Imperfect Strangers

"Alcatraz," Tony said.

"Alcatraz? Are you outta your fucking mind? Who would authorize that?"

"I'm authorizing it. Bert, if you don't get this thing going right now, I'm going to shoot you," Tony said. "You can tell your boss I said that."

Bert got the thing going.

It was as before. As the crowd moved out of the cell block, Sandy hung back and looked at the cells to his right. Peter Martindale stood inside one, waiting.

"How much longer?" Tony said into the intercom.

"About ten, eleven minutes," Bert said. "Hang on, I gotta call in." He punched the push-to-talk button. "San Francisco approach, Napa One police helicopter."

"Napa One," a controller said.

"I'm five miles north of class B airspace at one thousand feet, squawking one, two, zero, zero, heading two, zero, zero."

"Napa One, what is your destination?"

"Alcatraz."

"Napa One, say again your destination."

"San Francisco approach, Napa One; my destination is Alcatraz. Request vectors."

"Napa One, do you intend landing at Alcatraz?"

"Affirmative."

"Is this an emergency?"

Bert looked at Tony; Tony nodded.

"Affirmative, San Francisco, this is a police emergency."

"Napa One, understand police emergency. Come left to one, niner, zero. Alcatraz is seventeen miles at twelve o'clock. Report Alcatraz in sight."

"Wilco," Bert said. He turned to Tony. "This better be good," he said.

"Napa One, San Francisco approach."

"This is Napa One.

"The coast guard has advised us that a fog bank has developed over San Francisco Bay and is currently estimated to be one-half mile west of Alcatraz, moving slowly east."

"Roger, San Francisco." Bert turned again to Tony. "You give me the most entertaining fucking flying, you really do."

CHAPTER 59

Sandy sat on the steel bunk and looked at Martindale, who sat opposite him. There was something in the man's face that he hadn't seen there before. Desperation, maybe; determination, probably; madness, certainly.

"Peter," he said, "I want you to listen to me very carefully We have to end this-today, now, this minute."

"That is my intention, Sandy," Martindale replied. His voice was low, soft, steely.

"Peter, if you persist in this, you will destroy yourself."

"Yes, Sandy, I know that; but I will destroy you first, and then Helena."

"Peter, think. Why must you have this vendetta in your mind? Helena has given you everything you have-your home, your business-everything."

"And together, you and Helena have taken it away."

"What?"

"In order to raise the money I paid you, I gave the apartment and the business as collateral. But since you have now gutted my reputation, I will never, never be able to earn the money to repay the loan. First, the gallery will go, and since its value has been greatly depreciated by this business, it will bring very little. Then, since I won't have an income, the apartment will have to go, and the real estate market is terrible at the moment. I'll lose everything!" He seemed to realize that he had begun to shout, and he brought his voice down. "Everything," he repeated.

"Peter, can't you take responsibility for your own actions? Can't you see that you've painted yourself into this corner?"

"It's your doing," Martindale said.

"Peter-"

"Enough talking," Martindale said. "Stand up." He drew his hand from his coat pocket and in it was a silenced revolver.

Sandy had seen it before. He stood up and slipped his hand into his raincoat pocket.

Martindale pressed the barrel of the pistol up under Sandy's chin. "Take your hands out of your pockets," he said.

Sandy obeyed.

Martindale patted Sandy's pockets, reached in, and came out with the knife. "My, my," he said. "You came prepared, didn't you?"

"San Francisco approach, Napa One. I have Alcatraz in sight."

"Napa One, San Francisco approach. Do you see the landing pad on top of the main building?"

"Affirmative. It's faded, but I can see it."

"Napa One, cleared to land at Alcatraz."

"Roger." Bert turned to Tony. "Shouldn't you let the San Francisco police know about this?"

"Jesus, I hadn't thought of that," Tony admitted. "Yeah, ask them to call the cops. Oh, and they'd better call the FBI, too; this place is federal property."

"San Francisco approach, Napa One. Request you alert the San Francisco police and the FBI of the emergency."

"Roger, Napa One. What is the nature of your emergency?"

Bert looked at Tony. "Well?"

"Uh, hang on a second." Tony thought about it. "Tell them we're going in to prevent a possible murder."

"San Francisco approach, Napa One. We are intervening to prevent a possible homicide."

"Roger, Napa One. We'll call in the cavalry."

"Now we're really in the shit," Bert said. "There'll be no sneaking in and out of there."

"Bert," Tony said, "don't land yet. First, let's fly over the yard and see what the hell's going on."

Sandy walked across the yard ahead of Peter, wondering what to do next.

"Head for those stairs," Martindale said. "The ones to the guard tower."

Sandy looked the twenty yards ahead of him. A chain stretched across the bottom of the stairs, and a sign hung on it. "No Entry," it said.

"Unhook the chain," Martindale said as they reached it.

Sandy unhooked the chain and started up the stairs. From behind them came a shout, and Sandy looked back to see the group of tourists emerging from the cell block. The guide, Wembly, was ru

"Stop!" he yelled. "It's dangerous up there!"

Martindale turned, raised his arm, and fired a shot into the dirt near the guide. Wembly stopped.

Sandy moved to reach for the gun, but Martindale swung around and pointed it at him again.

"Climb," he said.

Sandy trudged on up the stairs. At the top, the door to the guard tower was missing, and so was the door on the other side of the little room. Beyond it, a walkway stretched along the top of the wall, behind a waist-high parapet. A patch of fog blew across the top of the wall, momentarily obliterating it before blowing away. Sandy's mouth was very dry.

"Keep going along the wall," Martindale said.

Sandy looked over the edge of the parapet; it was a good seventy or eighty feet down, with pavement at the bottom. He stopped and turned around to face Martindale. He was farther behind than Sandy had thought. "Stop this, Peter. Put the gun down." A noise distracted him, and he looked up, across the yard. A helicopter was a hundred yards away, moving slowly toward them.

Suddenly, Martindale was gone. Sandy could see nothing but fog.

"There!" Tony said. "On top of the wall-two men!"

"I saw them for a second, but now they're gone," Bert replied. "It's the fog; I can't see a damned thing."

"Keep going in that direction," Tony demanded. "I think one of them had a gun."

Now the helicopter was enveloped in fog. "Oh, shit!" Bert yelled.

Sandy suddenly realized that if he couldn't see Martindale, Martindale couldn't see him. It seemed the best idea to put as much distance as possible between himself and the gun. He turned and began to run, and as he did, he heard two quick, muffled reports, and something ricocheted off the masonry next to him. He threw himself to the opposite side of the walkway, and the action saved his life; another noise came, and a piece of masonry flew off the wall at the spot where he had been standing. Sandy stopped and tried to see ahead. The fog didn't seem any worse, but now he couldn't see the path in front of him.