Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [22]
That's when all hell broke loose — but not the way Georgi expected it.
Suddenly the tavern's thick, glass block windows exploded inward in an avalanche of broken shards. On the ceiling, a light fixture shattered in a shower of hot sparks, plunging much of the bar into darkness. Two spider-webbed bullet holes cracked the smooth surface of the wall-sized mirror behind the bar. A third whizzed by Timko's brow, to punch a hole in the stuffed buffalo head mounted on the wall.
A final shot smashed a gallon jug of Jack Daniel's, and in the silence that followed, Georgi listened to the rich brown elixir drip onto the scuffed hardwood floor.
As the echoes faded, the patrons who'd thrown themselves under tables when the shooting started now stumbled to their feet. With angry shouts they crowded around the single exit as they all tried to escape the building at the same time.
* * *
11:09:47 P.M. EDT
The parking lot of Tatiana's
The punks were stunned into paralysis when Jack fired the Glock into the crowded tavern. Jack was careful to keep his shots high, far over the heads of the patrons inside.
Instantly, a dangerous horde of furious customers poured out of Tatiana's. Jack dropped the empty Glock and held up his hands.
From the bar's doorway, a biker with a long oily ponytail pointed at the gun-toting young men. "There they are! There's the bastards shooting at us!"
The punks bolted, vanishing among the parked cars. Jack stood alone, hands raised. The bikers approached, not friendly.
"What the hell are you doin'?" one yelled. He drew a police special from his pocket.
Jack kept his arms raised, but if they searched him, they would find the other gun — and more. Suddenly a sustained barrage of automatic fire discharged inside the darkened tavern. Then the bartender burst through the front door, running full tilt for the street. He only made it a few steps before a stream of 9mm slugs chased him through the doorway, tearing bloody red holes in his back. The bartender staggered for a moment, then pitched headfirst onto the concrete.
When he saw that, the biker with the police special turned tail and ran, too, as yelling men and two screaming women in thongs and high heels stampeded. Engines roared to life all around Jack. Cars, trucks, motorcycles, until the noise drowned out the chattering guns.
Inside the tavern, the shooting continued. The automatic weapons' fire was first met with single shots from a large-caliber handgun. Then Jack heard a familiar sound, easily recognizable from his service with Delta Force in Eastern Europe — the distinctive crack of a Soviet-style AK-47 assault rifle.
Jack found the choice of weapon intriguing. It also occurred to him that Dante Arete had sent the shooters inside that tavern personally. That might mean that the assassins' intended victim was involved in whatever plot was unfolding. This person might even know something about the missile launcher, and the two men who had driven away with it. If Jack was really lucky, he might capture one of Arete's assassins alive, and possibly find out where Dante was holed up.
So while fleeing vehicles sped away from Tatiana's Tavern, Jack drew the Browning Hi-Power from his shoulder holster and moved cautiously toward the building.
* * *
11:28:58 P.M. EDT
CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Ryan Chappelle caught up with Nina Myers and Tony Almeida at Jamey's workstation. Jamey was watching a map grid on her monitor. Dante Arete's GPS beacon blinked intermittently. Meanwhile Nina was attempting to interface with the DEA's database and Tony was tracing the license plates Jack had read off.
"We've finally heard from the FBI," Ryan announced. "The New York office has issued an arrest warrant for Jack Bauer."
Jamey exploded. "That's crazy. What are the charges?"
"The murder of two federal marshals and the wounding of an FBI pilot. Aiding a fugitive to escape federal custody, one Dante Arete."
"Ryan, that's ridiculous and you know it,"