It was then that I saw the lights of the coast; they were dim in the stormy mist, but I guessed they were about a third of a mile away, maybe five or six hundred yards.
I heard the rotors of the other three choppers then, and then the supersonic crack of rifle shots, and I turned to see them, low over the water.
But they were another few hundred yards off, further out to sea, back towards Alcatraz, circling over something; and then I realized it was my chopper, they must not have seen me jump, must have thought I was still inside.
I didn’t know how I’d ended up so far away – maybe it was when I’d jumped, maybe it was the currents in the water after I’d landed – but I did know I would have to capitalize on it, move my ass, swim with everything I had for the safety of the coast.
I remembered those rumors about the sharks, remembered I was bleeding, but I told myself that – if there were any – they would be more interested in the helicopter crash site than a tiny human like me. It must have sent a hell of a reverberation through the water, and sharks were attracted to that sort of thing, weren’t they?
They had to be, I told myself as I started to swim with long, powerful strokes toward the city, the cold seawater numbing the pain in my ribs and my arm.
The last thing I needed was for a shark to start munching on my freaking leg.
Because I was damn close to achieving something that nobody else had done before.
I was going to be the first person to ever escape from Alcatraz.
Epilogue
It had been several days since I’d finally dragged my battered, frozen, half-broken and near-hypothermic body out of San Francisco Bay. The sharks hadn’t got me and neither had the choppers, but I’d been so near to death, I’d almost not even cared.
But I did care, and I’d got my shit together, avoided being seen, hotwired a car and got the hell out of there, heading straight for Powell’s apartment.
I’d collapsed as soon as I got inside the door, and she’d called a doctor friend of hers whose discretion she trusted. The doctor said that I should be in a hospital, but I wasn’t having any of it; Kane wouldn’t be allowed into a hospital, and I needed him by my side while I recovered, his constant presence helping me, giving me strength.
When I’d recovered sufficiently to talk coherently – not for another three days after my escape – I told Powell what I knew. She’d wanted to move on it immediately, but I’d asked her to wait.
There were still some things that needed to be done.
“Good evening, Warden.”
I looked at Nathaniel Gordon from across the room, taking pleasure in the look of absolute shock, of horror, on his face.
I was sitting in a wing-back armchair in his own living room, waiting for him to return from his shift. I’d come up with a story for his wife, asking her to go and meet him urgently in town, and so she was out of the house; his kids had long since grown up and moved out, and the house was empty now, except for me and Gordon.
“You . . .” he gasped, eyes wide. “But how did –”
I held up a hand for silence. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that does matter is that I’m here now.”
“What do you want?” Gordon asked. “Money? Is that it?”
“Justice,” I answered.
Gordon laughed. “Justice?” he asked. “There’s no such thing, at least in this world.”
“Fine words for a warden.”
“So go on,” he urged. “Tell me about this ‘justice’ you want.”
“It’s simple,” I explained. “I want the names of everyone involved in your little racket. I want names, dates, details.”
“And then what?” Gordon asked mockingly. “Then you’ll let me go?”
“No,” I answered. “You’re going down for a long time, ensured by the confession you’re going to type up on that computer of yours.”
“Your fucking joking, of course.”
I shook my head. “Oh, I’m definitely not joking,” I assured him. “You’re either going to get me those details, alongside that confession, or you’re going to wish you had.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Torture me? Beat me up, force me to give you the details?”
“No,” I told him, and I could see him visibly relax at the news, despite his apparent bravado.
I got up and strolled past him, heading for the door, opening it wide. “But they will,” I said, pointing at the group of people stood behind it. “Friends and ‘business associates’ of some of the people whose deaths you’ve been involved in,” I told him, watching as his mouth dropped open in disbelief, which soon gave way to panic and fear.
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” Gordon said quickly, eyes pleading now, knowing what those people would do to him. “I’ll tell you everything . . .”
“Tell them,” I said, turning away from him and walking right out the door, leaving Warden Nathaniel Gordon in the hands of the people who deserved him the most.
Those concerned citizens managed to get the details out of Gordon, and delivered them to Powell at her office – a full confession, along with names and details of not only the guards who’d been involved, but also everyone that had ever placed a bet or profited in some way from the fights.
I’d half-expected the warden to end up dead at the hands of those people, but – to their credit – they’d not gone that far. They’d done enough to get him to talk, but no more, and that showed considerable self-restraint, I had to admit. Or maybe they’d just thought that killing him would be the easy way out for the guy.
But with the papers now in the hands of the authorities, Gordon had been arrested and was now awaiting a court date, along with many of his crew; it was felt that he’d be doing some hard time, and I could just imagine Gordon as an inmate in his own prison. He was not going to have a good time, I was pretty sure about that. He was definite gump material, and I would struggle to feel sorry for him.
His confessions, along with his computer files, also spelled bad news for some other pretty influential people across the state. Not only were the wardens of Folsom, Pelican Bay and Corcoran brought up on criminal charges, but the bettors had included some prominent figures in business, politics and entertainment.
The whole thing was a royal shit-storm, and I’d broken it wide open.
Powell was beside herself with gratitude, and I’d stayed at her place until I’d recovered enough to get out on the road again.
And now I was out, a free man once more.
My ribs still hurt a little, my forearm wasn’t my prettiest feature, and I had a mass of scars pretty much everywhere on my body that I probably wouldn’t be getting rid of; but at the same time, I’d got rid of the tattoos, my hair was growing back, and I was out of the orange prison jumpsuit and into my favorite outfit of combats and t-shirt, rucksack on my back as I headed out of town with Kane by my side.
I was no longer Mitchel Delaney, and casting aside the identity was like a breath of fresh air.
I was no longer Delaney, and I was not even sure if I was Colt Ryder anymore – not the Colt Ryder that people had once known, anyway.
But as I walked off toward the next town, the next adventure, with a greater sense of freedom than I’d perhaps felt in my entire life, I knew who I truly was.
I was the Thousand Dollar Man.
And I was already looking forward to the next job.
THE END
. . . but Colt Ryder will return in a
new adventure, out late 2017!!!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.T. Brannan is the author of the Amazon bestselling political thriller series featuring Mark Cole, as well as the high-concept thrillers ORIGIN (translated into eight languages in over thirty territories) and EXTINCTION (his latest all-action novel from Headline Publishing), in addition to the psychological crime thriller RED MOON RISING.
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR MAN – the first novel to feature his new hero, Colt Ryder – was nominated
for the 2016 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award.
Currently serving in the British Army Reserves, J.T. Brannan is a former national Karate champion and bouncer.
He now writes full-time, and teaches martial arts in Harrogate, in the North of England, where he lives with his wife and two young children.
He is currently working on the next novel in the bestselling Mark Cole series, as well as further books in the all-new Colt Ryder series.
You can find him at www.jtbrannan.com and www.jtbrannanbooks.blogspot.com, on Twitter @JTBrannan_, and on Facebook at jtbrannanbooks.
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
The Colt Ryder series:
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR MAN
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR ESCAPE
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR CONTRACT
The Mark Cole series:
STOP AT NOTHING
WHATEVER THE COST
BEYOND ALL LIMITS
NEVER SAY DIE
PLEDGE OF HONOR
THE LONE PATRIOT
Alternative Mark Cole thriller:
SEVEN DAY HERO
Other Novels:
RED MOON RISING
ORIGIN
EXTINCTION
TIME QUEST
Short Story:
DESTRUCTIVE THOUGHTS
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR BREAKOUT: Colt Ryder Uncovers A Deadly Fight Club At San Quentin State Prison . . . Will He Escape With His Life? Page 15