The thick mist, which cloaked their movements, briefly lifted. Chris steered the boat parallel until a pebble beach came into view. He turned the craft to port, slowed, and let the bow nudge the shore.
Davy grabbed Jacks arm. "Thunderflash in three minutes. Okay?"
Jack nodded. "I hope this works."
"You worry too much," said Chris as he adjusted his stopwatch.
"Somebody has to."
"Just be ready to leave."
Jack shrugged. "You get back in five, or I'm out of here."
With their assault rifles tight to their chests, Davy and Chris jumped onto the beach. Stones crunched underfoot as they ran towards a set of worn stone steps. At the top, they turned left onto the high street and in seconds stopped at the entrance to the Clydesdale Bank.
A car crawled past, its driver staring into the mist.
Davy prayed and closed his eyes until his breathing calmed. Trembling, he pulled up the hood of his waterproof. "So far, so good." He pushed one door open.
Chris pulled the pins from two smoke grenades and tossed them inside. The white fog spread, accompanied by shouts and screams. He stormed in, pointing his rifle at three women and an old man who gagged on fume-filled lungs.
"On the floor and shut the fuck up."
"Two minutes."
Davy pointed his weapon at the manager and young female teller behind the counter. His eyes saw the fear in hers. "Hands in the air and get your arses out here."
They dashed from behind the counter.
Chris spun around and slapped the teller hard across her face.
Davy scowled.
Chris seized the front of her blouse and shoved her towards the others. He turned and dragged the barrel of his weapon across the manager's face. Blood from a split lip and a busted nose covered his white shirt.
The manager, his eyes wide, pointed. "The safe's open."
Chris yelled, "Ninety seconds!"
Davy ran behind the counter and pulled the safe door open.
"Sixty seconds."
His heart raced, and his hands sweated as his eyes scanned the money. At speed, he shoved as many bundles as he could into black bags.
"Thirty seconds."
The alarm on Chris' watch sounded as Jacks Thunder Flash detonated. He spun and slammed the manager to the tiled floor. Coughing and spluttering, he and Davy raced out. Their lungs dragged in the fresh air as they turned right and traversed the stone steps.
Davy missed his footing, tripped and fell headlong. Without pausing, Chris grabbed and dragged him along the beach. Together they flung the guns and bags into the stern and jumped onboard.
Jack shoved the throttle wide open and the craft charged into the rolling mist.
Davy sat in the stern, coughed and rubbed his eyes.
Chris lit a cigarette, turned in his seat and laughed.
A loud crack filled the air, and the engine stopped. The crafts bow dipped, pitching a stream of icy water over the three men. A cloud of smoke drifted from the engine casing.
"What the fuck's wrong?" roared Chris as he pressed the starter button.
"A million sperm, and you were the fastest?" shouted Davy. "Let me look... What a bloody mess." He tugged at the nylon netting wrapped around the propeller.
Water lapped against the hull as a deep, mournful cry filled the air.
"What the fuck's that?" asked Jack.
"It's a foghorn," answered Davy. "It's Beamer Rock. The noise of the engines covered it earlier."
"Jesus," shouted Chris, "that's not Beamer. It's a fucking ship!"
"Chris, Jack, if you want to live, get your arses into gear."
Chris sat frozen with a strange expression on his face.
Jack's face paled.
The black hull killed the daylight as Davy jumped.
