Chapter IV

With a howl of rage and frustration, Joe threw himself at the doors. They were as solid as the first set had been, and he bounced off painfully to land on the floor. The flashlight rolled away, flickering dimly.

He lay for a moment, breathless with pain and despair. He felt Frank's hands on his shoulders, fumbling to help him sit up.

"Joe? Joe, you okay?"

"Yeah," said Joe bitterly.

"Good. Broken bones would definitely not be a help now. Catch your breath a minute."

Frank scrambled for the dimming flashlight, shining its waning light on the doors they'd just parted. "Looks like gaffers tape," he said after a minute. "Figures." He turned off the light.

"Did I break it?"

Frank's shrug was audible. "Doesn't matter. I think the batteries were going anyway. Let's try this door. Maybe he got in a hurry to catch the boat and wasn't as thorough."

This door did seem to be less well sealed; probably because it had to have been done in plain sight of any wandering tourists or rangers, but by this time the boys were so worn out and cold that they had to rest more frequently.

"I'd give a lot for a pair of gloves right now," chattered Frank.

Then Joe heard him draw his breath sharply through his teeth. Joe paused. "Cut yourself?"

"No," said Frank bleakly. "My blade broke."

There was a short, dull silence. Joe cleared his throat. "Okay. Jog in place to stay warm. We'll take turns with mine."

They alternated sawing with their remaining blade, then put their backs into a good, long shove. The doors parted about three inches, still bound with sticky strings of gaffers tape.

"That's more like it," Joe muttered, forcing his hand through the opening and tearing at the tape. He could hear Frank doing the same lower down. They pulled the doors far enough apart to slip through, and emerged into the relative comfort of the cell block.

Frank stared at the door, running one hand down the tape.

"Think we should take it off?" Joe asked.

Frank frowned. "I think it's better if somebody else finds it. In case we need corroboration. Which way?"

Joe looked to his right, at a large door. To his left was a long corridor of cells. "What's the door?"

Frank tried to see the layout in his mind. "The yard, I think."

Joe remembered the vast, silent yard, empty of any cover, and shook his head. "No way. Let's see what we can find that way."

"Okay." Frank wrapped his arms around himself. "I feel like a human popsicle."

"Me too. Let's run." They tore down the corridor neck in neck, as quickly as their weary legs could carry them, the sounds of their feet echoing eerily off the stone walls. They paused at the main entrance to catch their breath. "Where to?"

Frank kneaded his hands in a feeble attempt to warm them. "I was just thinking. How about one of the guard towers? That way, if our friends are coming back for us, we'll be able to keep a lookout for them. And there are employees here, during the day. Who knows, maybe we can find some vending machines with coffee or candy bars or something."

At the mention of food Joe sighed deeply and followed his brother, who was cautiously trying the door. They slipped outside, into a cold wind that seemed to blow from all directions.

"Wonderful," muttered Frank. "Let's make sure that we prop the door in case that's our only shelter." He glanced at his watch. Three-thirty AM. There was a moon, but it was obscured now and then by the clouds, so they had to pick their way carefully in the uncertain light. By the time they had reached the guardhouse overlooking San Francisco Bay, Joe was sure that this had been the longest night of his life. He tugged at the door. It was locked.

"Well, this is more like it. A nice, pickable lock." He reached for Frank's lockpicks, which were still in his pocket, and in a minute had the door open. He held it for Frank. "After you."

Frank entered and Joe locked the door firmly behind them. "Now what?"

Frank sank into a chair with a sigh of relief. "We have a couple of options, the way I see it." He yawned mightily. "First, we could try and find some way to signal the Coast Guard."

"Sounds good."

"Well, yeah, except they'll haul us in for trespassing on government property. Even if they believe us, you can imagine how long they'll keep us for questioning. Probably in jail."

"Jail's okay. Jail's warm. They feed you."

"They also don't let you out when you ask. Which means that, unless we're convincing, our friends could waltz off with the Romanov Rose. Callie and Alissa might be able to stop them by themselves, but I'd rather not take the chance."

Joe grunted assent, then brightened. "I know! Dad and Mom should be home by now! We can call Dad to vouch for us! That should cut down our time with the Coast Guard!" As quickly as it had brightened, his face fell. "Oh, wow. Imagine explaining all this to Dad."

Frank winced in agreement. "He wouldn't be too thrilled with our not going to the authorities. Of course, he might be able to get us the clout we need to get real help."

Joe groaned. "I can just hear him now - especially when we get to the part where I explain how I knew you were kidnapped for two whole days and never even tried to contact him. Man, I'll be grounded for the rest of my life." They sat in glum silence.

"What's the other option?"

"Wait and leave with the tour group. It's a pretty hefty wait, and it's a little more complicated, because we'll have to duck the employees when they get here, but we could take turns sleeping until then." Frank yawned again, glancing at his watch. "We could wrack up about - oh - two and a half hours each."

"Sounds good to me." Joe mirrored his yawn. "You want first watch, or want me to take it?"

In the end, Frank took the first watch while Joe slept. Despite the less-than-prime accommodations, Joe managed to fall at once into a deep, exhausted sleep. Frank looked on longingly. He was having trouble staying awake himself. They had agreed to two hours sleep each, with one hour to secret themselves before the government boat arrived, and Frank was relieved when he could stop nodding over his watch and rouse Joe.

Joe rose, still half asleep, and propped himself at the window facing San Francisco. He glanced from Frank, already sound asleep, to the lightening sky. Fog hugged the water's surface, thinning out at the height of his tower window. Joe was fighting to keep his eyes open.

He tried naming states and their capitals to stay alert, but he didn't get very far. Next he tried doing algebra in his head but that bored him so much that he almost fell asleep. So he decided to watch the lights on the Bay and guess what kind of boats they belonged to and where they were going.

It was quite light by this time, and he glanced at his watch. Nearly seven. A large sloop pulled away from the marina. For a moment it looked as though it were heading right for Alcatraz, then it veered toward the mouth of the Bay and open sea. He pushed his face against the window for a better look. In a break in the fog, he saw what looked like a small skiff heading toward the island. Not the best waters for a craft like that, he thought idly. Too fragile to go far in these choppy waters. It disappeared under the fog and it occurred to him that it seemed, from this angle, to be running without any lights. Curious, his eyes scoured the fog, searching for it. He caught sight of it again a while later, coming closer, it seemed. Joe felt a cold finger run down his spine. That skiff was definitely heading this way. He nudged Frank with his foot.

"Hey. Frank."

Frank groaned and turned onto his side without opening his eyes. "C'mon, Joe," he mumbled. "It couldn't be two hours. I just closed my eyes."

"Sorry, it's not. But we've got company."

That brought Frank awake at once and he stumbled to the window to join Joe. Sure enough, the skiff pulled alongside the pier. Frank and Joe exchanged glances of alarm.

"Keep low," Frank murmured. "I don't think he can see us up here, but let's not take any chances."

Joe nodded, bending low, but keeping his eyes on the window. "I don't suppose it's possible it's the janitor come ahead to turn on the lights," he offered jokingly.

Frank shook his head. "Anything's possible, but somehow I don't think so."

A figure docked the skiff and climbed out. He carried what looked like a heavy canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

"Guess there's nothing like being prepared," Joe said out of the side of his mouth.

Frank was silent. Even at this distance, there was something eerily familiar about the indiscriminate figure. And even at this distance, he knew it wasn't Jerry Stryker.

"Cobra," he breathed.