Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [55]
"Good work, Agent Almeida. Great work, in fact," said Ryan, slapping his back. "You and Captain Schneider are to be commended. I just got off the phone with Chet Blackburn. He told me you two captured a mainframe computer with its database intact."
"That's right, Ryan. Unfortunately we got there too late to stop the transfer of another Long Tooth missile launcher to another location. We don't know where it's headed, yet, and that should be our priority. Has Jamey dug up any information on that truck?"
"She examined the footage you sent her, but even with enhanced imaging filters she couldn't get a license number off the plate. Nina issued an all-points bulletin, but there are a lot of white Dodge cargo vans in Los Angeles..."
"We should start with the vehicles registered to Green Dragon and all the factory's current employees. Then we should check the airports. Cargo shippers especially..."
"Jamey and Nina are on top of it, Tony. It's more important that CTU gets access to the data on that computer, so I've dispatched Milo Pressman with a Cyber Unit."
Tony nodded. "Captain Schneider also captured a prisoner. I'm on my way to interrogate him. His name is Hideki Saito, a Japanese national from Tokyo. He came here about eighteen months ago. His visa expired a month ago."
Tony displayed his PDA. "I'm going to run his name and picture through the Japanese National Police database. I'm certain Saito is Yakuza, so the Tokyo Prefecture will probably have a file on him."
Ryan was surprised "Yakuza? You're sure?"
"Definitely," Tony replied. "A member of an old clan, too. Very traditional. Somehow he messed up in the past so maybe I can use that against him during the interrogation. It might be the psychological hook I need to get inside of him."
"How do you know all this, if I may ask?"
"The little finger on Saito's left hand is missing. As atonement for his mistake — whatever it was — he was compelled to sit in the presence of those he offended, cut his own finger off, and wrap it in silk. Then he presented it to the head of his clan and asked for forgiveness."
* * *
6:12:52 A.M. EDT
Hoyt Street Subway Station
Liam stared at the policeman. "I can't go with you, Officer. I have to go to school..."
"That answer doesn't cut it, son," the man replied tersely. "You've already broken the law by going down onto those tracks, and I think you're lying about what's in that case, too..."
He was interrupted by the radio on his shoulder. "All available units. Emergency alert. Immediate backup requested. Tactical law enforcement action imminent. All entrances to Atlantic Avenue are to be secured immediately, the avenue to be closed off to all vehicular traffic. All available units respond..."
The officer keyed his microphone. "This is MTA, Hoyt Street. Moving to respond, over."
He faced Liam, and the man's expression hardened. "I have no choice but to let you go this time. But if I ever see you again I will find out what the hell you're up to."
* * *
6:39:09 A.M. EDT
Kahlil's Middle Eastern Foods
Four Afghanis in traditional garb led Jack through a maze of partitions under the century-old Brooklyn brownstone. Soon they came to a flat wooden wall with a single door hanging on two shiny steel hinges and ushered him inside.
Jack scanned his surroundings warily. The basement room was triangular-shaped with crumbling sandstone walls on two sides. Wooden crates were stacked against the stone wall; above them a small, barred window peered onto the street from sidewalk level. A massive water heater ticked in the corner, and the space was hot, dry, and stuffy. The only illumination was provided by a naked sixty-watt bulb mounted in the ceiling, and the tiny glimmer of sunlight that managed to penetrate the decades of grime layering the window.
Someone slammed the door, shaking the cheap partitioned wall. The burly Afghani in a skullcap pushed Jack onto the pile of crates. The older man in the ratty suit nodded to his comrades, spoke