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

From Main Street, she turned left onto Ralph M. Appezzato Memorial Parkway. She was frequently checking the rearview mirror, but so far, she’d not seen a single police car. The parkway was a major thoroughfare, with two lanes in each direction and few traffic lights, and she made good time. The GPS chimed, and a feminine voice instructed her to turn left onto Webster, a quarter-mile ahead.

Just as she made the turn, her pulse quickened. A police roadblock was set up ahead, and both lanes of traffic were being directed into a turnout normally designated for buses. If she did a U-turn, her red truck would certainly draw unwanted attention.

With no good alternative, she stayed the course and followed the cars in front of her. Hopefully, the traffic cops would be operating with little specific information about who they were looking for. Maybe the action didn’t even have anything to do with finding her—the suspected driver of the launch. She decided to play it cool, willing her body to calm and her pulse to slow. She could talk her way out if the cops were suspicious.

The line of cars crept forward, merging to a single queue on the right. Ahead, she watched as a uniformed police officer questioned each driver, checking ID and vehicle registration. A second cop on the right side of the cars peered in through the windows. The process was only taking a minute or so for each vehicle.

In front of her was a top-of-the-line Mercedes sedan, and the officer waved it through. Apparently, luxury cars don’t fit the profile.

The officer held up his hand, and she slowed to a stop before shifting the transmission into park. The policeman had short brown hair and a boyish face. She estimated he was in his late twenties, probably only a few years on the force. The shoulder patch on his uniform indicated he worked for the Alameda Police Department.

She lowered her window and smiled. “Hello.”

The officer nodded once. “Driver’s license and vehicle registration, please.” He sounded uncertain, maybe even nervous.

She kept her left hand on the steering wheel while reaching to open the glove box. Through her peripheral vision, she noticed the other cop was peering in the passenger window, checking the contents of the glove box. His right hand was obscured from her view, and she imagined it was resting on his service weapon.

She handed over the registration and insurance documents.

“My ID is in my pack.” She indicated the passenger seat.

Although it was forged with one of her many aliases, she was confident it would pass the scrutiny of a traffic cop.

“Is it okay if I get it out?” she said.

He nodded again, staring as she unzipped a front pouch and produced the license.

“You’re from Oregon?” he said.

“Yes. I’m visiting a friend. Well, really, my niece.”

A careless slipup. She hoped he didn’t notice.

“Just a minute.” He walked around the truck to his partner, and then radioed in her license and vehicle plates.

The two cops exchange words, but she wasn’t able to overhear them.

Stay calm. Just relax.

After a long two minutes, the officer returned to her window.

“Does your niece live in Alameda?”

“No. She’s a student at UC Berkeley. But I wanted to visit the old naval air station. I’m a big fan of the original Myth Busters TV show. You know, they filmed a lot of the episodes there.”

A quick lie. But like all good deceits, it was built on elements of truth.

“What happened to your face? Did someone assault you?”

She touched her fingers to the scrape on her cheek. It stung.

“Oh, this. No. I slipped and fell down a short flight of stairs. Wrenched my shoulder at the same time.” She grimaced and rubbed her hand over the injury.

Truth was, it did ache. When she got further up the highway, she planned to take three or four ibuprofens before the shoulder stiffened up too much. There was still a long way to drive before she could rest.

The officer nodded, but he looked skeptical.

“You sure a boyfriend, or maybe your husband, didn’t hit you?”

“I’m not married. And no, I wasn’t assaulted. Just clumsy.” She flashed a quick smile.

He’d already noted she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Still, he narrowed his eyes, searching her countenance for an unspoken message, an indication she wasn’t being completely forthcoming. But all he saw as an attractive smiling face.

“You headed back to Berkeley?” he said.

“Yes, tonight. But first, I’m meeting my sister and niece at Trader Vic’s in Emeryville.”

“Were you on the ferry today?”

“No. I don’t understand. What’s this about?”

“Security cameras showed a red pickup leaving the Alameda Ferry Terminal. The driver may be a person of interest.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, my. What did he do?”

It was a subtle ploy, but often a successful one. Usually, one thought of the male gender as the perpetrator of violent crimes, unless there was direct evidence indicating otherwise, such as an eyewitness or video. She was gambling that any eyewitness reports from the hostages on Alcatraz had not filtered down yet to patrol-cop level.

Still, for the police to be searching for vehicles that had recently left the ferry terminal meant that the launch must have been discovered, and someone was piecing together the clues, and quickly. She doubted that was the local police. More likely, the FBI. They would be in charge of the operation. All the more reason to put distance between herself and the Bay Area.

The cop ignored the question and returned her documents.

“Have a safe trip. The traffic can be pretty bad this time of day.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how people deal with it every day.” She shifted into drive and eased forward, then merged back onto the parkway.

The young patrol cop said to his partner, “I thought that might be the one. But dispatch said everything checked. No warrants.”

“Come on.” His partner scoffed. “She looked more like a soccer mom than a terrorist.”

Chapter 25

Napa, California

May 22

The Eurocopter bled off forward speed and landed beside a taxiway. It was a large, paved