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

Clint returned a sneer. His hands were bloodied, and his head probably ached from the blow she had delivered. But he was a hell of a lot better off than his partner—or Leonard.

“What do you say we go for a drive. You can show me this dirt runway.”

After securing Clint’s hands behind his back with the roll of duct tape from the truck, Danya forced him into the passenger side of the cab. She cranked over the motor. After a couple tries, the ignition caught and the engine sputtered to life, belching out a cloud of blue smoke through the exhaust.

She hoped it would make it the short distance she expected to drive. No telling what damage the lead shot had delivered to the mechanicals of the old truck.

Chapter 32

Clint was right. The primitive runway was only a little more than a mile from the house. Close enough that the gun shots, albeit faint, were certainly heard by anyone there.

Danya stopped a couple hundred yards from a simple steel building big enough to house two private planes. And none too soon as steam billowed from the radiator.

An SUV and another pickup truck were parked in front of the building and to the side, to allow ample room for the aircraft to taxi out without fear of a wingtip striking a vehicle. The hangar door was open. Inside was a white Malibu Mirage single-engine aircraft and a de Havilland Beaver. A man was working to fuel the Mirage, cranking a hand-operated pump to transfer aviation fuel from barrels into the fuel tank. Two others were shuttling small, heavy boxes and placing them within the open cabin door.

Two of the men glanced at the pickup when it stopped, recognizing it as Clyde’s old truck. The driver’s face wasn’t familiar, but they saw Clint in the passenger seat and went back to their chores.

Danya opened the driver’s door, which was on the far side of the vehicle from the hangar, and stepped out. She had the Colt Python tucked under her belt, and Leonard’s shotgun pinched under her left arm. Then she grabbed the scoped Winchester rifle resting on the gun rack mounted against the rear window. The same bolt-action rifle Clint had used to try to kill her.

The Winchester was chambered in .30-06—a historic, but now obsolete, military cartridge. A popular and powerful round for hunting, it was lethal for all North American big game, including elk, moose, and bison. Even used for taking black bear, although experienced hunters preferred a larger caliber with greater one-shot stopping power for grizzly and brown bear.

She pulled the bolt back, confirming the magazine was loaded.

With the rifle slung over her shoulder, she waited until the men were focused on their activities, then she dashed for the side of the hangar.

Clint wasted no time and called out to the men in the hangar. But between the distance and whatever noise there was inside, they didn’t hear his calls. He tried to squirm sideways in the seat so he could reach the door latch, but he just couldn’t get the right angle. In frustration, he wormed out over the dash, where the windshield used to be, and rolled off the hood, onto the dirt. He gained his feet and ran for the open door.

Danya was already off to the side of the structure, where she couldn’t be observed by anyone inside.

Clint’s effort to raise the alarm actually worked to her benefit. Three men left the hangar, running out to meet their colleague. One of the men produced a knife and cut the tape, freeing Clint’s hands. An effective distraction which allowed her to slip inside the hangar.

A quick survey revealed the space was empty. She glanced over her shoulder. The four men were a hundred yards away and huddled in conversation, reminding her of a consultation on the pitcher’s mound during a baseball game.

She crossed in front of the aircraft to the office door. Opened it and nearly ran into Sacheen, who was about to exit. Both women were frozen in surprise.

Danya punched her in the face. Her head snapped back, and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

“Who are you?” Flynn said.

The side of his face was reddish purple where he’d been struck by Leonard.

“She’s my friend,” Toby replied.

Danya produced a short drop point knife, and with a flick of her wrist, cut through the shoelaces and tape, freeing Toby and then Flynn.

“Are you okay?” Danya said.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Toby replied. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“I’m Agent Flynn. Special agent in charge of the San Francisco office.”

Danya nodded. “I saw you at the helicopter with Toby.”

Flynn tipped his head and pinched his eyebrows.

“You were there?” he said. “On Alcatraz?”

“I was.”

“But how—”

“Long story. And we don’t have time now.”

Toby reached out for her hand. “How do we get out of here?”

“There’s a couple vehicles out front. The one I arrived in is shot up. It’s leaking coolant, and not going anywhere. We’ll have to use one of the other vehicles.”

A commotion on the taxiway leading to the hangar was getting closer. Clint and the three other men, no doubt all briefed by now on Danya’s presence, were converging on the open hangar. She drew the Python from her belt.

“I’ll attract their attention and keep them occupied. SAC Flynn. You need to commandeer a car. Hopefully they left the keys in the ignition. If not, we’re screwed.” She handed Leonard’s shotgun to Flynn. “It only has one shell, and it’s chambered.”

Flynn grasped the weapon and locked his gaze on Danya’s. Somehow he sensed that she was a dangerous woman.

“I’ll go with you,” Toby said.

“No,” Flynn replied. “Stay here, out of the way. Assuming I can get a vehicle running, when it’s clear—and only then—run for the open door and pile in. Got it?”

Toby nodded.

Danya cocked the hammer and moved to the opening furthest from the parked vehicles. She dropped to a knee and took aim. At seventy-five yards, she