moved cautiously along the rickety catwalk, aware of every sound. Suddenly Jack spied a silhouette framed against the purple sky — a man was standing on the roof of a shed, watching the sky through binoculars. Jack was forced to duck behind the railroad tracks, sprawl flat on his belly across the catwalk.
Jack held his breath, listened. A barge chugged under the bridge, Jack stared down at its decks and the rippling, white-topped wake. Over the howl of the wind through the wires, the rush of the tide far below, Jack heard voices. Cautiously, he lifted his head over the tracks. The man on the shed still watched the horizon, his back turned. A few yards away, Jack saw three other men clustered around a Long Tooth missile launcher mounted on a tripod. It was too dark to make out their features, but Jack was certain Taj was one of them. Jack hoped the renegade FBI agent was among them, too. Jack had a score to settle with Frank Hensley.
Jack weighed his options, deciding he would have to crawl along the catwalk for the last fifty yards if he wanted to take his enemies by surprise. If he stood or even crouched, Jack would be exposed — the man with the binoculars or the men at the tripod would spot him, cut him down before he got close.
Before he could move, Jack felt the catwalk vibrate under him, heard the distant rumble of a train crossing the long span. He glanced over his shoulders to see a locomotive was rolling over the park, barreling toward him.
Jack was pleased. He could use the train as a shield to mask his progress, cover the noise of his feet on the mesh grating. He could run alongside the train until he reached a point opposite the terrorists—
Rising to a sprinter’s crouch, Jack waited until the engine reached him. The bridge shook like a Los Angeles earthquake under his feet; the noise became a shrill, pounding roar that battered his ears. Finally the train reached him, and Jack took off in a run.
Feet pounding, Jack thundered down the catwalk, the sound of his footsteps mingling with the thunder of the rolling Amtrak cars. Quickly — too quickly— the final car rolled by him and down the tracks. Jack dropped flat on the catwalk as the roar receded, poked his head up a moment later. The man with the binoculars was directly across from him, separated only by the train tracks.
He shifted the weapon in his grip, wiped the sweat from his palm. Still on his belly, Jack crawled to the side of the tracks, over the first rail — still hot from the friction of the train’s passing. Jack crawled quickly across the wooden ties, then over the second rail. He slipped into a shallow depression between the tracks, then moved to the next set of rails.
Jack heard excited voices. The men at the tripod jumped to their feet, and Jack spied Taj as he raced from the shed to the Long Tooth missile launcher. With the others, Taj stared at the green glowing screen affixed to the launcher. From his vantage
point, Jack could see a single blip on the screen. The CDC aircraft had arrived. Time had run out.
Caitlin watched as Taj bolted from the shed, ran to the missile launcher. Omar Bayat followed his leader to join the others. The Afghanis clustered around the tripod, talking excitedly.
Caitlin looked up to find Griff still perched on the roof of the shed. But he was not watching the others. Griff squinted into the darkness, staring across the tracks.
Hensley emerged from the shed a moment later. He saw Griff peering into the darkness. “What’s the matter?”
Griff frowned. “I saw movement on the tracks. Someone is out there.”
“Maybe it’s your brother?”
Griff shook his head, still staring at the tracks. “He wouldn’t be sneaking up on us.”
Hensley followed Griff’s gaze. “I don’t see anything—”
A shot rang out. An Afghani next to Taj clutched his throat and tumbled over the edge of the bridge. The others scattered, diving for cover. Another shot was followed by a howl. A third shot silenced the wounded man.
“He’s over there, across the tracks!” Griff cried, pointing. He was crouching now, but remained on the roof of the shed. Hensley reached into his jacket, drew his FBI-issue handgun.
“It’s Jack Bauer. I’m sure of it. I’m going to flank him, finish him off.”
“Go,” said Griff, dragging an Uzi from his belt. “I’ll keep the bastard pinned until you clip him.”
Still crouching, Griff aimed the Uzi into the darkness and squeezed off a burst. Sparks erupted as the bullets bounced off the steel rails.
“It’s Bauer!” Hensley cried from somewhere out of sight. “He’s pinned between the tracks. Pour it on!”
Griff fired away, the noise deafening. Caitlin thought of Jack out there on the tracks, pinned down and waiting to be ambushed, and she did not hesitate.
With a shrill cry she jumped to her feet and threw herself against Griffin Lynch. She slammed against his legs with her full weight. Surprised by her sudden move, Lynch dropped the Uzi as he reached for a steel cable — and missed.
With an expression of shocked surprise, he tumbled over the edge of the bridge.
Her own momentum carried Caitlin across the shed’s roof. Now she dangled precariously over the black water. Gunfire rattled around her as Caitlin tried desperately to crawl to safety. Someone jumped onto the roof, grabbed her. Caitlin rolled onto her back, looked up — into the murderous eyes of Omar Bayat. The man pointed his Uzi at her breast — then his head exploded, showering Caitlin with hot blood, brains, and bone shrapnel. The headless corpse spilled over the edge to vanish in the yawning black currents below.
Caitlin whimpered, tried to wipe the gore from her face. Then strong hands grabbed her, pulled her back from the brink. A moment later, she was clutching Jack Bauer.
“We have to move!” he cried.
More gunfire spattered the metal support beams around them. Jack pushed Caitlin along the catwalk, toward Astoria Park.
“We can’t leave, Jack!” Caitlin cried. “Those men are going to shoot an airplane down.”
“No they won’t!”
To Caitlin’s surprise, Jack pushed her onto the train tracks, forced her down on the wooden ties between the rails. “Stay here,” he hissed. “And no matter what you hear, don’t move.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Jack was already gone.
Jack ran back toward the missile launcher and the men clustered around it. He was stopped by a sustained stream of automatic weapon fire. Bullets twanged off the steel beams, eliciting sparks. Jack saw Taj at the tripod, aiming the missile launcher at the fast-darkening sky. The Afghani was mere seconds away from pulling the trigger.
He knew he had no hope of reaching the terrorists before the missile was fired. Nor could he get a clear shot — every time Jack tried to aim, his movements were met with a hail of bullets. Jack looked up, at the bridge supports rising over his head. He was searching for a way to get around the shooters, to flank them. Then he spied the electrical wires strung along the tracks.
The trains that ran across Hell Gate Bridge were electric, not diesel-powered. Thousands of volts moved through those live wires. A second peek told Jack that the Afghanis were all standing on the steel catwalk. He jumped up, rolled across the railroad tracks to land on his back. Lying across the wooden ties, Jack aimed the.45 at the wires and emptied the magazine.
The wires didn’t snap until he’d fired his last shot. Jack watched as the live wire dropped onto the catwalk. The blue flash was so bright, Jack had to shield his eyes. He smelled ozone and heard screams as thousands of volts coursed through the Afghanis, causing their bodies to jerk convulsively before they burst into flames. The tripod was also electrified, and carried the current to the Long Tooth missile launcher. One of the two missiles exploded in its tube, adding to the fiery chaos.
A moment later, the noise died away as safety breakerscut thepower to thecables, andthe span wasonce again plunged into darkness. Jack rose, ran along the tracks to Caitlin. The woman sat up at his approach, rubbed her eyes. Jack helped Caitlin to her feet.
“Oh god, Jack. Is it over?”
Jack opened his mouth to speak, then his eyes went wide. He pushed Caitlin to the side, and she heard two shots. She saw Jack fall, his gun discharging once as he went down. She whirled to find Frank Hensley behind her. The man’s legs were braced, he clutched a weapon in his hand, but his eyes were clouded, and he seemed to sway
