Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [49]
"Relax! I'm not going to hurt you," Tony said in what he thought was a reassuring tone. The woman calmed for a moment, then spied the 9mm in Tony's hand and began to scream.
"Look, I'm leaving, I'm leaving," Tony said, lowering the weapon.
He quickly moved into a maze of cubicles and workstations. The area was lit by overhead fluorescent lights, crammed with gutted computers, loose motherboards, wire bundles in rainbow colors, dangling circuits, soldering irons, and tools.
Progress through the factory was slow because Tony feared ambush. After a thorough search of each cubicle he finally found someone else. An Asian man with a long ponytail, perhaps twenty-five years old, was lying facedown on the concrete floor, blood pooling around two holes punched into his abdomen. A.45 was still clutched in the man's right hand. Tony kicked the weapon into a corner, cautiously checked for a pulse, found none.
Then Tony discovered a staircase partially hidden behind a large bulletin board. He took the steps two at a time. At the top he pushed through a steel fire door, into a suite of offices. The area was large and dimly lit by recessed fixtures in the ceiling, the space broken up by cramped cubicles, sparsely furnished. A bank of chipped and dented metal filing cabinets ran along one wall. The carpet was stained and shabby.
Down a short hallway Tony found glass double doors; beyond that, a brilliantly lit, spotless, air-conditioned, air-scrubbed space dominated by a massive mainframe computer and two large workstations. Captain Schneider was in one of the stations, looming over a young Asian man slumped in an office chair. She gripped him by the scruff of his chic sports jacket, the barrel of her service revolver pressed against the back of his skull.
When Tony pushed through the doors, captor and captive looked up. Captain Schneider's relief was evident, though she quickly tried to hide it.
"About time," she said.
"I had to call for backup."
Tony drew a pair of plastic cuffs from his jacket, slapped them on the prisoner's wrists. The man was missing the little finger of his left hand; on his forearm the edges of a purple tattoo were visible below the cuffs.
"Watch the material, daddy-O," the man complained. "This is an Italian suit. The jacket alone costs more than an American flatfoot earns in three whole months of taking bribes."
Tony leaned close to the man's face. "Tough guy, eh?"
"His name is Saito," Captain Schneider said. "A visitor to our shores, from Japan..."
She was interrupted by a crashing sound, loud voices. Seconds later, Agent Chet Blackburn and another member of the assault team — clad in head-totoe helmets and body armor, assault rifles raised and ready — hustled into the computer room, their chukkas scuffing the polished floor.
Blackburn put up his weapon, flipped the visor open. "Nice assault, Almeida. You, too, ma'am. Doesn't look like you guys needed our help."
"Wasn't me, Chet. Captain Schneider's the gung-ho jarhead."
Chet chuckled. "Maybe CTU should sign the lady up."
Tony couldn't hide his irritation. Captain Schneider holstered her weapon, helped the prisoner out of the chair. Blackburn noticed a long decorative chain dangling from the man's belt. He reached out and tore it off, rolled the silver links around his leathery black hand.
Saito studied the faces around him, then displayed an arrogant smirk. "This has been a lot of fun and all..." He winked at Jessica. "Especially meeting you, missy. But right now I need to confer with legal counsel."
* * *
5:11:54 A.M. EDT
Kahlil's Middle Eastern Foods
Hands in his pocket, eyes downcast, Jack entered the grocery store. Brass bells chimed as he pushed through the door. The interior of the store was surprisingly small and cramped. Narrow aisles and far too many goods piled one atop the other made the place feel claustrophobic. There was a vast array of products jammed into a limited space, but unlike most New York delicatessens, which copiously stocked beer, wine, and malt liquor in their refrigerator