Leonard lashed A vicious backhand across Toby’s cheek, drawing blood from the corner of her mouth.
“I thought you to be smarter than that. As spokeswoman for all Indigenous People, your voice would carry influence. You could help unite our people for the first time, while building support among other ethnic groups for our cause. Change is overdue. It is inevitable.”
He nodded his chin toward the barracks, Sacheen’s signal to return Toby to the other hostages. As the two women departed, Vernon addressed Leonard, starting at the video display on his phone.
“Do you really think you can turn her?”
“In time, yes.”
Vernon returned his concentration to the flight path of the drone. He had an unobstructed view across the bay, to San Francisco. There were no boats or ships in the path—no doubt the waters surrounding Alcatraz had been closed off to maritime traffic.
He flew the craft at a height of twenty to thirty feet above the water. He didn’t think the authorities had any radar system in place that could detect and track the drone, but flying it low was prudent, nonetheless.
Five minutes after launch, the real-time video showed the piers along the north shore. He slowed the drone and increased altitude, flying between the upper floors of the many skyscrapers populating the financial district.
A couple minutes later, he was following the rising terrain, with Coit Tower looming directly ahead. That was his landmark, and he slowed the drone even more. Flying at about the speed of a brisk walk, he brought the hexcopter over Pioneer Park. A large lawn stretched in all directions beneath the aircraft. People were enjoying the park—some playing catch and flying discs. Others stretched out on the turf, reading a book or conversing with friends.
He held it in a hover while Leonard watched the video over his shoulder.
Leonard said, “Hold there while I call the police.”
“Battery power is good for another twenty-five minutes of flight,” Vernon said.
Leonard dialed 911 while he walked to the water’s edge. He was gazing across the bay, imagining the events about to take place.
“I’m calling from Alcatraz,” he said. “And I have a very important message for the mayor and the chief of police.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Never mind that. Listen carefully.
“Sir—”
“Shut up. As we speak, a helicopter drone is hovering over Pioneer Park. The drone is carrying a nasty payload of radioactive dust. So unless you want a lot of people to begin glowing, you’d best get the police to clear the park and secure the drone.”
“Sir—”
Leonard ended the call, then strode back to Vernon.
“Keep it in a hover for five minutes, then land it on the lawn. And try not to hit anyone when you bring it down.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Vernon wore a sly grin.
“Just follow my order. We need to appear reasonable and rational for this to work. If the police and the feds think we’re crazy red Jihadists, they’ll storm the island, and that will be game over.”
“You really think they’d do that, and risk killing the hostages?”
“I have no doubt. The math is easy—sacrifice a hundred to save a thousand.”
s
Danya approached the bend in the hall. As far as she could tell, the third floor was deserted. But as she reached the corner, she heard murmurs, distant and muffled. Maybe the hostages?
She stole a glance around the corner. The path was clear. Midway down the long corridor was a stairway. Is that where the voices are coming from?
With silent footsteps, and hugging the wall, she crept toward the stairway. The voices grew in volume as she closed the distance. She paused at the landing. A worn oak railing twisted up to the fourth and fourth fifth floors. It also extended down to the first floor. She cocked her head—the voices were louder, and definitely coming from below.
With a firm grip on the MP5, and the stock against her shoulder, she descended one step at a time. Fearing creaky treads from the aged construction, she gently applied her weight with each footstep and planted her feet along the edge of the oak treads where they were more likely to be secured to the framing.
Following the voices, she descended to the midpoint landing without any issues. As she turned to traverse the final flight of steps, she saw the staircase terminated in what appeared to be a small room on the ground floor. She tiptoed downward. Opposite the base of the stairs was a door with the universal male-female symbol indicating it was a restroom. To the right was a second door. Maybe that opens onto the room where they’re keeping the tourists hostage?
She eased up to the door and placed her ear close, confirming voices on the other side. Gently, she tested the door latch. It turned freely.
Opening the door, even just a crack, was risky if one or more terrorists was near the door, or in a location where they would see the door open. But there was no avoiding that she’d have to pass through the passage if she was to have a chance of freeing the hostages. While she considered the best tactic, she took in the small space. Leading with her weapon, she checked the restroom. Empty.
There was a third unmarked door tucked away under the staircase landing. A quick inspection revealed it to be a janitorial closet, complete with a variety of cleaning fluids, mops, brooms, rags, paper products, and a laundry sink.
Feeling slightly more secure in her space, she returned to the door she was now certain adjoined the holding area for the prisoners. She put her ear to the door again. The voices were muffled, rendering only occasional words understandable.
Suddenly, a male voice sounded distinct and close.
“Clear the way.”
The general chatter ceased. The door latch turned, and then the door opened just a crack. As it did, voices became more distinct.
“If there aren’t any tissues in the storeroom, bring out a case of paper towels,” someone called, from the distance.
Danya was already moving up the staircase, two steps at a time. If she didn’t round the turn at the landing, she’d be spotted for sure.
“Roger that.” The guard pushed the door open and strode for the janitor closet.
Peering around the newel post on the landing, Danya was able to snatch a glimpse into the large room through the open door before it swung closed, confirming her suspicions. Although she had less than two seconds to survey the room, she saw several dozen people sitting in groups and talking. She didn’t see any of the terrorists, other than the man who’d been tasked with retrieving supplies from the storeroom. He was focused on his errand and didn’t even cast a glance up the stairs. His weapon, also an MP5, hung from his shoulder.
A minute later, with a cardboard case of Kleenex® tissues in hand, the guard returned to the large room, giving her a second chance to spy through the open passage until the door automatically closed.
She grasped the opportunity and dashed down the stairs.
s
It had been agreed that Sacheen would be the spokesperson when conveying the group’s demands to the authorities. They were familiar with studies that suggested a woman would be subconsciously perceived as less threatening than a man. Men naturally tended toward conflict, and this trait was most pronounced in male-male interactions. The goal was to work past the initial aggressive response from law enforcement, and get them to reason through the problem.
Once the politicians were engaged and in control, both Sacheen and Leonard agreed, the risk of mission failure was greatly reduced. Local and state political leaders would never accept large portions of the Bay Area being transformed into a radioactive wasteland. The federal government would have no choice but to fall in line. California was simply too populous and too important to allow it to suffer such a preventable disaster.
After one transfer, Sacheen was connected with the mayor of San Francisco.
“This is Mayor Webster. Who am I speaking to?”
“Did your police department pick up the drone in Pioneer Park?”
“They did. And that’s quite the stunt you pulled. Do you have any idea how much trouble you and your associates are in?”
“Mayor Webster, please. Bluster and threats are not going to be helpful. My pilot flew that drone and landed it safely without harming any civilians. We did so as an act of good faith. It is important that you understand what we are capable of doing. But it’s equally important that you understand our intention is a good-faith negotiation, during which harm to innocent civilians can be avoided.”
“If that’s the case, you’ll release the hostages you’re holding.”
“And give up my leverage? No. Not just yet.”
“Okay. You called me. What do you want?”
Sacheen’s voice was soothing. “I want to help by showing you what we are ready to deliver. Within a few hours, I’m certain you’ll have confirmation that the drone was transporting cobalt-60 and strontium-90. Both are especially nasty radioactive isotopes.”
“The cannister is being transported to Lawrence Livermore Labs for analysis,” Webster said. “But I’ve been told that a portable radiation detector showed a high-level reading. For the sake of argument, let’s say I believe you. What’s this about? Isn’t this the point where you make your demands known? Something like millions of dollars in unmarked bills, and a plane to take you out of the country?”
Sacheen chuckled. “You’ve read too many thrillers. But yes, we do have demands that we will communicate at the proper time. First, I assume the FBI is actively involved?”
“Naturally. Kidnapping is a federal offense. So are acts of terrorism.”
“Terrorism? Oh, my. We haven’t carried out any such acts—yet.”
“Is that a threat?” Webster said.
“Not at all. I’m just being honest. Our discussions will be much more effective if we cut to the chase and speak candidly with each other. Anyway, I’m glad the FBI is engaged. In fact, I’d like for you to have the special agent in charge fly to Alcatraz in their helicopter.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to show him the fleet of drones we have, each with their payloads ready and prepped for flight. It’s part of my effort to be transparent with you.”
“Do you really think the special agent in charge is going to surrender himself to you to become another hostage?”
“As I said, my offer is to show him how serious we are and what we are capable of doing. If you understand that, and accept that, the rest will go quickly, and the scores of civilians I’m holding here can be released.”
“How many hostages are there?”
“I’m glad you asked. We completed a head count. Fifty-three children, plus eighty-three women and seventy-two men.”
“If you—”
“Relax, Mayor Webster. No one has been harmed, and that is not our intention. However, we will need a food and water drop by evening if we haven’t concluded our business by then.”
“That’s a lot of people. Where are you keeping them?”
Sacheen laughed. “Nice try. Now, getting serious again, you can tell the FBI that we will release ten children to fly back in the helicopter as a show of good faith. The special agent in charge is free to return, too. My offer is good for the next sixty minutes. That’s all.”
“And if they refuse?”
“Shortly, ten children will be standing on the ferry landing. I’m certain you have us under surveillance, so you’ll know I am not bluffing. They’ll remain standing there until the deadline. But if the deadline passes, and the helicopter does not arrive per my instructions…well, there won’t be ten children standing any longer.”
“So much for your pledge not to harm anyone.”
“Mayor Webster, I never made any such pledge. I did say it was not our intention to harm any of the hostages, especially the children. Which is the truth. However, if you give us no choice…if you test our resolve…well, then you will need ten body bags for the children I offered. Please. Accept our proposal. It is in everyone’s best interests.”
Webster scoffed. “You expect me to believe your crap? Whatever your game is, I’m absolutely confident you’re only playing for what’s best for you.”
“I have many drones here, each loaded with the same material you’ll find in the aircraft I already delivered to you. Shall we launch the fleet across your city and the East Bay?”
“The Coast Guard will put helicopters in the air and shoot down every one of your toy planes before they cross over land. Face it, you’re outgunned and outmanned.”
Sacheen smiled. “That would be quite the feat. Our drones are piloted. And from the vantage afforded by the excellent strategic location of this rocky island, we have a clear view across the Bay in every direction. I could order my pilots to fly drones to the north, over San Rafael. South to San Francisco. East to Richmond, Berkeley, and Oakland. Or I could order the drones to fly en mass to the target of my choice. Do you know how hard it is to defeat a swarm of drones?”
Although she didn’t expect an answer from the politician, she waited through a moment of silence for theatrical effect.
“The point is, you will have no idea if my drones are in the air or not, because you can’t detect them. They fly too close to the water, and are too small to be picked up by radar. You’ll never know where they are flying, or when. So save your bluster. It only serves to demonstrate your ignorance.”
“The Coast Guardsmen onboard their helicopters will search visually,” Webster said. “They’re really good at that, you know. Comes with rescuing fishermen bobbing in a stormy sea.”
“Plucking a stationary seaman from the ocean is one thing. They are usually wearing an orange life vest and waving their arms. My drones will be moving fast, on an unpredictable course, and are painted blue-gray to match the bay water. But it’s your call. I’m simply trying to give you a reasonable alternative. A way to avoid a tragedy of epic proportions. After we’ve dusted the Greater Bay Area with enough radioactive powder to render it uninhabitable for a century, I’ll call the San Francisco Chronicle and tell them how you steadfastly refused my request—a simple request, actually—to have the FBI send their special agent in charge here for a face-to-face meeting. Following the meeting, he is free to leave with the ten children. Maybe in fifty years they’ll bring daring tourists to the irradiated wastelands, just like they do at Chernobyl. I’ll bet they’ll even have a tour named for you. Something like, The Mayor Webster Night Tour. No flashlights needed—the place glows after dark. Kinda catchy, don’t you think?”
The mayor knew he had no leverage, and it galled him to concede, even something so minor as to suggest the FBI agree to the meeting.
“I’ll pass along your invitation,” he grumbled. “Anything else you’d like for me to share with the feds when I speak with them?”
“Yes, there is. Make sure they only send the SAC and the pilot. No one else. After all, they need to be able to carry the children back. Is that clear?”
“Abundantly.”
“Good. Remember, one hour. And trust me, what I have to show them is worth their time.”
“And the children?”
“Like I promised, they will be released unharmed. Although the FBI may not report directly to your office, I know you have influence over their actions. I suggest you put your charm and diplomacy to good use.”
“You haven’t given me much time. What if they don’t have a chopper fueled up nearby, ready to go?”
She exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “I believe that with all the creative minds working this problem, someone can figure out a solution. Now time’s wasting, and you have a job to complete. Thank you, Mayor Webster. It was a pleasure talking with you.”
She ended the call, confident the authorities would acquiesce to her demand. The offer to set free a group of children was irresistible bait.