Taken (40 page)

“Okay, I can see where it might be uncomfortable, but he’s not going to tell two perfect strangers anything important.”

She considered that, suspecting Nick was right. She watched Joel McClain as he signed one of his books for a woman at the front of the line. Even sitting, he appeared to be a tall, lanky man, with long arms and a narrow, skinny face, probably in his mid- to late sixties — which would have made sense if he was a young guard when her grandfather was in prison. She wondered why he’d waited so long to write a book about his experiences.

Maybe it was something he’d decided to do after retire-ment.

“The timing is weird, isn’t it?” she muttered. “A new book that features escape attempts by famous prisoners comes out now, just when someone is hunting down the missing money some of those same prisoners stole fifty years ago.”

“Do you think there’s a connection?”

“I don’t know what it could be, but maybe.”

They moved forward in line and soon it was their turn.

“Mr. McClain,” Kayla said, “we’d love to get your book, but we’d also like to speak to you if possible. One of my relatives was an inmate here a long time ago.”

“Really? Who?” Joel asked. “Perhaps I’ll remember him.”

TA K E N

353

“Johnny Blandino,” she said, without giving away the relationship.

A gleam came into his eyes. “That’s very interesting.

He was the mastermind of the last escape attempt, you know.”

“That’s what I understand. I don’t want to hold up your line. Can we speak to you when you’re finished?”

He hesitated. “What did you say your relationship was to Johnny?”

“I didn’t say, but I will when we meet.”

“All right. I’ll be here another half hour at least. Perhaps you can come back.”

“Great, thanks,” Kayla said.

“So you are going to tell him,” Nick said as they moved away from the table.

“Maybe. I might lie. Just so you know.”

He smiled. “I appreciate the heads-up. I guess we have some time to kill. Shall we take a walk through the prison? Since you’ve never seen it, I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”

“It looks kind of scary.”

“It is,” Nick said. “You’d better hold my hand.”

She grinned back at him “You’re always thinking, Nick. Lead on.”

The prison wasn’t so much interesting as it was disturbing. The cells were small, only about five by nine feet, and there were some six hundred of them in the prison, built one on top of another. Narrow catwalks ran along the upper-level cell blocks. All the doors could be opened and closed automatically.

They paused for several minutes to listen to a park ranger describe an escape attempt — unfortunately not the
354

Barbara Freethy

one that involved her grandfather, but Kayla still found the details fascinating.

“In 1962,” the ranger said, “four men attempted an escape from the Rock by digging their way out of the erod-ing concrete walls, which had been weakened by the leaking pipes of the saltwater toilets. In the end one of the four men chickened out and stayed behind. The other three men were never found.”

“Just like my grandfather and Nate,” Kayla said to Nick. “Everyone says no one succeeded in escaping from here, but no one really knows, do they?”

“They just know they haven’t turned up alive anywhere else. Let’s keep going,” Nick suggested.

As they continued through the prison, they passed by the shower room, famous for fights between inmates, who were allowed a hot shower three times a week; the dining room; and the barbershop, infirmary, and library.

Last they stopped at D block, isolation, where the most dangerous and violent prisoners were locked up in almost unbearable solitude.

Kayla’s skin prickled as they actually stepped into one of the small cells.

She could almost hear the door slamming behind her, trapping her forever. The darkness, the loneliness, would be terrifying. How did anyone survive? No wonder her grandfather had wanted to escape. No wonder desperation had driven him to attempt the unthinkable.

“I have to get out of here,” she said, feeling only marginally better once she emerged from the cell. The air was thick with the stench of the past. In her head she could hear the cries of the men who’d lived in the prison, who’d watched the days tick by with agonizing slowness.

She desperately needed fresh air, blue sky, and lots of
TA K E N

355

open water. When they finally exited the prison, they walked across the plaza and paused to breathe — in and out, slowly, surely.

“That was horrible,” she said. “And my grandfather lived here. I’m not surprised he tried to escape.”

Nick put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed her tight muscles. “Don’t forget that Johnny and those other men deserved to be here, Kayla. You shouldn’t feel sorry for them. Two men died during the robbery at the mint, two innocent men with families who loved them. You can’t lose sight of those facts.”

“I know you’re right. I can’t forget it. I won’t forget it.

I’m just trying to understand. I’ve never been related to a murderer before. God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.” Her tension eased slightly under the pressure of his hands, but she still felt cold. She shivered and zipped up her jacket, glad now that she’d brought it along.

Glancing out at the view, she realized that the blue sky was quickly fading. The fog from the Pacific Ocean was coming over the Golden Gate Bridge, covering the towers in thick white puffs. “It’s getting late,” she murmured.

Nick checked his watch. “There’s still a line at Joel’s table. We have some time. Let’s take a look in that shack over there. It seems to be some sort of exhibit.”

They wandered over to a small building not much bigger than the prison cells. On the walls were dozens of photographs of inmates like Al Capone, Machine Gun Kelly, and the Birdman of Alcatraz. In two long glass cases were other memorabilia. Kayla leaned over to read a faded piece of paper that was some sort of journal entry from a former inmate.

“ ‘It’s unbearable here,’ ” she read aloud. “ ‘I feel as if I will surely lose my mind. I can reach out and touch all
356

Barbara Freethy

the walls of my cell without even moving. At night, I dream those walls are moving in on me, slowly squeezing the life out of my chest. Beyond the prison I sometimes catch a glimpse of the sky, the water, and blessed freedom. My heart yearns for the simple pleasures. If only I could find a way to escape these walls.’ ” She looked over at Nick. “Wow. You can really hear his pain.”

“You’re too soft, Kayla. You gotta toughen up. Prisoners, bad guys, remember?”

“I know. I know.” She walked down the length of the glass counter, looking at various items, everything from cups to playing cards and prison clothing. And then there was a display of tattered clothes, a hat, and an old — her heart skipped a beat — an old pocket watch, the sign reading, ALL THAT WAS LEFT OF FRANKIE DAMON.

“Nick, look,” she whispered. She didn’t know why she’d lowered her voice. They were the only people in the room. “It’s Frankie’s watch. You were right. It was here all along.”

They stared in amazement at the silver pocket watch that seemed to be asking,
What took you so long?

“No one thought to look in the most obvious place of all,” Nick muttered.

Kayla bent her head to study the watch. The side that was visible had an inscription. It read,
the Saints Pray
.

She thought for a moment, trying to remember the other phrases. “My grandfather’s watch said, ‘of Heaven Await.’ Dominic’s watch said, ‘All the Riches.’ ”

“And Nate’s watch said, ‘Until the Day,’ ” Nick finished.

She moved the phrases around in her mind, trying to find the rhythm, the pattern. “I’ve got it.
All the Riches of
Heaven Await Until the Day the Saints Pray.
”

TA K E N

357

Nick stared back at her. She could see the wheels turning in his brain. “I don’t —”

“It’s the church,” she said, snapping her fingers. “St.

Basil’s. Where the saints pray.”

“You could be right,” he said, a light dawning in his eyes.

“I know I am. And the engraving on the other side . . . I bet it’s a picture of the front of St. Basil’s,” she added, feeling a surge of excitement. “It makes total sense. The boys met there. They were inseparable. They knew all the ins and outs of the old church.” It suddenly seemed so clear. “I bet it’s there — the missing money. I bet it’s been there all along.”

“In the church? Where would it be in the church?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that inscription is written somewhere, on a wall, over a door, on a plaque, something that made sense to them. We need that watch.”

Nick looked over his shoulder, then back at the glass case.

“What are you thinking?” she asked warily, though she was sure she knew.

“It’s a simple lock, probably because nothing in this case is worth much, except for sentimental historical purposes. I think I could get it open. I have a little screw-driver on my key chain.”

“Even if you could get it open, we can’t break in.

Someone will see us.”

“We’ll wait until the island is closing and everyone is going down the hill. Then we’ll grab the watch, catch the last boat, and go to St. Basil’s.”

“It’s stealing, Nick. Someone could catch us. One of the park rangers.”

“They’ll be busy getting everyone off the island. We
358

Barbara Freethy

just have to wait for the right moment. We grab the watch and go. I doubt anyone will even notice it’s gone for a few days.”

“Are you sure you can get into the case?” she asked, hardly believing she was actually considering his crazy idea.

“Absolutely. My sisters were always trying to lock me out of their rooms or their diaries,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “I can get in, but not now,” he said on a hushed note as two other tourists entered the room.

They quickly exited the exhibit, not wanting to be caught standing around, looking suspicious.

“We could get in so much trouble,” Kayla said worriedly.

“Or we could finally get our hands on the last watch,”

Nick said. “We have to take the chance. Don’t forget, we have a friend in the FBI. If anything does go wrong and we get arrested, I’m sure J.T. will bail us out.”

“Do you have to mention the word
arrested
when we’re standing outside one of the scariest prisons in the country? I do not want to end up in a place like this.”

“You won’t, I promise,” he said.

As they walked away from the exhibit, Kayla stopped abruptly. Nick saw the empty table at the same time she did.

“We missed him,” she said. “We weren’t in the building that long, were we?”

Nick shrugged. “Whatever he knows is probably in his book. We can read that later. I think the place is closing down.”

Kayla agreed. Only a few tourists were still straggling out of the prison. The rest were on their way down the hill. The plaza was almost deserted — except . . . She
TA K E N

359

stiffened as she caught sight of a man at the far end of the courtyard. “Nick, isn’t that the guy we saw in Reno?”

As soon as Nick turned his head, the man disappeared, heading down the hill. “That guy who’s leaving?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“He’s gone, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Nick didn’t look convinced. “Maybe I should go after him. But if we go down the hill, I don’t think we’ll be able to return. We’ll check the boat for him when we get back on. Let’s take a walk so we don’t get swept up by any of the rangers herding tourists to the boat. There’s a path over there. We’ll stay out of sight for a few minutes and then come back here, grab the watch, and jog down the hill.”

She followed his lead, and soon they were on a grassy path winding down and around the prison to the other side of the island. It was a quiet and peaceful trail. They hadn’t gone far before Kayla began to feel as if someone were watching them, following them. She stopped abruptly and turned. She heard the snap of a branch behind her, but there was no one in sight.

“What’s wrong?” Nick asked.

“I think someone’s following us,” she whispered.

“What if that guy turned around and came back after us?”

A flock of birds suddenly squawked and scattered as if someone had disturbed them.

“Let’s keep going,” Nick said. “The path must wind around.”

“Do you think?” she asked, staying close. “Maybe we should go back the way we came.”

“We’ll run into whoever is following us,” he said logically. “You go in front of me. I’ll watch your back.”

360

Barbara Freethy

As much as she appreciated the thought, she was disturbed by the fact that the path seemed to be taking them to the far side of the island. A few minutes later she stopped, breathless from picking her way over rocks. “Do you hear anything?” she asked.

“Not for the last few minutes,” he said.

“I don’t know if this path is going to lead back around.”

His expression was grim. “I was wondering the same thing.” He looked behind him and swore. “Dammit.” He pointed toward the bay, where a boat was heading back to San Francisco.

It took a moment for her to register the fact that it was the same ferry that had brought them to the island. “Oh, my God! Is that our boat?”

“I’m guessing, yes.”

“But we’re not on it. We have to get on it. Come on.”

She tried to brush past him, but he stopped her. “Hang on, Kayla.”

“What do you mean, hang on? If we get down to the landing, the park ranger or whoever stays on this island overnight will realize we’ve been left behind. They’ll get a boat for us, or maybe there’s a small boat they use to ferry the rangers back and forth.”

“I don’t think anyone stays here at night,” he said.

“What do you mean? Of course someone must stay here.”

“Think about it. There’s nothing to steal. The island is impossible to get to without the ferry, and the guide was talking earlier about budget cuts in the park service. Plus, we still want to try to get that watch.”