24 Declassified: Operation Hell Gate

18. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2 P.M. AND 3 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

Mrs. Katherine Elizabeth Hensley was a California bottled-blond with platinum highlights, a tanning bed complexion, and a wealthy father who was an esteemed Federal Court judge. She lived in a mock Tudor cottage separated from the road by a swath of lush green grass. Low trees hugged the stone walls, and dense, tall shrubs framed an arched doorway. A picture window with vertical blinds looked out on the quiet street, but most of the windows were hidden from the street in the back of the house.

Tony stopped the CTU van across the winding boulevard, under a sprawling eucalyptus tree. Jessica Schneider displayed her cell phone. “Should I call Mrs. Hensley, let her know we’re coming?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait. Something’s not right.”

Jessica fished in her purse, pretended to brush her hair while she scoped the area. “I don’t see anything.”

“Look up the block. The jet-black ’84 Mustang GT with the Cobra R chrome wheels and Pirelli tires. It’s too crass and showy for this neighborhood. That’s a gang-banger’s car.”

Jessica checked the rearview mirror. “That car behind us has a jacked suspension.”

“That’s a Nissan 300ZX Turbo. It doesn’t belong here, either. This neighborhood has been invaded.”

“What do we do?”

“We’ll approach the house, but carefully. For all we know, we might be dealing with a burglary ring or—”

A woman’s sudden scream was followed by shattering glass. Marine Captain Jessica Schneider bolted out the door and across the street before Tony could stop her.

“Christ, not again,” he moaned, racing after her.

By the time she reached the path to the house, the Captain had her.45 drawn. When she reached the entrance, she flattened herself against the wooden door. Tony was still twenty yards away when a figure in black leather lunged at the Captain from the thick bushes flanking the arched entranceway.

The man smashed her against the door and dashed the weapon out of her hand. Still running, Tony spied a flash of steel, saw the eight-inch blade penetrate the Captain’s shoulder to the hilt. Despite the horrific wound, she fought back.

Suddenly the door opened inward. Jessica Schneider and her attacker tumbled inside the house, and the door slammed. Without slowing, Tony veered to the right and ran toward the huge picture window. He drew his 9mm, snapped the safety off, and jumped.

Momentum carried him through the glass, but the vertical blinds entangled his feet and Tony landed on his side. He felt more than heard a supersonic crack as a bullet passed over his head, and Tony rolled behind a massive couch. He was in a living room, on a thick cream-colored rug. Near the fireplace, two young Asian men struggled with Mrs. Hensley. In the opposite corner Tony spied the shooter, fired twice. The double-tap splashed the man’s brains onto the peach-colored walls.

Still on the floor, Tony twisted around, fired again. One of the men yelped and let go of the woman. He was a clear target now, and Tony pumped a shot into his heart. He flew back against the fireplace and dropped, scarlet staining the virgin carpet.

The last man gripped the woman’s long blond hair, held a razor-sharp butterfly knife to her throat. He barked something in Cantonese. Tony’s eyes narrowed as he aimed and fired again. The bullet struck the man’s knee and he went down. Tony rose and fired a second round into the writhing, screaming man, and his cries abruptly ceased.

Tony bolted past the sobbing woman, kicked open a door. On the other side, Jessica Schneider was still struggling against one assassin. The other lay dead or unconscious in the marble entranceway. Tony grabbed the Asian man by his long black hair, yanked him backward. The assassin lunged. Tony kicked him in the throat. There was a crunch as the Asian’s larynx was crushed. Choking, he fell backward, legs kicking as he gasped for air. Tony ignored the dying man, checked Jessica’s wounds.

The knife was still buried in her shoulder. She gritted herteeth as he sliditout.There wasalot of blood, but no artery had been pierced. The Captain looked up at Tony through glassy eyes. Her face was pale and beaded with sweat, and Tony feared she was going to pass out.

“Stay with me!” he yelled.

Jessica opened her eyes, focused. Then she grinned sheepishly. “Guess I was too much of a Marine, huh?”

“You’ll live. But I’m going to get you to a hospital.”

She waved him off. “Take me to the CTU infirmary. This day isn’t over yet. You still need me.”

Tony offered her a faint smile while he tried to staunch the flow of blood. “Always the cowboy, right Captain?”

“I’m from Texas. It’s in the blood.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose. “So I see.”

Mrs. Hensley appeared in the doorway, her blouse ripped, jeans torn, clutching the jamb for support. She had a nasty bruise on the side of her face; otherwise she was nearly as colorless as Captain Schneider.

From the floor the Captain spoke. “Mrs. Hensley? Are you all right?”

Wide green eyes stared at the female Marine. The stunned woman nodded.

Tony stepped up to Mrs. Hensley. “My name is Tony Almeida. I’m an agent from the Counter Terrorist Unit. Do you have any idea why your ex-husband wants you dead?”

Ryan Chappelle called an emergency video conference with the other regional directors of Counter Terrorist Units across the nation.

“As you can see from the briefing material I’ve sent to all of you, we’ve determined beyond a reasonable doubt that unknown terrorists are targeting six airports in five major urban areas for multiple strikes scheduled to commence in less than two and a half hours.

“From the intelligence we’ve uncovered here in Los Angeles and with our agents in the field, we’ve concluded that the goal of these terrorists is to shoot down a large number of civilian airliners in an effort to bring air commerce to a halt and cripple the nation’s economy.

“Fortunately, we were able to get a digital outline of the plot, down to the smallest detail. That is why I propose we assemble strike teams in each of these cities, place them in strategic locations around each of the airports. When zero hour comes, we’ll be ready…”

“It’s risky,” said Phillip Keenan, RD of CTU, Seattle.

“It’s an opportunity,” countered Chappelle. “With all our tactical elements in place, we have the potential for a perfect storm, a sweep of terrorist suspects larger than any in history. This raid could be a real feather in all of our caps.”

“I met Frank Hensley after he returned from the Gulf War, at a party at UCLA. He was still in the Army, waiting to be discharged. I was majoring in art history; he was working toward his law degree. We got married the following June…Frank was in kind of a hurry.”

Katherine Hensley seemed small and fragile after the attack. As Tony drove back to CTU, she sat next to him in the passenger seat up front. Eyes downcast, the bruises on her face, throat, and breasts livid against her tan, Mrs. Hensley answered questions posed to her in an emotionless monotone.

From the backseat, Captain Schneider strained to hear the woman’s soft voice over the muted road noise. A blanket, bandages, and a painkilling shot from the first aid kit were all the medical care she would accept until they got back to CTU. Jessica was determined to interrogate Katherine Hensley herself. “How was the marriage?”

“When we first met, I thought Frank was the strong, silent type. Too late I found out he was just a man who never talked — never to me, anyway. People…people who knew him before the war…they all said he’d changed.”

“Changed? How?”

“Frank was captured by the Iraqis. He was a prisoner for several weeks. I guess he had a pretty rough time because Frank would never, ever talk about it. When the war ended he served out the rest of his enlistment, then quit the Army.”

Captain Schneider, face pale and shiny with perspiration, fought hard to focus on the woman’s stumbling replies, to ignore the throbbing pain from the stab wound, the dizziness from loss of blood. She leaned forward from the backseat. “You said Frank was in a hurry to get married?”

Mrs. Hensley nodded. “I thought it was because his parents both died while he was a teenager, that he wanted stability in his life. But after he joined the FBI, our lives were anything but stable.”

“The job affected him?”

“Frank took on dangerous assignments. He worked undercover and things between us became…tense. Then I found out he’d been having an affair with a coworker and I filed for divorce. In the end, I think my father was more upset than I was. Dad had helped Frank get into the Bureau, treated him like a son.”

Mrs. Hensley looked up. She met Jessica’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Maybe you should be having this conversation with Frank’s girlfriend. She knows more about my husband’s business than I do.”

Jack leaped from the bottom rung of the fire escape, landed in a narrow space between two buildings. He moved through a smoky haze to the sidewalk. Fire engines blocked Houston Street, hoses curled along the pavement like thick vines.

Jack slipped through the crowd, rejoined Caitlin.

“You did good,” Jack told her.

Caitlin blinked. “I burned the bloody building down’s what I did. I feel terrible about it, too. I was so stupid, so stupid—”

“It was a terrorist safe house. You may have saved hundreds of lives.”

Caitlin slumped down on the curb. “I need a rest.”

Jack leaned against a Village Voice stand. What he needed most right now was a CTU Crime Scene Unit, an “autopsy team” to work with local authorities and gather intelligence from the remains of the terrorist safe house on the sixth floor of the burning building and the shattered missile launchers in the ruined elevator. But the establishment of field offices in some cities was slow in coming, and often resisted by entrenched bureaucracies like the FBI, or local law enforcement agencies concerned with protecting their own turf. New York City was just one political hornets’ nest since its police department had its own counterterrorist team in place. Richard Walsh was lobbying hard to increase CTU’s presence, but change was coming slowly.

Jack’s cell chirped. He listened while Nina told him about CTU’s massive tactical response to the terrorist threat. Jack told Nina what he’d discovered at Wexler Storage.

“They are going to have a tough time hitting the New York airports now. I’ve destroyed the missile launchers stored here and killed most of their operatives. Except for the leaders, Frank Hensley, the Lynch brothers, and Taj Ali Kahlil, the New York cell has been neutralized.”

“We’re not so sure about that, Jack,” said Nina. “A missile launcher got away from us at Green Dragon, LA. It will turn up somewhere. And Omar Bayat has yet to turn up.”

“What have you found out about Felix Tanner?”

“Tanner used to work for YankeeLife Insurance, a firm that specialized in insurance for airline clients. Tanner has since moved over to the CEO’s spot at Prolix Security. Day to day, he works out of his midtown Manhattan office.

“I’ll need the personnel files from YankeeLife downloaded to my PDA and then I’m on my way,” said Jack.

“Not so fast, Agent Bauer.” It was Ryan Chappelle speaking. Jack was surprised Nina had not warned him the Administrative Director was on the line. “We need you to take down the rest of the New York cell, Jack. That’s your first priority. You hurt them with the attack on the storage building, but they still have the resources to carry out the JFK attack. The FBI and local authorities are not cooperating with us, so it’s up to you.”

“Listen, I can’t do it, Ryan, but I think I know someone who can.”

Jack explained his plan. Ryan was — no surprise— highly skeptical.

“Trust me, Ryan,” said Jack. “This will work. Finding Tanner is more important than anything else right now.”

“Listen, Jack,” said Nina. “There’s more to deal with than Tanner. Tony Almeida and Captain Schneider interrogated Hensley’s ex-wife. Turns out Frank Hensley had an extramarital affair two years ago. The woman in question was Fiona Brice, an FBI stenographer working in the New York office—”

“Can we find her?”

“We found her, Jack. Fiona Brice is currently employed by Prolix Security. She’s Felix Tanner’s personal secretary.”

Taj was gone but the Lynch brothers would see him soon, at the bridge. Griff glanced at his watch.

“The shipment arrives in ninety minutes. That gives us an hour and a half to clean up the mess before we can cut and run.”

“Do you think Liam still has the case?” Shamus asked.

“I think we should determine that right now. If he does have the attaché case, this will solve our problem.”

Griffin drew a black box remote control box from his jacket. On its featureless surface the device had one gray button and a tiny liquid crystal display. With his thumb, Griff pressed the button.

Jack and Caitlin were making their way to a subway entrance when Jack’s cell chirped again.

“This is Special Agent Carlos Ferrer, D.C. Division,” said the stranger’s voice. “Ryan Chappelle sent me to rendezvous with you and pick up an Irish national named Caitlin O’Connor. Is the woman with you now?”

“She’s close,” said Jack.

“Good. When can we link up?”

“I have to take care of something before I can meet you,” Jack replied. “After I’m done, I will deliver Caitlin to you in person. Let’s establish a suitable

place and time to meet.”

They did, and the call ended.

“So now what?” Caitlin demanded. “Are you going to dump me on somebody else?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Jack replied.

“I’m a big girl, Jack Bauer. I can take care of myself.”

Jack stared intensely at Caitlin. Uncomfortable, she looked away. “What’s the matter?”

“Is your last name O’Connor?”

Caitlin blinked. “Yes. What about it?”

Jack frowned. “How did Agent Ferrer know your last name, when I didn’t?”