The pirates froze for a split second, their eyes darting to the spilled cargo. Then the shouting began—louder, frantic.

The crate wrenched free from unsteady hands and toppled over the side, slamming onto the deck of the nearest boat with a bone-rattling crash. Two men scrambled to haul it away from the plane, their movements jerky with panic. One misstepped and plunged into the water with a splash. Another yanked at the engine’s pull cord, but his hands slipped, fumbling in desperation.

Then a voice thundered over the roar of the surf:
“This is the Coast Guard! Drop your weapons and remain where you are!”

Blinding beams cut through the night, flooding the scene in stark white light. Noah and Jamie squinted, turning their faces away from the glare.

In moments, the approaching boats closed in—a tight wall of steel and wake. A smaller, faster Coast Guard craft slid into position beside the pirates, hemming them in with practiced precision. There was nowhere left for them to go.