Griff exited the car and crossed the sidewalk. He halted mid-stride when he saw the splintered wood on the pub’s door. Reaching into his linen sport coat, Griff eased the 9mm Beretta out of its shoulder holster before he touched the knob. No surprise the door was unlocked. Griff pushed through it and slipped inside. In the tavern’s dim interior he saw toppled tables, overturned chairs, the phone ripped out of the wall.
Griff found Shamus upstairs a few minutes later, on the floor of Caitlin’s shabby digs. He ripped the tape away from his brother’s mouth, untied his hands and legs, and dashed cold water in his face. Shamus moaned, then reached for his head. Suddenly he opened his eyes, focused on his brother, bolted upright. “Where’s that bleedin’ CTU agent?”
Griff scowled. “What CTU agent?”
“He took her away at gunpoint.”
“Who, Caitlin?”
Shamus nodded. “He forced her. Made her go with him.”
Griff wasn’t so sure. “What about the attache case?”
“Liam took off with it.” Shamus glanced at his watch. “Taj should be holding the damned thing by now.”
“We’ll have to clean up this mess,” said Griff.
“Caitlin and her brother are liabilities now. So is Donnie. Before this day is over, everyone we ever did business with in the States—
Shamus looked away, said nothing. Then they both heard a noise from downstairs in the pub. Tables and chairs being moved, then someone cursed. Shamus spoke. “It’s Donnie. He’ll be real cheesed about the mess.”
“Shut up and wait here,” snarled Griff. He led with his gun as he silently glided down the stairs.
Crisis Management Team Alpha, formerly
Ryan was surprised when Nina Myers arrived— late — and informed him that a second Threat Clock and Crisis Management Team Beta had been established. When Nina closed the door to officially begin the conference, Ryan blinked in surprise. “This is everyone?”
The only other person at the conference table was Doris Soo Min, who rocked nervously in her chair and played with the cover of the laptop computer on the table in front of her.
Nina brushed her short dark hair away from her face, sank into a chair. “Milo Pressman is in the field, supervising the Cyber Unit at Green Dragon in Little Tokyo. Tony and Captain Schneider are interrogating a prisoner in holding room three. And I’ve excused Jamey from the meeting because I’ve asked her to follow up on a new lead.”
Ryan sighed theatrically. “Then why am I here, Nina?”
“I thought the memory stick had been pretty much decrypted and mined.”
Nina shook her head. “Did you know that Doris found a time code encrypted within the aircraft recognition program?”
“I’m aware of it
Chappelle swung his office chair to face the young woman. He fixed her with his best managerial gaze. “So, tell me what you found, Doris…”
Doris cleared her throat, tapped the computer keyboard. In the center of the conference table, the square block of HDTV monitors sprang to life.
“Along with the time code there was also a series of longitude and latitude points in the encrypted data,” Doris explained. “Watch what happens when I cross-reference that geographical data against a map of the continental United States.”
On the monitor, the map of America appeared in blue outline. Then a crimson grid appeared superimposed over the image. Six geographical markers blinked, all positioned in or near major metropolitan areas — two around New York City.
“The exact longitude and latitude pinpoint six locations,” Doris continued. “JFK and LaGuardia airports in New York City, Logan Airport in Boston, Ronald Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C., O’Hare in Chicago, LAX here in Southern California.”
Ryan Chappelle placed the palms of his hands on the table, leaned closer to the screen. For a long moment he studied the grid in silence.
“That’s it,” Ryan said at last. “As I see it, there’s no other conclusion possible. The aircraft recognition software in the memory stick, the Long Tooth shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles, the time code, now this. They all add up to one thing — the terrorists are planning to shoot down commercial aircraft all over the United States at the same time, in a nationwide act of coordinated terrorism.”
Captain Jessica Schneider stared across the interrogation table at Saito. The Japanese man was slumped in his chair, his arrogant confidence gone, replaced by exhaustion and anxiety.
“Listen, miss. I’m telling you the truth.”
Jessica sighed and shook her head. “I think I liked your Rat Pack persona better.”
“It was just part of the act.” Saito pushed his slick hair back with his left hand. The gesture displayed the stump of his missing finger.
The steel door opened. Tony Almeida walked in, slapped a file folder on the desk, slumped down in the chair next to Jessica Schneider. They both fixed their gazes on Saito. Tony spoke.
“I had a conversation with the Japanese Ambassador. He confirmed everything. He’s telling the truth.”
Saito grinned, slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “See, I told you.”
Jessica’s jaw dropped. “You’re a cop?”
“Agent Ito Nakajima, Special Assault Team, Tokyo Prefecture.” The Japanese man offered a respectful bow.
“What are you doing in Los Angeles, Special Agent Nakajima?”
“As Saito, I infiltrated the Machi-yokko crime clan two years ago, when they began to diversify.”
“What do you mean by diversify?” Tony asked.
“For decades the Machi-yokko clan was strictly
Jessica blinked. “Wait a minute, who or what is a Kumicho?”
“A leader. A clan elder. Think
Tony nodded. “The triad leader who owns the Green Dragon Computers franchise.”
“Yes.” Agent Nakajima nodded. “Only this deal wasn’t for bootleg computer parts or hot microchips stolen off a Malaysian cargo ship. This deal was the same one the Kumicho made with Shoko Asahara.”
“The Aum Supreme Truth Cult leader? He’s the man responsible for the sarin gas attack in the Tokyo subway system. Why isn’t your Kumicho behind bars?”
“The Machi-yokko clan’s contributions and behind-the-scenes activities are very important to a certain political party. That gives the Kumicho and his men a measure of protection.”
“What did your Kumicho do for the Aum cult?”
“Helped them build their secret death lab, Satian Six, at the base of Mount Fuji. It was there that the cult’s scientist, Hideo Murai, produced the poison gas. The Aum also fried their political enemies and dissident members of the cult in industrial-sized microwave ovens, dispatched terrorists to murder an innocent lawyer and his family, and ultimately masterminded the worst terrorist incident in my nation’s history.”
A moment of silence followed the man’s outburst. Finally Tony Almeida asked, “So what’s really going on at Green Dragon?”
“The Kumicho has taken a lot of money in exchange for smuggling North Korean — made missile launchers,
