Squaring his narrow shoulders, Dubic crossed the basement, careful to avoid the fresh blood that stained the concrete floor. Noor was looming over Dr. Kabbibi, arguing about a damaged aerosol dispenser.
“I can install the dispenser myself,” Kabbibi argued. “It is unwise to bring a stranger into the plan this late in the game.”
“I have no choice,” Noor replied, his deep voice booming in the cavernous space. “Someone must operate the device, too.”
Kabbibi had no reply to that.
Dubic said nothing, either. He wasn’t one of Noor’s addled followers, and he wasn’t going to be anywhere near that dispenser when the device did its work.
Once a Serbian Black Dog, Dubic was now a gun for hire, the key word being hire. The Albino had been the one to contact him, employing Dubic to assemble a strike team.
Dubic cared little about the politics involved in this operation. He was in it for the money. Lots and lots of money.
Bringing down the holier-than-thou Americans was merely a happy by-product.
Just then, Noor spied Dubic. “You have news?”
“Good news,” Dubic said. “Our operative is on the way to Newark International in a chartered plane — with the device. I’m going to the airport now to pick them up.”
“Why the delay?” Noor demanded.
“Ungar told me the part came from NATO military stores. Difficult to replace, though he managed to do it.”
“Take the Hummer,” said Noor. “I’ll send someone with you.”
Dubic nodded. “How about Tanner?” He looked around for the muscular, charismatic black man with the shaved head, but failed to see him.
“Tanner’s not here,” said Noor. “I sent him to Manhattan to pick up your friend, the Albino.”
Dubic glanced around the basement for a second choice, but Montel Tanner was about the only man he’d ever liked in this group. The remaining pool consisted of twitchy felons and adolescent gang members — sociopathic personalities all.
“I’ll go myself,” he said. “It’s better that way.”
Dubic snatched the Hummer’s keys from one of Noor’s wild-eyed lieutenants. He could feel the crazy cultist staring daggers in his back as he walked to the hole cut into the basement wall, and entered the dimly lit sewer. The tunnel was dark and damp and nearly a block long.
The stench was overpowering, and though Dubic was not particularly tall, he had to crouch to prevent brushing his blond crew cut against the filth-covered ceiling. Water trickled along the floor. In the shadows, Dubic could hear rats scurrying.
Relieved to be out of the horrid pit, Dubic emerged in another brightly lit basement a few moments later. More of Noor’s brown-skinned followers clustered around a moderately sized tanker truck that was parked in the back of the interior space, away from the makeshift laboratory.
Dubic thought about the vehicle’s deadly contents and shuddered.
He climbed into the shiny black Hummer and gunned the engine. He drove up the ramp, and the door opened automatically. As he swerved off Crampton Street toward Howard Boulevard, Dubic pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it onto the dash.
When he reached the highway, he’d contact the Albino.
But first he had to get this monster American vehicle through these littered ghetto streets.
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.
“It’s nama, Dubic,” a man said in Serbian.
“Jest, Dubic,” Jack replied.
“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.”
“Vrlo dobar,” Jack rasped.
“I understand that Montel Tanner is on his way to you.