Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [46]
"Son of a..." Tony switched off the engine, secured the vehicle. Then he drew his P228 and took off after his partner. He rounded the corner in time to see Jessica race up East Third, boots clicking on the sidewalk. Near the Green Dragon loading dock, she drew a Marine Corps-issue Beretta 92F from her jacket.
Someone cried out a warning in Chinese. A shot struck the concrete near Captain Schneider's boot. She aimed her weapon in the direction of the roof, squeezed off two shots. There was a howl of surprise and pain; a body plunged down the side of the building, hit the sidewalk with a wet smack. Feet pumping, Tony was about ten yards from Jessica when the Dodge truck roared out of the loading dock so fast the woman barely had time to roll out of its way. The vehicle bounced into the street in a shower of sparks, crossed two lanes of traffic, and sped away.
Tony turned to check on Captain Schneider. She was running up the loading ramp, firing. One man pitched off the raised platform, the AK-47 still in his grip.
"Wait! It might be a trap!" Tony called.
Ignoring him, Jessica burst through the double doors and stormed into the building, gun blazing.
* * *
4:42:24 A.M. EDT
Tatiana's Tavern
"Don't lie to me, Mr. Timko. We know you helped a man named Jack Bauer last night."
Frank Hensley, flanked by a pair of FBI agents, leaned against the bar. Waiting for Georgi Timko to reply, he scanned the tavern's cheap yet suspiciously tidy interior: tables, chairs, booths, a wall-sized mirror behind the bar. Hensley could smell fresh paint.
Georgi gazed impassively at the FBI agent. Hensley and his men had swept in for a predawn raid, searching for Jack Bauer. By the time the Federal agents arrived, however, all evidence of the violence the night before had been eradicated, the bodies disposed of. Georgi was confident. He knew an FBI search would turn up nothing he did not want to be found.
"I don't know this Bauer fellow," said Georgi. "Perhaps if you describe him."
"We know he was here. We found Bauer's Glock outside, in the parking lot," said Hensley, displaying the weapon stashed in a clear evidence bag. "This weapon was used to kill two Federal marshals."
Timko shrugged. "Never saw it before. Perhaps it belongs to one of my customers. Many of them come from... how do you say it? Broken homes and troubled backgrounds." He smiled.
Another agent arrived, conferred quietly with Hensley. Timko knew the man was telling his superior that a search had turned up nothing but the Glock. Timko suppressed a chuckle, knowing he'd been successful. All they found was what he wanted them to find...
* * *
4:55:04 A.M. EDT
Brooklyn/Queens Expressway
The dark horizon bled color, dull purple edging out the black. Though the steel span of the Brooklyn Bridge was still swathed in shadows, the first hint of dawn was touching the sky. Jack drove past the ramp that would take them across the bridge to lower Manhattan. The city's skyline, dominated by the twin World Trade Towers looming over Battery Park, was a mass of mammoth black boxes dotted with bars of lights and topped with peaks, spires, spidery antenna arrays.
Caitlin, her fragile features pensive in the dim dashboard light, had said little beyond offering directions since they'd left Queens. Though Jack was itching to interrogate her further, he held back. He knew the worry she felt for her brother was clouding her thoughts, and Jack doubted he would get much useful information out of her in any case.
The cell chirped. It was Nina, with intelligence information on the leads he'd provided CTU.
"Interpol identified the man from the image you transmitted to us," she began. "Shamus Lynch is an alias for Patrick Duggan. For decades, he and his brother, Finbar Duggan, were international arms smugglers for the Irish Republican Army and the PLO. Both men are suspected of involvement in several bombings and attempted bombings in Northern Ireland. The brothers were born in Hillsborough, a small town south of Belfast. Their father was beaten by British