Judgment at Alcatraz by Dave Edlund (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📗

after all, Israeli by birth. Even more, she had served her government within the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. In Hebrew, the agency name was HaMossad leModiʿin uleTafkidim Meyuḥadim—universally known as Mossad.

The events she’d witnessed over the last ten minutes had set her senses on full alarm. In her capacity as an assassin for Mossad, she’d been trained to observe the actions of people, to be suspicious, to anticipate the worst that others might do, so as to pre-empt an attack.

Her training and years of experience taking down terrorists and other enemies of the State told her that everything was wrong with the present situation. But she was no longer a Mossad agent. She’d been on the run and off the grid ever since she’d failed to follow orders and terminate the American civilian in the rugged mountains of Central Oregon.

That mission had started off well enough. And by all indications, the target had no idea he was being hunted by a pack of trained assassins. Perhaps the unfortunate run-in with the state trooper was an omen.

Danya and her team tracked the target into the wilderness, and it was soon apparent that he knew the terrain well. As her team began taking losses, she realized the American wasn’t just a simple civilian, as she’d been led to believe. Turning the tables, he had become the hunter. He was cunning and fought fiercely. After killing three of her teammates, she managed to corner the man and his dog, a red pit bull. Both had been wounded. Ever loyal, the canine had suffered grievous injuries defending his master.

From only a few yards away, she could have killed the man easily. She looked into his eyes and read his pain, fear, and confusion. Although she didn’t know the details of the secret information he supposedly possessed, it was clear he was no threat to her country. He was a nobody who had unfortunately been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She hesitated, questioning whether she was truly acting justly to protect her homeland. That brief moment of introspective returned a most unexpected answer.

That encounter was an epiphany for her. The American was not a terrorist, and he presented no clear or credible threat to the State of Israel. For certain, he was dangerous when provoked. But he’d acted in self-defense. Assuming the intelligence was correct, he had simply stumbled upon some documents—secrets close to fifty years old—that might prove a political embarrassment for the Israeli prime minister.

Danya had killed many times for her country. It was a skill she was proficient at. But those cases were always unambiguous—terrorists, or financiers for terrorists. They deserved to die, didn’t they?

But this American was neither.

She made a snap decision, one that would change the course of her life.

She spared his.

The price was steep. Disavowed by her country, hunted by her former employer, and wanted for murder in the US, she was constantly on the run—no official identity, no permanent address, no close relationships. To survive, she applied her considerable talents to liberate ill-gotten gains from criminal enterprises. And when judgment day came, she hoped and prayed that her late attempts at redemption would tilt the scale in her favor. Even if only a little.

She replaced the binoculars in her daypack, wishing she had a weapon. That must be it. The security prior to boarding the ferry was good enough that it would be impossible to smuggle a gun on one’s person. They must have had a couple weapons stashed along the shore. But why go back?

As soon as the thought entered her mind, she knew the answer.

And it sent a shiver down her spine.

Chapter 13

Vernon Thunderhawk clipped the radio to his belt and then climbed aboard the Jet Capsule bobbing behind the sailboat just south of Sausalito, where they’d spent the night. He worked his way past the twelve well-armed warriors sitting in two rows on either side of the yacht tender. Heavy-duty water-tight cases were aligned on the deck along the center line of the 7.5-meter boat. Large teardrop windows on the port and starboard side of the enclosed yacht tender provided excellent visibility for those inside.

After taking the solitary seat at the bow of the craft, Vernon turned the ignition key. The 370-horsepower engine came to life with a throaty rumble. A crew member on the sailboat cast off the stern line and pushed the Jet Capsule away. Vernon engaged the jet drive and eased the hull clear of the sailboat. Then he applied full throttle, and the small boat jumped to speed. The bow rose on the bay, and the Jet Capsule reached its maximum speed of thirty-five knots. They would arrive at the ferry dock in less than five minutes.

He estimated it would take the police considerably longer to arrive in their Zodiac, assuming they were patrolling in the South Bay. If not…well, Leonard would deal with them.

Vernon followed a course south, directly for Alcatraz Island. He glanced at the radar display. A couple small blips showed from sailboats far to the east. So far, there was no indication that the Coast Guard had dispatched one of its coastal patrol boats. He reasoned that the San Francisco police would be the first to respond with their marine unit. And if they couldn’t resolve the situation, then the Coast Guard and the FBI would be summoned.

The radio on the console of the Jet Capsule was tuned to channel sixteen, allowing him to monitor all emergency traffic. It had been quiet.

But that was about to change.

s

“Mayday! Mayday. Mayday. This is the Alcatraz Flyer. Gunmen have seized the ferry dock on the island. Over.”

The police Zodiac had been cruising past several marinas south of the Bay Bridge when the call came in.

“Alcatraz Flyer, this is SFPD Marine Unit Two. Come again?”

“Police Marine Unit Two, this is Alcatraz Flyer. I say again. Two armed persons have taken control of the boat dock on Alcatraz. Request immediate assistance. Alcatraz Flyer is returning to Pier