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By Root 559 0

Walsh as well. She was presently squeezed into the windowless space in the back of the van with four large men. She could see nothing. Like her, all were clad in bulky assault gear — black Kevlar helmets and body armor harnesses, response belts, holsters, weapons, and chukkas. But unlike the men, Gina, her face pinched with tension and beaded with perspiration, balanced a laptop computer on her knees. Beneath her straight brown bangs, her green eyes never left the monitor screen. Across its flat surface were displayed the international airport's daily maintenance schedule and flight manifests, including arrival times and departures — even scheduled deliveries by outside vendors. The data scrolled in an array of display boxes. Gina's quick glance scanned each in turn, evaluating every fragment of information.

"I've got another vehicle, two o'clock, near the concrete power shed," said Jack, increasing the magnification on the binoculars. "It's a black Ford Explorer with a valid LAX security sticker on the inside front window." Jack carefully read out the license plate number, already certain they'd located their target.

When she replied, Agent Costigan could not hide the excitement in her voice. "That vehicle was reported stolen from a driveway on Essex Street in Palmdale two nights ago."

Jack dropped the binoculars onto the seat next to him, drew the SigSauer P228 from its shoulder holster under the airport coveralls. He checked the magazine and chambered an extra bullet, bringing the ammo capacity to the maximum thirteen rounds. Then he spoke into the headset.

"Tactical Team Two, are you with us? Over."

From somewhere behind them, a voice responded. "With you, Team One."

"I want you to move in now. Follow our coordinates. What is your estimated time of arrival?"

"EST less than two minutes, sir."

Jack cursed. "Too long."

"If we brought a parade with us, we would have attracted attention," Tony reminded him.

Agent Chet Blackburn, the assault team leader, stuck his helmeted head into the cab. "Maybe we should have used an assault chopper."

Jack glanced at Blackburn, looked away. "We couldn't risk bringing a chopper into the airport. Too much air traffic."

"I see three men on the ground. There's another inside the vehicle." Tony's voice was flat, but his hands were putting the steering wheel in a choke hold.

"Get this van as close as you can without letting them know we're coming," said Jack.

"Too late," said Tony. "One guy definitely sees us."

Tony slowed the truck. "Listen, Jack. All they're really seeing is a maintenance van coming their way. But trucks like this are all over the airport. Why don't we just roll past the target, circle around, and come up behind them using the power shed for cover. Otherwise we're sure to end up in a firefight."

Jack visualized the maneuver, nodded. "Okay. We'll try it."

Gina Costigan's voice crackled in Jack's headset once again. "Special Agent Bauer?"

"Yes."

"We have an aircraft approaching runway seven from the southwest. It's National Express Cargo Flight 111 out of Austin, Texas. General manifest. Crew of three... It's less than two minutes away, sir..."

Bauer digested the information as the van steadily approached the suspects. For a long time, no one around the black Explorer moved, though at least one of the occupants was monitoring them. Finally, one of the men turned his back on the maintenance van, went down on one knee, and pointed an unfamiliar object at the sky. Even from a distance, the device appeared ominous — two black tubes on a metal handle. The device must have been unwieldy; the man rested it on his shoulder to steady it.

"That's a weapon," said Jack. "Some new kind of surface-to-air missile. Looks like they're locking onto a target."

Tony sounded doubtful. "You sure?"

"We don't have time to be sure. We have to move now. Hit it."

Tony smashed the gas pedal, the van shot forward, and Jack was jolted back in his seat by the abrupt acceleration.

"Lock and load," bellowed Agent Blackburn inside the rocking cargo bay.

Gina Costigan slammed the lid