his eyes. When the smoke cleared, Jack peeked down the shaft, saw two corpses and a pair of shattered missile launchers among the twisted debris.
Smoke began to rise up the elevator shaft from the fire raging on the ground floor. Jack decided it was time to go. He ran back to the fire door. But when he opened it, smoke and heat struck him. A bonfire roared at the bottom of the stairs. The roof was his only hope. Jack grabbed the first rung of the ladder and climbed up to the hatch in the ceiling, praying it wasn’t locked.
The hazardous material vehicles pulled away from the Boeing 727 and the ramp closed.
Dr. Colin Fife stood on the tarmac beside CDC Director Henry Johnston Garnett. They watched in silence as the jet taxied down the runway, then leaped into the sky.
Dr. Garnett sighed. “I only hope we’ve done enough to protect the public.”
“Only an act of God, a totally unforeseen catastrophe like a plane crash could unleash the virus,” said Dr. Fife with confidence. “And even then the explosion and fire would most likely destroy the cultures. Oh, perhaps if the aircraft broke apart, or it crashed without a fuel explosion there might be a danger, but the chances of such an event are simply astronomical.”
Inside the Green Dragon store, Taj confronted Griffin Lynch.
“My brother is dead, the safe house in Brooklyn destroyed, and I still do not have the memory stick I require to shoot down the CDC aircraft,” Taj complained.
“Don’t panic,” Griffin replied. “We sent Liam to deliver the stick. He’s done it a dozen times. We don’t know what went wrong this time.”
“Do you think he went to the police?” Taj asked.
Griff exchanged an unhappy look with Shamus. “We don’t know what happened, but our associates in Los Angeles know about the loss of the memory stick. Another missile launcher with a new stick has been dispatched from the Green Dragon factory in Los Angeles. It’s scheduled to arrive at LaGuardia Airport in a little over an hour.”
Taj face clouded. “That wasn’t the plan.”
“No, but it will get the job done,” said Griff. “Me and Shamus will pick up the launcher and bring it to you ourselves. It’ll mean changing our plans. We never wanted to come to the bridge. We should have been on a plane by now, but we’ll do it to get the bloody job done.”
“We won’t have time to test it.”
“We don’t need to test it. We know from Dante Arete’s trial run that the aircraft identification software works. Arete’s men were able to target an approaching Boeing 727 in the busy skies over LAX without difficulty.”
“Then the fool was captured and we lost the device,” grumbled Taj. “And we lost another memory stick when your boy failed to deliver it to me.”
“Liam will pay for that bloody fuck-up, I guarantee it,” Griff swore.
Taj’s eyes clouded as he thought of his murdered brother. “I have sacrificed much. This plan had better work.”
“It’s perfect,” said Griff. “With the CDC aircraft nearly out of fuel, it’s not likely to burn when you shoot it down. The aircraft will simply break apart— and it will be low enough to disperse the disease cultures over the city’s population. Many of the cultures will be destroyed, but enough will survive to infect millions. New York City will become a ghost town within two or three weeks.”
The Afghani’s skeletal face split into a cruel grin. “Then I shall have my revenge, for my hand will be the Hammer of God that will smite millions.”
The phone rang, it was Frank Hensley. Griff put the FBI agent on speakerphone.
“There’s trouble at Wexler Storage,” Hensley began. “Add that to the raid at the factory in Los Angeles, and it’s obvious CTU is getting too close.”
“We can’t postpone the mission,” Griff replied.
“The mission goes on as scheduled,” Hensley agreed.
“The bridge has been secured,” said Taj. “My men are in place.
“Before we can proceed I want all loose ends tied up.”
“Your will be done, Mr. Hensley,” said Taj. “I will send an assassin to kill them all.”
“I’ve already taken care of my ex-wife in Los Angeles,” the FBI agent replied, his voice flat and emotionless. “Dispatch your assassins, along with Omar Bayat, to handle everyone else. I want you to start with Felix Tanner.”
Taj nodded. “Felix Tanner and everyone around him will be dead within the hour.”
18. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2 P.M. AND 3 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
Mrs. Katherine Elizabeth Hensley was a California bottled-blond with platinum highlights, a tanning bed complexion, and a wealthy father who was an esteemed Federal Court judge. She lived in a mock Tudor cottage separated from the road by a swath of lush green grass. Low trees hugged the stone walls, and dense, tall shrubs framed an arched doorway. A picture window with vertical blinds looked out on the quiet street, but most of the windows were hidden from the street in the back of the house.
Tony stopped the CTU van across the winding boulevard, under a sprawling eucalyptus tree. Jessica Schneider displayed her cell phone. “Should I call Mrs. Hensley, let her know we’re coming?”
Tony’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait. Something’s not right.”
Jessica fished in her purse, pretended to brush her hair while she scoped the area. “I don’t see anything.”
“Look up the block. The jet-black ’84 Mustang GT with the Cobra R chrome wheels and Pirelli tires. It’s too crass and showy for this neighborhood. That’s a gang-banger’s car.”
Jessica checked the rearview mirror. “That car behind us has a jacked suspension.”
“That’s a Nissan 300ZX Turbo. It doesn’t belong here, either. This neighborhood has been invaded.”
“What do we do?”
“We’ll approach the house, but carefully. For all we know, we might be dealing with a burglary ring or—”
A woman’s sudden scream was followed by shattering glass. Marine Captain Jessica Schneider bolted out the door and across the street before Tony could stop her.
“Christ, not again,” he moaned, racing after her.
By the time she reached the path to the house, the Captain had her.45 drawn. When she reached the entrance, she flattened herself against the wooden door. Tony was still twenty yards away when a figure in black leather lunged at the Captain from the thick bushes flanking the arched entranceway.
The man smashed her against the door and dashed the weapon out of her hand. Still running, Tony spied a flash of steel, saw the eight-inch blade penetrate the Captain’s shoulder to the hilt. Despite the horrific wound, she fought back.
Suddenly the door opened inward. Jessica Schneider and her attacker tumbled inside the house, and the door slammed. Without slowing, Tony veered to the right and ran toward the huge picture window. He drew his 9mm, snapped the safety off, and jumped.
Momentum carried him through the glass, but the vertical blinds entangled his feet and Tony landed on his side. He felt more than heard a supersonic crack as a bullet passed over his head, and Tony rolled behind a massive couch. He was in a living room, on a thick cream-colored rug. Near the fireplace, two young Asian men struggled with Mrs. Hensley. In the opposite corner Tony spied the shooter, fired twice. The double-tap splashed the man’s brains onto the peach-colored walls.
Still on the floor, Tony twisted around, fired again. One of the men yelped and let go of the woman. He was a clear target now, and Tony pumped a shot into his heart. He flew back against the fireplace and dropped, scarlet
