the couch.
“Sit down and keep quiet,” he told her. Then he reached down and tore the tape away from Shamus’s mouth. The man spit out a bundle of cloth and launched into a stream of obscenities.
Jack grabbed what he could of the man’s short red hair. “Why did you shoot down that airplane tonight?”
Shamus howled like an animal and spit at Jack. Bauer cuffed him, drawing blood. “Where is the missile launcher now?”
“You’re from CTU,” Shamus said. “The Counter Terrorist Unit.”
“Where is the missile launcher?” Jack yelled.
Shamus clamed up. He glared darkly at Jack, spat a mouthful of blood.
“That attache case you handed over to Dante Arete in Tatiana’s Tavern. You remember, Shamus. The silver metal case full of money?”
Jack heard Caitlin’s sharply drawn breath when he mentioned the case, pretended not to.
“It exploded a few hours ago. Right in the middle of the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. Killed Arete and everyone else with him. Any more attache cases like that one floating around, Shamus? Any more fatal surprises for the poor bastard who opens it?”
Shamus glared at Jack, but refused to speak.
“For God’s sake, tell him,” Caitlin cried.
“Shut up, Cait!” Shamus yelled. “Talk and I’ll kill you. Don’t say anythin’ to this lyin’ pig—”
Jack struck Shamus with the butt of his gun. The man’s head snapped to the side, then dropped to the floor. Caitlin stared at Shamus in horror. He was either unconscious or dead. Caitlin couldn’t be sure.
When she looked at Jack, he had fixed his gaze on her. “You know something.” His voice was ice. “Talk to me now or I’ll do to you what I did to him.”
8. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 4 A.M. AND 5 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
“Don’t hurt me, please. I’ll tell you what I know, but not here.” Caitlin gestured toward Shamus Lynch. Jack could see she was afraid of Shamus being conscious enough to hear.
“Let’s go,” Jack said, yanking the woman off the couch and pushing her ahead of him down the stairs. In the middle of the tavern, Jack set up a table and two chairs. Pushed her into one chair and sat down opposite her. “Tell me what you know.”
“My…my fifteen-year-old brother has one of those cases you were talking about. Shamus is paying him to deliver it to someone.”
“Your brother is part of this conspiracy?”
Caitlin shook her tangled mane of red-gold hair. “No, no…He just took the job tonight. It’s a delivery. That’s all.”
“A name,” Jack demanded.
But Caitlin lifted her chin. “No. Not unless you let me go with you.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, you don’t know what my brother looks like, and I don’t have a picture, so you’ll never find Liam without me.” Then Caitlin glanced at the ceiling over her head. “And unless you plan on locking Shamus up, you know what he’ll do to me.”
“I can’t lock him up…Not yet.”
“Then he’ll hurt me.”
Jack couldn’t explain to this woman what was really going on — that he was on the run, that the FBI and the NYPD were probably looking for him right now.
“Okay,” Jack said softly. “I’ll take you with me.”
Caitlin nodded. “One more thing. Show me an ID. An official badge or something like that. Just so I believe you.”
Jack reached into his jacket and produced his CTU identification card. Caitlin’s brow furrowed as she studied the card, Jack’s image. Then she nodded again.
“Brooklyn,” she said. “Liam is on his way to Brooklyn.”
“Who is he going to deliver the case to?”
“The man’s name is Taj. He has some sort of business in Brooklyn. That’s all I know.”
“You don’t know what’s in the case?”
Caitlin shook her head. “Liam never opened it. Not in front of me, anyway.”
“Any idea what part of Brooklyn?”
“Liam said he was taking the Number 7 to Times Square, then he’s changing trains to get to Brooklyn. He’d be going to Atlantic Avenue, but I don’t know which subway stop he’ll use.”
Jack stood, pocketed the key to the front door. “Wait here.” As he walked back upstairs, he passed the tavern’s phone. He ripped it loose from the wall and threw it into a corner.
Upstairs, Jack used his PDA to snap a digital image of Shamus Lynch and sent the data to Jamey Farrell’s computer. Then Jack checked the bonds on Shamus Lynch and replaced the gag. Without resources on this coast, he was forced to abandon his prisoner here in the probably vain hope that Lynch could be recovered by the proper authorities before he managed to free himself. At least he would be out of action for the next several hours — long enough for Jack to locate Caitlin’s brother and the other attache case.
Satisfied he had done all he could do, Jack went downstairs, to find Caitlin waiting for him by the locked front door.
“There seems to be a whole lot of activity on that loading dock, considering it’s one o’clock in the morning.”
They sat at a red light on East Third Street, Tony behind the wheel. At his side, Jessica Schneider slipped her mini-binoculars into a pocket. Out of uniform, she opted for tight black denims and stacked boots, lightweight summer blouse under a short leather jacket to hide her sidearm. Tony thought she looked fit.
“I’m going to open your window a bit,” Tony said, hitting the switch. Tinted, bulletproof glass descended a few inches, then stopped. Fresh night air filled the compartment — surprisingly cool for Los Angeles. A freak rainstorm had washed the late-night streets. Now the night was luminous with reflected light.
Tony twisted a knob on the dashboard, unspooled a long, thin, flexible wire. He passed it to Jessica.
“Use this.”
There was an array of miniature lenses on the tip, and a mount that fit into a hook on the ceiling above the open window. Jessica slipped the tiny video camera into place. From his controls on the steering column, Tony popped the glove compartment and activated the video screen hidden inside.
“Camera’s on. I’ll roll by slowly. Watch the screen, not them. Let the camera be your eyes. Use the center control to zoom in or out. The onboard computer will record the images and send them back to CTU for further analysis.”
The stoplight went from red to green. There was no one behind him, so Tony edged forward. Ahead, the reptilian neon glow of the Green Dragon Computers sign, a serpentine Chinese dragon forming the letters, was mirrored on the wet pavement.
The concrete block building that housed Green Dragon was located southeast of the Civic Center, in the heart of the redeveloped ethnic neighborhood called Little Tokyo. A maze of malls, restaurants, bookstores, and specialty and import shops, the area was the focal point of Japanese-American activity in LA.
