Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [15]
"Kill him, man!" Arete was frantic. Over the crackling fire and popping steel, they heard the distant sound of sirens. "You better waste him fast. If he starts talking..."
"Shut up!" Hensley spied Jack a moment later and opened fire.
Arete kept clutching his head and moaning. "I don't wanna die here."
Pinned, Jack looked around for an exit, saw one not five feet away — through five feet of open space. He'd have to get there, release the lever, and hope it wouldn't jam before Hensley had time to hit him. Jack figured his chances were less than ten percent, but he had no choice.
Suddenly the broken aircraft lurched again, setting off a series of explosions from somewhere outside. The force of the successive blasts rocked the airplane and bounced its inhabitants around. Two things happened next: Hensley was jerked against a table bolted to the floor. He flipped over it and struck his head, his service revolver tumbling to Dante Arete's feet. And the jammed hatch that wouldn't budge for Dante a few moments before burst open, filling the choking compartment with cool night air.
Arete didn't hesitate. He snatched Hensley's weapon and jumped through the exit. Jack cried out, stumbled to his feet. Still clutching the Glock, he bolted for the same exit, stopping in the doorway to see Arete's heading. Then he turned around and tried to find Hensley, but the smoke had become too thick. In the choking darkness of the fuselage, he bumped into the corpse of one of the murdered Federal agents. Jack reached into the man's jacket, found a loaded Browning Hi-Power and some extra ammo.
Jack had to make a choice and he knew it. He gave up trying to find Hensley. Instead he climbed out of the shattered aircraft and took off across the tarmac, in pursuit of the fugitive Arete.
* * *
9:52:09 P.M. EDT
CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Milo Pressman sat at his workstation, located between Jamey Farrell's cubicle and the auxiliary computer station where Doris had set up shop.
Milo had been complaining for hours, to anyone who would listen, about being called back to work and away from his girlfriend. Apparently the whole mess was a relationship wrecker, or so he told Jamey Farrell.
"Look," said Jamey. "Either she understands what you do or she doesn't."
"Tina used to understand. Now she doesn't."
Milo's pocket sent out ringtones of a Green Day download. Of course it was Tina. The cell phone conversation quickly degenerated into an argument. Jamey and Doris heard every word on Milo's end. He hadn't bothered trying to make the call private.
Jamey decided to fill in some blanks for Doris.
"Of course I'm not with some other woman," Milo told his girlfriend.
"No," whispered Jamey. "But your tongue was sure hanging out when Tony introduced you to Captain Schneider."
Doris pushed up her large glasses with her index finger. "What's a girl like that got that we haven't got?"
Jamey shrugged and smiled. "Blond hair, rich daddy, and a sexy drawl that makes men drool."
Doris smiled back and shook her head. "Barbie in a uniform. Hardly seems fair."
* * *
9:55:21 P.M. EDT
John F. Kennedy International Airport
"Agent Hensley! Agent Hensley!"
Sirens wailed, emergency lights flashed. In the distance, a massive aircraft hangar burned, orange flames licking the black night sky. A firefighter cupped blackened hands around his mouth and called out for Hensley one more time.
Others took up the call, their loud voices followed by the stabbing beams from a half-dozen flashlights, columns of light that cut through the smoky darkness. Deep inside the wreckage of the aircraft, someone coughed.
"Over there! He's alive," yelled a firefighter.
A stocky man in a gray pinstriped suit pushed past the emergency workers swathed in asbestos, splashed through the fire-retardant foam that surrounded the shattered fuselage. Feet slipping, he climbed onto the broken wing and crawled through the emergency hatch, into the cabin. "Frank! Is that