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

ready with the MP5 in case the FBI agent made any threatening moves.

Sacheen enjoyed the silence, the solitude. It freed her mind to think. The nuggets of a plan were coming together, but there were still details that she had to work through, contingencies to plan. Once on the ground, and with a few hours rest, she would finalize the strategy with Leonard.

Although many of the particulars were lacking, she knew with certainty that she would deliver a stunning blow to the US Government. One that would dwarf 9/11 in severity and long-term impact. She would rock America to its foundation, and never again would American Natives be an overlooked minority, a people without a contemporary voice. Retribution would be hers. And it would be sweet. Very sweet.

The aircraft banked and circled above the GPS coordinates for the runway. After the third circuit, tiny lights appeared in two parallel lines. She lined up the Mirage and began her approach. Without an instrument landing system, she had to judge the approach visually. The night sky was clear, but the starlight did little to illuminate the ground five thousand feet below her aircraft.

In line with the runway, and descending, she lined up with the parallel strips of illumination. That the lights were exactly in front of her was a good sign there was no crosswind. She checked her angle of descent—also good—and maintained her heading. Her tension was mounting, but it wasn’t apparent to anyone in the cabin. She kept a firm grip on the yoke, pulled back on the throttle to reduce airspeed, nudged the flaps and made final adjustments to the direction of the plane. Then, with a hard bump, followed by a brief bounce—during which Toby let out a truncated scream—the Malibu Mirage was on the ground.

Sacheen slowed, and at the end of the runway turned the aircraft to taxi back to the hangar. A thin line of radiance appeared on the front of the hangar. It grew in thickness as the large door opened. Anna was standing by the side, her form flooded in the light. The de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver was still parked there, to the side, leaving just enough room for the second plane.

Once the Malibu was inside the large building, Anna lowered the main door. Sacheen allowed the Mirage engine to idle for a couple minutes to cool the engine. Then she killed the power.

“Be quiet,” Leonard said to his captives.

Sacheen exited the pilot chair and worked past Leonard to open the cabin door. As she exited, the other three remained behind.

“Is everything all right?” Anna said, as Sacheen strode up to her.

She stopped a couple feet away and yawned.

“Yeah. Just tired. I’m ready for a good rest in a real bed.”

“What happened? I heard the news. Was that our people who took over Alcatraz?”

Sacheen could only guess as to what had been broadcast. She’d not had an opportunity to tune into the major news channels.

“Everything’s fine. Just some negative press, that’s all.”

“Negative press? Are you crazy? They say that armed terrorists took everyone hostage on Alcatraz, and fired upon a police boat and Coast Guard cutter.”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Anna. Go on home and back to bed. Thanks for getting up to turn on the lights for me.”

The young woman’s jaw hung open and she raised an eyebrow, but decided not to ask any more questions. In time, if she wanted to, Sacheen would share the whole story.

Anna exited the passage door beside the closed main hangar door. The cavernous space was well-lit. Steel trusses supported the peaked roof above a smooth concrete slab floor. White-painted walls fifteen-feet high—even higher at the tip of the gabled ends—help create a bright and cheerful atmosphere. Five drums of high-octane aviation fuel were arranged in a line, side-by-side, near the entrance. On a shelf above the fuel barrels were a dozen quarts of synthetic oil. A black four-foot-high metal tool chest on casters was nearby.

Another doorway connected to an adjoining office.

Sacheen called through the open hatch. “Take them to the office.”

Toby and Flynn climbed down the stairs, followed closely by Leonard.

“To the right. Over there.” Leonard motioned with his free hand without lowering the MP5 barrel.

Flynn pretended to comply. But as he placed one foot forward, he spun and reached out for the gun. Had the FBI man been decades younger, he might have succeeded. But he’d been behind a desk too long, and his reflexes were slow, his movements awkward. As soon as Flynn began to turn, Leonard swung the stock up in a sweep arc and clipped Flynn across the side of his head. He stumbled and fell to concrete, one hand over his ear and jaw. He was still conscious, but barely.

“Try that again, and I’ll kill you,” Leonard said.

Toby helped Flynn to his feet, and they continued the short walk.

Inside the office, Sacheen had them place their hands behind their backs. Then she wrapped heavy-duty tape around their wrists. All the while, Leonard remained vigilant with his submachine gun pointed at them. Next, she had them sit on the floor, and she repeated the process, binding their ankles together. As a final measure, she stripped their shoelaces and tied them around their hands and feet. Satisfied, she motioned to Leonard, and the two returned to the parked Mirage.

Believing they were far enough from the open office door that their conversation wouldn’t be overheard, Leonard said, “We have to do something to strike a blow against the government.”

“Yes, I know. And I have an idea.”

“I’m listening.”

“We still have some of the radioactive powder. I made sure we had a surplus of strontium-90 and cobalt-60 when I acquired it from my sources.”

Leonard nodded. “Yes. It’s stored within lead boxes in the workshop at my house. But the drones were all destroyed. We’d have to purchase more, and that will take time and money. Money we don’t have.”

“Don’t worry. If my plan works, we’ll have plenty of financial support.”

“You think you can salvage this mess