“That makes no sense,” I say. “Surely they’d want as much help as they could get?”
“My guess would be that because they already have military and naval security on board, plus the Secret Service, they don’t want to draw attention to themselves by suddenly having the FBI on there as well — no reason for them to be there normally, so people might start asking questions if they saw them working security. Plus, I think it’s probably a pride thing — they wanna handle it all themselves.”
“Well,” I say with a deep breath as I slowly stand up and tighten the fastenings around my waist. “That pride is gonna get people killed. We got anything we can use from Agent Green yet?”
“Nothing we don’t already know. Jimmy Manhattan set the whole thing up, as far as getting to you is concerned. Everything else was planned by Pellaggio behind Manhattan’s back.”
“Any word on his condition?” I ask, referring to Manhattan.
“Still breathing as far as I know. Do we care?”
With the harness firmly in place, I reach down and take out the grappling gun, heaving it up in my arms and taking aim.
“Not particularly,” I say.
It goes quiet on the line and I use the time to line up my shot. I’ve never used one of these things before, and I’m only going to get one shot and planting this grappling hook in the top the cliff ledge.
“Oh, shit!” says Josh in my ear.
I let out a tense sigh. “More good news?” I ask.
“Adrian, that one guy patrolling the perimeter is closing in on your position.”
“Where is he?”
“Approaching the helipad now, just a couple of hundred meters east of the lighthouse. You’re gonna come up on the Agave Trail. That path winds up to the top of the island. He’s gonna be directly above you as you’re climbing.”
“Wonderful. Is he going to hear my fire this grappling gun?”
“Possibly.”
“Great…”
I line up my shot again and steady myself, leaning into the weapon slightly so any recoil doesn’t knock me backward and overboard.
“Keep an eye on him,” I whisper.
I close one eye and adjust my grip, taking a deep breath and holding it. I steady myself and breathe out, squeezing the trigger as I do. The gas-propelled grappling line roars out of the gun, making a noise like a firework. The thunk as the hook penetrates the cliff side overhead sounds loud, even over the noise of the Bay.
Clark wasn’t kidding about it being noisy… Jesus!
“Christ!” yells Josh in my ear. “How loud?”
“I know, tell me about it,” I say, tensing my jaw muscles. “Has the sentry heard me?”
“It doesn’t look like it, no. He must be deaf or something.”
“Pardon?”
“I said he must be… oh, piss off!”
“Got you,” I say, laughing.
“Whatever. I hope he shoots you.”
“If he does, I’m going to come back and haunt you.”
“Adrian, you haunt me now! Every single day…”
“Fair point.”
I detach the rope from the gun and tie it to the harness. It’s like a sleeveless jacket, but thick, like a Kevlar vest. It has compartments on every side for useful things like weapons and grenades, but the main feature is that there are two straps running down each shoulder and another that wraps around the waist with a small device clipped to it. The rope feeds through the straps and into the device, which will then wind up the rope, helping speed up and control the climb. At the top, I simply disconnect the device and walk away.
I put the strap of the Heckler and Koch MP5 over my shoulder, securing it at my back. I load up the side pockets with grenades and attach my back holster with both Berettas in it. There’s a pair of fingerless gloves with tough leather sewn into the palm and a thin layer of padding over the knuckles in the bag as well. I put them on and carefully step out of the car and onto the shallow bank at the foot of Alcatraz.
“Right, I’m beginning the ascent now. How’s it looking up top?” I ask.
“The guy’s still wandering around near the helipad. You’re gonna need to be quick and quiet.”
“Roger that.”
I look up at the imposing cliff face and take a deep breath. I hate heights, and I hate being exposed. I loop my right arm once around the rope and get a firm grip in my hand. I pull hard to test if it’ll take my weight. I’m happy it will. I grab it with my left hand and place my left foot on the cliff in front of me. Slowly, I begin to climb. The device at my back whirrs away automatically, and it makes things much easier, taking a lot of pressure off my arms. Within minutes, I’m almost halfway up.
This is like walking — like in the old Batman TV show from the sixties with Adam West, where they’d scale a building, but if you tilted your head, you could tell they were just walking and the camera was on its side.
Whoa!
My foot slips on the cliff face and, for a brief moment, I crash forward into the rock, banging my left shoulder and knee.
“Ah, shit…” I say, grimacing, as quietly as I can.
“Adrian, you alright?” asks Josh.
“Yeah, I slipped.”
“Jesus, be careful, will you?”
“Josh, I’m hanging off the side of a fucking cliff — nothing about this safe.”
I push off gently and find my footing again, taking a deep breath to compose myself before continuing with the climb.
A few more minutes pass without incident and I’m soon at the top, level with the grappling hook. The steel prongs are lethal, and fully penetrated the rock. I slowly place one hand on the flat surface directly above me and, after a couple more steps up the side, place my other hand flat and heave myself up, swinging first one knee over, then the other. I rest on all fours and catch my breath before unclipping the device from my back and regarding it in my hand. It’s a great piece of tech, but while it makes things much easier, my arms are still burning from the effort. I stand and a pain shoots through my left shoulder making me wince. I look down to see blood soaking through my top and the harness.
Oh yeah, I got stabbed a couple of days ago… forgot to get that looked at.
I look around me. The lighthouse is off to my left, standing ominously against the skyline. The path beneath me is muddy and leads off to my right on a steady incline.
“I’m up,” I say. “Where’s the guy?”
“He’s stopped level with the helipad,” says Josh. “His heat signature’s spiked a bit, so I’m guessing he’s just lit a cigarette or something.”
I take one of my Berettas from my back and attach the silencer to it, which I’d shoved hurriedly into my pocket before I started the climb. I grip the gun tightly in my right hand. I take a last look over the edge of the cliff, seeing the amphibious sports car bobbing gently on the waves below me. I must be three or four hundred feet up.
Man, I hate heights…
I crouch slightly and move quickly along the path and around the bend. The Agave Trail runs uphill on a slight gradient to the helipad before leveling out on top of the island. I keep to the right, moving along the outside of the round as it curves up and round to the left, to keep out of the guy’s line of sight for as long as I can.
“He’s about thirty feet in front of you,” whispers Josh down my ear. “Just as the path veers right up ahead.”
I don’t respond to minimize the risk of giving my position away. I change my stance, standing straight and holding my gun in both hands — right arm locked, ready for any recoil; left arm bent but firm, to steady my aim.
I need to be fast here, as a one-man patrol this far away from anyone else will definitely have a radio, and I don’t want to announce my presence here any sooner than necessary.
I edge forward, peering around as much as I can. I see a small plume of smoke fly out and evaporate a few feet in front of me from around the bend. The wind isn’t blowing in that direction, so the guy must be just around the corner, and facing me.