24 Declassified: Operation Hell Gate

receded, Liam heard footsteps behind him.

As he began to turn, a hand snatched the case swinging at Liam’s side. A powerful tug nearly yanked him off his feet. Liam quickly shifted his weight and pivoted to face the mugger. There were three. Black kids. Maybe two years older than he, one chubby, two lean. They wore oversized, dark blue jogging clothes, sneakers, baseball hats. Their eyes were focused on the metal case. But Liam refused to let it go. Gripping it with both hands, he began a tugging match with the fat git who’d grabbed it. For the moment, the two skinny ones held back, letting the big homey do all the work.

The chubby mugger was pulling hard, but Liam surprised him. Instead of tugging back harder, he pushed the case forward, thrusting it into the git’s round face. With a crack the case smashed the kid’s nose and cheek. He stumbled backward and released the attache, then doubled over howling and groping his battered face with both hands.

Liam turned to flee, but a movement caught the corner of his eye. Something flashed close to his head, then connected with his upper arm. He stumbled under the impact. His arm went limp and the case clattered to the concrete.

One of the skinny kids stood over him with a nightstick while the other rushed forward to pick up the case. But the stupid plonker approached it too fast, kicking it forward.

“Shit—”

Time stopped as they all watched the case slide over the edge of the platform. The git with the nightstick swung it again. This time Liam saw it coming and dodged the blow. Sensation was coming back to his left arm along with throbbing pain. But Liam swung out with his good arm, determined to drive off his attacker.

The plump kid with the battered face was kneeling on the platform now, coughing. A stream of blood flowed from his nose and he cried out in alarm at the sight of it. The wanker who’d kicked the case glanced back to check on his friend, then freaked when he saw the blood.

“Shit—” he yelled again.

The git with the nightstick stared at the place where the attache case plunged over the side. He took a half step in that direction when they all felt a breeze, heard a distant roar. A Brooklyn-bound train was coming, rolling along on the very same tracks where the case had fallen…

5:45:13 A.M.EDT CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles

“Hey, that code sequence doesn’t make any sense.” Milo gestured toward the sequential stream of letters and numbers on the screen.

Doris stopped typing. “You’re reading it from left to right. It’s Korean. Read it backward.”

Milo sat back. “Yeah, that’s right. You said that before.”

“Uh-huh,” Doris replied, her fingers again tapping the keyboard.

“Why does Frankenstein—”

“Frankie.”

“Why does your program depend on such old protocols?” Milo asked.

“Lots of reasons. North Korean programmers aren’t always up to speed and they build their programs on top of preexisting computer models. Most of them are pretty old.”

“Oh.”

“And Frankie is pretty old, too. I started building him when I was in junior high school.”

“What? Last week.”

Doris paused, pushed up her oversized glasses. “Ha-ha. You’re a real laugh riot.”

She shook her head and went back to work. Milo Pressman was supposed to be helping her, but all he was doing was asking questions — when he wasn’t arguing with his girlfriend. Frankly Doris didn’t know what was worse, Milo’s stupid questions or the stupid one-sided conversations with his stupid girlfriend he’d been having all night.

Suddenly the workspace reverberated with the theme from the movie Titanic. Ugh, thought Doris. Tina’s land line again. At least Milo had programmed Green Day to ring when his girlfriend called on her cell. But for the last few hours Doris had been subjected to that nauseatingly insipid “Sad Boat” song. She rolled her eyes as Milo flipped open his phone.

“Tina? I can’t believe you’re still awake?…What do you mean you’re crying…Of course I didn’t hang up on you. I told you what happened. ”

Doris tried to block out the conversation, focus on the stream of data she had just managed to separate from the rest of the memory bits. This one looked promising.

“Don’t cry, Tina…I can’t stand it when you cry.”

Doris pretended to gag, then silently mimicked Milo’s and Tina’s insufferable conversation. Something happened on her monitor, and Doris stared at the screen.

“A time code? What’s a time code doing in here?”

“What?” said Milo, suddenly interested.

“I found a time code — date specific, too. It’s in the heart of the program. The start time is twelve hours ago. The time code runs out — well, let me see. ”

Milo leaned forward, to gaze at Doris’s monitor. “Word. You’re right. It is a time code…”

Tina, meanwhile, continued to speak over the phone, her voice a tiny squeak. Deciphering the data, Milo, not for the first time, forgot about the conversation with his hysterical girlfriend, closed the phone.

“What do you make of it?” he asked.

“The entire sequence is a long series of instructions. For what I don’t know — yet. But from this time code one thing is certain. Today, this afternoon at five p. m. Eastern Daylight Time to be precise, something really big is going to happen.”

5:50:59 A.M.EDT Hoyt Street Subway Station

Liam was still shaking when the Brooklyn-bound train pulled into the station, bringing with it the possibility of help from a motorman or conductor. The three punk muggers ran for the stairs, giving up on the case. Liam slumped down on a wooden bench, panting, in a cold sweat. His left arm throbbed. In a few hours, he’d probably have a bruise the size of Staten Island, but he could move it, so he knew bones hadn’t been broken.

After the train closed its door and pulled out again, Liam began to search for the lost attache case. It had fallen onto the tracks, he knew, and he was worried the train had run over it. Then he’d really be in the shitter. He walked to the very edge of the platform, scanned the tracks below. There was no debris, no sign of the case, though its silver finish should have made it visible even in the shadows of the subway tunnel.

Liam figured the drop from the platform to the tracks was about six feet — about six inches taller than he was. He could get down easily enough, but would have to pull himself back up again using upper body strength alone. For a moment, he hesitated, his mind jumbled. He thought about the money he’d lose if he didn’t retrieve the case. But what panicked him more was the money he might owe.

Shamus had done a lot for him, for his sister, but the man could be a real tool. He’d either take the cost of the lost case out of Liam’s hide or make him work off the debt for months — or both. Earning three hundred was one thing, but owing thousands or more for a lost computer part, or whatever was in that bloody attache, scared Liam shitless.

No matter what, he had to find that case and deliver it to Taj.

He leaned over the edge, gazing into the tunnel, listening for the sound of an approaching train. Liam heard nothing, so he sat down, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform. Then he lowered himself to the tracks, careful to avoid the electrified third rail.

Oil and layers of filth covered everything at track level. Rats scurried around him, one ran over his foot. Liam yelped and shuddered. Then he exhaled and began to search the area, keeping one ear cocked for an approaching train.

His sneaker caught on a switching circuit and he stumbled and fell. His hand came within an inch of touching the electrified third rail. Liam carefully pulled his hand back. As he began to rise, he spied a bit of shiny silver metal — the attache case. It had ended up under a cluster of signal lights, hidden from view above.

Liam moved quickly to the case, picked it up, and examined it in the station’s dim light. Except for a few scratches and dents, it appeared to be fine. He was tempted to open the case, check the contents for damage — but Shamus had commanded him not to open it under any circumstances. Figuring there might be some sort of alarm or something, he decided to leave the case shut.