Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [105]
Jack weighed his options, deciding he would have to crawl along the catwalk for the last fifty yards if he wanted to take his enemies by surprise. If he stood or even crouched, Jack would be exposed — the man with the binoculars or the men at the tripod would spot him, cut him down before he got close.
Before he could move, Jack felt the catwalk vibrate under him, heard the distant rumble of a train crossing the long span. He glanced over his shoulders to see a locomotive was rolling over the park, barreling toward him.
Jack was pleased. He could use the train as a shield to mask his progress, cover the noise of his feet on the mesh grating. He could run alongside the train until he reached a point opposite the terrorists — if he moved fast enough.
Rising to a sprinter's crouch, Jack waited until the engine reached him. The bridge shook like a Los Angeles earthquake under his feet; the noise became a shrill, pounding roar that battered his ears. Finally the train reached him, and Jack took off in a run.
Feet pounding, Jack thundered down the catwalk, the sound of his footsteps mingling with the thunder of the rolling Amtrak cars. Quickly — too quickly — the final car rolled by him and down the tracks. Jack dropped flat on the catwalk as the roar receded, poked his head up a moment later. The man with the binoculars was directly across from him, separated only by the train tracks.
He shifted the weapon in his grip, wiped the sweat from his palm. Still on his belly, Jack crawled to the side of the tracks, over the first rail — still hot from the friction of the train's passing. Jack crawled quickly across the wooden ties, then over the second rail. He slipped into a shallow depression between the tracks, then moved to the next set of rails.
Jack heard excited voices. The men at the tripod jumped to their feet, and Jack spied Taj as he raced from the shed to the Long Tooth missile launcher. With the others, Taj stared at the green glowing screen affixed to the launcher. From his vantage point, Jack could see a single blip on the screen.
The CDC aircraft had arrived. Time had run out.
* * *
Caitlin watched as Taj bolted from the shed, ran to the missile launcher. Omar Bayat followed his leader to join the others. The Afghanis clustered around the tripod, talking excitedly.
Caitlin looked up to find Griff still perched on the roof of the shed. But he was not watching the others. Griff squinted into the darkness, staring across the tracks.
Hensley emerged from the shed a moment later. He saw Griff peering into the darkness. "What's the matter?"
Griff frowned. "I saw movement on the tracks. Someone is out there."
"Maybe it's your brother?"
Griff shook his head, still staring at the tracks. "He wouldn't be sneaking up on us."
Hensley followed Griffs gaze. "I don't see anything..."
A shot rang out. An Afghani next to Taj clutched his throat and tumbled over the edge of the bridge. The others scattered, diving for cover. Another shot was followed by a howl. A third shot silenced the wounded man.
"He's over there, across the tracks!" Griff cried, pointing. He was crouching now, but remained on the roof of the shed. Hensley reached into his jacket, drew his FBI-issue handgun.
"It's Jack Bauer. I'm sure of it. I'm going to flank him, finish him off."
"Go," said Griff, dragging an Uzi from his belt. "I'll keep the bastard pinned until you clip him."
Still crouching, Griff aimed the Uzi into the darkness and squeezed off a burst. Sparks erupted as the bullets bounced off the steel rails.
"It's Bauer!" Hensley cried