Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [63]
Peering through the hatch, the Hawk saw the belly of the helicopter above him, a long rope dangling down. He frowned when he spied a single man in a blue battle suit hanging from the door. Amadani quickly closed the hatch before the other man spotted him.
"We are about to be boarded," the Hawk warned.
The men cried out.
"Remember we are warriors! Martyrs for the jihad!" Amadani bellowed, his fierce words drowning their laments.
"I shall swat this flea," the Hawk said. "You will follow the alternative plan and detonate this vehicle inside the Lincoln Tunnel."
The men nodded. Grim-faced, they began to arm the explosives.
Still perched on the crates, the Hawk touched the pocket of his combat vest. He considered using his cell to inform Ibrahim Noor that they'd been discovered, that this truck would not be in position to destroy the Brooklyn Bridge at dawn and provide the necessary diversion for Noor's final, devastating strike. But he didn't make the call. Why should he? Noor and his foreign allies were monitoring the situation from a secure location, and they would know he and his men had failed. Any call he made now might be tapped and traced by their enemies.
Better to keep the infidels Jumbling in the dark, the Hawk decided as a sudden thump sounded above him.
Clutching a USP Tactical in his scarred hand, the Hawk muttered a final prayer for himself and his warriors. Then he opened the hatch...
* * *
9:22:53 P.M. EDT
On the 495 ramp to the Lincoln Tunnel
Jack Bauer landed with a bruising crash, facedown on the top of the speeding frailer. Battling the relentless slipstream, he hugged the ridged aluminum while he brought his legs up under him. He climbed to his feet the same way he used to mount a surfboard, using his arms for balance.
But instead of smelling a cool ocean breeze, Jack choked on hot exhaust fumes belched by the cab's twin stacks. He lurched forward, through the smog, toward the cab and the man behind the wheel. The roof had evenly spaced ridges, and they helped Jack maintain his balance as he stumbled to the front of the frailer.
Meanwhile the truck rolled down the center lane at a good clip, cars, buses, and other trucks flowing around it. Over Jack's head, the staccato beat of the whirling rotors intensified when Captain Fogarty pulled up and banked over the Hudson. In seconds, the helicopter was no more than a dark silhouette against the glistening skyline.
Jack planned to smash his way into the passenger compartment and take out the driver. Once he gained control of the vehicle, he could swerve away from the tunnel and its traffic, neutralize the other terrorists in a remote location — or simply drive the whole damned rig into the Hudson River if he had to.
He'd almost reached the cab when Jack heard a clang. A roof hatch opened directly in front of him, and a figure emerged clutching a handgun. Jack recognized him immediately, from the surveillance photos Morris had forwarded to his PDA — Farshid Amadani, a.k.a. the Hawk.
Before the terrorist could take aim, Jack launched himself at Amadani. The velocity of Jack's charge carried them both over the edge of the trailer. They landed on top of the cab with a loud crash; a roof light shattered under the Hawk's battered spine. Jack, who was cushioned from the fall by the other man's body, heard Amadani gasp, smelled his sour breath.
Jack groped for the weapon, his fingers closing on the man's wrist. The Hawk fought, refusing to release his handgun. He sank his yellow teeth into Bauer's shoulder and bit down. Jack howled and slammed his right fist into the man's abdomen, his left still clutching the man's wrist. Amadani cried out and pushed Jack aside. Together they rolled off the roof of the cab and slammed onto the engine's hood.
Still grappling, Jack was on the bottom now. The hot metal scorched his back. The noise battered his ears. Jack glimpsed the startled face of the