Locked Up
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Colton Harris-Moore hid in the bushes of the Ramora Bay Resort clutching a shiny silver Walther PPK, just like James Bond always carried. The brave Bahamian security guard who had chased him there alerted the police and initiated a midnight manhunt. Colt remained perfectly silent and let the mosquitoes enjoy their dinner.

The weak spot in the Bahamas police force was pretty obvious – they had exactly zero boats to pursue the Barefoot Bandit. Colt had been cruising the islands of the Bahamas in various stolen vessels all week; and escaping by water was again his only hope of eluding authorities when things finally came to a head on Harbour Island.

The security guard and police weren't the only ones looking for Colt that night. After being chased to the resort by a boatload of young reward seekers he was recognized on surveillance video by local boaters whose mother, as luck would have it, had posted Colton's wanted poster around the resort the previous day. It would take a perfectly executed ninja escape to get from the bushes, past two teams of police and the peeled eyes of the locals, to a potential getaway boat at least a 150 yard swim away.

Colt was always a patient planner. He waited for hours, and then finally made his move through the darkness, creeping and crawling down to the marina shore, where he slid soundlessly into the water. Colt kept his head down and bobbed slowly through the potentially shark-infested waters and climbed into a peppy dual-engine Intrepid at the far edge of the harbour.

The gas tank was full and the keys were in the ignition. Colton may have become used to lucky breaks at this point. Being spotted suspiciously motoring out with his lights off was a calculated risk he had likely anticipated.