24 Declassified: Operation Hell Gate

19. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 3 P.M. AND 4 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

Doris Soo Min’s neck itched. She hated it when someone stood behind her. Now three people hovered there — Milo and Jamey and that creepy Ryan Chappelle.

The intercom buzzed. “That’s the call,” said Jamey. Doris hit the button. “Hello,” she said tremulously. “Good afternoon. My name is Georgi Timko. Our mutual friend Jack Bauer tells me you have information I require to play my role in today’s drama.” “Ohmygodohmygod…Is that a Russian accent?” “Ukrainian,” Timko replied, “but I speak Russian like a Muscovite, thanks to a wonderful KGB education.”

Doris tapped her keyboard. “I’m about to send you the data we have on the JFK strike. Are you ready to receive?”

“Ready…Yes, the data is here. Now let us discuss this mission CTU wants me to perform.”

Doris did. Excitedly. In Russian.

Griffin and Shamus watched the tiny screen, currently displaying a map of Queens. On a street not too far from the store, a blip flashed intermittently.

Griff frowned. “Someone has the attaché case, that’s for certain.”

“It’s close,” said Shamus. “Less than a mile away and moving. Maybe Liam’s bringing it back to us like I told him to.”

“No, it’s moving in the opposite direction, toward Queens Center Mall.”

Griffin handed the tracer to Shamus. “Take the Mercedes and finish this. I’ll use the van to pick up the package at the airport and deliver it to Taj.”

Shamus slipped a 9mm into his jacket. Griff faced him. “This is it, brother. You’ll never see this place again. By midnight we’re on a plane to the Cayman Islands. One more job and we leave America behind forever.”

Shamus nodded, face grim. Griffin squeezed his arm. “Take care of the boy. We’ll meet at the bridge tonight.”

Nina Myers burst into Ryan Chappelle’s office without knocking.

“I just heard from the National Transportation Safety Board.”

Ryan looked up from his computer screen. “What did they say?”

“There is not sufficient evidence to ground air traffic around these crucial airport hubs. Quote, unquote.”

“Christ. How much evidence do they need?”

“More than we gave them, apparently. The head administrator cited the economic damage such a grounding could cause; the public’s reaction might send ripples through the travel and air shipping industries.”

Ryan scowled. “They’re not seeing the bigger picture. What kind of public relations disaster will they be facing if the terrorists succeed in just one of today’s attacks!”

Nina shrugged. The point was moot. The NTSB had made their decision. “What are you going to do?”

“What choice is there? I have to go with the tactical solution.”

“That’s your call, Ryan. The other administrators will back you up, but this operation is under your command.”

Nina knew that Ryan Chappelle was in middle-management hell. If he made the right choice, he might get a pat on the back, or perhaps even a depart mental citation — mainly he would get to keep his job. If he made the wrong choice, his career would effectively be over.

Ryan slapped his palms on the desk and stood.

“We’re going. Activate all tactical teams. Red Alert nationwide. I want both Crisis Management Teams to assemble in the situation room in five minutes.”

Prolix Security was located inside one of the older skyscrapers above Forty-second Street along Fifth Avenue. According to the building directory, the Prolix offices occupied one half of the twenty-sixth floor. Jack and Caitlin entered the building hand-inhand and walked right up to the first-floor security desk.

A bored guard looked up at their approach. “Can I help you?”

“Hi,” said Jack. “My name is Norm Bender and this is my wife, Rita. I used to work for Felix Tanner at YankeeLife Insurance up in Boston before he moved over to Prolix. The wife and I were in the town and got to talking about old Felix, so we were wondering if we could pop in and pay him a visit?”

“One moment, sir. I’ll see if Mr. Tanner is in the building.”

The security guard lifted the receiver of his desk phone, dialed a four-digit extension, and spoke for a minute. When the guard hung up, he was all smiles. “Mr. Tanner’s secretary told me to send you right up. Twenty-sixth floor, the elevator on the right.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, relieved the guard had not asked him for identification.

Jack and Caitlin were the only people on the elevator. When the doors closed she let out a breath. “Glad we freshened up at that restaurant. I want to look presentable. But what do I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. Let me do the talking. When Tanner sees me he’s going to know I’m not Norm Bender.” Jack’s features darkened. “After that, it will be Tanner doing all the talking.”

When the elevator doors opened on the twenty-sixth floor, a woman greeted them. “Mr. and Mrs. Bender? I’m Fiona Brice, Mr. Tanner’s personal secretary.”

Fiona Brice was a tall, poised, and elegant African-American woman, about thirty. She wore a scarlet Ann Taylor suit, her long straightened ebony hair in a French twist. A string of pearls circled her throat.

“Mr. Tanner is very pleased to hear from both of you. If you will please follow me.”

She led them past a deserted reception desk and down a long, carpeted hallway. They passed by several offices, all furnished, yet strangely vacant. Jack saw no personal items of any kind on the desks, the walls, the shelves. The computers were idle, the chairs neatly tucked under the desks next to empty trash cans.

“As you can see, our staff is attending a special conference today. Only a skeleton crew is on hand.”

Fiona paused to allow them to catch up. “Mr. Tanner’s office is down this hall and around the bend. He occupies the corner office, with a view of Fifth Avenue.”

Jack displayed a flashy grin. “That’s Felix. He was always a corner office kind of guy.”

As they approached the bend, Jack reached into his jacket, clutched the.45’s handle. He was ready to subdue Felix Tanner the moment the man recognized he was a fraud.

At the corner, Fiona Brice paused again. She faced them, opened her mouth to speak — and Jack heard a muffled pop, followed by a supersonic crack.

“Get down!” Jack cried, pushing Caitlin to the carpeted floor.

Fiona Brice swayed on her high heels, startled. Then she dropped limply to the floor. Caitlin screamed when she saw the bloody hole in the back of the woman’s head.

Somewhere a door opened, then slammed.

“Move!” hissed Jack, pushing Caitlin into one of the deserted offices, under a desk. Then he was gone, into the hall or another office, she didn’t know.

Sick with fright, Caitlin cowered in the empty office. She heard voices speaking in a language she didn’t recognize. A shadow appeared in the doorway. Then came the pounding chatter of an automatic weapon, filling the room. Caitlin whimpered as bullets chewed up the desk and shattered the plaster above her head.