“Shut up, both of you,” said Hensley.
Arete ignored Jack, glared at Hensley. “You kill me and the whole deal’s flushed, man.”
Bauer moved backward, dragging Arete with him, until his spine touched the walls of the pressurized cabin. He risked a glance out the window. The ground was coming up fast, Jack could see cars on the highway, busy residential streets with people on them.
“Shoot now and you’ll puncture the fuselage, depressurize the cabin,” Jack warned.
Hensley shrugged. “We’re almost on the ground. I’ll risk it.”
The engine’s whine became more pronounced as the aircraft decreased its speed. Turbulence buffeted the airliner, and the motion rocked Hensley on his feet, foiling his aim. Fearfully, Arete struggled against Bauer’s tightening grip, but Jack held him firm. A moment later, Hensley steadied himself, his aim true. “Like I said, Bauer. When the wheels touch the pavement, Arete’s mine.”
From the corner of his eyes, Jack saw a flash outside the window. Hensley saw it, too. A bright orange object rose toward the airplane from a cluster of low, featureless concrete buildings.
Jack threw Arete to the cabin floor as a brilliant yellow ball of fire lit the windows on the starboard side of the airliner. Interior alarms sounded and emergency oxygen masks dropped from their ceiling compartments as the aircraft lurched and the interior lights winked.
Then came the noise of the blast, deafening as the shock wave shattered the windows. The interior of the cabin suddenly mimicked the inside of a dryer running full blast. Papers, cups, cushions, magazines, napkins — anything not nailed down flew about the cabin or was sucked outside.
Jack heard the engines straining to keep the aircraft aloft. Then they cut out and the wheels slammed onto the runway, too hard for the landing gear to support the impact. Tires blew, steel snapped, and the landing gear folded. The burning aircraft teetered to port, then the belly hit the concrete and skidded along, trailing a torrent of hot white sparks.
Tony’s land line warbled. He reached across his desk and grabbed the receiver. “Almeida.”
“There’s a Marine Corps captain checking in at the security desk and asking to see Ms. Myers. But the Chief of Staff is not responding to my call.”
“Nina’s in the middle of a video conference with Bill Buchanan from the Seattle office,” Tony replied. “I’ll be right there.”
Tony locked down his computer and headed off to the security desk. On the way, he stopped by Jamey’s area and picked up the latest printout on the mysterious memory stick, which he stuffed into the folder under his arm. He glanced at it first, disappointed to find they had discovered next to nothing in the past two hours of “expert analysis.”
At the security desk, Tony discovered that not all Marines are created equal. This particular captain had blond hair caught in a ponytail, a killer figure in a dress blue uniform, and clear blue eyes to go with her two silver bars.
“Captain,” said Tony, offering her a smile with his hand. “I’m Agent Almeida, head of intelligence here at CTU.”
Nearly as tall as Tony, the woman met his openly appraising gaze as she took his hand in a firm grip.
“I’m Captain Jessica Schneider. Commander of the Special Weapon Analysis Unit in South Korea.”
Her name jarred his memory cells, but the context eluded him. “Welcome to Los Angeles. Come with me and I’ll bring you up to speed.”
As they moved through the busy command center, Captain Schneider took in the setup while Tony deciphered the ribbons and service pins that adorned her uniform. “First Marine Division,” Tony observed. “Looks like you and I ate some of the same dirt.”
A half smile crossed her full lips. “You’re a jarhead?”
“Ex.”
“You’re missing all the fun, then.”
Tony discerned a slight Texas drawl, another clue he felt was important, but he had yet to make the connection. They arrived at the cyber-analysis section. Tony ran his key card through the lock, opened the door. “We actually have lots of fun here at CTU, too.”
Tony offered Captain Schneider a chair, then slid the latest report on the memory stick under her nose. “This is what we’ve got, so far.”
Captain Schneider opened the folder, leafed through it. She lifted two photographs of the object and studied them closely. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and donned delicately framed reading glasses. “And you found this memory stick where?”
“At LAX, this morning,” Tony replied. “It was attached to an array of tubes in the hands of a suspected terrorist. The device looked like a shoulder-fired antiaircraft missile launcher. Unfortunately we lost both the terrorist and the device when the group self-destructed to avoid capture.”
Captain Schneider closed the file. “This data stick you recovered is a component in the most advanced handheld anti-aircraft missile launcher developed to date by the hostile regime in North Korea.”
Tony was impressed. “You’re sure.”
“I’ve seen one before. The launcher, not the memory stick.”
“On the DMZ in Korea?”
Captain Schneider’s blond ponytail bobbed when she shook her head. “On the Texas/Mexico border. About eight weeks ago, the DEA grabbed a launcher in a narcotics raid. The system is highly advanced. It has been code named Long Tooth by the Pentagon. The launcher has twin firing tubes and a computer programming system that interfaces with the missiles themselves. Unfortunately no missiles were recovered so we don’t know their capabilities as yet. ”
“How did the Marine Corps find out about it? The DEA isn’t known for sharing intelligence with the military.”
“I found out through a…personal contact. I know someone on the House Intelligence Oversight Committee.”
Tony Almeida closed his eyes a nanosecond, stifled a groan. “Your father — he’s Congressman Roy Schneider of Texas?”
The Captain nodded. To cover her discomfort, she changed the subject. “Have you retrieved any data from the memory stick?”
“It’s encrypted. We have an expert on North Korean software trying to crack it now. No progress to report.”
Captain Schneider felt it, just then. The instant chill. One mention of her father and there it was: clipped words, tense posture, guarded look. Amazing how fast he shifted, she thought. While she was not surprised by the CTU agent’s reaction, she was more than a little disappointed that he had so easily — and predictably — made the same assumptions as everyone else. No matter how hard she worked, no matter what she accomplished, every time her colleagues discovered the identity of her father, they immediately assumed that she had attained her rank and position through nepotism rather than merit.
Captain Schneider rose, tucked the file under her arm. When she spoke, she added frost to her own voice. “Agent Almeida, I’d like to meet this expert of yours, see for myself how the decryption is progressing.”
Jack’s first sensation was pain. His ribs felt bruised. Something warm and sticky had trickled from his head to the side of his face. He heard a crackle. Without moving a muscle, Jack slowly opened one eye to find a live wire dangling from a shattered panel near his head. When he glanced down, he saw the steel bracelet was still clamped to his wrist, but on the other end of the chain was a pair of empty cuffs, the key missing from his pocket. Jack took a deep breath and almost gagged on the thick smoke he’d thought for a moment was just his hazy vision.
The aircraft’s interior emergency lights were still functioning, the fuselage tilted at an odd angle. Jack realized that he’d been thrown into a corner and the airline seat had broken loose from its mount and covered him. Squinting through his eyelashes, he saw Arete standing near an emergency exit. He was having trouble opening the door. The impact of the crash probably had jammed the hatch.
Stumbling through the smoke, the pilot emerged from the forward compartment, fumbled for the handgun at his belt. Arete froze, unarmed and helpless. Then a shot boomed loud, followed by another. The pilot was thrown
