Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [86]
Judith pushed Tony aside and looked in the backseat. Neither the driver nor his passenger had been wearing a seatbelt. Judith Foy touched the woman's throat.
"She's dead," Foy declared.
"So is our plan," grunted Tony.
"What? You can't be serious?" Foy cried. "The device they were delivering is right there, next to the corpse."
Tony barely glanced at the large metal box, just slightly dented from the crash. "The plan was for me to pass myself off as this passenger," he said. "We didn't know she was a woman."
"Lucky you have me, then," Foy replied. "We'll just reverse roles. I'll infiltrate the Thirteen Gang's headquarters, and you'll watch my back from outside."
Tony shook his head. "I don't like it."
Judith's eyes narrowed. "You don't have to like it. You just have to do it."
Tony didn't reply. Judith grabbed his arm. "Listen, I'm a field agent, too. And I outrank you. I'm going in!"
She snatched the dead woman's purse, then fumbled through the driver's pockets until she found his ID and cell phone. Tony stood by and watched, feeling momentarily confused by Judith Foy's pulling rank on him. Up to now, he was used to her following his lead.
"Wake up, Almeida!" Judith barked like one of his old drill sergeants. "Grab that box, and let's get out of here before the police show up and arrest us."
* * *
3:57:33 A.M. EDT
Security Station One
CTU Headquarters, NYC
Morris O'Brian felt a presence at his shoulder and turned away from the monitor screens.
"Jack! Good to have you back again," he said, then winced when he noticed the butterfly sutures on the man's temple, the blackened eye, the cuts on his face.
"Bloody hell," Morris said. "Look at you. If you won that fight, I'd hate to see the losers."
"The losers aren't breathing," Jack replied.
"You heard about the attacks in Boston?"
Jack nodded. "While they were patching me up in the infirmary. But I need details."
"There were three trucks. Two were bombs and detonated. A tunnel under construction collapsed, and so did the neighborhood around it. Casualty figures are not in yet. The second truck leveled Harvard Medical Center. Estimates count over a hundred dead."
"What about the third truck?"
"Apparently it disgorged a veritable army onto Boston Commons. The firefight still rages all over that part of the city."
"They should have listened to me and issued a terror warning for the Boston metro area," Jack said. "I knew my intelligence was good."
Expression grim, Jack glanced at the monitors. "What am I seeing now?"
"That wreck on the right monitor is what's left of the truck that tried to take out CIA headquarters in Virginia. Cheeky, eh?" Morris shook his head. "Two CTU strike teams stopped the vehicle on Herndon Parkway. The terrorists were wiped out. No casualties on our side."
Jack nodded.
"The monitor on the left is showing us a truck that was stopped on the Mall in Washington, D.C., right in front of the Smithsonian. The terrorists fought to the last man. Again, no casualties on our side. Bomb squads are deactivating the explosives now."
"So there's only one truck still out there."
The phone chirped. Morris answered. "Yes, sir," he replied a moment later. Then he hung up and faced Jack.
"Christopher Henderson would like a word with you. He's in the late Brice Holman's office."
"Find that truck," Jack called over his shoulder.
Morris sighed. "How many times have I heard that phrase today?"
22
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 4:00 A.M. AND 5:00 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
4:01:22 A.M. EDT
District Director's Office
CTU Headquarters, NYC
"Come in, Jack. Have a seat."
Christopher Henderson sat behind Brice Holman's desk. At the computer station, Jack saw Layla Abernathy, an unsmiling figure in a black battle suit, Glock strapped to her hip. Her hair was pulled back and she wore no makeup, her sallow face expressionless.
When Jack entered the room, Layla turned her back on him.
"I want you to listen to something Hershel Berkovic, CTU's economic warfare guru, sent me," Henderson