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

Sacheen embraced Leonard, and he returned the tender show of affection.

Toby felt mentally exhausted, finding it difficult to process everything she’d been told, and to check it against what she thought to be the truth. The facts were fuzzy, at best, having been reported by mainstream news media, with their obvious biases toward the status quo, and history written by stodgy scholars sympathetic toward European perspectives.

“Look, I understand that a lot of bad things have happened,” she said. “And I’m sorry. But what does any of this have to do with me?”

Leonard and Sacheen exchanged a knowing glance.

“We believe you are a person of integrity and strong will,” Sacheen said. “We also believe that you love your cultural heritage and wish to better the lives of your tribe, and all tribes.”

Leonard said, “It is time for all who identify with their native cultural heritage to stand together.”

“You still haven’t shown me why you believe you can achieve your objectives. And if it means killing even one of the hostages, count me out.”

Sacheen said, “As I told you before, we do not plan to harm any of the hostages. For their own safety, it was necessary to move them to secure locations. My warriors are there not to harm them, but to protect them.”

Leonard’s gaze met with Sacheen’s. She nodded in response to an unspoken statement.

Then he faced Toby. “It is time to reveal our plan.”

Chapter 17

Danya removed the MP5, spare magazines, radio, and folding knife from Charlie’s dead body. Fearing that she could be discovered at any moment, she needed to move. But to where? The clear decision was back to the barracks. She knew that many hostages were being held within the large building, including Toby.

Maintaining a low crouch to avoid presenting her profile above the lip of the parade ground, she darted toward the building. She was exposed to observation by anyone in the cell house, but she hoped they were occupied watching their prisoners, rather than gazing outward.

Her training by Mossad had included military and guerilla tactics for house-to-house fighting, and a principle of those lessons was to fight from top to bottom, if possible. In urban combat, whoever occupied the upper floors had significant advantages over an opposing force on lower floors. The question was, how to gain access to the top floor of the barracks without being seen or heard.

She was still dashing toward the building when an idea came to mind.

The barracks was a huge, five-story structure—nearly as large as the cell house—and shaped like the letter L. The longest portion paralleled the ferry dock, with a short wing that stopped where the terrain rose steeply to the flat parade grounds. She slid down the slope to the building, using the natural vegetation to remain hidden from view of the terrorists working below in the courtyard adjoining the dock.

At the third and fourth floors, the barracks building was wrapped with a continuous deck, so narrow that it appeared more like a walkway. Pillars stretching between the third and fourth floors joined the decking. A row of tall windows, each about three-feet wide, and spaced five feet apart, provided for an abundance of light and fresh air at each level.

At the corner, a large drainpipe funneled rainwater from the roof to the ground. She rapped her knuckles against the pipe. It felt sturdy, and the black color with streaks of rust suggested it was made of cast iron. Should be strong enough. Assuming there aren’t any cracks.

With the MP5 slung over her head and shoulder, she grasped the drainpipe and started climbing. The rough and weathered iron abraded her hands like she was gripping sandpaper. At least it wasn’t slippery. She squeezed with her thighs, and her boots also achieved a solid hold, helping to propel her upward in short order. She completed the twenty-foot climb to the third floor in about a minute, and hoisted herself onto the narrow deck.

So far, she hadn’t been seen. But now she was more exposed to observation from the cell house, given her elevated position.

She drew the knife, and with her free hand, started checking the windows. The first one was locked. She moved to the next—also locked. But at the third window, her luck changed, and the sash rose smoothly.

Not seeing anyone in the room, she climbed through the opening and closed the window, careful not to make a sound. The ten-foot ceiling made the room feel larger than its actual size. The floor was covered with stained oak boards, and wide molding trimmed the door and window. It appeared to be an office. A plain metal desk sat to one side, and cardboard file boxes were stacked against a wall next to two four-drawer metal file cabinets. Above the dark-wood door was a closed transom window.

Slowly, she turned the antique doorknob and cracked the door open just enough to peek outside. She glimpsed a wide hall covered in worn carpet. Empty. She opened the door wider and saw many closed doors on both sides of the hall. To the left, the passage ended, but it extended to the right and turned a corner.

She edged out of the office and unlimbered the MP5 submachine gun, raising the buttstock to her shoulder. With her back hugging the wall, she listened for a half-minute.

Silence.

Drawing in a deep breath, she advanced toward the end of the hallway.

s

The trio crossed the courtyard and stopped about thirty paces from Vernon. He had just removed the hood of his protective garment and laid it on the ground. The suit was silver and bulky, resembling a fire-resistant suit. With the hood on, it covered his body from head to toe. He peeled off the rest of the heavy clothing.

“What is he wearing?” Toby said.

“It’s a lead-lined suit,” Sacheen replied.

Toby was familiar with lead aprons used in the dental clinic when her teeth were X-rayed. But she’d never heard of a lead-lined protective garment, and she had no idea why