Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [79]
Jamey cross-referenced the name on a dozen databases. The New York files came up without hits, so she widened her search parameters.
"Got her," Jamey declared a moment later. "Mrs. Katherine Hensley returned to Los Angeles a year ago.
She lives in Brentwood now. Runs an art studio out of her home."
* * *
12:50:14 P.M. EDT
FBI Headquarters, Federal Plaza, Manhattan
The silence was cut by a gentle chirp. Hensley swung his chair away from the window and its view of Foley Square, placed the cell phone to his ear.
"My brother is dead." The voice on the other end was flat, emotionless.
"I know. I just received word," Hensley replied. "You said your brother could handle Bauer. Apparently you were wrong. Do you want me to take care of him myself?"
"No," Taj replied. "Thanks to Felix Tanner and our mutual friend in Washington, Bauer will die very soon."
Taj Ali Khalil ended the conversation. Hensley cursed, tossed the cell on his desk.
Since Dante Arete's capture by CTU, things had become increasingly more complicated, until he was forced to sacrifice the entire Atlantic Avenue cell just to stop Jack Bauer. Taj went along with the plan, confident his brother could finish Jack Bauer. But somehow the CTU agent managed to escape the trap they had set for him.
Now it was up to Taj and his personal assassin, Omar Bayat.
* * *
12:51:42 P.M. EDT
CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Shoeless, Doris walked into Jamey's workstation and plunked down on a chair. Jamey and Milo had been surfing through the FBI database. They both looked up.
"I cracked the final code," Doris said. "This new-type North Korean security software is tough, but with Frankie's help I broke down the last firewall two minutes ago. I've got all the data on screen right now."
"What did you find?" Milo asked.
Doris waved the question aside. "It's, like, instructions, I'm sure. But I can't read them."
"Why can't you read them? Are they in some kind of code?"
"It's in Korean. I just need a translation program."
Jamey and Milo were both puzzled. "Aren't you Korean?" Jamey asked.
"Duh, I was born in California," Doris replied.
"But it says on your profile you're a linguist."
"I am a linguist. I speak fluent French and Russian. I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a little girl, so what's the point of learning Korean? Have you ever heard of any great Korean ballet companies?"
Jamey passed Doris a zip drive. "Here's a translation program. Let me know when you're finished..."
* * *
12:52:14 P.M. EDT
Wexler Business Storage
Houston Street, Lower Manhattan
Caitlin crossed the sidewalk, walked in front of the squad car parked at the curb. Only one officer was there now, sitting behind the wheel. He offered Caitlin a polite smile as she passed.
A bell rang when Caitlin entered the waiting room of Wexler Business Storage. Sunlight streamed through the streaked plate-glass window; rickety steel chairs lined the dirty beige walls. A large poster listed storage bin sizes and rental fees, on a monthly and yearly basis. The waiting room was deserted, so she approached the counter.
She leaned over the scratched and dented surface, to peer behind the counter. Caitlin noticed a door, completely papered over with a huge five-year calendar. Next to that Caitlin saw a small office through a window in the interior wall.
The door opened and an elderly, heavy-set black woman emerged. On the jacket of her pantsuit a plastic nametag identified the woman as Mamie Greene. A blue cap with the Yankees logo topped her short, tightly curled white hair. She smiled at Caitlin. "Bin number?"
Caitlin blinked. "I beg your pardon."
"What's your bin number, miss?"
"Oh, I'm not here about a storage bin. I saw the help wanted sign on the door and, well, I..."
The woman made a face. "You'll have to fill out an application. Follow me."
Mamie Greene lifted a section of the counter and Caitlin stepped through to the other side. They went through the door, into the office where the woman ushered Caitlin to a chair in front of a cluttered desk. Mamie crossed the room, rifled