I tuck it into my waistband at my back. I’ll leave the other one in the bag for now. I walk over to the barrier once more and measure it up, casually tossing the grenade up and catching it as I concentrate.
My earpiece is still in place, so I dial Josh.
“You not drowned yet then?” he asks.
“Not yet… listen, is Grace still with you?”
“No, she and Wallis are en route to the Jeremiah. Why?”
“Can you get in touch with her?”
“I have her number, yeah. Why, Adrian?”
“Can you just let her know that if she hears any reports in the next few minutes of a small explosion on Pier 29, there’s no need to worry — it’s just me.”
There’s a moment of silence on the line.
“Yeah, why not…”
“Thanks.”
I hang up and pull the pin from the grenade, letting it cook for a second before rolling it along the ground toward the railing. As soon as it leaves my hand, I run back to the car. I reach it just as the explosion sounds out. It’s deafening and couples with the noise of screeching metal as the barrier blows out. A cloud of smoke fills the air, raining down rubble and splintered wood.
I climb in behind the wheel and wait for the dust to settle. As the cloud fades, the gap I’ve created appears, which is plenty big enough.
Excellent. Now I just need to drive off the pier…
I put the roof up on the sports car and make sure to fully raise the windows. I reach down with my right hand and grip the lever that isn’t my handbrake. I let out a heavy sigh.
I do some really stupid things sometimes…
Without hesitating, I push my foot to the floor and set off screaming down the pier toward the gap. As I approach, I look to my left and see the outline of Alcatraz Island in the distance. At least it’s not hard to find.
I fail to suppress a guttural scream of adrenaline as I fight every natural urge I have to slam my brakes on as the end approaches. I feel the car leave the ground, the engine revving loudly as all four wheels spin wildly as the water of the Bay appears in front of me, rushing toward me faster than I could’ve imagined. I quickly pull the lever, hard enough that I momentarily worry I’ve snapped it. I hear one loud mechanical noise as a million tiny components all adjust themselves milliseconds before I plunge into the water. Instinctively, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it as I grip the wheel until my knuckles turn white. I count to five, and open my eyes. I give it another two before breathing out.
I start laughing.
Holy shit, I’m underwater!
I try the wheel and, sure enough, the steering column now allows me to push the wheel forward or pull it back. To put my mind at ease, I press my hand against the seats, the floor, the roof, the windows, everything. All watertight.
Un-fucking-believable!
Clark’s out-done himself this time.
I gently press the gas and pull back on the wheel and I surge forward, leveling out. I drive forward… am I driving? Or am I sailing or doing whatever it is a submarine does? I don’t know… anyway, after a few moments, I realize it’s harder to navigate than I thought it would be, so I pull back on the wheel as much as I can and climb; the wavy glare of the sun gets closer and brighter until I break the surface with a big splash and float.
I look around me. I’m facing just to the right of Alcatraz. I give it a little gas and line myself up, glancing to the left at the crowd of people lining the neighboring piers and pointing at me. Luckily I’m far enough from the streets that the main crowds and patrolling authorities haven’t seen me yet — but that’s surely only a matter of time because of the explosion.
I take a few deep breaths and gun the engine again, pushing forward on the wheel as I do. I slowly sink beneath the surface once more. The dash is lit up with screens that seem to tell me depth, as well as speed, and a whole bunch of other stuff that makes little sense to me right now. I focus on keeping going in a straight line.
Maybe a mile and a half ahead of me, Danny Pellaggio, along with Ivan Gregovski, and whoever else he has with him, is preparing to commit an act of terrorism that could potential start a second Cold War. He has no idea that I’m coming for him. My Inner Satan has two black bags and plenty of reasons to be pissed.
I smile at the irony of the situation — he’s been running around calling himself The Shark and here I am, a predator far above him in the food chain, approaching with deadly intent below the surface of the San Francisco Bay. I can smell the blood. I can taste it. And I’m looking to spill a whole lot more…
Who’s the shark now, asshole?
I can’t help but start to hum the theme tune from Jaws.
I cover the distance in a matter of minutes. Seeing the outline of the island ahead, I head left, looping around in a wide circle to approach from the far side of the island to where we assume Pellaggio will be. When we first looked at Alcatraz, we all agreed that if Pellaggio was going to fire on the S.S. Jeremiah O’Brien, either he’d do it from the right hand side, on the roof of the main prison, or further down the East Road, near the Quartermaster’s building — he’d have line of sight and a better angle to fire from.
I drop my speed and slowly climb to the surface again. I wish I’d put a fin on the roof — that would’ve been brilliant!
I come to a stop and immediately dial Josh. “How am I looking?” I ask as he picks up.
“I’ve just picked you back up on the GPS,” he announces. “You’re looking good. How was it?”
“Being underwater? Fucking weird!”
“I bet!” he says, laughing. “At least you didn’t kill yourself.”
“Yeah, always a bonus. So where am I exactly?”
“Pretty much bang on where you need to be. The north-west corner of the island is just ahead. You should come up on the West Road at the back of the lighthouse, which will provide you with enough to get yourself prepared. Thermal imaging from the GlobaTech drone we’ve got over the area is showing minimal movement on the far side of the island. There’s literally one guy patrolling, and he’s heading over to the lighthouse as we speak. Take him out and you should have a clear run toward Pellaggio. Now, steer another couple of hundred meters and you should see a small inlet in the rock formation that’s level enough for you to climb onto. It’s the best place to begin your ascent.”
I raise my eyebrows, not surprised but very impressed by how much detail he had waiting for me. I expect nothing less from him, but it’s just further evidence of how talented Josh really is.
“See, this is why I don’t shoot you,” I say, laughing.
“Any reason’s a good reason!” he replies.
It’s good to hear his trademark enthusiasm at a time when there’s very little to look forward to. When I’m not on a job, it can irritate the shit out of me — which he knows damn well. But when I’m working or facing a particularly awful situation, it actually relaxes me knowing someone can still be so happy about everything.
“Oh, Clark got me some new guns,” I say. “Berettas again, but the 92FS model, not the 92A1’s. They’re beautiful.”
“Awww, ain’t he a sweetheart?”
“He’s somethin’ alright. What’s the latest from Grace? Any news from the Jeremiah?”
“Secretary Schultz is due to arrive in the next twenty minutes. Like she said, they’re going ahead with the parade no matter what. Secret Service has tightened up their security, but they’re still denying the FBI full access.”
I press a button on the dash that releases the roof. It folds slowly back, revealing the cold sea breeze and the setting sun. I reach behind me and open the black bag with the grappling gun in it. I take out the harness Clark had mentioned and start putting it on.