Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [19]
"What about your prisoner?" said Ryan. "You can't just let Dante Arete get away."
"I'm sending CTU a positioning signal so Jamey can pinpoint my location."
After a few seconds, Jamey spoke. "Okay, I've got Jack on my monitor. I'm overlaying a grid map of the area now."
"Forget about me, Jamey," said Jack. "I want you to activate the tracker."
"Are you sure you want to do that, Jack?" Tony protested. "The chemical battery is only good for about twelve hours."
"Hopefully that's all the time we'll need. Do it, Jamey. I need to know that the tracker is functioning properly."
A moment passed while Jamey transmitted the signal. Jack risked a peek at the gang revival meeting. It was breaking up. Dante Arete and the tattooed man climbed into a white SUV, lingered for some further conversation. "Hurry, Jamey. I need that tracker now."
"I have him. He's less than twenty meters from your position," said Jamey after too long a pause. "But we have a problem, Jack. The distance between here and New York is causing a twenty-two-second real-time delay in the satellite relay."
"We'll have to live with that," said Jack. Next he read off the license numbers on the Mercedes, then on Dante's SUV to Jamey. "See if you can dig up any useful information from those plate numbers. The SUV is probably stolen. But we might find out something useful about the other vehicle."
Ryan spoke up. "What are you going to do, Jack?"
"I'm going after the missile launcher inside that Mercedes."
"Jack! Wait," cried Chappelle. "What about your prisoner? What about the FBI? They're going to be asking a lot of questions soon..."
But the line was dead. Bauer had ended the conversation.
Face flushed, Chappelle turned on Nina. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "If we lose Arete we lose any chance we have of cracking this case."
"We're not going to lose Arete," Nina assured him. "The medical team that examined Dante Arete after capture embedded a sub-epidermal tracker under his flesh. We can trace every move he makes for the next twelve hours."
"That's fine," said Ryan. "But right now Dante Arete is only part of the equation. We need to know more, so I want you to find out everything you can about FBI Special Agent Frank Hensley. And I want that information on my desk in one hour."
* * *
10:59:26 P.M. EDT
The parking lot of Tatiana's
Jack ended the call when he saw Arete close the door to the white SUV and the big man with the shaved head climb behind the wheel. A moment later, the white Explorer backed out of its parking spot. The other members of Arete's Posse remained behind, watching as their chief sped away.
Jack slipped a wire from his shoe, worked it into the keyhole near his head. It took less than ten seconds for him to pick the lock, but he paused — worried that the interior light might alert the others to his presence.
Instead, Jack watched as the Columbia Street Posse drew mini Uzi submachine guns with the stocks removed, slid thirty-two-round extended magazines into the breech, then slipped the loaded guns under their long coats. Weapons concealed, the four headed for Tatiana's front door.
The two Irishmen watched them go, then climbed into the black Mercedes — the young one behind the wheel, the older man in the passenger seat. The finely tuned engine purred to life.
Time had run out.
Jack popped the Camaro's door, rolled into the front seat, and quickly closed the door again. Rather than risk being seen, he crawled under the dashboard and worked in the dull glow of the streetlight outside. First he carefully unscrewed the steering wheel cover, revealing the guts of the ignition system. He tore away frayed wires, stripped them to expose enough metal to cause a spark.
Outside, Jack heard the Mercedes engine purr as the vehicle rolled past him. "Come on, come on," he hissed.
Suddenly the car's interior went completely dark as the glow from the streetlight