24 Declassified: 01 - Operation Hell Gate

by Marc A. Cerasini

Jack was reaching for a lifeline and Nina tossed him one. There was a tiny pause in which he could almost feel Nina’s smile over the phone. They had worked so closely and so intensely, Jack sometimes felt he knew what Nina was thinking.

  “Listen, Jack. We’re not out of leads yet. Jamey’s dug up some new intelligence; so have Tony and Captain Schneider.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind, just listen.” Nina told Jack everything they’d learned about Felix Tanner, his connection to Prolix Security, and that company’s connection to the Lynch brothers through their Green Dragon store in Queens. Then she briefed him about Wexler Storage and the company’s connection to both Prolix Security and the Lynch brothers’ computer store.

  “Have you found out anything more about Special Agent Frank Hensley?”

  “Sorry, Jack. Only what’s public knowledge—and by public I mean in the newspapers. The FBI has effectively cut us off from their database. Some of the other agencies are starting to get nervous, too. The walls are getting higher.”

  “Because of Hensley’s accusations about me?”

  Nina said nothing. They both knew the answer.

  “Listen, Nina...I have a problem. It’s Caitlin, she’s done her part but she’s a civilian. I can’t drag her all over town, put her in jeopardy again. And I can’t leave her on her own. If the Lynch brothers find her she’s dead.”

  “I’ve already discussed this issue with Ryan. He’s dispatched a CTU agent named Carlos Ferrer out of the D.C. office. Special Agent Ferrer is scheduled to arrive on the Amtrak Acela in less than an hour. He’ll contact you then. Agent Ferrer will take custody of Caitlin, escort her to a safe house.”

  “Good work, Nina. I’m going to Wexler Storage next.”

  “Why there, Jack?”

  “I’m figuring that the missile launchers for the New York attack have to be stored somewhere—a central location where the leader of the terrorist cell can keep tabs on them, and a place from which the weapons could easily be dispatched. Wexler Storage fits the bill. It’s in the heart of Manhattan, within driving distance of three major airports.”

  “It’s your call, Jack.”

  “It’s going to take me some time to get to Houston Street. The car’s been compromised so I’m taking the subway. I’ll be out of touch for a while.”

  “What about the package?”

  “Caitlin is coming with me. Keep gathering data on Felix Tanner, and find out what you can about Frank Hensley.”

  11:19:11 A.M.EDT Office of New York Senator William Cheever Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, D.C.

  Dennis Spain had just ended a conversation with WestWing Airlines CEO Gilbert Hemmer when his intercom buzzed.

  “I said I was not to be disturbed,” Spain snapped at the woman. “You know the Senator’s teleconference is this afternoon. I have more calls to make.”

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  “It’s Mr. Reichel, sir. You said I was supposed to notify you immediately whenever Mr. Reichel calls.”

  “Put him on.”

  A moment later, Spain addressed the Assistant Undersecretary of Budgetary Affairs for the United States Government Travel Office. “Hey, Ted. What’s up?”

  “Listen, Dennis. You asked me to tell you when travel vouchers are issued to anyone at CTU. We got one this morning. For an Agent Carlos Ferrer, D.C. to New York City.”

  “I’ll need Agent Ferrer’s itinerary,” Spain said, examining his fingernails.

  “The usual fee?”

  “You bet.”

  “I’ll fax that information right over to you.”

  “Wait. I have another number I want you to use.” Spain read it off.

  “212? That’s a New York City area code.”

  “That’s right. Fax the information ASAP.”

  “I’ll do it now.”

  Dennis Spain ended the call, buzzed his secretary. “Get me Felix Tanner at Prolix Security’s Manhattan office.”

  11:20:09 A.M.EDT CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles

  A shaky Milo Pressman finished recounting the disaster at Green Dragon Computers to the members of Crisis Management Team Alpha. Jamey Farrell was especially affected. She had known Nell Henkel quite well. Sometimes they went clubbing together.

  Ryan Chappelle listened with the others, then spoke. “First let me say what happened was a tragedy, but no one in this room should blame themselves. My assistant will compose letters of condolences to the families of Michael Chen and Danielle Henkel. Needless to say, their loss has further strained our manpower resources. Mr. Pressman and Ms. Farrell will have to take on additional responsibilities—”

  “What about the plan, Mr. Chappelle?”

  All eyes turned to Captain Schneider, still clad in the civilian clothes she wore when she single-handedly assaulted Green Dragon, her blond hair loose and falling around her shoulders.

  “I really don’t think this is the time—”

  “I think it is,” Captain Schneider replied. “You want to find out more about FBI Agent Frank Hens-ley, right? This might be the only way to gain access to such information. The California Senator’s running feud with the Bureau is something we can exploit.”

  “What you’re suggesting is nothing less than a raid on another government agency.”

  Jessica Schneider shrugged. “A potentially corrupt agency, Mr. Chappelle. At the very least an agency that has been compromised by a traitor or double agent.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Nina Myers protested. “CTU has already been marginalized by the other agencies. If word of this ever gets out—”

  Chappelle waved Nina’s concerns aside. “What do you think, Tony?”

  Agent Almeida’s eyes shifted from Nina to Jessica. “In this case I’d have to go with Captain Schneider. We need to know if Frank Hensley is the mastermind behind this operation, or if he’s another cog in a big

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  ger wheel. We need to know why the FBI chose today to raid Kahlil’s market. And we need to know what the FBI knows—about Felix Tanner, Green Dragon, Wexler Storage. If they’re going to withhold that intelligence from us because of some bogus accusations against Jack Bauer, then we should go in and grab it ourselves.”

  “Is there any other way to gain access to this information?” Ryan asked. “Any suggestions, Jamey? Nina?”

  “Withholding information is nothing new,” Nina replied. “The wall this Administration and the Attorney General’s office erected between the intelligence agencies is too high for CTU to climb. And with Jack Bauer under suspicion, nobody is willing to cut us any slack.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Ryan said. “Therefore I’m going to authorize this mission. When can you go?”

  Tony rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Some software protocols will need to be established—”

  “We can go right now,” said Jessica. “Who’s the FBI Bureau Chief in Los Angeles?”

  “His name is Jeffrey Dodge. I met him at an interagency conference three months ago. Middle-aged, recently divorced.”

  Jessica nodded. “Good, I can exploit that.”

  The meeting broke up minutes later. Tony fell into step with the Captain. “You’re right. We do need the information the FBI is keeping from us. But you poured it on a little thick back there. This isn’t the Corps. We can’t just charge into every situation and hope for the best. Stop thinking like a Marine all the time.”

  Jessica’s eyes flashed cold. “Maybe you should start thinking like a Marine again, Agent Almeida. You might get better results.”

  11:59:34 A.M.EDT Boulevard Diner, Forest Hills, Queens

  Liam hung up the receiver, heard the quarter rattle in the return slot. He pocketed the coin and headed back to the counter. Following Shamus’s instructions, he’d gone directly to the Lynch brothers’ store on Queens Boulevard, only to find the place mysteriously closed.

  He hung around for a while, then decided to cross ten lanes of Queens Boulevard to a local diner. The place was jammed with a lunchtime crowd
, so he grabbed a seat at the booth and ordered a burger and chips. He left his jacket on the seat and took the attaché case to the pay phone. The steel case was starting to feel like a ball and chain.

  First he dialed the number for the Lynch brothers’ store, got the electronic message giving business hours and directions. Next he dialed The Last Celt, looking for his sister. Strangely, no one answered the phone there, either. But Donnie Murphy should have been there; he was as punctual as the sun when it came to running the pub, and he was always there before nine o’clock to accept deliveries and such.

  Liam hung up the phone and carried the case back to the counter. His food was waiting for him, but he’d lost his appetite. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble was heading his way.

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  THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 12 P.M. AND 1 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

  12:00:00 P.M.EDT Penn Station, New York City

  The Acela had rolled into New York’s Penn Station at

  11:57 a.m., four minutes ahead of schedule. Exiting onto the cavernous underground platform, Special Agent Carlos Ferrer shifted his heavy suitcase, followed the tide of passengers to the escalator and up to Penn Station’s main concourse.

  When Ferrer departed Washington that morning, he had been told that CTU Los Angeles had not made contact with Jack Bauer in more than four hours. Reestablishing communication was Ferrer’s first priority. He paused under the massive hanging sign that displayed arrival and departure times and track numbers of trains with names like the Yankee Clipper, the Metroliner, the Pennsylvanian, and the Washingtonian. Agent Ferrer doubted that finding Bauer would be as easy as making a phone call, but he had to give itashot.

  Unfortunately he could not acquire a signal— probably because he was beneath massive Madison Square Garden. Agent Ferrer turned, searching for an exit when he saw a man approaching him. The stranger had a dark tan, deep brown eyes, and sun-streaked yellow-blond hair. He grinned as he stepped into range, extended his hand in greeting.

  “Special Agent Ferrer? I’m Jack Bauer, CTU.” The man flashed his ID. “I just got word you were on your way in from D.C., so I came to meet you.”

  12:21:06 P.M.EDT FBI Headquarters, Los Angeles

  The FBI’s Los Angeles headquarters was one of a cluster of Federal buildings on the corner of Wilshire Drive and Veteran Boulevard, between the UCLA Medical Center and Westwood Park. Despite rush hour traffic, Tony Almeida and Captain Schneider drove there in thirty minutes. They displayed their false IDs to security and were immediately cleared.

  Jeffrey Dodge, the Los Angeles District Administrator of the FBI office in Los Angeles, met them at the elevator. A balding, heavy-set man of middle age, Dodge displayed the instant affability of a trained bureaucrat. “Ms. Van Dyne, Mr. Newsom, welcome to the Bureau. I had no idea you were coming.”

  Tony smiled, shook the man’s beefy hand. Then Jes

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  sica stepped forward, brushed aside her windblown, straw-blond hair. “Things have been just a whirlwind since Senator Baxter accepted a chair on the Senate Intelligence Committee,” she said breathlessly. When they shook hands, Jessica’s lingered in his.

  “Please, follow me.” Dodge ushered the pair into his spacious corner office, closed the door behind them. He had trouble keeping his eyes off Jessica Schneider, who wore a black pin-striped jacket over a matching mini-skirt and stiletto heels that emphasized her tanned, athletic legs. Under the jacket, her wispy blouse was open to display the Captain’s other attributes.

  While Dodge escorted Jessica to a chair, Tony studied his surroundings. The Bureau Chief’s office was spacious, its faux wood-trimmed walls decorated with framed diplomas, portraits of his two adolescent children, along with vacation snapshots. Images of the former Mrs. Dodge were noticeably absent, suggesting a bitter split. There was a photo of Bureau Chief Dodge posing with the current President. On a large, polished oaken desk, Tony spied what he was looking for—Dodge’s keyboard and monitor. The computer was idle; on-screen the FBI insignia floated on a red, white, and blue background.

  Dodge took position behind his desk, waited politely for Jessica to sit down. She did—directly in front of him, crossing her long, naked legs.

  “Well,” Dodge said, visibly nervous, “how can I help California’s esteemed Senator?”

  Jessica leaned forward, smiled. “I’ll just get right to the point, Mr. Dodge. During her long political career, Senator Bonny Baxter has been unfairly cast as a politician who is hostile to our nation’s law enforcement and intelligence services—”

  “Oh, now I wouldn’t go that far,” said Dodge.

  “No, no, Mr. Dodge, it’s true. My boss is fully aware of her reputation; that’s why I came here today. You see, Senator Baxter would like to show America that she can forge strong relationships with America’s premier law enforcement agencies, starting with the FBI.”

  “I think that’s a fine idea.”

  “The Senator thought you’d feel that way.”

  “She did?”

  “She even mentioned you by name. And I can see why she chose you, Mr. Dodge. You’re quite... photogenic.”

  Dodge grinned shyly, fumbled with his tie. Tony noted how pronounced Jessica’s Texas drawl had become. He smiled to himself. Obviously that whole debutante thing was something she could turn off or on at will—and, he had to concede, a fairly handy little tool for undercover work.

  “Well, Ms. Van Dyne—”

  “Call me Tandi, Mr. Dodge.”

  “Well, Tandi. What can I do to help?”

  “The Senator was thinking a photo opportunity, right here at FBI headquarters, with its director. A nice dramatic shot, with a really interesting background.”

  “How about our new training facilities? They’re located right here in the basement. We just opened the newly renovated wing last week.”

  “Why that would be simply delightful, Mr. Dodge. Could you possibly show me around?”

  “By all means.” Jeffrey Dodge rose, placed a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. On their way out Dodge completely ignored Tony—and that was the plan.

  While Jessica kept the man distracted, Tony leaned

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  across the desk and flipped the keyboard upside down. He slapped the tiny self-adhesive device in the palm of his hand onto the bottom of the keyboard, then put the keyboard down. In less than three seconds the job was done.

  Tony knew that a routine security sweep would immediately uncover the CTU spyware device, but such measures were taken only once or twice a week. In the meantime the tiny transmitter would broadcast every keystroke on the FBI director’s keypad back to CTU headquarters. The next time Jeffrey Dodge logged onto his computer, Jamey Farrell would have his password. Using it, she could then download the classified FBI files on Frank Hensley from the Bureau’s own database.

  12:36:54 P.M.EDT Wexler Business Storage Houston Street, Lower Manhattan

  Wexler Business Storage was housed in a dreary six-story brick building on Houston Street in the West Village. The chipped, over-painted cornerstone revealed the date of construction as 1908. A cast-iron fire escape climbed the front of the red-brick edifice. The arched windows had once admitted sunlight, but were now shuttered with dense black glass.

  An SUV identical to the one Dante Arete had perished inside was parked at the curb. Behind it, a New York City police car with three officers gathered around it.

  Jack dragged Caitlin back, peered around the corner.

  “What’s the matter, Jack? Don’t you want to go in there?”

  “I can’t. Thanks to a corrupt FBI agent, the police are looking for me. I can’t risk being spotted.”

  Caitlin peeked around the corner, studied the building for a moment. “Why don’t I go?”

  “That’s crazy.”

  Caitlin faced him. “Look. There’s a help wanted sign on the door. I’ll pretend to apply for the job. Maybe
I can check the place out. If you tell me what you’re looking for I can—”

  “No,” said Jack. “I have a better idea...”

  12:41:12 P.M.EDT CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles

  “I’ve got Jeffrey Dodge’s password,” Jamey said, her fingers poised over the keyboard. She typed the code into a secure data line. “Okay, I’m in.”

  Five minutes later, Nina was scanning Special Agent Frank Hensley’s personnel file on screen. She learned that Hensley had many Bureau citations, most earned for undercover assignments. But as they thought, Hensley’s most recent investigation centered on Dante Arete’s Brooklyn gang, the Columbia Street Posse.

  The case had not gone well; at least that’s what Hensley reported to his superiors. The Posse outsmarted the FBI at every turn, rooted out informants, and when Hensley’s partner tried to take extraordinary means to get a conviction, he was murdered by Dante or his lieutenants—at least that’s what Hensley told his bosses. But Nina knew Hens-ley was a liar, so he might be lying about his partner’s death, too.

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  Going back through his personnel file, Nina discovered Hensley was a 1991–92 Gulf War veteran of the

  U.S. Army. He had been a prisoner of war, too. A captive of the Iraqis in Baghdad for nearly three months.

  The capture took place when Hensley had been on routine patrol along the border of Occupied Kuwait. His men had been killed by an elite Iraqi unit, but since Hensley was the highest-ranking officer, his life had been spared and he was spirited to Baghdad to act as a human shield. Hensley was released at the end of hostilities, along with all the other American and Coalition prisoners. He left the Army, finished earning his law degree, and took a job with the Bureau.

  Nina cursed. The files revealed nothing. They were the history of an exemplary citizen—war hero, law enforcement officer, dedicated civil servant.

  “He’s divorced,” said Ryan Chappelle, startling Nina. She turned to find him staring at the monitor. “It says so right there. He was married for three years. Her maiden name was Katherine Elizabeth Felloes and she was born in Los Angeles, attended Beverly Hills High School.”