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

the cell house, just like you said. And I found Charlie.”

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Sacheen turned her back to Toby and the kids. “Kick him in the ass and tell him to get back to work.”

“He can’t do that, ma’am. He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Like I said. Someone bashed in his skull with a chunk of concrete.”

“Where did you find his body?”

“Lying next to the rocket launcher. Looks like there was a struggle. The Folgore was knocked over.”

“Shit,” she hissed.

“There’s more bad news.”

“How can it get any worse?”

“His weapon and extra mags are gone. His radio, too.”

She straightened. “Listen up, everyone. Communication security has been compromised. Immediately change to the alternate channel. Spread the word in case someone has the volume turned down and misses my order.”

After making the adjustment to her portable radio, she approached Leonard and Vernon, motioning them to a side bar several steps away from Toby, who had adapted quickly to the role of chaperone.

“Charlie’s dead. Whoever killed him also took his radio and weapon. Change your radios to the backup frequency. Do it now.”

The helicopter was closing fast, and as it neared, the roar of engine and rotors was reaching the point of making conversation impossible. Toby’s arms were outstretched, and the children were huddled close, seeking comfort from her presence.

“What is your name?” Toby shouted to the elderly woman, who also had her thin arms wrapped around two children at her side.

“Margaret. I wouldn’t let them take my granddaughter.” The woman looked across the many small faces, each filled with terror. “Don’t you worry about this. You’ll all be just fine. And you’ll have a story to share with your friends.”

The helicopter had taken a hovering position about fifty feet above the flat pavement, drowning any further conversation among the hostages. Once the pilot was convinced it was clear, the aircraft slowly descended.

Shortly after the skids were supporting the weight of the helicopter, the pilot reduced the fuel flow, keeping the engine at idle. The tail was painted midnight blue, with the letters CHP in gold. The passenger compartment was white. A gold seven-point star beneath the words Highway Patrol marked this helicopter as belonging to the California Highway Patrol.

The side door slid open, and out hopped a short middle-aged man wearing tan slacks and a dark-blue windbreaker. The letters FBI were printed in bold yellow letters on the breast and sleeves. The man’s hair was cropped short, military style, and he wore dark wireframe sunglasses. He held his hands raised as he moved forward.

Sacheen met him halfway. “You must be the federal agent overseeing this affair?”

He nodded. “Name’s Flynn. I’m the special agent in charge of the San Francisco office. The mayor relayed your message.” He gazed beyond her, to the collection of kids huddled around Toby and Margaret. “I see you kept your word, sort of. You said ten kids. I count nine.”

Sacheen shrugged. “The old woman insisted we take her rather than her granddaughter.”

Flynn nodded. “Okay. I’m here. Now what?”

“What’s with the CHP bird? I was expecting either an SFDP or an FBI helicopter. I don’t like the idea of more agencies getting involved. Too much bureaucracy. Too many bosses, all trying to show they have the biggest pair, if you know what I mean.”

The FBI man tilted his chin to the side, indicating his ride.

“It’s the best we could do with limited time. My office doesn’t have the budget for its own aircraft. Neither does the SFPD. But don’t worry. Our agreement with CHP is simple. They’re only providing transportation—no operational involvement in resolving this affair. They have no jurisdiction. Think of that aircraft as…I don’t know…maybe air Uber, if that helps.”

Sacheen narrowed her eyes, maintaining a steady aim with her Beretta at Flynn’s chest.

“You armed?” she said.

He shook his head. “May I lower my hands?”

“Open your jacket. Slowly. Leonard here,” she indicated with a nod, “will make certain you’re telling the truth.”

The SAC complied, and Leonard completed the pat-down, finding no weapons.

Flynn said, “I understand that you landed a drone in Pioneer Park, with a small load of radioactive material. Too small to be a dirty bomb.”

“That’s right,” she said.

“So what’s your angle? Why insist I come out here if you’re not going to surrender?”

“It’s like I explained to Mayor Webster. We delivered a sample of our capability so you, the mayor, and the governor would understand that we are not bluffing. We are ready to carry out our mission and deliver seven drones over San Francisco and the major metropolitan cities surrounding the Bay. Each is carrying a full payload of strontium-90 and cobalt-60, just like the sample. This negotiation will go much faster if you confirm the threat.”

“And I’m supposed to believe your boast because you say so?”

“Not at all. I insisted on this meeting so you can see for yourself. The drones are over there.” She pointed toward the edge of the landing, near a block of restrooms. “If you came prepared and have a radiation monitor—as I’m sure you have—you can check each one.”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “The detectors we use are very sensitive. A smart person can spoof them easily. Maybe dab the drone with a few flakes of radium paint from an antique clock. Or glue an americium button from a smoke detector, somewhere onto the aircraft. Even the old canary glass that was colored with uranium salts has enough radioactivity to set off our detectors.”

“Don’t try to con me,” she said. “I’ve done my research. The decay pathway of strontium-90 is pure beta radiation, which doesn’t penetrate far, even in air. But cobalt-60 decay involves both beta and high-energy gamma radiation. You’ll get a strong gamma signal from it while you’re still several dozen feet from the drones. That energetic response doesn’t come from canary glass or antique paint.”

Flynn frowned. It was worth a try. “Yeah, I’ve got a detector. Mind if I get it from the cabin?”

“Be my guest. But if you turn around with a weapon, you’ll be dead before your knees touch the ground. Understood?”

He nodded.

“Oh…tell