Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [66]
Jack turned away from the glare, gazed at the liquid crystal display on the PDA in his hand. The device had once belonged to the Hawk. Jack had found it, along with a cell phone, in the pocket of the man's black utility vest, which Jack now wore over his blue jumpsuit. Bauer had already forwarded the contents of the device and the Hawk's cell phone to Morris O'Brian for further analysis.
While he awaited the results, Jack studied a series of road maps stored in the PDA's memory. He was interrupted when his own cell phone vibrated.
"Bauer."
"It's me," said Morris. "You're looking at the maps?"
"Yes," Jack replied. "There are six of them..."
"That's right, Jack-o," Morris interrupted. "Two match the routes taken by the truck that hit Carlisle, and the vehicle you just took down..."
"So the other four maps might indicate the routes taken by other trucks that we have yet to locate," Jack said, thumbing through the PDA's index.
"Might is the problem," said Morris. "It's such a troublesome little word."
"Might is what leads are made of," Jack replied.
"Good point."
Jack squinted at the tiny screen. "Looks like one map outlines a route to Atlantic City. And another's going to a location outside of Rutland, Vermont."
"There are two trucks heading for Boston, too." Morris paused. "Director Henderson has ordered me to alert the proper state and local authorities. Thanks to you, we have a chance of stopping these trucks. A good chance."
But Jack remembered what Brice Holman had said before he'd expired. He'd seen twelve trucks, twelve, loaded with armed men, leaving Kurmastan that morning.
Which still leaves six more out there— somewhere, Jack thought, if I want to trust Holman's intel, and I have few doubts on that score...
Morris seemed to read his mind. "Don't worry, Jack. You'll stop them."
Jack shook off his anxiety and redirected Morris. "What about the contents of Farshid Amadani's cell phone?"
"Nine numbers are stored there," Morris replied. "Eight of them are for cell phones with bogus accounts."
"And the ninth?"
"An unlisted number for the West Side apartment of one Erno Tobias, a citizen of Switzerland. Mr. Tobias is an executive officer for Rogan Pharmaceuticals."
Jack flashed back to the stockpile of steroids and amphetamines at Kurmastan. They'd all come from Rogan Pharmaceuticals.
"I've just pulled up the passport photo for Mr. Tobias from the State Department database, and I'm forwarding it to you," Morris continued. "You might recognize him."
The PDA beeped in Jack's hand, and he retrieved the digital image. Surprise struck him at the sight of the pale white face.
"It's the Albino," Jack said. "The man who killed Fredo Mangella in Little Italy."
"I have an address," Morris announced. "Nice digs, too. It appears Mr. Tobias occupies an apartment on Central Park West."
The address flashed on the PDA screen.
"Got it," said Jack. "I'm going there now."
* * *
10:56:25 P.M. EDT
Security Booth
General Aviation Electronics
Rutland, Vermont
On this wood-lined stretch of Route 4, just a few miles from Pine Hill Park, rush hour occurred three times a day, coinciding with the shift changes at the massive General Aviation Electronics manufacturing plant.
At seven A.M., three P.M., and again at eleven P.M., a steady stream of cars, pickups, and minivans flowed off Columbian Avenue, onto a short driveway that led into the access-restricted parking lot.
Because of the classified nature of the devices manufactured here, which included vital components for the U.S. military's fleet of high-performance jet aircraft, there was only one way in or out of the plant. That road was straddled by a gated security booth and manned by two armed guards.
While there was always a delay at rush hour, tonight's was worse than usual because of a security alert issued by the Federal government less than thirty minutes earlier.
Most days, gaining admittance to the employee parking lot was a simple process. The electronic pass glued