Judgment at Alcatraz Dave Edlund (detective books to read TXT) 📖

“Yes ma’am.” He stood straight.

She demanded respect, but shunned any address with military overtones.

“Why isn’t Charlie here helping to keep an eye on the hostages?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Haven’t seen him since before we shot up that Coast Guard patrol boat.”

She considered his response. “That’s the last time I saw him, too. He was set up with the Folgore rocket launcher on the parade ground.”

“You want me to go check, see if he’s still there?”

“No, I’ll radio up to the cell house. They still have four men there. You can go back to watching these people.”

She made the radio call, short and to the point. Then she directed the two guards to carry out their task. They moved forward and commenced picking children at random from the seated crowd. A young girl, probably no more than six years old, cried for her mother as she was pulled up onto her feet. The mother reached out, only to be jabbed by the muzzle of an MP5.

“Sit down,” the guard said.

“Take your hands off my granddaughter,” a voice called from behind the guard.

He turned and faced a gray-haired woman no more than five-feet tall, her face covered in deep creases. As she looked up at the guard, she jabbed a boney finger into his chest.

“If you must take someone, you will take me.”

“Suit yourself.” The guard shoved her along with the others that had been selected.

It only took a minute to gather up the children, and it caused enough commotion that everyone in the room was staring at the guards.

“Something’s not right.” Danya whispered in Toby’s ear.

Toby stood and strode across the gap to Sacheen and the guards.

“Leave the children alone,” she said.

Danya had dropped her head and looked away, avoiding eye contact with the terrorists.

Sacheen locked her gaze with Toby’s as she closed the distance.

“You’re in no position to make any demands.” Then she faced the nearest guard. “Take her, too.”

Toby did her best to comfort the children, many of whom were crying as they were escorted away, not far behind Sacheen.

The thumping sound of rotors beating the crisp air was growing louder.

Chapter 20

Only two of the gunmen were left to guard all the hostages, and Danya decided it was time to make a move. She didn’t have to wait long for both guards to be looking away from where she was seated, and when they did, she dashed for the door to the stairway and the storage room.

One of the guards caught her quick motion. “Hey! Stop.”

But it was too late. The door was already swinging shut behind her. The guard sprinted across the large room, darting between people sitting in clusters across the floor. He threw the door open, his weapon leveled and ready to fire.

But the anteroom was empty. He looked up the short flight of stairs to the landing and paused, listening for footsteps.

Nothing.

He took two steps and craned his head, searching up the stairwell, expecting to see a shadow or a fleeting glimpse of a hand on the railing as the person dashed to an upper floor. But nothing.

To the right, he opened the door to the restroom and checked the stalls. Also empty. That left only the small janitorial closet. He turned the door latch and threw the door open, expecting to find the woman he’d seen fleeing crouched in a corner, hiding.

The crack of a gunshot was deafening in the confined space. A thin wisp of gun smoke wafted from the barrel of Danya’s MP5. The guard stumbled backward two steps, a crimson splotch growing at the center of his chest. The bullet punched a neat hole through his sternum, then exploded in his heart before it shredded a ragged hole where it exited his back, leaving metal fragments in his spine. He lacked the strength to hold his weapon level, and it landed on the linoleum floor with a clank. Then his eyelids closed, and he fell face forward.

Danya’s daypack was where she’d left it, behind the door. She removed the spare ammunition magazines and stuffed them in her pocket where she could access them quickly. Then she slipped the pack onto her shoulders. She knew the remaining guard with the hostages would have heard the gunshot. But would he assume it was his teammate who had fired the weapon? Surely there wouldn’t be any reason for him to think that she was armed and dangerous. After all, for all the terrorists knew, she was just another civilian hostage. Someone’s girlfriend, or an adventurous young woman taking in the sights of the San Francisco Bay.

After leaving the storage room, she stopped at the door and listened. The hostages were quiet, no doubt terrified by the sound of gunfire. She pounded her fist on the door, then stepped to the side, pressing her back to the wall.

It wasn’t long before the guard approach. “Hey, Dolan. You okay?”

Then he nudged the door open and pressed half his body into the anteroom. From three feet, Danya fired before he had a chance to realize it was an ambush. The 9mm bullet entered his left cheek, traveling upward, and took a generous portion of his brain and skull as it exited his temple.

After dragging his body to the janitorial closet with Dolan’s corpse, she scavenged the extra mags from the guards’ belts. Well-armed, she entered the room with the hostages. Dozens stared at her, a mixture of fear and shock on their faces.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice carrying across the expansive space. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to get help. Please stay where you are. You’re safer here.”

As she darted across the room for the far doorway, she removed the portable radio from her belt and powered it up. She hoped the terrorists were using only one channel. And she further hoped the radio was still set to that frequency.

She listened for several long seconds before she heard a voice.

“Ma’am, it’s Kyle. I came down to the parade ground from