Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [58]
In her initial panic, Caitlin sought only escape. She walked quickly down Clinton Street, passing century-old brownstones fronted by iron gates and high sandstone stairs. But after several blocks, her steps slowed. Caitlin thought of her brother. It wasn't a given that he'd come and gone already. He might still be making his way to Kahlil's, or he might already be inside. Either way, Liam would likely face the imminent danger she was fleeing unless she did something to find and stop him.
Ashamed of her sudden cowardice, Caitlin stopped and checked her watch. By now two hours had passed since Jack went inside the market. He was sure to come out any minute, she decided, as she turned around and headed back toward the car. She was still two blocks away from Atlantic Avenue when Caitlin found the way suddenly barred. She watched while half a dozen vehicles blocked off the corner of Atlantic Avenue and Clinton Street. Meanwhile an army of NYPD officers moved down every street in an effort to cordon off the surrounding blocks of all traffic.
Stumbling forward, Caitlin could just make out the front of Kahlil's market between two black vans. She stared while two men swathed in black body armor and helmets dragged a struggling Afghani out of the store and pinned him to the sidewalk, where they cuffed his hands behind his back.
"Miss?"
Caitlin jumped, startled. A tall, broad-shouldered New York City cop stared down at her. He offered Caitlin a reassuring smile, even as he blocked her path. "Sorry, miss. You'll have to go another way," the young policeman said. "There's a law enforcement action in progress and traffic is blocked from here."
"But my car..."
The policeman nodded sympathetically. "This whole thing might be over in a few minutes. Then we can get you to your car."
Caitlin nodded, but did not move. Instead, she stared at the drama unfolding less than two blocks away. The cop's eyes followed her gaze and they both watched as an Afghani man in traditional dress was dragged away by the two men in assault gear. Meanwhile other armored men moved forward, to aim what appeared to be short-barreled shotguns at the basement window. Caitlin saw white letters emblazoned on their uniforms: FBI.
With a blast and a gust of smoke, one man fired into the building. Even from this distance Caitlin could hear the sound of breaking glass — then the muffled explosion. Before the noise of the first detonation faded, another man fired a grenade through the delicatessen's plate-glass window.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Caitlin whispered.
As shards from the shattered window rained down on the sidewalk in a silver shower, the armored assault team charged into the market, weapons raised and ready.
* * *
7:11:58 A.M. EDT
Kahlil's Middle Eastern Foods
Jack threw his left arm across his face, buried his nose and mouth in his shirtsleeves to ward off the choking CS gas quickly filling the hot, grimy basement. Jack knew from experience that a cloud of chemical smoke tended to rise, so he remained on the ground, crawling across the floor to reach the dark form crumpled in the corner.
The older man was sprawled on his back, clothes smoldering from the heat of the explosion he'd absorbed. His frayed suit was in tatters, gore staining the shabby fabric from head to toe, and the man's head lolled to one side, jaw shattered. When Jack finally reached him, the man's blackened eyelids opened and their gazes met. He gripped Jack's hand, crushing it with the last of his strength as he tried to gasp out a final word. The sound rattled in his throat and he lay still, fingers limp. Jack fumbled at the man's throat for a pulse, found none.
"Dammit!" Jack knew from the flash and the force of the grenade's concussion that the FBI was using military-type CS gas grenades, in clear violation of federal law enforcement guidelines. They were the same devices the Bureau had used during their ill-fated siege at Waco. According to a still-classified government report Jack had read, those grenades had contributed