Tony checked his watch, reached for his cell phone, and hit speed dial.
“O’Brian here.”
“It’s Almeida.” Tony was sitting in the shadows, his back against a run-down brick row house across the street from the abandoned warehouse, just a block away from the Thirteen Gang’s reputed headquarters. “That black Hummer I told you about eighty minutes ago. It just departed the location, heading east.”
“You sure it was the same one?” Morris recited the license plate.
“Yeah,” said Tony. “Same one. I got a look at the driver this time through the windshield. Caucasian, male, blond crew cut, black leather jacket.”
“Okay…” On the other end of the line, computer keys tapped. “I’ve logged it,” said Morris. “Any other activity?”
“Nothing,” said Tony, glancing up and down the block.
“It’s as dead as a morgue around here.”
“Deputy Director Foy still with you?”
“Yeah.”
Tony glanced at the slight woman slumped at his side.
Ten minutes into their stakeout, she’d nodded off, her red-haired head hitting his shoulder. After everything she’d been through, he figured she could use the rest and didn’t bother waking her.
Morris spent a minute updating Tony on things at his end. Finally, they ended the call, and Judith Foy stirred.
“What’s happening?” she said through a yawn.
“I checked in with Morris O’Brian. The black Hummer just left. And according to O’Brian, CTU New York dug up another mole — Peter Randall.”
“Oh god.”
“Morris is going to contact Jack, let him know what we’ve observed. He might even ask us to infiltrate. How are you feeling? Are you up to this?”
Judith sat up straight, rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“My ribs are still a little sore, but I’m good to go.”
“You sure?”
“Listen, Almeida. These scumbags killed Brice. They tried to kill me. If you and Jack come up with a plan that’ll take these people out for good, believe me, I’m up for it.”
Jack Bauer had given Erno Tobias’s residence a thoroughly professional toss. He’d upended furniture, yanked the pillows off couches and chairs, and gashed the upholstery to check the stuffing.
Jack had moved from room to room systematically, pulling out drawers, peeking behind pictures, checking behind curtains and under throw rugs. In the bathroom, Jack had found a miniature pharmacy composed of exotic drugs and elixirs.
Jack had wanted to search the balcony, but the sliding glass door was locked, and he hadn’t yet located the keys, so he’d headed for the bedroom next.
He’d searched the dead man’s dresser, his walk-in closet, his nightstand. He’d even stripped the bed and turned over the mattress.
Jack’s biggest discovery, however, had been hidden inside the Albino’s ornate armoire. The arsenal included a Remington M870 shotgun, an M9 Beretta with a Knight Armament sound suppressor, two Glocks, and a G36 Commando short carbine.
“Considering New York City’s tough gun laws, I’d say Tobias was in violation,” Jack muttered.
Along with plenty of ammunition, Jack found a long length of nylon rope, a pair of Gerber Guardian double- edged knives, and an M9 bayonet. He tucked the three knives into the Hawk’s utility vest, which he still wore.
Jack was considering taking the Beretta and silencer attachment, too, when the phone on the nightstand rang.
Jack froze for a moment, startled into a single second of paralysis. By the second ring, however, he’d already made the decision to answer. “Hello,” he said, imitating the Albino’s dry rasp.
“
“
“We are back on track,” Dubic continued, still speaking Serbian. “Ungar has secured a second dispensing unit from the NATO arsenal, along with an expert to install the device. I’m on my way to Newark Airport to bring them both back to the lab.”
“
“I understand that Montel Tanner is on his way to you.
He’s going to pick you up and bring you back to Newark personally.”
“
“Be careful. The mood is ugly with these men. When Dr. Kabbibi discovered the engineers had installed the first dispenser improperly, and damaged it beyond repair, the two men responsible were beheaded. I saw the whole thing. These cultists are savage animals. Worse than the Bosnians.”
“
Dubic sighed. “I will say goodbye now. If all goes according to plan, I’ll meet you in front of the big bull tomorrow morning. Good luck.”
“You, too,” Jack rasped.
Dubic hung up, and Jack dropped the phone into its cradle. He snatched his own cell from his pocket, punched the buttons.
“O’Brian here,” said Morris, at CTU’s Operations Center.
“Is Tony Almeida still in Newark?”
“Hello, Jack. Yes, he is. I was just about to call you—”
“Connect me with Tony and stay on the line. I want you aware of some new intel.”
Tony answered on the first ring.
Inside of ten minutes, Jack and Tony had devised a plan to intercept the “package” coming from Newark Airport and infiltrate the Thirteen Gang’s Crampton Street headquarters.
The doorman admitted the trio into the marble-appointed lobby. As they passed him, he eyed the men with curiosity.
The shortest was a good-looking African-American man with a muscular build, a shaved head, and a polished demeanor — his deep blue, tailored pinstriped suit appeared to be worth more than the doorman’s monthly salary. The others were built like linebackers and looked like members of a gangsta rapper’s posse.
The black man in the suit approached the desk. “Montel Tanner to see Mr. Tobias.”
The desk clerk smiled. “Yes, Mr. Tobias left word that he was expecting you. Take the elevator to the eighth floor.
Suite 801.”
“Thank you, my man,” Tanner said, gesturing to his comrades to follow.
When the elevator door closed on Tanner and his companions, the doorman spoke. “Gee, do you think they’re clubbing tonight?”
The desk clerk shrugged.
Outside, three late-model Cadillac SUVs were lined up on Central Park West. The doorman scanned the cars for a glimpse of scantily clad models. But the only occupants he could see were tough-looking urban males.
