Foreign Affairs 2

''Marco, the sniper from a tower, a muscular grenade thrower, and a boat; what to they all have in common? They are all sitting in the middle of the Thames making a fantastic getaway!''

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Behind the group, about 500 yards up the Thames, a police boat roars to life, followed by its aquatic brothers. The yacht's engines strain, struggling to pick up speed. The police boats are getting faster!

"Well, do you have any ammo aboard?" asked an increasingly higher pitched Marco to the pale captain.

"Below that seat!" barked the captain.

"Thanks."

A rapidly firing rifle sputtered to life. Police boats began going off course, drivers slumped over in their seats. These volatile projectile would crash into a dock exploding in flames. People appeared in windows.

"Barto, grab one of the fruits!" cried the magazine-changing Marco.

Barto, the muscular man from earlier, grabbed a "fruit," and launched it into a boat. A splintering bang erupted. The resulting shrapnel blew men off their boats, making one remaining pursuer.

This one promptly turned around, but a bullet caught up with him, too, and he flipped his jet ski, and landed in the water ─ head first.

"Next stop: Denmark!" cried the excited captain.

He then collapsed, helicopter whirring overhead. Marco quickly made it land on a building, in a far more spectacular way than the pilot intended.

The yacht, no longer under control, began banking right. Barto took the helm, jolting the boat left, snapping off the wheel.

"WHY, YOU PUTRID IMBECILE! WE HAVE NO CONTROL OF THIS BEAST!" screamed an irate, red-faced Marco.

Barto, shrugging, took hold of the small nub, and corrected the boat.

"Well, I suppose you now know what you're doing, eh?" said Marco sarcastically. Barto nodded in response.

"Wake me upon sight of land" said Marco.

However, land is not what would wake him.