Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [100]
23
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7 P.M. AND 8 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
7:19:43 P.M. EDT
CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
The speakerphone at Ryan Chappelle's workstation buzzed, interrupting him. Tired and cranky, Ryan punched the button. "Yes?"
"It's Nina. I just spoke with Roger Tyson, Deputy Director of the National Transportation Safety Board."
Ryan snickered. "Don't tell me the airport raids hit the news? Does he want to apologize for doubting our intelligence?"
"News of the raids has been suppressed so far, but Deputy Director Tyson did hear about them through bureaucratic channels. He called us with a warning."
Chappelle sat up. "A what?"
"This afternoon a chartered CDC flight took off from Atlanta. It's carrying bio-hazardous materials — samples of the deadly 1918 influenza strain..."
"Why the hell weren't we told? CTU should have received the same security report as the other agencies!"
"The flight was mentioned in the daily DSA security alert, but no one here at CTU made the connection. We should have received a second alert when the aircraft left the ground, but we were shut out."
Ryan frowned. "What do you mean shut out?"
"It was Hensley," Nina replied. "According to Tyson, the alert was issued directly to the FBI. Apparently Hensley convinced his superiors to keep CTU out of the loop on alerts until Jack Bauer is apprehended and interrogated. He's convinced them that until that happens, the entire unit is compromised."
"I can't believe this!"
"Ryan, listen. It's worse than we thought. The CDC plane is a Boeing 727, the same type of aircraft Dante Arete was targeting at LAX. Its destination is LaGuardia Airport in Queens. It's due to land at approximately 8:45 P.M., Eastern Daylight..."
"Son of a bitch," Ryan exploded. "That has to be the final target. No wonder nothing happened at five pm.! The CDC plane isn't landing until quarter to nine. They want to shoot down that aircraft, spread influenza virus over the entire city — and they just might be able to pull it off."
"We have to warn Jack..."
"First the NTSB has to order that aircraft to land at the next airport."
"It's too late for that, Ryan. The NTSB already tried without success."
"But they certainly have the authority to order it down."
"It's not a question of authority. Due to security concerns, the CDC aircraft is maintaining strict radio silence. The pilot reports in once every hour, and we just missed the last window. The next time they establish radio contact, the plane will be over New York City."
* * *
7:23:13 P.M. EDT
Fifty-ninth Street, Manhattan
"Where are they now?" Jack raced toward the Queensboro Bridge ramp, an ancient structure of dirty steel girders rising up from Second Avenue and flanked by multimillion-dollar apartment buildings overlooking the East River.
Jack had kept his cell phone connection to CTU, Los Angeles, open while Jamey Farrell followed Caitlin's blip on a grid map of Queens. The thirty-three-second coast-to-coast delay had caused a few tense moments, but so far they were tracking the kidnapped woman with accuracy.
"The vehicle Caitlin is in is still moving along Thirty-first Street in Queens," said Jamey. "It looks like they're heading for the Triboro Bridge, which means they could be going to Harlem, or even the South Bronx."
The Queens-bound traffic on the bridge's lower level was moving in a start-stop fashion. New York was a late city — late to work in the morning, later leaving in the evening — so rush-hour traffic had not yet lightened. Jack's years of youthful dirt bike racing served him well as he darted between cars and trucks with ease.
As Jack twisted the throttle to slalom around a lumbering tow truck, he heard Nina Myers's voice in his ears. "Jack, we've received some disturbing intelligence..."
She told him about the CDC aircraft and its deadly cargo, how the aircraft would be entering New York airspace in less than seventy-five minutes.
"That's their target." Jack was certain. It all added