Frank knew that twenty-five feet translated to at least twenty feet under his keel, a comfortable depth, but unchartered water could hold surprises. The mysterious lagoon seemed to comprise most of the island with only a crescent of narrow land around it.
“I’m betting we’re over the mouth of an old volcano.”
The Esperanza crossed the middle of the huge lake of dead calm water and putted on toward the far bank, opposite the narrow mouth of the lagoon.
While Frank took a moment to take in the surrounding terrain, a loud alarm sounded. He charged to the cockpit and looked at the depth gauge. The water beneath the boat had dropped to fifteen feet and was rapidly falling.
Frank put the transmission into reverse and throttled up the engine. The boat continued forward for several more yards before it slowed. Abruptly, the vessel groaned to a stop that pitched the bow downward. The engine strained, but the Esperanza wasn’t moving astern. Frank stared at the depth gauge and grimaced. They had run aground. The starboard gunwale rolled gently toward the surface of the dark water.
“We’ve hit the bottom,” Frank said and silenced the shallow water alarm, then punched the clear plastic of the dodger surrounding the cockpit. “Goddammit.”
“What do we do now?” Charly asked. “Kedge off?”
“Normally, we could try, but this boat has a winged keel.”
Frank knew the stubby structures that extended laterally on both sides at the bottom of the keel, created a large amount of surface area to embed in the bottom.
“We’ll make the attempt, but if the bottom is as muddy and soft as I imagine, it’ll be futile.”
“How about the tide?”
“That would be a good thought, except look around at the shore. No high water marks. At low tide we’d see evidence of the high water line on shore objects, like rocks, foliage, and beach debris. I see nothing like that. We’re already at high tide. When the tide goes out, we’ll be in even harder aground. And depending on the tidal range, we could be left lying on our side.”
“Call the Ocean Auto Club?”
“We call the Coast Guard,” Frank said. “If that fails, we’ll have to activate the EPIRB.”
“What’s that?” Charly asked.
“The Emergency Position-Indication Radio Beacon, but we can only use it if all other means to get help fail. We’ll try to kedge off first.”
After a failed attempt to use the dinghy to carry the heavy anchor out off the stern, set it in the bottom, and try to use the winch to pull the boat free, Frank gave up and put in a radio call to the Coast Guard in southern California.
“This is K3VLS, the sloop Esperanza out of Marina Del Rey, California. Our position is: Latitude 34 degrees, 6 minutes, 19.573 seconds north …”
Chapter 25
The mall between the Capitol and the Washington Monument provided grassy expanses where visitors spread blankets and enjoyed refreshments and lunches in the unusually warm sun of October. Among them, Marty Dimino and Kate Nelson, a woman in her mid-fifties, sat on newspapers and sipped coffee from paper cups.
“Your biggest opposition will come from Monfreda of New York,” Kate said. “He represents a huge constituency that works in corrections. He’s also got a lot of clout on several important committees.”
“Who else?” Marty asked.
“Well, Marty, you’ve stirred up quite a hornet’s nest. You’re proposing that we dramatically change a prison system that’s stood for two centuries in America. Throw a dart into the Senate and you’ll likely as not hit an opponent of your idea. They’ll have reasons that range from greed and selfish interests, to fear and civil rights. You’re trying to set a precedent for how we establish punishment. Not to mention that several of your detractors will likely throw up the tried but failed ideas attached to Devil’s Island type penal colonies.”
“The French, and many others, directly supervised and mistreated their inmates. My system provides for no direct supervision. Low labor costs to the taxpayer. No building expenses to house correctional officers. The inmates will govern themselves.”
“Or kill each other.”
“That’s completely up to them,” Marty said, slapping the newspaper with his free hand. “At least there’ll be no more guilty consciences about capital punishment. The inmates control their own fate. We want the chronic and violent offenders out of our society. We want to put them where there’s no return, and we’re willing to trade them a sense of freedom they never will have in conventional lockups, especially supermaxes.”
“Hey, I’m a fellow Californian and I’m in your corner. You’ve got to convince those people in there,” Kate said, pointing a thumb toward the Capitol.
“Thank God you’re here to help me, Kate. I’m so green at this.”
“My first term was a nightmare. I wanted to win over everyone and change the world, but I didn’t know how to fight. Twenty years later, I’ve learned the rules of congressional infighting. Now I only want to conquer little pieces of the world, one tidbit at a time.”
“All those seasoned senators in there you could hang out with ... Why pick me?
“Honestly?”
“Yeah. I’d like to know.”
“You’re quite the celebrity in these parts, Mr. Hollywood DA. Big national trial publicity; part of a two man war on crime; gets elected to the U.S. Senate first time out, over dozens of other strong candidates; thwarts assassination attempts. Who could resist a guy who does all that? You’re hot news. Man bites dog. You’re Indiana Jones around here.”
“Get out,” Marty said and took a swig of his coffee.
“Okay. That’s all bullshit. Happy now?”
“No. The truth.”
“The truth is all I just said. You looked like a lost soul and I’m a sucker for a homeless lawyer with a fresh idea on prison reform.”
“Now we’ve got bullshit.”
“Maybe it’s sex, Marty.”
Marty rose and extended his hands to her.
“I’ve already got a girl. Come on, we’ve got to get back in there for the debate and the vote.”
They strolled toward the Capitol.
“If the vote should go against you, don’t be discouraged,” Kate said. “Amended bills come up again and again.”
“It’s got to pass now. We need new laws right now. By next year thousands of more innocent people will be victims.”
“Whoa, boy. This bill isn’t going to stop crime dead in its tracks.”
“It’ll sure as hell put a crimp in its those getting out to repeat it.”
“I hope you realize that even if your bill is met with open arms, the process to become law can take months.”
“I’m okay with that. We need time to get a consensus from more of the major prisons. Our experiment right now will include only the state of California. But we need the government to put in the major funding for the preparations, and we’re going to need it to get the navy and Coast Guard to control the island’s perimeter, medical care, and supply shipments.”
“Just saying … Patience is a virtue one should learn not to despise. I think somebody famous said that.”
“Sounds biblical.”
“Maybe from Proverbs.”
Marty stopped and turned to Kate.
“Were you serious about that sex remark?” he asked.
“For God’s sake, Marty, Look at me. Do I look like Julia Roberts? Besides, my last sexual experience practically scared me to death.”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah. And I was alone at the time.”
Marty looked to the heavens and grinned. Kate took him by the arm and guided him toward the Capitol steps.
* * *
Men and women filled the desks and seats in the Senate chamber’s semi-circular lower floor. Visitors watched from the gallery high above, many pointing at people and items below their view. Klatches of people talked in the aisles of the floor, while others milled between seats. Austin Bigelow, the vice‑president of the U
nited States, serving as president of the Senate, sat at an elevated central podium and called for order. Marty Dimino sat next to Kate on one side of the curved rows of desks. People took their seats, and the outer chamber doors noisily closed. The cavernous room quieted.
“When we recessed for lunch, we were in floor discussion on Senate Bill S4148 sponsored by Senator Dimino of California,” Bigelow said.. “By way of review, this bill proposes that the Government of the United States investigate for funding a thirty-two square mile island in the Pacific Ocean that lies approximately 100 miles northwest of Los Angeles, California. The island, called Prescott Island, and presently owned by the state of California, is being offered to the United States for 140 million dollars. The purpose of this purchase would be to establish a generally unsupervised penal island for adjudicated criminals fitting the parameters and degree of criminal sentencing outlined before you on page seven of the bill. I now open the floor for the continued discussion of this bill.”
Several senators signaled to be recognized by the chair.
“The chair recognizes Senator Charles Byron of South Carolina,” Bigelow said.
“I have a few questions that I would like Senator Dimino to answer, if he kindly will,” Byron said, standing. “Number one, sir, if there’s to be no supervision on this island, why call it a penal institution? Why not call it what it appears to be, Club Med West?”
General laughter broke out in the chamber and subsided.
“If the Chair please,” Marty said, “may I respond to my colleague from South Carolina?”
The vice-president nodded.
“The whole concept of Prescott Island is to get recidivist criminals out of our society and, at the same time, cut our present astronomical correctional supervisory and maintenance costs. The island will be constantly surrounded and monitored by as many as four U.S. Government warships. I’ve been to the island, senator, and the water around it is so heavily infested with man-eating sharks that I seriously doubt that many inmates will attempt an escape. And even if they did try and somehow manage to avoid the sharks, there’s no inhabited land for a hundred miles. Not a favorable scenario for escape, I’m afraid. By comparison, no inmate has ever been proven to have successfully escaped from Alcatraz, which is only a mile from shore.”
Dimino consulted a paper on his desk.
“The other benefit of the island experiment will be, hopefully, the removal of any further need or discussion of capital punishment in this country, a controversy that still rages in many of our state courts. Capital criminals will go to Prescott Island. What happens to them after that will be determined by the community of inmates. The important result of this isolation shares one similarity to capital punishment: it prohibits the perpetrator from ever repeating his crime in our society.”
“Further questions, Senator Byron?” Bigelow asked.
“Nothing further.”
Byron sat and Senator Daniel Grant of Florida raised his hand.
“Senator Grant,” Bigelow said.
Grant stood and stared at Marty for several seconds. Marty returned his gaze.
“Senator Dimino, how are these inmates going to survive on this island? Are there enough natural resources to support life?”
“There are ample fresh water sources, fruit bearing vegetation, coconut palms, thousands of chickens and other game fowl, and arable soil to plant crops. Also abundant fish.”
“Yes, I believe you mentioned them,” Grant said. “Ones with large, sharp teeth. We have them all around my state of Florida, but I’ll be damned if they keep a soul from coming and going as they please in our waters.”
General laughter flooded the chamber.
“How big is this island?” Grant asked.
“It’s the size of Manhattan Island, New York.”
“I guess that will do,” Grant said and retook his seat.
Marty remained standing and said, “There are other varieties of food fish there as well. That’s why the sharks congregate there in such numbers. It’s a feeding and mating area for them and many other species. In addition to the resources that nature provides there, we will supply certain other needed items such as tools, seeds, clothing, building materials, medicine, and the like. A senate investigative committee and experts in the field will file full investigative reports and make final recommendations. And while this gracious provision of needed supplies may seem costly, it pales in comparison to what we spend currently on our prisoners. At an annual cost of $40,000 to $50,000 per inmate, what I propose will cut that by more than 75%.”
A wave of murmurs filled the chamber.
“What happens if the inmates need a doctor?” Grant asked.
“Our initial answer was that the inmates better pray a doctor gets life and is sent to the island.”
Gentle laughter trickled through the floor and gallery.
“But we knew we’d better rethink that,” Marty said. “We will provide a hospital ship nearby with fully qualified medical personnel and surgeons. Sick inmates will be transferred to the ship by a small launch which will pick them up at the end of a long, covered pier. Only persons requiring medical attention and their transporters will be allowed on that pier, and wheelchairs and gurneys will be available for conveyance. Other inmates may bring the sick to the end of the pier, but then depart before the launch will be sent. All medical treatment will be administered on the ship with guards on duty.”
“Sounds like better treatment than many of our poor get right now in our depressed areas,” Grant said.
“Make no mistake, this is not to be a tropical vacation spot,” Marty said, “but if the inmates pool their efforts, cooperate with each other and work hard, they can survive in the sunshine as restricted but free men. If they squander their time and resources, they’ll likely not do well. Everything they need to provide a decent way of life will be there on that island. The choices will be up to them. We intend to fully train them to succeed.”
The vice-president nodded to another senator.
“The chair recognizes Senator Jacoby of Illinois,” Bigelow said.
“How about communication? Will they be allowed newspapers, TV, radios, and the like?”
“No newspapers whatsoever,” Marty said. “Further, no mail, no magazines and, of course, no telephones or computers. But our original model provides for closed circuit television, which will air digital TV shows and movies. They will be given only a communication link with the presiding ship for medical emergencies. Studies have found that liberal inmate communications have directly led to criminal activity on the outside, like witness intimidation, retribution, and the transfer of contraband. Many current street leaders continue to control their gangs and crime families through the simple use of a telephone. We’re cutting that perk out.”
“That seems a bit severe, senator,” Jacoby said. “May be a hard sell to these prisoners, who you’ve said will be voting on trying out your project.”
“This is to be a maximum punishment and security facility. It’s far better than what many inmates endure presently in supermax prisons: twenty-three hours in a cell every day with one hour outside in a high-walled court where they might get a glimpse of sunshine. There is to be no return to their former society. The absence of communication with the outside world that they once knew will help to keep their focus on their new life and not on the constantly torturing ideas of escape or scoring special accommodations from the outside. These are people who have lost their chance at rehabilitation. The sooner other would‑be criminals realize the fact that there’s no coming back from Prescott Island, the sooner we can more safely walk our city streets and countrysides.”
“Who will go to your island?” Jacoby asked.
“Initially, those with no chance for parole in their remaining lifetime will go to the island,” Marty said. “Any present prison inmates, or those with any former prison record, will go if they are convicted of any further crimes. Even one more. Never‑before convicted felons will
go if their first offense is a capital crime, a crime of extreme violence, an armed crime, rape, or a crime related to drug distribution exceeding a set amount. The present prisons, as they deplete in population, will be used as military‑type rehab centers for first offenders. If a person repeats his crimes or doesn’t respond well in the rehab center, he’ll likely end his days at Prescott Isle.”
Bigelow nodded toward a senator in the first row.
“The chair recognizes the senior Senator from New York.”
Kate Nelson leaned over to Marty.
“Look out,” she said low.
Senator Anthony Monfreda rose and addressed Marty.
“We seem to have abandoned all thoughts and ideals concerning the civil rights of American citizens here. All of a sudden, people don’t have any say in what happens to them. I find this entire discussion a little hard to believe. Are we still in America?”
“Senator Monfreda, with all due respect to you and civil rights, people who kill and rape, and brutally maim upright citizens relinquish a great portion of their civil liberties. And just as your freedom of expression ends at the point of my nose, so also do others’ rights end at the instigation of heinous crimes. What about my friend, Detective Frank Dugan’s wife? What about her civil rights, senator? And didn’t their two, little murdered children have civil rights?”
A lengthy silence.
“Two more points,” Marty said. “If we don’t try a model like this now, criminal recidivism will increase as projected solutions to prison overpopulation begin to allow earlier release times, and even the allowance of parole for formerly life-without-parole inmates. Our public safety problems will increase exponentially, potentially doubling the problems we face now. Inmates existing under supermax conditions, under solitary confinement, many for decades, are dehumanized to the point of abject cruelty. They dream of suicide and feel like dogs kept in kennel cages for endless years. Death is their only reward and hope. Prescott Island will give these men a much different outlook ... and hope.”
Marty nodded his thanks to the chair and retook his seat.
Resort Isle: Detective Frank Dugan begins (Detective Frank Dugan series) Page 11