24 Declassified: Operation Hell Gate

form over the edge.

Ahead, in the glare of the setting sun, Caitlin spied activity. She counted three men in green overalls, circling a strange device mounted on a tripod. The object looked like a telescope with two optical cylinders instead of one.

Omar Bayat put a boot to her rump, pushing her forward. As Caitlin approached the men, someone stepped out of the shadows beside her.

“Take off the gag,” growled Griffin Lynch. “She can scream her bloody head off and nobody will hear her up here.”

Omar Bayat ripped the gag away, Caitlin rubbed her bruised lips. “What do you want with me, you bleedin’ sod? Why don’t you just kill me and be done with it?”

Griff grabbed Caitlin’s chin, gripped it in his scarred but still bruising hand. “Never fear, lass. You’ll die soon enough. When it’s good and dark out here, I’m gonna toss you off this bridge. With luck your corpse won’t wash ashore for a week, and by then Shamus and me will be long gone, while you join your dead brother in hell.”

Caitlin’s jaw dropped.

“That’s right, girl. I sent Shamus to kill your brother and he agreed to do it. Serves your boy right for messing up the delivery to Taj. His fuck up forced me out to this bloody bridge when me and Shamus should have been halfway to the Islands by now. At least it’s good to know Liam’s probably been blasted into dust already.”

For a moment, Caitlin’s heart stopped. But then she realized that Griff’s words were all wrong. Shamus was the one who’d died in the explosion. Her own Liam had escaped and turned himself in. He was in police protective custody now. She was about to tell Griff as much, but quickly choked back the words. It was better if Griff thought her brother was already dead. Then Liam could go on living his life, safe and sound and hopefully happy…even without his big sister to kick his ass and trim his bangs. Yes, Caitlin thought, Liam is alive. He’s all right. He’s protected. That realization alone gave her the strength she needed to face her own death.

Her eyes flashed defiantly. She pushed Griff’s hand away from her face. “Ya talk big, Griffin Lynch. But like all the Provos, you’re good for pushing violence and nothing more.”

A brief, disgusted smile flashed across Griff’s stone cold expression. “I can’t wait to kill you, girl. But at least your death will be fast and clean — more than I can say for the rest of the folks in this city.”

Caitlin choked back her fears. Over Griff’s shoulder, the blazing rays of the setting sun were now touching every particle in the air, spreading their red-orange tinge until the entire horizon appeared as if someone had set it on fire. That’s when she realized what Griff and his associates had been erecting — a missile launcher, its ominous silhouette pointed at the sky.

24. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 8 P.M. AND 9 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

8:05:53 P.M. EDT Hell Gate Bridge

Thanks to the GPS beacon in the watch Caitlin wore, Jack knew where to go. He found the fenced-off area on Nineteenth Street. He found the garage, the van, and the ladder.

“Where is she now?” Jack said into his headset.

“In the middle of the bridge, Jack, facing south. The blip hasn’t moved for several minutes.” Jamey’s voice was tense. Jack knew what she was thinking— were they going to throw Caitlin off the bridge?

“I’m going up right now,” said Jack. “I’m taking the earphones out but I’m leaving this channel open. You’ll be able to hear me, but I won’t be able to hear you.”

“Is that a good idea, Jack?” Ryan asked.

Nina answered for him. “Jack will need all his senses on that bridge.”

Ryan frowned. “Well, good luck, Bauer.”

Jack did not reply.

Crouching low, he reached under the van, rubbed road dirt and oil on his hands, then on his face. It wasn’t exactly camouflage but it would help him fade into the darkness on the bridge — he hoped.

Jack drew the Mark 23 USP, checked the magazine, his extra ammunition. Then he tucked the weapon in the holster under his arm, yanked the earphones out and began to climb.

It took him more than five minutes of climbing to get to the top. By the time he reached the span it was twilight; the sun had dropped below the horizon. The park beneath him was shrouded in purple shadows, broken by tiny islands of light under glowing lampposts.

Without a watch, Jack used his PDA to check the time. He had less than thirty minutes to find the terrorists and stop the missile from launching. He took off at a run on the narrow catwalk.

Under normal circumstances, Jack would be charging into this situation with aerial intelligence and support in place, a backup team there for him at every turn. He would be wearing sound-absorbing chukkas and Kevlar body armor, a helmet with night vision goggles. He’d have tactical support, too, on both sides of the bridge.

But for this, Jack was alone. Despite his throbbing muscles, aching arm wound, his hunger, thirst, and near- exhaustion, he pressed on. Jack knew if he wavered now, Caitlin would die and the terrorists would unleash a terrible pandemic, the likes of which America had not experienced in nearly a century.

8:23:25 P.M. EDT Switching booth, Hell Gate Bridge

Caitlin had been shoved next to a metal shed set flush against the support beam on the very edge of the span. She had very little room on the ledge. Below, the river’s black water spun in a dozen violent whirpools, each one appearing to yawn open and closed, like living monsters demanding to be fed.

Omar Bayat had used duct tape to bind her hands behind her back, but Caitlin had already managed to free them. Now she bided her time, clinging to a slim chance that Griff would change his mind about throwing her over — or she’d find a way to escape.

Omar Bayat returned to loom over her with an Uzi in hand. Nearby, the men manning the missile launcher had activated something. The Afghanis appeared to be fixated on a tiny green screen on a black box attached to the side of the launch tubes.

Griff stood on top of the metal shed, scanning the twilight sky with binoculars. Occasionally he would shift his search, peering down the tracks toward Astoria Park. His features were taut, worried. Caitlin suspected he was waiting for his brother, Shamus. She knew he would never arrive.

Inside the shed, Taj sat beside Frank Hensley on a wooden box. Caitlin knew the stranger was the FBI agent Jack had spoken about because Taj had addressed the man by name. It was Hensley who issued instructions to the Afghanis, Taj who translated them into some foreign tongue she was not familiar with.

Caitlin continued to watch these men come and go, heard every word they spoke. Some of what they said surprised her.

“Still no signal from the 727,” Taj reported.

“It’s too soon. If anything, the CDC airplane will be late.” As he spoke, Frank Hensley glanced at his Rolex. “I have a call to make. Let them know how the mission is progressing.”

Taj smiled, revealing yellow teeth. “This operation has gone well. Baghdad will be satisfied.”

Hensley’s features darkened. “Baghdad will be satisfied when America suffers the way Iraq has suffered.” He tapped out a number on a bulky satellite phone. A moment later he was speaking another foreign language Caitlin had never heard before.

8:31:13 P.M. EDT Hell Gate Bridge

Knowing Caitlin was somewhere on the south side of the bridge, Jack crossed over four sets of train tracks to the northern edge, hoping to move close enough to surprise the terrorists before he was discovered. On the north catwalk, Jack had an upriver view dominated by a sprawling Department of Environmental Protection facility on Randalls Island.

The twilight sky was bright purple, twinkling lights from the Triboro Bridge a quarter mile away and the Manhattan skyline beyond the only illumination. There were no lights on Hell Gate and the railroad bridge was cast in deep shadow. Through the steel mesh under his feet, Jack saw black rippling water far below.

As he approached the center of the span, Jack became more wary. He drew the.45, released the safety as he