local trains going in the opposite direction, and a maintenance train that rolled right through the station without stopping.
He decided to wait another ten minutes. If it didn’t come, he’d call it quits and hike the ten blocks over to Northern Boulevard, where he could pick up an R train.
Liam peered down the tracks to the next station in the distance. Lights had appeared — another train at last. He set the attache case down and rubbed the sweat off his hands. Lifting the silver case again, he wondered only briefly what was inside. Whatever it was, it didn’t weigh very much. The most important thing, to Liam’s way of thinking, was that taking this case to Brooklyn meant three hundred in cash.
Liam leaned over the edge of the open platform and peered down the track. The lights were approaching. Liam could clearly make out the purple circle with a seven emblazoned in the middle. In less than a minute he could sit down and rest as the train carried him to Times Square station.
When Liam finally boarded the Number 7 train, a cherry-red Mustang rolled directly beneath him. Behind the wheel, Jack Bauer cased the stretch of Roosevelt Avenue that ran under the elevated platform, then pulled into a parking spot directly in front of The Last Celt.
7. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 3 A.M. AND 4 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
The meeting broke up soon after Doris interrupted it. Jamey hurried back to her workstation. The printout on Dante Arete’s SUV was lying on her desk, right out in the open — a clear violation of protocol. She snatched it up and stuffed it into the blue “classified” folder.
“Jamey?”
She jumped at the call, whirled to find Nina Myers standing over her. “Yes?” Jamey replied, in a tone that revealed her alarm.
“Are you all right?”
Jamey nodded quickly. “Just a little tired.”
“We all are,” said Nina, stepping forward. “But that doesn’t excuse sloppy performance of a critical task.”
“I don’t—”
“The license trace on Arete’s SUV,” said Nina in a clipped tone. “I need the information now. I’m going to debrief Ryan.”
Jamey yanked the document out of the blue folder, thrust it at Nina. She took the printout and scanned it. “The white SUV is registered to a Wexler Business Storage Company on Houston Street in Manhattan…”
Jamey nodded. “It has not been reported stolen. But that may change once the place opens up and someone notices the SUV is missing.”
Nina looked up. “What do we know about Wexler Business Storage?”
“Nothing yet,” Jamey replied. “I was about to run a check on the company, access their tax records, when the Crisis Team meeting was called.”
Nina dropped the printout on Jamey’s desk. “Get on it now. Top priority. I want a report within the hour.”
Just then, Ryan Chappelle appeared at Nina’s shoulder. “I need to see Tony Almeida. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s over at financial. I’ve got him checking bank files and transaction histories on a Taiwanese computer firm and its owner.”
“You mean Wen Chou Lee and Green Dragon Computers? Put Jamey on it. We’re going to need Tony in the field.”
Nina nodded, surprised. “Okay. But how did
“Captain Schneider brought me up to speed a few moments ago.”
Nina frowned. “Captain Schneider?”
“The captain is part of our Crisis Team, right? Good call on your part, Nina. It doesn’t hurt to make political friends on Capitol Hill. Treat Congressman Schneider’s daughter right, and he might return the favor someday. CTU can always use a political ally.”
“I was only thinking of what was best for the current mission.”
“And speaking of the mission, I’m putting Captain Schneider in the field with Tony. They’re both ex-Marines, they speak the same institutional jargon, as it were. I think they’ll work well together.”
Nina hesitated but didn’t protest. “I’ll…I’ll go find Tony.”
“No. Keep doing whatever it is you were doing,” said Chapelle. “I’ll brief Agent Almeida myself.”
Caitlin had swept and mopped the floor, stacked the dried mugs on the rack, and polished the bar. More than an hour had passed since Liam had left for the subway, and Caitlin estimated he was halfway to Brooklyn by now. She looked around the bar, but there was nothing left to do. Tossing the last of her cold tea down the drain, she prepared to climb the stairs to her tiny apartment.
Caitlin had been stalling because Shamus was up there, waiting. He hadn’t made a sound in more than half an hour and she was hoping he’d fallen asleep. Shamus did that, more often than not, on the nights he stayed with her — especially after he’d had two or three beers. Caitlin knew his routine and kept the tiny refrigerator upstairs well stocked with Sam Adams. Caitlin knew Shamus was expecting more from her than sharing a beer and some television. She never, ever offered, but he’d forced himself on her twice.
Over the past few weeks Shamus had felt increasingly pressured — something to do with his business— and the tension had revealed a cruel side to his personality. It was during this time that he began to pressure her for physical satisfaction, then forced himself on her.
The first time was two weeks ago. She’d tried to fend him off, but then she’d surrendered quietly rather than awaken her brother. The second time was only a few days ago. Liam had spent the night with a friend in the neighborhood. Shamus got a little drunk and a little rough, and so she’d surrendered again.
Upon reflection, Caitlin decided she had once liked Shamus, but she’d never loved him. Now she didn’t even like him.
Even now Caitlin was torn about the situation. She and her brother owed their survival to Shamus’s generosity. He’d helped them when they were both desperate, jobless, and nearly homeless. For a while Caitlin had even convinced herself that Shamus was genuinely fond of her. Only lately, when the relationship turned possessive, had she come to realize that Shamus was only exploiting the gratitude she felt to ward him for his own ends, and that his generosity was a sham.
Caitlin started when someone pounded on the stout front door. She glanced at the clock, then tentatively approached the entrance, if only to assure herself the doors were locked, the bolt secure. The pounding came again, louder than before.
Caitlin put her face against the wood, peered between the cracks. In the dim glow of a nearby streetlight, she saw a man with an intense gaze and sandy-blond hair standing on the sidewalk. He was athletically built, dressed in dark clothes. He must have seen her shadow because he suddenly spoke.
“Please, you have to let me in,” he said.
The accent sounded American to Caitlin. He didn’t sound like he was from New York.
“I need to see the Lynch brothers. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Ryan Chappelle found Tony Almeida downloading Wen Chou Lee’s financial records from the Taiwan Bank and Trust Company database.
“Want to engage in a little field work?” asked Chappelle. “With supervision, of course.”
