Judgment at Alcatraz by Dave Edlund (carter reed .txt) 📕

33 with five park rangers and my crew. All rangers were disarmed by the gunmen. Dozens of civilians, maybe more, are on the island, and presumed to be hostages.”

Officer Tozer cranked up the twin ninety-horsepower outboards, and in moments the twenty-one-foot Zodiac, with a crew of two officers under Tozer’s command, was rocketing at fifty knots. Officers Lopez and Brandt were sitting low in the boat, holding on with both hands to avoid being bounced into the bay.

Keeping one hand on the throttle and the other on the wheel, Tozer guided the rigid inflatable toward the former maximum-security prison, bouncing across the wave tops. The cool salt air tugged at his navy-blue cap. Sunglasses protected his eyes from the gale-force wind.

“Call it in,” he told Lopez.

Officer Lopez reported to dispatch and received confirmation of multiple 911 calls from Alcatraz. Fortunately, there were no reports of injuries.

About five hundred yards from the dock, Tozer was the first to notice the bubble-shaped yacht tender round the north end of the island. It was moving fast, and on a course that would intercept with the police Zodiac.

“Lopez,” Tozer shouted, to be heard above the buffeting waves and wind. “Hail that motorboat and order them to steer due east, away from Alcatraz.”

Onboard the Jet Capsule, Vernon clearly heard the call from the SFPD Marine Unit. The expansive sloped windscreen provided an unimpeded view forward and to the sides. He’d been focused on the island shore, aiming to skirt close to the rocky shoreline, and hadn’t seen the rigid inflatable boat approaching from the southeast at a high speed. Upon hearing the radio call on channel 16, he scanned to the left. The white spray of seawater caught his attention first. Then he realized the spray was generated by the Zodiac.

He judged his distance to the boat dock. I can make it first. Leonard had damned well better be ready, because that police boat is going to be right on my tail.

Vernon held the throttle advanced to its stop, and angled even closer to shore, trying to cut yards off the distance he had to travel. He refused to reply to the radio call, in part because he was focused on navigating the boat at maximum speed in proximity to a rocky coastline.

With the dock only a hundred feet away, Leonard cut the engine. The small Jet Capsule bled speed rapidly, but it still hit the wood and steel edge of the floating pier hard enough to crack the fiberglass gunnel. Onboard, the men were jarred by the impact.

Sacheen was ready on the dock, and she threw a line to the yacht tender. One of the men emerged from the cabin and grabbed it to pull the small boat snug. There had been no time to hang bumpers, and the once-beautiful hull was taking a beating.

A deep, sharp report split the air. It sounded nearby, but there was no one on the ferry dock firing a gun. A second gunshot soon followed, echoing off the hard surfaces of the concrete buildings.

“Everyone off, now,” Sacheen said.

She was the only woman among the combatants, and she weighed half as much as the largest of the twelve men, but there was no mistaking that she was in charge.

Men poured out the rear cabin hatch as fast as a football team running onto the field. Everyone had a weapon in hand. Many also carried a sturdy plastic case in the other. In seconds, the boat was emptied, Vernon being the last to disembark.

On the dock, the roar of engine horsepower cut through the air. It was the Zodiac, and it was close.

A third gunshot, and the engine noise was cut back.

Vernon spun around to face the bay. He couldn’t see the Zodiac, but he knew it had to be close. He jogged over to see around the hard-top canopy on his craft. There it was, not more than seventy yards away. The police boat was turning in a tight circle. Thick smoke billowed out of one of the twin outboard engines, but the audible signature of one engine running meant the Zodiac wasn’t dead in the water.

He pulled his handheld radio from his belt, and checked that it was on channel 16.

“Police boat, listen carefully. You will get only one warning. Leave the vicinity of Alcatraz Island immediately.”

Lopez snatched the mic from its cradle, not waiting for Tozer’s order.

“Screw you, asshole.”

“Not what I had in mind,” Tozer said. “But right to the point.”

Brandt was at the stern with a fire extinguisher. He’d just emptied the contents on the damaged engine.

“The starboard engine is ruined. Looks like it took a round through the block. I shut off the fuel to it. Port engine appears to be operational.”

“Who’s firing on us?” Tozer said.

Lopez was looking through a set of marine-grade binoculars.

“I didn’t see any hostiles on the dock when we were hit,” he said. “But a dozen armed men were on that tender. And now they have their guns trained on us.”

“Shit!” Tozer said. “We can’t take them on directly with only pistols.”

He steered farther into the bay, where he maintained a position about eight hundred yards away, out of range of typical military assault rifles. While Lopez and Brandt kept a close eye on events through binoculars, Tozer keyed the microphone.

“Dispatch, this is SFPD Marine Two. We’ve taken fire from assailants on Alcatraz. No injuries, but one of my engines was shot up and is not functional. We count…”

He looked to Lopez, who replied without taking his eyes away from the optics. “I count thirteen—no, make that fourteen hostiles. All armed with shoulder-fired small arms. They’re lined up on the dock as if they’re daring us to come in.”

Tozer keyed the mic again. “Fourteen armed assailants. Small arms. Unknown number of hostages.”

“Roger,” came the reply from dispatch. “Hold at a safe distance. Over.”

Taking advantage of the temporary lull, Tozer decided to take stock of his boat.

“Any damage other than to the starboard motor?”

A half-minute later, Brandt said, “Fuel tank is