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

he said. “It just takes time, and the right environment.”

“Yeah, right. And the FBI man?”

“We’ll see if he has any value once we’re back on the reservation.”

“And if not?”

“Like I said, you leave that to me.”

Chapter 26

Alcatraz Island, San Francisco Bay

May 22

The sun was resting low on the western horizon when the first Coast Guard vessel circled Alcatraz, joined by an orbiting California Highway Patrol helicopter. Failing to draw any gunfire, the assistant special agent in charge—the number two man at the FBI San Francisco Field Office while Special Agent in Charge Flynn was unaccounted for—directed the USCGC Tern to deliver a security detail to sweep the island.

Scores of civilians—men, women, and children—occupied the courtyard. But their meanderings stayed clear of an imaginary perimeter around Margaret’s body. One adult, holding his little girl, sat with the corpse. Both wept.

The three wounded children had been moved inside the barracks building, where they were watched over by anxious parents, hoping and praying for help to arrive soon. One of the hostages—a nurse—had helped provide first aid to check the bleeding. But between blood loss and shock, medical care was urgently needed if the children were to survive.

About two dozen Coast Guardsmen disembarked from the cutter. They all wore the standard dark-blue operational dress uniform, topped with a blue ball cap. All were brandishing MK18 Carbines, backed up by a SIG P229R pistol secured in a tactical holster strapped mid-thigh. Three took up strategic positions beside the restrooms, while others dispersed—some to the barracks building, others took the trail up to the cell house. A small group even fanned out and crested the rise from the courtyard to the parade ground, securing the rocket launcher that had attacked their sister ship, the Pike.

A half-dozen Guardsmen addressed the growing crowd of civilians.

“Everyone, please stay where you are.”

The crowd was beginning to press toward the ship at the edge of the landing.

Two more Coast Guardsmen stepped off the vessel, carrying what looked to be several orange tarps. They went to the body of the old woman.

The base health services technician directed several Coasties to follow her to the barracks building. Although she didn’t normally join missions, given the nature of this action and the casualties, the base commander made certain she was among the first to arrive. The wounded children were placed on stretchers and rushed to the cutter for immediate aid. Later, they would be transferred to civilian hospitals.

Sue Kincaid stepped up to the petty officer. Above the right breast pocket, his nametag read York.

She said, “Everyone is frightened, and just wants to go home.”

“I understand, ma’am. The ferry will be dispatched to take everyone back to San Francisco as soon as we can establish a secure perimeter.”

“What can I do to help?”

As the crowd was organizing and pushing toward the cutter, the engines revved and the Tern separated from the dock. It would take up position, circling the island from a safe distance.

A chorus of calls rose from the disgruntled civilians.

“Hey, you can’t do that,” someone nearby cried.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” York said.

“Sue Kincaid. These are my students.” She indicated a group of school children gathered at her side.

“Okay, Miss Kincaid. You can help by working through the crowd. Everyone needs to calm down before someone gets hurt. Tell everyone that the ferry is coming to take them home.” Then York turned his attention to several other adults within earshot. “All of you people. Spread the word. The ferry is coming soon. Just stay here and remain calm. You’ll be off the island soon.”

York stood next to Margaret’s covered body. Although he’d joined the Coast Guard to save lives, not take them, at this moment he wished nothing more than to shoot dead the villains responsible for this murder and the injured children.

York unrolled an orange fabric bundle that appeared to be a tarp, but was a human-remains body bag. He laid it out next to the body and began to lift the lifeless form, only to be stopped by a burly man with a shaved head and a long beard. Tattoos decorated his neck and arms, and his chest and shoulders were beefy. The man looked like he could bench two hundred pounds. He nudged the Coast Guardsman aside. Then he reverently cradled the body of his mother and laid her on the orange plastic. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then closed the zipper.

He raised his face to York. His eyes were red, and wet streaks disappeared into his beard.

“I made her life hell as a boy, always gettin’ into trouble. But she never gave up on me. She was always there to get me back on track, steer me in the right direction. She never hurt no one.”

Speechless, York looked the man in the eye and shared his pain.

“Make them sons-a-bitches pay. You hear me, mister? Make them pay for what they did to my mother.”

York was overcome with grief, but he managed to find enough composure to give the man a sharp nod.

s

The Malibu Mirage was racing north over the Pacific Ocean, paralleling the California coast. Sacheen flew the aircraft level and low to stay below any coastal radar they might pass. She spoke to Leonard over the intercom, believing her two passengers would not be able to hear through the roar of the powerful engine.

“Lewis Blackhawk won’t be pleased.”

Sitting directly across from Toby and Special Agent in Charge Flynn, Leonard brought a hand to his mouth before replying so his lips couldn’t be read.

“He knows plans don’t always work out.”

“Listen, everyone cares when it’s their money. Excuses are just that. We won’t get any more funding to back the Movement.”

“Sure we will. We just have to ask politely.”

“Get serious, Leonard. We need another plan.”

“Remember, you’re the brains.”

Toby had mostly been watching the blue waves race by not far below. But once Leonard began talking, she paid attention, straining to make out his words through the constant drone of the engine. She didn’t get everything, but enough