Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [48]
"Caitlin, try to remember if Shamus mentioned anyone else in connection with his business. Anyone at all."
The young woman massaged her forehead. "He once mentioned a man named Tanner. A big client, he said. Had a funny first name, like Oscar or maybe — no! I remember now. It was Felix. Felix Tanner."
Jack nodded. "How well did Shamus know Taj?"
"I'm pretty sure they never met. Shamus told my brother he did all his business with Taj over the phone."
Ahead, Jack saw the sign for the Atlantic Avenue exit and pulled off the highway. Five minutes later, they were on the avenue itself. From the intelligence Nina sent him, Jack knew this area — called Cobble Hill — featured the largest concentration of Middle Eastern shops and businesses in the city. The area was occupied by Yemenis, Lebanese, Palestinians, and other immigrants from Muslim countries.
"That's the place," said Jack. Caitlin saw the sign: kahlil's middle eastern foods.
Face grim, Jack studied the shop, which sold groceries and prepared foods, exotic spices, Arabic newspapers and magazines.
"I'm going to circle around and park."
Jack located a spot almost in front of the delicatessen. The store took up the ground floor of a century-old, three-story brownstone. The security gate was up, and a New York Post truck rolled up while Jack parked, delivered a stack of the morning edition hot off the presses.
"I want you to hold this stuff," said Jack.
He handed Caitlin his cell phone, the PDA, and the revolver Georgi had given him. Jack reached into his jacket and gave Caitlin his CTU ID, too. After a moment's hesitation, Jack slipped off his wedding ring and added it to the pile. He kept the wallet he'd taken from Shamus Lynch, slipped it into his hip pocket. Then Jack popped the door.
"Where are you going?" Caitlin asked.
"Inside," he told her. "I'm going to try to pass myself off as Shamus Lynch. If Liam shows up, stop him from delivering the case — and don't open it, no matter what."
Caitlin touched Jack's hand. "What about you."
"If I don't come out of there in two hours, I want you to call 911."
9
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5 A.M. AND 6 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
5:00:01 A.M. EDT
Green Dragon Computers, Los Angeles
Tony Almeida ran through the empty loading dock and up the concrete incline. Exhaust fumes from the Dodge cargo van still lingered, though the vehicle and the missile launcher it carried were long gone. Half expecting a sniper's bullet to cut him down, Tony felt his skin prickle as he moved without benefit of cover. He found the supervisor lying at the top of the ramp, dead eyes staring at ducts that crisscrossed the ceiling.
He found the AK-47 on the ground, popped out the banana-shaped magazine, and thrust it into his pocket. Then he checked the assault rifle's chamber for an extra round. Finally he tossed the empty weapon into a Dumpster, satisfied no one could use it against him now.
Tony moved to the door, but before he entered the factory he used his cell phone to call for backup. Ryan Chappelle was unavailable to authorize direct action, so Nina Myers dispatched the Special Assault Team on her own authority as Chief of Staff. Estimated time of arrival: eight minutes.
Tony wasn't happy about calling out Blackburn's men — Ryan Chappelle had been against using the assault team — but neither he nor Nina could see any other way to go. The LAPD weren't equipped to handle potential terrorism, and would ask for things CTU could not provide — like a warrant to enter the premises.
Tony ended the call, pocketed the cell phone. From somewhere inside the factory a shot boomed. Two followed in reply. Tony gripped his P228 with both hands and burst through the factory doors, startling the only occupant — an elderly Chinese woman with skin like old parchment, trembling beside an overturned bucket and fallen mop. She threw her