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

her having a radio. By switching to an alternate channel, her ability to eavesdrop on their communications was nullified, so she turned off the device. She still carried it, though, clipped to her belt. Might have value later.

A gift shop was located at the southeast end of the portico. And directly to the front of the portico was an adobe concrete building with a mission-style gable on each end. It housed the restrooms for the arriving tourists as they disembarked from the ferry. She kept a low profile, shielding herself behind the base of the column closest to the souvenir store.

She was relieved to see Toby standing with a group of children, near the restrooms. But that relief was tempered by the presence of two armed men with their guns trained on the prisoners. A third guard was near the helicopter, gun pointed at the pilot from a judicious distance.

Danya watched as Sacheen conversed with an FBI man not far from the helicopter. Danya was too far to hear what was being said. Then they turned and walked farther away from the idling aircraft, toward the restrooms. She didn’t know what their destination was, or why Toby and the children were present. If they were going to release the children, why were they not already climbing onboard the helicopter? Maybe the helicopter was for a different purpose? But what?

With Sacheen and two of her men escorting the FBI agent away from the scene, that left just three armed guards. If Danya could eliminate them, the children could be flown away to safety. Despite the risk, the opportunity was enticing. She had a good position, with cover and a clear field of fire on the tangos. And they had no idea she was there.

Shouldering the MP5, she leaned around the base of the pillar and sighted on the guard nearest the pilot. Her attack would have to be swift. She had to protect both the children and the pilot so he could fly them to safety.

Taking in the scene one last time, she prioritized the targets.

Danya let out her breath and squeezed the trigger, sending a 115-grain full metal jacket bullet downrange. In a tenth of a second, the bullet struck the guard standing by the helicopter. A crimson cloud engulfed his head just before his legs gave way, and he collapsed in a heap.

Like a robot following a programmed routine, she moved her sight to the next priority.

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The pilot’s training clicked in, and he was in motion, taking advantage of the ensuing confusion. In three strides, he was at the open door of the Eurocopter, and extracted a handgun tucked away beside his seat. He had his pistol in a two-handed hold, and took aim at the gunmen escorting the top-ranking FBI agent.

Two seconds had passed since Danya’s first shot.

Sacheen and the federal agent were in the lead, with Vernon and Leonard trailing. Vernon a little to the side. But they had not confirmed the location of the shooter, and had failed thus far to take defensive positions.

The pilot selected Vernon as his first target. Although he’d have preferred to take down Sacheen, the apparent leader, she was too close to Flynn for a safe shot. And placing a round into Leonard, who was in a direct line with the FBI agent, presented the risk of the bullet passing through and onward into the special agent in charge.

With a firm grip on the pistol, legs slightly apart, the pilot took aim and fired twice.

He was a good shot. He’d practiced often, and had even won a few pistol-shooting matches using the very same Smith & Wesson M&P 40 he was currently brandishing.

The two shots followed in quick succession, and Vernon tumbled forward as if he’d been hit from behind with a sack of concrete. Although the pilot had the drop on Sacheen and Leonard, he still didn’t have a clear shot since Agent Flynn was in their midst.

“Drop the weapons,” the pilot shouted, hoping the element of surprise would mask his tactical disadvantage.

Toby and the children were frozen in terror at the gunplay going on around them. Toby flinched with each gunshot, and the kids were crying.

Leonard swung around and opened up with the MP5, laying down an arc of bullets that cut through the middle of the pilot. As shock and electric fire from bullets ripping through his abdomen registered in his brain, he squeezed the trigger again, sending his final shot skyward. With blood pouring from his wounds, the CHP officer gazed toward the pale blue sky and took his final breath.

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Danya had her sights on the closest guard near Toby and the children. She fired, striking him in the upper chest just a heartbeat before he fired toward her. Bullets hit the column above her head, but otherwise caused no harm.

He managed to pull the trigger again, sending a swarm of bullets into the gift shop, shattering two large windows. She squeezed the trigger, this time killing the guard with a head shot.

“Get down! Get down,” Danya shouted, from behind the column.

But it was too late. The second guard, having witnessed his friend being shot dead, swung his weapon in toward the barracks building. Uncertain where is enemy lay, he pulled the trigger before he had any clear target. Bullets ripped through the cluster of hostages.

Three of the children were hit and bleeding. Margaret lay on her back, her eyes closed. Her face looked serene, like she was peacefully asleep. For the briefest of moments, Toby thought she may have been unconscious from her head striking the ground. But then she saw the blood-soaked blouse, and knew the spunky grandmother was dead.

Toby grabbed the two closest kids and yanked them down by their arms. The rest, screaming at the sight of blood and gore, some of which had splashed onto their clothing, were still frozen in place. Toby launched toward them, her arms outstretched, and tackled them to the pavement.

A fusillade of bullets tore through the thin