Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [92]
Helpless, Caitlin whispered a prayer, but refused to look away, choosing to face death squarely. Her determination seemed to shake the youth. He hesitated, the gun wavering.
Powerful arms reached around the teen. One hand gripped his wrist, yanking the gun barrel to the ceiling. In the other hand, Caitlin saw something long and pointed. With a sickening crunch, Jack Bauer thrust a letter opener into the young man's throat, twisting the dull blade to rip through tissue, cartilage, bone. The teen tried to cry out. His mouth gaped, but no sound emerged.
Then the boy's eyes met Caitlin's. She watched in horror, her eyes filling with tears as life, awareness faded... until it was extinguished. Silently, Jack lowered the dying teen to the floor, slipping the Uzi from his grasp. Then Jack reached over the twitching assassin, grabbed Caitlin's wrist hard enough to bruise it. She winced as he jerked her to her feet. Jack's hand was wet and sticky.
"Let's go," he said.
* * *
4:45:46 P.M. EDT
Office of New York Senator William Cheever
Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, D.C.
The Honorable William Cheever appeared appropriately senatorial as he read his opening remarks. Sitting behind the shiny expanse of polished desk, framed by twin American flags, he spoke to the video camera in sober, sonorous tones. The Senator addressed six video monitors, each with the face of a different airline CEO or his representative.
Dennis Spain, out of camera range, ignored Senator Cheever's opening remarks. He'd heard enough of the man's banal platitudes to last a lifetime. Fortunately, he would not have to listen to any more of them.
While the Senator droned on, Spain used the Internet to check the balance of a secret numbered account at Banque Swiss in Zurich, Switzerland. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle when he found that one hundred and fifty million dollars had suddenly appeared in the account, the amount transferred from another account with a Saudi bank in Riyadh.
Spain knew another payment of the same amount would also be his — all he had to do was type a code, reroute the videoconference to another server, where a different host would take control of the conference.
He glanced at the monitors. The airline CEOs all seemed to be listening intently, phony smiles plastered across their bland, corporate faces.
Well, they won't be smiling much longer.
Spain thought about all the things a man could do with three hundred million dollars as he carefully entered the prearranged code. Abruptly Senator Cheever's face was replaced by another. The man's features were covered by a black ski mask; thick wraparound sunglasses obscured his eyes. A black curtain was the only backdrop. Seated on a stool, the man greeted the electronic assemblage.
"You don't need to know my name, though I know all of you."
His voice was an automated buzz, altered so much it no longer resembled a human sound.
"Unless you do as I say, each of your airlines will suffer a severe financial and public relations setback when, in the next two hours, a commercial aircraft from each carrier is shot down with heavy loss of life.
"Such a tragedy can be avoided. If my demands are met, your planes will be safe — for now. If you choose to disobey me, ignore my conditions, then the calamity that will soon unfold will serve as a powerful object lesson to your industry, and to America."
Dennis Spain could hardly contain his amusement. The esteemed Senator from New York was sputtering like the fool that he was. On the monitors, the CEOs registered shock, outrage, disbelief. The masked man continued to speak.
"The real question is whether you will learn from this attack, or suffer more grief in the future because you continue to ignore our cause..."
* * *
4:48:01 P.M. EDT
Prolix Security, Fifth Avenue
Leading with the Uzi, Jack pulled a shaking Caitlin into the hallway. The lighting was dimmer now. Many of the ceiling's recessed