“Jamey and Nina are on top of it, Tony. It’s more important that CTU gets access to the data on that computer, so I’ve dispatched Milo Pressman with a Cyber Unit.”
Tony nodded. “Captain Schneider also captured a prisoner. I’m on my way to interrogate him. His name is Hideki Saito, a Japanese national from Tokyo. He came here about eighteen months ago. His visa expired a month ago.”
Tony displayed his PDA. “I’m going to run his name and picture through the Japanese National Police database. I’m certain Saito is Yakuza, so the
Tokyo Prefecture will probably have a file on him.”
Ryan was surprised “Yakuza? You’re sure?”
“Definitely,” Tony replied. “A member of an old clan, too. Very traditional. Somehow he messed up in the past so maybe I can use that against him during the interrogation. It might be the psychological hook I need to get inside of him.”
“How do you know all this, if I may ask?”
“The little finger on Saito’s left hand is missing. As atonement for his mistake — whatever it was — he was compelled to sit in the presence of those he offended, cut his own finger off, and wrap it in silk. Then he presented it to the head of his clan and asked for forgiveness.”
Liam stared at the policeman. “I can’t go with you, Officer. I have to go to school…”
“That answer doesn’t cut it, son,” the man replied tersely. “You’ve already broken the law by going down onto those tracks, and I think you’re lying about what’s in that case, too—”
He was interrupted by the radio on his shoulder. “All available units. Emergency alert. Immediate backup requested. Tactical law enforcement action imminent. All entrances to Atlantic Avenue are to be secured immediately, the avenue to be closed off to all vehicular traffic. All available units respond…”
The officer keyed his microphone. “This is MTA, Hoyt Street. Moving to respond, over.”
He faced Liam, and the man’s expression hardened. “I have no choice but to let you go this time. But if I ever see you again I will find out what the hell you’re up to.”
Four Afghanis in traditional garb led Jack through a maze of partitions under the century-old Brooklyn brownstone. Soon they came to a flat wooden wall with a single door hanging on two shiny steel hinges and ushered him inside.
Jack scanned his surroundings warily. The basement room was triangular-shaped with crumbling sandstone walls on two sides. Wooden crates were stacked against the stone wall; above them a small, barred window peered onto the street from sidewalk level. A massive water heater ticked in the corner, and the space was hot, dry, and stuffy. The only illumination was provided by a naked sixty-watt bulb mounted in the ceiling, and the tiny glimmer of sunlight that managed to penetrate the decades of grime layering the window.
Someone slammed the door, shaking the cheap partitioned wall. The burly Afghani in a skullcap pushed Jack onto the pile of crates. The older man in the ratty suit nodded to his comrades, spoke a command in Pashto, and the others left without a word. Before the door closed behind them, another man entered the dingy chamber.
This one was tall and wiry, perhaps fifty years old, with long stringy arms and legs under a loose-fitting shirt and cotton trousers. A.45 was slung in the man’s belt; on his knobby feet he wore leather sandals. Though not particularly muscular, the Afghani man seemed to exude strength, and he was tall enough that he had to stoop slightly as he faced Jack. His face was narrow, flesh sallow and leathery. His intelligent eyes burned with fierce intensity. His hair was covered by an Afghan turban; the beard that dangled to his chest was streaked with gray. Under his prominent nose, the man’s yellow teeth protruded slightly.
“Are you Taj?” Jack asked. “My brother Griff sent me here with a package.”
The Afghani stared silently at Jack. It was the man in the ratty suit who spoke.
“Why did you break with protocol?” he demanded. “Why did you come here yourself, instead of sending that boy?”
“You need the case—”
“The boy was supposed to bring us the case,” the man interrupted. “Where is he? Where is the case?”
Jack knew from the man’s response that Caitlin’s brother had not yet made his delivery, which was good news. If the boy had made the drop, these Afghanis would probably have killed Jack on the spot. Instead they hesitated, despite their obvious suspicions. Jack knew it was because they were so desperate to take possession of the contents of that case they were willing to take the risk that Jack was an impostor.
“I was being followed,” Jack lied. “I had to ditch the case in case I was captured.”
Jack sensed the man in the suit was wavering, not yet ready to believe Jack’s story, but willing to be convinced. The silent man’s expression was unreadable, so Jack decided to push the envelope, go for broke.
“Listen,” he said in an urgent tone. “The whole plan may be unraveling. I think the Feds are on to us — that’s who was following me, I’m sure of it.”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “What do you propose to do about it?”
“I have to see Felix Tanner. Tanner has to be warned that the whole plan might be compromised.”
The man in the suit became instantly alarmed. The silent man seemed implacable.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Jack cried. “The whole plan is in jeopardy. I have to warn Tanner now, before it’s too late.”
The silent man spoke at last. His voice was soft, but firm. “We must retrieve the attaché case first. Lead me to it, then I will take you to see Tanner.”
“Listen, Taj, we’re all in danger. Just let me speak with Tanner—”
The older man stepped backward, perhaps alarmed by Jack’s urgency. Before he could speak the high window burst inward, showering them all with shards of dirty glass. A dark object landed on the dirt floor. Instinctively, Jack threw himself backward, to land behind the crate he’d been sitting on. But the older man stooped over the object, reaching to pick it up. Jack opened his mouth to cry a warning — then the grenade exploded.
The powerful concussion tossed the man backward, against the wall. Though the older man absorbed the brunt of it, the blast was powerful enough to bowl everyone else over as well. Partially deafened by the noise, Jack could not hear the hissing noise as the gas canister released its noxious contents. But he immediately felt the stinging pain in his eyes, his nose, and he choked against the rising tear gas mist. Through the roaring that still filled his ears, Jack heard a loudspeaker blaring outside.
“This is the FBI. We’ve surrounded the building. There is no way you can escape. Come out with your hands up and you won’t be harmed. ”
11. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7 A.M. AND 8 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
After Jack Bauer had entered Kahlil’s Middle Eastern Foods, the night’s events finally caught up with Caitlin. Alone for the first time, she tried to make sense of what was happening, think through any options.
Caitlin wondered why her brother had not yet arrived at this destination. Had she and Jack missed Liam somehow? Had he delivered the attaché to Taj before they arrived, and was on his way back home to Queens? If so, her unsuspecting brother was heading into the waiting arms of a spitting mad Shamus Lynch, still bound and gagged in the dingy room above the pub.
What if Jack Bauer doesn’t come back? she wondered. What am I supposed to do then?
Jack had ordered her to surrender to the police if he did not return within two hours, but that was something she would never do. She and her brother had overstayed their visas and were illegal aliens. Caitlin didn’t even have a bloody green card — Donnie Murphy was paying her off the books — and there would be hell to pay if the Immigration and Naturalization Service ever caught up with them. If Caitlin were to turn herself in to the authorities, and Jack Bauer was telling her the truth about Shamus’s ties to terrorism, then she and her brother would be tainted by association. And if Liam had done something illegal by delivering that case to Taj, then her brother might be facing criminal charges, trial, and imprisonment.