars to find him if a call went in.
Mitch decided the car was there as a deterrent and not as part of a stakeout. There were just too many Super Centers in South Florida for that to be practical. Other than the cop inside the car, it wasn’t likely there was a police presence. Of course, one cop was enough to deal with.
His safest bet was to take the police officer out of the picture. If he walked near the car, he ran the risk of the officer raging out and trying to kill him or possibly shooting him. If he was spotted from too far away, the officer was likely to call it in. Since Mitchell was the target of the largest manhunt in the nation’s history, it was easy to assume that there were a lot more police out that night than usual. He could expect backup to arrive on the scene very quickly.
He needed a distraction that would let him get into the store unnoticed. The problem then was getting past the inevitable greeters, which if the store had any sense weren’t going to be as feeble as they were the night before.
The best approach would be to walk to the main entrance as casually as he could and enter in plain sight of the police officer. From there he’d have to take care of the greeter and run into the store to get what he needed and then exit through the back.
Without any fellow shoppers trying to kill him, he could probably be in and out in under two minutes. With any luck, he could be almost back to the boat before the police knew he was there. Counting on luck wasn’t something he planned on doing. He’d need to figure out some way to create some.