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

would be ideal for transporting the radioactive dust.

It would have been dangerous, of course, for whoever had to place the deadly cargo inside the home-built containers. Then it dawned on her. The suit she’d seen the day before on Alcatraz, near the drones. Looked like a chemical protection suit. No, more like a firefighter’s flame-retardant suit, complete with full head cover and bottled air. That must have been a lead suit to shield whoever placed the payload onto the drones.

She turned a full circle, searching for a similar suit now. But there wasn’t one.

A new fear began to grow, threatening to overtake her concern for Toby.

Is there more radioactive powder? If so, where is it now?

She hurried out of the garage, then circled back to the man she’d knock out and left beside the old pickup truck. With the shotgun slung over her shoulder, she knelt to the ground and grabbed him by the collar, then shook him.

“Wake up, you son of a bitch.”

He murmured, then barely opened his eyes.

“Where is she?” Danya shouted in his face.

“Who?”

“Sacheen and her prisoners.”

“I don’t know.”

“Liar. Where is she?”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know. Leonard sent me and Clyde out to the lake to search for your red truck. Someone at the diner—a waitress, I think—told him that’s where you’d be. Sacheen and the other two were still here when me and Clyde left. That’s all I know.”

“The other two—you mean a man and a woman?”

He nodded. “The guy was older, middle-age. The woman was Indian. Young, attractive. She had fire in her eyes.”

“Where did Sacheen take them?”

“I’m telling you. I don’t know.”

Danya pushed him back to the gravel, then rose and placed a foot on his right forearm. His hand was laid open by his side. She removed the combat axe and hefted it to admire the steel blade.

“What’s your name?”

He replied with a murderous glare.

She shifted weight onto her foot, pressing his arm into the gravel.

“Come on. It’s an easy question. They’ll get harder in a moment. So now’s not the time to be stubborn. What’s your name?”

“Clint,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“Good. See, that was easy.” She eyed the hardened steel weapon. “You know, I can remove two fingers with a single blow. Should I start now?”

“No, please.”

“Where did Sacheen go?”

“I don’t know. You gotta believe me.”

“Does she have relatives here? Friends she might hang out with?”

“No. No one. Only Leonard. She’s from the Tlingit tribe, up north.”

Danya spun the tomahawk in her hand, then made several showy slashing motions in the air.

“So if she doesn’t have friends or relatives here, where would she go? Why leave the house, when that’s where Leonard was? There has to be a reason. A good reason.”

“Maybe to get food or something. How should I know?”

Swoosh! The blade buried two-inches deep in the gravel, so close to Clint’s fingertips that they rubbed the gleaming side of the axe blade.

“I won’t miss next time.”

“Please…”

“She wouldn’t take the hostages to the store. You think I’m an idiot?”

Silence.

Danya raised the tomahawk and swung it down in a mighty arc.

“Okay!”

Smack! Gravel shot out as the blade buried deep. A trickle of red appeared at the end of his middle finger where the very tip was shaved off.

“You have any idea how close you came to losing two or three fingers there?”

“Damn, lady. I said okay.” Clint caught his breath. “All right. Maybe she took them to the airstrip. That’s the only place I can think of where she might go. That’s all I know.”

Keeping her foot on his forearm, Danya bent down until her face was less than two feet from his. She pressed the blade of the tomahawk against his open palm.

“What airstrip? The Owyhee Airport?”

“I don’t—”

She pressed the razor-sharp edge into his palm, lacerating the flesh to produce a crimson line where blood oozed to the surface.

“No. No,” he said. “There’s a primitive dirt airstrip about a mile from here. That’s where she and Leonard fly in and out of. They don’t use the public airport.”

“Now see? You could have saved yourself some trauma by being reasonable from the beginning.”

With Clint laying on the ground, she slipped the axe beneath her belt and then reached over her shoulder. When her hand came back into sight, it held the Kukri machete. She placed the tip of the blade against Clint’s belly.

“I don’t like you much, Clint. And I’d just as soon run this blade through you, as not. So don’t give me a reason, and we’ll probably finish out the day with you in one piece. Mostly, anyway.” She backed away two steps. “On your feet, and lace your fingers behind your head.”

Clint did as ordered, the blood already beginning to coagulate at the tip of his finger. It seemed the fight in him had evaporated.

“Walk on over to your partner. Clyde. Is that his name?”

“Yeah.” Clint shuffled to the dead body, never once loosening the grip between his hands, or making any threatening move, the tip of the Kukri tickling his back.

“Stop right there. On your knees.”

After he dropped down, Danya picked up the revolver, only inches from Clyde’s lifeless fingers. She pressed the cylinder release, allowing the richly blued six-shot cylinder to roll open. As suspected, it held five live rounds.

She let out a low whistle. “Colt Python, four-inch barrel. They called this finish royal blue. Did you know that? They don’t make these anymore. Worth a lot of money if it’s in good condition. You know, I didn’t care much for Clyde, either. But I have to give him credit for having good taste in firearms.” She examined the rub marks on the bluing along the side of the barrel. “This piece has been carried a lot in a holster. If I had to guess, I’d say this fine specimen was likely the sidearm of a law enforcement officer. I wonder how your partner came to own it?”

She looked at Clint, but he only returned a blank stare.

“No matter. I think I’ll borrow