Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [12]
Morris chuckled. "Our boy Thompkins? Hardly. Frankly, I'm surprised he learned how to use it."
"So where did he get it?"
"Actually, predictive computers are readily available from certain unscrupulous types, for a rather punishing outlay — say fifty or sixty grand. I haven't seen one this good, however, so I'd bet it's worth a couple of hundred thousand on the open market. When I'm through testing it, I'm going to take it apart and we'll know more."
"Do it quick," demanded Jack.
"Yes, yes, but it's a shame though." Suddenly Morris' tone brightened. "The good news is that once I dissect this, I can reverse engineer it. Build us both a pair and we could clean up, make us a fortune."
"I don't gamble."
Morris chuckled again. "Au contraire, Jack. You gamble every minute of the day."
Jack ignored O'Brian's talk show psychology. "Right now, as a matter of national security, we need to know where Thompkins bought this device and who made it."
"That's the long and short of it. I leave that job to you, my friend..."
Jack hung up just as the fire door opened. Curtis Manning entered, drew a sheaf of papers from the pocket of his bright orange Cha-Cha Lounge sports jacket.
"I gave him a drink of water, took the fingerprints off the plastic glass and sent it back to CTU," Curtis said, handing Jack the top page. "He's not who he says he is."
While Jack scanned the pages, Curtis spoke. "His real name's Max Farrow. Currently he's wanted for the assault of his ex-wife and his stepdaughter in New Jersey, where he's a convicted rapist. He also has one felony and a variety of misdemeanor convictions that are gambling-related. Got himself banned from the Atlantic City casinos for passing bad dice, counting cards, fishing in the dealer box — you name it."
"And the rape conviction?"
"Sentenced to five years, paroled in two," Curtis said. "Farrow bailed out of a halfway house in Passaic last year, probably to avoid that state's sex offender registry, which is public record. At least one member of the victim's family has vowed revenge..."
Jack stuffed the rap sheet into his black leather jacket. "Unlock the holding cell and wait here."
The man didn't look up when Jack Bauer entered. Instead he shifted in his seat and appraised the newcomer with a sidelong glance. As Jack circled the chair, Farrow thrust out his long legs to block his path. Bauer's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead he stepped around the man, turning his back on his prisoner for just a moment.
Max Farrow leaped out of the chair and lunged at Jack, hands outstretched and reaching for Bauer's throat.
Jack was ready. He effortlessly sidestepped the clumsy charge, then grabbed the man's wrist with his left hand. He stepped around Farrow, twisting the man's arm behind him. Farrow was thin, but he was sinewy, and his resistance was substantial. Using leverage, Jack applied even more pressure, until the pain was enough to drop Farrow to one knee.
Bauer attempted to rattle the man further by raising his voice. "You want to hurt me?" he shouted. "Is that what you want? You want to hurt me?"
With his right hand, Jack reached into his leather jacket. When it came out again, the hand was circled by a carbon steel knuckle duster. With soft rubber surfaces to grip the hand and protect the wearer, the high-tech version of the old brass knuckles hugged Bauer's right fist like a glove.
Farrow saw metal and his eyes went wide. "What are you gonna do to me? I have rights! You can't hold me prisoner! You have to turn me over to the cops, you bastard!"
He'd made demands, but Farrow's panicked voice was anything but commanding.
"You're going to tell me a story, Max." Jack voice was a hoarse whisper. "You're going to tell me where you got that computer in your pocket."
"No way, asshole. I'm not a rat..."
Jack brought his brass fist down on the man's chin, cutting the sentence short.
"You're going to tell me where you got that computer, Farrow. Do you hear me?"
Farrow spit blood and stared at the floor. Jack yanked the man to