Chapter 1140: A Change of Plan (Patreon)

“Cough, cough... cough, cough, cough—ugh.” Dragged out of the water by Clay, Gusbey nearly choked to death, retching repeatedly from the foul water that had entered his nose and mouth.

Neither team leader Jason nor Jack had expected that while they were confidently waiting for the enemy to send someone down to be captured, what they actually received was an improvised thermobaric device made from a gas canister.

Fortunately, the tunnel only contained rainwater and hadn’t accumulated any methane gas, and the section of the drainage pipe was long enough. The moment the team sensed something was off, they dove into the standing water in the outer tunnel, avoiding casualties.

Though it was only a close call, the relief on everyone's faces was evident.

As expected, no one could be underestimated these days. While the opponents weren’t Tier 1 special forces, they were clearly experienced in real combat—especially under the leadership of a decorated field general.

“Change of plans. Before we’re fully exposed, we head straight to the prison hospital,” Jason decisively altered the operation.

“Are you sure the missiles are hidden in the morgue, Doctor?” Jack was starting to lose confidence.

Gusbey had just rinsed his mouth out with water from his canteen, and he was fuming. “Of course, but I strongly advise against engaging the enemy there.

If there really are VX missiles stored in that location, even a stray bullet could kill everyone on the island.”

“Relax, we won’t let your fiancée become a widow,” Jack patted his shoulder. “When we get back, I’ll treat you to hotpot so spicy it’ll light your ass on fire.”

Gusbey’s eyes lit up. “Will there be cigars and Ceres vodka again this time?”

“I’ll get you everything you can imagine. As for the cigars,” Jack patted the waterproof pouch tucked into his chest, “those are for celebrating victory.”

Then he looked toward the old man cleaning the muck off his beard. “Mr. Mason, if you would lead the way.”

——

Meanwhile, just two kilometers from Alcatraz at Fisherman’s Wharf, members of the fugitive task force and BUA unit were all intensely focused—some glued to the drone feed, others peering through cannon-sized high-powered binoculars, tracking every move on the island.

The explosion in the drainage pipe had blown open several manhole covers. Though the fire wasn’t very visible, it stood out clearly on the night vision feed.

Commotion broke out in the warehouse at the pier. Director Womack, who had been waiting by the monitors, rushed over in alarm. “What happened? Did they trigger a trap?”

“Calm down, Jim,” Rossi placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’re the best guys we’ve got. They’re not going down that easily.”

“Sir, should we contact ‘Eagle’ directly?” asked the communications officer from B Team’s support crew.

“No. Maintain radio silence,” replied B Team’s commanding officer, Major Eric Black (introduced in Chapter 601), his face expressionless.

He had witnessed too many major operations with SEAL Team B. What was happening now was far from unusual.

“Sir, we have a new transmission request—it's from General Hammer,” another comms officer reported loudly.

“Put it through,” Director Womack said eagerly, but Rossi held up a hand. “No—wait!”

He turned to Womack with a serious expression. “Jim, stay calm. Since ‘Eagle’ hasn’t broken radio silence, that means they haven’t been compromised. This could just be a probe.”

The Director took a deep breath. Clarity returned to his eyes. “You’re right, David. Take over for now. I need some air.”

Watching Womack’s slightly hunched figure disappear, Rossi then told the waiting comms officer, “Patch it through.”

Soon, General Hammer’s grim face appeared on the screen, his eyes nearly aflame with rage. “You made a mistake if you thought sending a few rats in would accomplish anything.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, General Hammer. We just noticed an explosion on the island—what happened? Are the hostages safe?”

Rossi maintained a look of confusion. His innocent demeanor was airtight.

Recognizing him, General Hammer’s eyes showed a flicker of surprise. “You? Where’s Al (General Clayman)? And your FBI director?”

Rossi feigned innocence, even glancing at his watch. “They should be at the White House right now, negotiating the payment with the President. You know how serious these matters are.

I’d like to request an extension on the deadline—just a few hours. You know how inefficient those bureaucrats can be.”

Hammer seemed to forget his initial intention to scold them, easily led off course by Rossi’s rambling.

“No. There are 14 hours left. That’s more than enough for you. You have no room to negotiate. Don’t test my patience, or I won’t hesitate to kill hostages—or fire a VX missile to prove my resolve.”

With that, he abruptly ended the transmission.

“You think he’ll really launch a missile?” asked Hotchner, who had been standing beside Rossi the entire time.

Rossi was silent for a while before shaking his head. “I don’t know. I always thought Hammer was a pure soldier.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why he’s capable of such an extreme act,” Hotchner muttered quietly, only to receive a warning glance from Rossi.

——

“How much longer do we have to walk?” After nearly thirty minutes of weaving through the underground with Mason, Gusbey’s face was streaked with sweat-washed grime, making him look quite comical.

“Be patient. We’re in the oldest part of Alcatraz right now—ancient mine shafts left over from the Gold Rush. The prison hospital we’re headed to was converted from a Civil War-era bunker.”

Mason was still in high spirits, even offering historical tidbits as they went.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, but I’m not in the mood for a history lesson right now. How much farther through this damned tunnel? Those bastards probably already know we’re here—they could launch the missile at any moment.”

Before Gusbey could finish, Mason stopped in front of a pile of rotting wood. “We’re here.”

The old man stepped aside and nodded toward Jack. “There’s a stone staircase behind here. At the top is the prison hospital—formerly a fortress.”

Jack nodded and leaned in to listen for a moment. Then he gestured for the strong Sonny to help him move the debris blocking the way.

Mason’s claim that he once wandered the underground for three days didn’t seem like a boast. As the rotting wood was carefully removed, a shaft of cold moonlight pierced through the midnight sea mist and shone on the two of them.