Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [41]
Just then, Ryan Chappelle appeared at Nina's shoulder. "I need to see Tony Almeida. Do you know where he is?"
"He's over at financial. I've got him checking bank files and transaction histories on a Taiwanese computer firm and its owner."
"You mean Wen Chou Lee and Green Dragon Computers? Put Jamey on it. We're going to need Tony in the field."
Nina nodded, surprised. "Okay. But how did you know about Lee and Green Dragon? I just found out about it myself and was on my way to brief you."
"Captain Schneider brought me up to speed a few moments ago."
Nina frowned. "Captain Schneider?"
"The captain is part of our Crisis Team, right? Good call on your part, Nina. It doesn't hurt to make political friends on Capitol Hill. Treat Congressman Schneider's daughter right, and he might return the favor someday. CTU can always use a political ally."
"I was only thinking of what was best for the current mission."
"And speaking of the mission, I'm putting Captain Schneider in the field with Tony. They're both ex-Marines, they speak the same institutional jargon, as it were. I think they'll work well together."
Nina hesitated but didn't protest. "I'll... I'll go find Tony."
"No. Keep doing whatever it is you were doing," said Chapelle. "I'll brief Agent Almeida myself."
* * *
3:11:19 A.M. EDT
The Last Celt
Caitlin had swept and mopped the floor, stacked the dried mugs on the rack, and polished the bar. More than an hour had passed since Liam had left for the subway, and Caitlin estimated he was halfway to Brooklyn by now. She looked around the bar, but there was nothing left to do. Tossing the last of her cold tea down the drain, she prepared to climb the stairs to her tiny apartment.
Caitlin had been stalling because Shamus was up there, waiting. He hadn't made a sound in more than half an hour and she was hoping he'd fallen asleep. Shamus did that, more often than not, on the nights he stayed with her — especially after he'd had two or three beers. Caitlin knew his routine and kept the tiny refrigerator upstairs well stocked with Sam Adams. Caitlin knew Shamus was expecting more from her than sharing a beer and some television. She never, ever offered, but he'd forced himself on her twice.
Over the past few weeks Shamus had felt increasingly pressured — something to do with his business — and the tension had revealed a cruel side to his personality. It was during this time that he began to pressure her for physical satisfaction, then forced himself on her.
The first time was two weeks ago. She'd tried to fend him off, but then she'd surrendered quietly rather than awaken her brother. The second time was only a few days ago. Liam had spent the night with a friend in the neighborhood. Shamus got a little drunk and a little rough, and so she'd surrendered again.
Upon reflection, Caitlin decided she had once liked Shamus, but she'd never loved him. Now she didn't even like him.
Even now Caitlin was torn about the situation. She and her brother owed their survival to Shamus's generosity. He'd helped them when they were both desperate, jobless, and nearly homeless. For a while Caitlin had even convinced herself that Shamus was genuinely fond of her. Only lately, when the relationship turned possessive, had she come to realize that Shamus was only exploiting the gratitude she felt toward him for his own ends, and that his generosity was a sham.
If a man demands something in return for his help, that's not generosity, is it? That's a transaction.
Caitlin started when someone pounded on the stout front door. She glanced at the clock, then tentatively approached the entrance, if only to assure herself the doors were locked, the bolt secure. The pounding came again, louder than before.
Caitlin put her face against the wood, peered between the cracks. In the dim glow of a nearby streetlight, she saw a man with an intense gaze and sandy-blond hair standing on the sidewalk. He was athletically built, dressed in dark clothes. He must