Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [33]
The man sat down on the couch, slid the case across the floor to Liam. "You're to deliver this to Taj and no one else. By subway. No taxi or car service. Remember how to get there?"
Liam nodded. Shamus reached into his wallet and took out two hundred in cash, thrust it into the boy's hand. "If there's any trouble, do what I told you to do. You remember?"
The youth nodded. Shamus eyed the attache case warily. "And whatever you do, don't open the case. Got it?"
"I got it, Shamus."
"Then take off. And on your way out, tell your sister to get up here. I'm waiting for her..."
* * *
1:24:18 A.M. EDT
CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
"Look, Tina. All I said was I wanted to go out with my friends on Friday night..."
Even from her chair in front of the monitor, Captain Schneider could hear the tearful sobs on the other end of Milo's cell connection.
"I never said I was bored with you, honey. I don't care what that magazine article said, I'm not like that," Milo insisted.
"Don't cry, I..."
Captain Schneider faced Milo. "I hate to interrupt, Mr. Pressman, but I'm having some trouble connecting to the DOD database."
Milo covered the phone. "That's because you're using the wrong routing protocol. Use our own network connection. CTU maintains a constant link with the Department of Defense, and the Central Intelligence Agency, too. The security code is thirty-three dash zeta zed backslash."
Captain Schneider tapped her keyboard. A moment later CTU's random sequencing program was searching through all of the DOD's stored digital files for a long string of numerals that matched the serial number printed on the memory stick.
"Look, Tina," said Milo, the cell phone close to his ear. "There's a situation here, I really have to go..."
"I think I just lost the feed from the Commerce Department," Captain Schneider said. She directed Milo's attention to a black data window on the massive HDTV monitor.
"No," said Milo, covering the phone. "See the blinking red cursor. Your search is completed. Engage the sequencer for a printout of your results."
"How do I do that?"
Milo lifted his finger, pressed three numbers, then enter.
"Yes," Milo said into the phone. "You did hear a woman's voice. It's my supervisor... Yes, Tina, you're right. That doesn't sound like Jamey because it isn't Jamey... Yes, Jamey Farrell is still my supervisor. But I'm talking to another supervisor right now."
"Mr. Pressman? What does this mean?"
Milo looked up, at the data window for the Department of Defense database. It was blinking yellow. His girlfriend chattered on, but Milo wasn't listening anymore. He rose to get a better look at the data window, absentmindedly closing his cell and dropping it back in his pocket.
"I can't believe it," gasped Milo.
"Believe what?"
Milo blinked. "I thought this whole thing was a waste of time. Like finding a tiny needle in an immense digital haystack. But you did it, Captain Schneider. You located a match."
* * *
1:38:09 A.M. EDT
The Last Celt
Liam's scuffed, thrift shop sneakers bounded down the stairs. The pub was empty. Donnie Murphy had just left for Forest Hills where he still lived in the tiny brick house he and his late wife had shared for the past twenty years. Donnie trusted Caitlin to take care of the place when he wasn't there; it was part of the deal he made with her in exchange for access to the dingy apartment upstairs.
Caitlin handed Liam a cup of hot tea. "I'll need it to go, sis."
"You'll sit down and drink that before you go traipsing all over town in the middle of the night."
"But Shamus is waiting for you. He told me to send you up."
Caitlin bristled. "I'm not a servant that he can be summoning at will. Who's Shamus Lynch think he is, the Prince of bloody Wales?"
Liam laughed, slid into a booth. Caitlin brought him a sugar bowl and a dish of shortbread cookies.