The Contingency Plan

Chapter 9

Forlorn

The 47 foot MLB was the largest and most capable quick response boat Coast Guard Sector San Francisco had to offer. Her angry and rugged design allowed her to shrug off the storm with ease and made for a fearsome sight in the crash of lightning and wave.

The vessel was certified to handle hurricane force winds and breaking surf the size of a small office building. Sheltered on the leeward side of the bay, these tempest tossed waters were nothing to worry about for the crew of CG47988. Instead, her skipper had other pressing concerns.

Clearing the last waypoint marker, Chief Boatswain's Mate Michael Martinez  took his eyes off the navigation system to check on his passengers down below.

He didn't much care for this little favor the FBI had called in. Special Agent Andre Camel looked ready to spill his dinner all over the survivors compartment. Worse still, he'd also insisted on bringing a civilian along on this wild goose chase.

At least this Mouri Ran seemed to be holding her own.

Chief Martinez  eased off the throttle as his depthometer warned of treacherous shoals ahead. He expertly timed his approach to let the prevailing wind carry his vessel the final few meters into what passed for a pier. A crewman leapt onto the rotting planks with a mooring line in hand to lash down the boat.

Relieved at the imminent promise of dirt under foot, agent Camel unfastened his harness and stuck his head out the hatch to confer with the chief. Due to the size of the island, it was agreed that Martinez  and two of his men would join in the search, leaving the junior most sailor, seaman Bosco, on board to monitor the ship to shore radio.

Ran got up to follow the rescue party ashore but stopped to the Chief's outstretched hand. "Oh no, you don't. You stay here. This place has been abandoned for decades. Asbestos alone makes it unsafe."

She started to argue, but Camel put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mouri san. Leave the rest to us. You stay here and stay dry. If your friend is here, we'll find her."

They both knew that Martinez  was not going to budge on this point. And he raised valid concerns.

With a grimace, she gazed up in awe at the daunting bluffs towering over them. The buildings above seemed to be more eroded from, than built atop the rock; held together by sheer stubbornness and spite. Everywhere rusted rebar and concrete jutted out from the ground like the skeletal remains of some long dead race of giants grasping their boney fingers towards the sky from the grave.

This was where justice met evil. Where cruel means dealt with cruel men. This was Alcatraz.

She had heard stories about this place. About a month ago, she and Conan sat down to watch an episode of Paranormal Investigations featuring the island prison. The native Americans thought it home to evil spirits called ohlone, while names like Al Capone, Machine-gun Kelly, and someone just called "the Birdman" struck fear into the ghost hunting presenters.

Standing in its shadow, she could understand why. The whole barren rock oozed a foreboding malice that clung to the turbulent night. She truly felt the weight of judgment it seemed to cast.

Ran bowed her head and returned to the survivors compartment with an unshakable sense of dread. But it wasn't just the gloom of this place that gave her the creeps. It was the unsettling shiver of being watched from afar.

***

Grant Grierson adjusted his binoculars a fraction to watch as four men started to lumber their way up the rain slicked stairs of the dock and spread out. He tried to focus, but the roiling sea pitched him and his speedboat violently.