Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [101]
"That's our feeling here, too," said Nina. "But Ryan is concerned that you're on a wild goose chase. That Omar Bayat isn't heading for Taj's location at all."
"No, that can't be right. Taj and Bayat are a team. They've worked together since the Ali Kahlil clan was wiped out in Afghanistan. After downing the Belgian airliner over North Africa two years ago, they escaped across the border to Libya together. I'm betting that's what they plan to do here, too."
For a moment there was silence on both sides of the phone connection. Then Jack spoke. "Let's assume Omar Bayat is leading us to Taj and another terrorist cell. Where would they launch an attack from? They need someplace close to the airport, above the city skyline, yet remote — a launch from a rooftop or a building would be seen."
"How about the Triboro Bridge?" said Nina. "It's the tallest structure in the area."
"It's high enough, but too public. Thousands of cars pass over that bridge every hour. The terrorists could be spotted, reported by anyone with a cell phone..."
"Jack!" It was Milo Pressman's voice. "About a quarter of a mile upriver from the Triboro there's a railroad bridge called the Hell Gate. The bridge goes right over Astoria Park, and across the East River to Randalls Island, then on to the South Bronx."
"He's right," said Nina. "Hell Gate is actually a little closer to LaGuardia than the Triboro, though both bridges are right under the flight path to the airport."
"Jamey, what's happening to Caitlin now?" Jack asked.
"The vehicle is turning onto the Triboro Bridge...No. Wait. It's on Hoyt Avenue, a road that runs parallel to the Triboro, maybe under it..."
Over the snarl of the Harley's engine, Jack heard the analyst exclaim something unintelligible.
"Jamey? What is it?"
"Hoyt Avenue, Jack. It leads right to the shore of the East River. To Astoria Park..."
Three thousand miles away, Jack Bauer knew where he was headed. "Hell Gate Bridge..."
* * *
7:36:09 P.M. EDT
Astoria Park, Queens
On a quiet residential street bordering Astoria Park, Omar Bayat stopped the van in front of a locked gate of an eight-foot chain-link fence. The sun was a hot orange ball shining between the tall oak and elm trees, but the van was shaded by the steel span of a railroad bridge a hundred feet over its roof.
The Afghani looked over his shoulder at the woman, bound and gagged on the floor of the cargo bay. "I will be right back."
Bayat exited the vehicle, unbolted the padlock, and drove through the gate. He backed the van into a small wooden garage that butted up against one of the bridge's ivy-covered, concrete support columns. It was cool and shady under the span, with abundant greenery bordering the fenced-in area.
Hidden from view inside the garage and behind the concrete arch, Bayat changed into green New York City Parks Department overalls. Then he opened the back door and dragged Caitlin out by her red hair. She squealed, but the sound was muffled by the gag over her mouth.
Bayat cuffed her. "Shut up or I will slit your throat."
Caitlin whimpered, rocked unsteadily on her feet while Bayat untied her wrists. He left the gag in place. Then the Afghani pushed her to the back of the garage, where a hole had been cut in the ceiling. A twelve-foot ladder poked through that hole and up the side of the concrete support column.
"Climb," barked Bayat.
Caitlin looked up. On top of the portable ladder, rungs had been embedded in the concrete to form a permanent ladder that ran all the way to the top of the bridge. Caitlin's eyes went wide and she shook her head wildly, trying to tell Omar Bayat she was too afraid. He struck her again, so hard it drove Caitlin to her knees. He reached down and yanked her to her feet by her hair.
"Climb or die," he hissed, his hot breath on her cheek. Hands shaking, limbs weak, Caitlin reluctantly reached for the first rung.
* * *
7:49:13 P.M. EDT
Thirty-first Street, Queens
"Where is Caitlin now?" Jack yelled over the roar of the cycle.
"She's still on Nineteenth Street, between Twenty-first and Twenty-second