Don Pendleton - The Hostaged Island

At the Country Club, the fire road became a paved, gently graded asphalt lane lined by rows of eucalyptus trees. Bougainvillea and oleander bloomed on the roadside.

They switched off their engines and coasted through the cool afternoon shadows. Only the whirring of their spoked wheels would betray them.

Soon, smoke obscured the sky. Only a few hundred yards farther on, homes were burning. The sound of shotgun blasts stopped them. Pulling over, Biancanales and Gadgets hotfooted it around a turn in the road, leaving Lyons with the motorcycles.

Two Outlaws braced their weapons on the bricks of a low wall, firing at a man running across a horse pasture. Despite several blasts from a shotgun and a burst from an M-16, the man continued running. Only another hundred yards remained between him and the safety of the brush-covered hillsides. The Outlaw with the M-16 dropped out the magazine, fumbled to insert another. He saw Gadgets and Biancanales approaching. He wore aviator-style sunglasses.

"We flushed a Mexican out of the stables," he grunted. "Get with it and put out some firepower. That funky little beaner ain't gonna get away."

Biancanales brought up the Beretta. "Yes he is."

As Roger Davis watched Crescent Street for Outlaws, Glen Shepard and Chris Davis wheeled the motorcycles of the recently deceased bikers into the hotel. They continued with the bikes through the hotel to the linen storage and sorting room. They hid the motorcycles under dirty towels and sheets, then went back to the lobby.

"You know how to ride one of those things?" Glen asked Chris.

"Oh, yeah. Roger has a Honda dirt-bike. You think we could just ride out to the hills? Hide out up there?"

"Only if you teach me how."

"We could get a car."

Glen called to Roger. The young man left the front door and followed Glen and his cousin up the stairs. "You two want to go into the hills until this is over?"

"Whatever you think is safe, Mr. Shepard," Roger answered.

"No, it's not what I think. It's what we think. You stay here, you're in danger. You try to make it to the hills, you're in danger. If you two got on those Harleys, you could be in the hills in two or three minutes. My wife and I, we'd have to get a car. And I don't think driving through town in a car would be smart."

"You've done great so far," Roger assured him.

"We've done great so far," Glen corrected him. "Without you two — in the attic and in that backyard — Ann and I wouldn't be around anymore. It's just that everywhere I hide, they find me."

They laughed, almost relaxed. In the hotel room, Ann sat at the window watching the street. Below, the cough and roar of motorcycles passed by, then faded as they continued along the Bay.

"Those Outlaws just then," Ann told them. "They were nervous, watching all the streets, the doorways. Like they expected to get shot at."

"They see you?" Glen asked. He went to the window and looked to the south. Three bikers had passed the ferry boat docks and were heading toward the southern end of the island.

"No, they didn't see me. They didn't even look up. They were too busy looking left and right. What do we do now?"

"You want to go to the hills? Or you want to stay here? The boys could take those motorcycles, but we'd have to chance a car."

"And that means we'd have to chance driving through the Outlaws. And that means we'd have to chance a gunfight, right? Forget it. I want to go to sleep. I mean I feel like a zombie. I don't have any iron in my blood and all night I've been chased around by psychopaths. The doctor told me to rest, to stay in bed until the baby is born. We're safe enough here. This'll all be over pretty soon..."

"And if it isn't?" Glen asked.

"If it's still going on tomorrow, if the police haven't come, then we'll talk about the hills. Now, I want to sleep. Find me a safe place to sleep and I'll be a very happy woman."

"Okay, we stay. Ann and I. What about you two?"

Chris looked to Roger. "I'll stay here if..."

"Sure," Roger said. "But what do we do if the Outlaws look for us?"

"This hotel has three floors. We're higher than most of the other places on Crescent. We could block the stairwells and jam the elevator. If they tried to burn the hotel, we could drop down on the roof of the restaurant and make a run for it."

"Sure, Glen," Ann said. "I'm going to run over the rooftops. Come up with another plan."

"Well, any Outlaw who tries to come up the stairs, we kill. If they try to burn the hotel, we shoot them. We'll be up on the roof. We'll have the advantage."

"And we've got guns just like they do," Chris added. "We won't surrender like those two old people. We could hit anything on the street. Be snipers."

Motorcycles passed on the street again. Automatically, they reached for their weapons. Shotgun in hand, Glen looked at the teenagers and saw how their hands closed around the M-14 and the autoloading shotgun.

"Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Everything in a leather jacket dies."

Smoke blew about them and flame-light flashed from their sunglasses. The three Outlaws low-geared through the devastated neighborhood. They saw black skeletal trees, fire-gutted cars, the ruins of homes. Other homes still smoldered, walls collapsing as the Outlaws passed.

The three-man patrol wore the Outlaw uniform: black jackets, old jeans, boots, helmets, weapons. Unlike the other Outlaws on the street, the three-man patrol all wore soft leather combat boots. None of the Outlaws splashing gasoline or watching the burning homes saw the boots. They saw only the motorcycles, the uniforms, the weapons, the skull and flame insignias.

Leaving the burning block, the patrol cruised through a neighborhood of bullet-pocked, looted homes. Turning south on Crescent Street, they continued their survey of the town, scrutinizing smashed windows of shops and hotels, the walkways strewn with new clothing, broken liquor bottles, window displays. They could see the body of a Deputy-Sheriff bobbing in the small waves under Pleasure Pier. They saw two motorcycles parked at the door to the Harbor master's office. They passed other Outlaws on motorcycles. But scanning the windows and roof lines, they saw no Outlaw sentry positions.

Two blocks south of the pier, they returned to the residential blocks. They watched the hillsides above the neighborhoods and still saw no outposts.

"Maybe they have snipers hidden up there," Lyons said.

Blancanales probed with his eyes the heavy brush that covered the hills. "Everywhere the Outlaws go, their bikes go. Up there, it's too steep for a motorcycle. The brush is too thick."

"They were smart enough to seize the island," Gadgets said. "They have to be smart enough to know about sentries and outposts."

"All we've seen are patrols," Blancanales reminded him.

"So far," Gadgets said, steering off into the street.

Passing the burning block again, they continued their circuit of the town. Coming to Crescent once more, they turned north toward the Casino, but quickly turned again onto Vieudelou Street. Vieudelou took them into a more expensive area. Higher in the hills, the homes viewed the town and Bay and the San Pedro Channel beyond. When Vieudelou ended at Stage Road, they stopped to consult the map.

"Town's wide open," Lyons commented. "Except for patrols. No wonder they've had problems with the locals. Avoid the patrols, you've got the run of the streets."

"Uh huh," Blancanales unfolded a map. "Why don't you just go walking down those streets in your blacksuit, no jacket, no motorcycle. We'll see if you draw fire."

Blancanales pointed out another dotted line on the map. "That's a firebreak and hiking trail. It passes behind the Casino. Instead of pushing our luck, how about checking out the place from a distance?"