It must have been a horrifying few seconds as they were shot. I knew Scott Adam. He was a problem solver, a can-do sailor, a man’s man. He wouldn’t have panicked. He was a strong, calm, thoughtful person. As captain, he knew he set the tone. “Be calm,” he must’ve told himself as the ordeal unfolded. Scott was, above all, a man of logic. He would’ve been reassuring his wife, Jean, and their friends, Phyllis Macay and Bob Riggle, that, hey, sure things seemed kind of grim, but they’d be OK. They’d be OK, be OK, be OK. The U.S. Navy warship wouldn’t fire upon them. The pirates wouldn’t kill them. After all, they were hostages. And hostages are only useful alive, not dead.