Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [72]
Somewhere in his horrified mind, Milo deduced that the caustic chemical was probably hydrochloric acid, an excellent conductor of electricity. A shower of the stuff would effectively fry the circuits along with anyone tampering with the computer before any data could be recovered.
Choking back the hot bile that rose in his throat, Milo watched as the chemical soup continued to cook away flesh, muscle, hair — until nothing remained but twitching, smoking mounds of flesh and bone.
* * *
10:00:01 A.M. EDT
Brooklyn Promenade
Jack's vision fogged as oxygen deprivation scrambled his brain. Though weakening, he continued to claw at the noose around his throat and struggle against the man who loomed over him. But the Afghani's full weight was on Jack, pinning him to the bench. Ali Kahlil grunted with the effort as he pulled the noose tighter.
Jack could not break the man's grip, so he tried a desperate bid to fool his assassin. Abruptly Jack ceased struggling, went limp. After a long moment the pressure of the noose and the man's weight eased slightly — enough for Jack to suddenly shift position and push upward with all his strength.
The top of Jack's head slammed into Khan's jaw with a satisfying crack. Jack saw stars, felt a sharp pain, but he knew the Afghani was hurting more. Khan Ali Kahlil attempted to choke him again, but Jack managed to get both hands around the cord. Though the rough hemp ripped the palms of his hands, the rope no longer strangled Jack. Now the dog was controlling the leash, and Jack used his weight to throw Khan Ali Kahlil backward, against the aluminum guardrail. He felt the man's ribs crack, heard the Afghani howl.
Khan Ali Kahlil still gripped the garrote, and that was his mistake. Younger, stronger, and better trained, Jack recovered immediately. Now he used his own weight to press Khan against the rail while he pummeled the man with his elbows, the backs of his arms. Finally Jack seized the Afghani man's wrist and twisted out of his grip. The bones in Khan's forearms twisted, then snapped. He howled and released the cord. An elbow to his face shattered Khan's nose, sending black blood cascading down the front of his loose cotton shirt.
Jack could easily finish the man, but he needed Khan alive and as cooperative as possible. He whirled, pinned Khan's good arm behind his back.
"Surrender," Jack cried, pressing the man against the Promenade's aluminum guardrail. "Tell me what your brother is doing with the Lynch brothers and Felix Tanner. Tell me where the missile launchers are hidden. Cooperate and I can guarantee the President of the United States will grant you immunity from all past crimes."
Eyes bright, Khan ceased struggling as he seemed to consider Jack's words. He grinned behind the ooze of blood that gushed from his flattened nose. "I will help you."
Jack stepped back, released the man. "Listen to me, Khan Ali Kahlil. I know that you've made a life for yourself here. Don't throw it all away for a struggle that is not yours, for a dying cause..."
Khan lashed out, slamming Jack's jaw with a balled fist. The blow was meant to crush his throat, but Jack saw it coming and dodged it. Khan turned and jumped over the guardrail. Jack made it to the fence in time to see the man land headfirst on the roadway forty feet below, in the path of rushing traffic. Horns blared, brakes squealed, a woman screamed.
Jack looked away, stumbled to the bench where he'd almost lost his life. The flesh around Jack's throat was raw, his palms gouged and sticky with blood. He stared at the wounds. As the adrenaline drained out of him, his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.
He felt weak and nauseated. He thought of his wife, Teri, his daughter, Kim — now almost a teenager. Who would take care of his family