Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [29]
Griff sighed in disgust. "That's the story he told our associate, but I think he has doubts and so do I. I'll be thinking the Feds got hold of that stick. Not the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but CTU."
"CTU! Can they crack it?"
"Of course they can... But it might take time."
"Enough time?"
Griff forced a laugh. "Ah, well...What's another three-letter word, eh? The SAS, the FBI, the CIA — now CTU — we took on all the others and we always walked away with our hides intact."
Shamus said nothing. Didn't smile or laugh. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Pull over, right here," Griff commanded.
"But the pub's still a few blocks away..."
"Pull over." Griffs voice was tight, the forced levity gone.
On the mostly empty sidewalks, small knots of men and a few women gathered around Irish pubs to smoke, talk, and drink. This area, called Woodside, had for years been a haven for Irish immigrants. It still was, although these days it shared its sidewalks with the vast influx of newer immigrants. The century-old pubs and taverns were now interspersed between Korean greengrocers, Chinese and Filipino restaurants, and Arab-run newsstands and wireless stores.
Shamus guided the Mercedes into a spot in front of a darkened plumbing supply store. In the shadow of the overhead train, he cut the engine, killed the lights. The Number 7 Flushing-to-Manhattan train rumbled overhead.
"Wait here."
Griff opened the door and went to the back of the car. Shamus watched his brother through the rearview mirror. After the trunk opened, he could feel the weight shifting inside, though he couldn't tell what Griff was up to. A moment later, the trunk closed and Griff returned. When he sat down, he placed a silver metal attache case on the seat between them — an identical twin of the one he'd handed off to Dante Arete.
Shamus eyed the case suspiciously.
"I took the memory stick out of our missile launcher and put it in here," Griff explained. "Have Liam deliver this case to the drop on Atlantic Avenue. He's to give the case to no one but Taj. And no taxis or car services. They keep logs that can be traced."
Shamus shook his head. "I can do it, Griff. Liam's just a kid, and it's one o'clock in the morning. Caitlin will have a frothing fit."
"I don't give a damn what your whore thinks. And you can't go. Neither of us can risk being seen anywhere near that dead drop. Liam's to do it and that's that. You were doing much more at his age, as I recall... Besides, he and his sister cost you enough of your money — those charity cases might as well be useful."
"Liam can take it in the morning..."
"Tonight. Get on it." Griffin seemed to regret his shortness. His voice became conciliatory as he added, "I know you'll be wanting to stay the night with Caitlin. Send Liam off and have your fun. Just be at the shop first thing in the morning. We need to close things down, tie up loose ends before our chartered flight takes off." He slapped Shamus on the shoulder. "Cheer up, brother. I know you don't much like pullin' up stakes again. But where we're goin', I hear the women are as beautiful as the beaches."
Attache case in hand, Shamus nodded and climbed out of the car. Griffin slipped behind the wheel, made a fast U-turn, and sped away in the opposite direction. As another elevated train rumbled overhead, Shamus strolled the last few blocks to the corner pub called The Last Celt.
* * *
12:57:24 A.M. EDT
CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Captain Schneider climbed the metal staircase to the command center's mezzanine, a classified folder under her arm. She had been directed there by Jamey Farrell, who told her that Nina Myers had set up shop in Jack Bauer's office until his return.
She knocked twice, then opened the door. "Agent Myers? Can I have a moment of your time?"
Nina looked up, startled. She closed the file she was reading, sat back in the chair. "Come in, Captain Schneider."
The Marine slid into a chair. Her blond ponytail was unraveling, and there were