Chapter 1135: Impregnable Fortress (Patreon)

Mason took a deep breath, as if mustering all the courage in the world. “I don’t have much time this round, but I will come find you again. Maybe... maybe we can…”

Tears shimmered faintly in Jade’s eyes. “We can what?”

“…Maybe we can start by being friends?” Mason asked, carefully, almost sheepishly.

“You might be the only person in the world who can prove I ever really existed,” he continued. “I’ve missed so much. I know we don’t really know each other, but if it’s possible… I’d like us to at least be friends.”

Jade burst out laughing through her tears. “Seriously? So, you’re not just on the run again this time?”

Before Mason could answer, the distant wail of sirens floated through the air, prompting Jack to stroll back over slowly.

“Like I said earlier—your father is currently assisting the FBI in handling a very serious and deadly crisis.”

“Really?” Clearly, she had heard the sirens too and gave him a skeptical glance.

“Absolutely. And because it involves highly classified information, someone will escort you to a secure location shortly where you’ll be able to follow the operation as it unfolds.”

Even as Jack spoke, a Suburban SUV pulled up, screeching to a halt ahead of the rest of the approaching vehicles.

The door opened to reveal Agent Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid waving from inside, and behind the wheel—none other than Aaron Hotchner.

As his daughter was whisked away, Mason turned and gave Jack a long, meaningful look. The tenderness on his face quickly vanished, replaced with a scowl that teetered on menace.

“So… should I congratulate you on successfully exploiting my weakness, kid?”

“I’m not interested in exploiting anyone, Mr. Mason,” Jack replied with a tired shrug. “This isn’t the time or place for explanations. You’ll understand once we get to the command center.”

Another series of harsh screeches filled the air as more Suburbans skidded to a stop. A furious Director Womack, arm in a sling, stormed out of the lead vehicle, completely unhinged.

“You despicable son of a bitch! I never should’ve listened to Rossi! You deserve to rot in that godforsaken hole for the rest of your miserable life!”

—

If the world learned about American cities through Hollywood films, Los Angeles would be the city of sun-soaked beaches and flip-flop casualness, while New York would be the land of power-walking suits and steaming manhole covers.

And San Francisco?

It would be the city of clanging streetcars slowly ascending dizzying inclines.

Another defining feature of San Francisco was its ever-present fog. Nestled on the rugged hills of the San Francisco Peninsula, it spent nearly one-third of the year wrapped in a mist born of colliding warm ocean currents. Unlike the smog-choked haze of London, San Francisco’s fog was health-friendly and oddly beautiful—yet another draw for tourists.

Jack pulled back from the high-powered fixed binoculars. The afternoon sun had burned away the fog, offering unusually clear visibility.

He stood at Pier 39—part of the city’s iconic Fisherman’s Wharf—just two kilometers from Alcatraz in a straight line.

Behind him, the warehouse district had been commandeered and fully locked down by the FBI. Hundreds of agents and soldiers crammed into the enormous space, transforming it into a bustling operations base.

Three massive “Optimus Prime”-sized command trucks were parked in the center, platforms extended on either side to reveal wall-sized digital displays.

Technicians had partitioned temporary workspaces and were installing equipment at a frantic pace.

“We’re now dealing with the deadliest weapons on Earth outside of nuclear arms,” Jack said gravely. “Fifteen VX gas warheads—if all are detonated—could cause over a million casualties.

Because of the toxin’s unique properties, even mass deployment of incendiary weapons won’t guarantee containment. Alcatraz is simply too close to shore. And the wind? It always blows inland—just like that coastal fog.”

He gestured for Mason to follow. At the warehouse entrance, SEAL Team leader Jason Hayes stood waiting alongside Rossi and other agents from the BAU.

They were led over to a detailed tabletop model: a 3D-printed miniature of Alcatraz Island built to exact scale.

Though small by geographic standards, Alcatraz contained more than just a single prison building. In addition to the main structure perched at the island’s highest point, the north end still held an ancient lighthouse, miraculously still operational.

To the south sat a long-abandoned factory, now nothing more than crumbling ruins save for a towering chimney. This had once been the labor zone for inmates.

As one of the most secure prisons ever built, the island’s design was virtually impregnable.

The prison proper was a three-level concrete fortress with walls over 60 centimeters thick, housing more than 300 cells, each fronted by steel bars thick as a man’s arm.

There was only one exit: a massive iron gate weighing over two tons. Surrounding it all was a four-meter-high barbed-wire perimeter fence.

Perched above the cliffs were six watchtowers, giving defenders a sweeping view of all approaches.

Though geographically close to civilization—nestled between the Golden Gate Bridge and Fisherman’s Wharf—Alcatraz was psychologically and tactically isolated, a speck of stone severed by the surrounding sea.

After examining the terrain, Jack noted aloud, “If this world ever sees a zombie apocalypse and zombies can’t swim, this island would be the perfect hideout.”

“I need to know everything you remember,” said Jason Hayes, who—along with his team—had spent Jack’s absence poring over ancient blueprints of the underground tunnels.

Mason nodded approvingly. “You’re thinking in the right direction. If we can fully map the tunnels and utility pipes, we’ll have access to just about any location on the island.”

Jason pointed to a section of the plans. “I found a sewage conduit here, submerged below sea level. Could this be our best infiltration point?”

Mason found the corresponding spot on the 3D model in an instant, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. “Of course. That’s exactly how I escaped last time.”

He added the remark with a meaningful glance toward Director Womack—who was standing stiffly nearby, pretending very hard not to be interested.