Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [82]
Instead of berating these men, Tarik felt only respect. He was about to pitch in to help when Tarik saw movement through the window of the fire exit. Someone was lurking on the stairwell.
Tarik drew his Uzi and approached the steel door.
* * *
1:09:04 P.M. EDT
Green Dragon Computers
Queens Boulevard, Forest Hills
It took Liam a long time to cross the ten lanes of traffic on Queens Boulevard. Finally he was on the sidewalk, just a few storefronts away from Green Dragon Computers, when a black BMW squealed to a stop in front of the shop. The driver double-parked, blocking Shamus's car, then leaped out.
Liam halted when he saw Taj Ali Kahlil. The Afghani man wore an unadorned white skullcap over a lightweight suit. He strode into the Green Dragon store, an angry scowl darkening his long, narrow face.
Liam ducked into the exterior doorway of a dry cleaner's. An Asian woman inside the shop eyed him warily through the plate-glass window. Breathing hard, he shifted the metal case in his sweaty hands. He'd been dragging that attache around so long, it felt like a bleedin' anchor.
His mind was in turmoil. He never wanted trouble, just a bit of money. Now trouble found him in the shape of a shiny metal attache case and the piece of plastic and silicone it contained. Liam recalled the violence the FBI had used to smash their way into the Brooklyn store and decided Taj must be some kind of crook.
Now Liam didn't know what to do. He thought of his sister, and the world of hurt he was bringing down on her. Maybe if I talk to her, he thought, warn Caitlin that trouble was coming. The last thing Liam wanted to do was jeopardize the only person he had in all the world.
And the next to the last thing Liam wanted to do was face Taj and the Lynch brothers — he knew they were crooks now. Who knew what they would do to him?
So Liam turned and hurried away from the computer store as fast as he could. A few blocks away, he spied a pay phone and dug into his pocket for some coins, dialed The Last Celt. The pub was open now and Caitlin should have been working lunch duty. But it was a stranger who answered on the second ring.
"Can I speak to Caitlin, please?"
"Who's Caitlin?" the voice growled in reply. "There's an apartment upstairs. Is that where this Caitlin lives?"
Liam heard other voices in the background, none he recognized. He stopped talking, but did not hang up.
"Listen, son," the voice said. "My name is Detective McKinney of the New York Police Department. If you know something about the murder of Donnie Murphy you'd better turn yourself in right now."
Liam hung up the receiver down, letting it go like a poisonous snake. Sick with anxiety, he didn't know where to turn. All he wanted to do was lose the attache case and go home. Now it looked like he was stuck with the bloody case, and he had no home to go back to.
* * *
1:10:01 P.M. EDT
Sixth floor, Wexler Business Storage
Houston Street, Lower Manhattan
The fire alarm continued to ring throughout the massive brick building. On the sixth-floor landing, Jack peered through the wire-meshed glass, spied a group of elderly men in turbans and skullcaps frantically trying to load two Long Tooth shoulder-fired missile launchers and a dozen missiles into two large, unmarked wooden crates. A dolly waited near the open doors to the freight elevator to carry the deadly weapons away.
One of the men, younger than the rest, with an Uzi tucked into his sash, turned his head in Jack's direction. Jack ducked behind the door, but not quick enough — he was certain the man had spotted him. Slowly Jack drew the Mark 23 USP from its shoulder holster. A moment later, over the wail of the fire alarms, he heard the handle click, and the metal door opened outward.