Authors: John Whitman
“A lot of loose ends,” Chappelle said. For once, he was not being critical, he was simply analyzing the situation. “How does this damned militia fit in. Do they?”
“Well, I don’t think the Greater Nation does,” Kelly suggested. “I think their part of the story ends once they learn about terrorists and we stop them. All the rest has been Jack. The only part of the Nation that doesn’t figure is Frank Newhouse. If he’s under cover for the AG why not identify himself? If his job was to spy on the Greater Nation, then it’s over. If his job was to track down the terrorists, why not join forces with us?”
“And why blow up an entire building?” Chappelle added. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
Kelly held up his damaged hands. “I would so love to ask him that question in person.” Chappelle nodded in understanding. The two men shared a moment of silence, awkward and self-conscious. Kelly, not ready or willing to share an extended human moment with Chappelle, looked away. He was relieved when the intercom buzzed.
“Kelly, I know you’re meeting, but can I come up?” Jessi Bandison asked.
“Come,” he said.
She was there in a few minutes. “We got our initial analysis of the wiring they found in the apartment. The data is available off the server, but I can give you the rundown. The wire bits we brought back were heavily insulated. The connectors that we found were also insulated. They were specifically designed to protect wiring at points of contact with machines or other wires. It’s almost like some kind of shield.”
“Do we have any idea what that means?” Kelly asked.
“Not yet, but we think we’ll have a working theory by the end of the day.”
3:44
P
.
M
. PST Peppermint Club
Farrah’s car pulled up to the Peppermint, a strip club southeast of downtown in an industrial area nestled between the downtown businesses and the beach communities. The place had just opened for business and the parking lot was nearly deserted. There were plenty of spaces in front, but one of the Armenian giants, acting as the driver of Farrah’s limousine, pulled around to the back anyway.
The sun was bright in the parking lot as they got out. Jack looked around. There was nothing like going to a strip club on a sunny afternoon, he thought, to make you feel like a total loser.
One of the giants opened the back door to the club and Farrah walked in, followed by Jack. The two giants brought up the rear.
Farrah walked through the club’s little kitchen, saying hello to the two men working there. He passed into the main room, which was as dark as midnight. No effort had been spared to shield the Peppermint’s clientele from the world outside. Darkness ruled here, despite the fact that two stages were awash in multicolored stage lights. Music blasted enthusiastically, and a silky-voiced DJ introduced the next dancer as though the club was totally packed instead of almost completely empty, which it was.
A dancer was on stage, going through the motions. A man in a Von Dutch T-shirt sat at the edge of the stage drinking an O’Doul’s nonalcoholic beer. Jack saw one or two other men sitting at tables in the shadows. There were clearly not enough prospects here to give the dancer much enthusiasm. She was naked; she had the body and the moves, but there was no oomph in her performance. She’d gotten stuck with the early shift, and there was nothing to do but get through it as painlessly as possible.
Farrah walked through the Peppermint like he owned the place, clapping for the girl on the stage and whistling. Jack noticed that the twin giants had disappeared. “Ah, Tina, you can shake your ass better than that, I know this from personal experience! Hey, Mikey!” He turned to the DJ tucked away in a corner. “Get one of the other girls on the stage, I’ve got a guest here and Tina is my treat for him!”
The DJ shooed Tina off the stage in his radio voice, and another dancer appeared to take her place.
“Sit, sit, Jack Knudson who needs to get paid to kill.” Farrah laughed. “You are in for a treat, my friend.”
The girl, Tina, came over. She had put her clothes back on, such as they were. Her dark hair was in pigtails.Her blouse wasrolledupand tiedinaknotunder her breasts. She wore a schoolgirl skirt specifically engineered not to cover her ass, and thigh high stockings.
“Hey, big tipper,” she said to Farrah. “I’d ask what brings you in here so early, but I know it’s me.”
“Oh, it’s you, it’s you,” Farrah said. He was like a kid in a candy store. “But it’s also a little business. I want you to keep my friend entertained while I go talk to someone. The dance is on me, okay, okay?”
She smiled at Jack. “Well, as a matter of fact, the dance is on
you
, but he’s paying for it.” To make her point, she fell onto him and slid her body down his until she was kneeling in front of him.
Jack tried to look as though his attention was on the girl while at the same time trying to track Farrah and his bodyguards through the darkened nightclub. Unfortunately, the table Farrah had chosen left half the club behind Jack, and turning his back on the girl would have been way too obvious. The girl lowered her head and brushed her thick black hair between his legs, then lifted her chin up to look at him and smiled as she pressed her body against him. “You’re awfully good-looking to be one of his friends,” she said with a well-practiced squeak.
“And you’re way too good to be working the dead times,” he said. “You new?”
She shook her head. “Part of the deal. Every girl’s gotta work one afternoon a month. Otherwise, no one would do it.” She jumped to her feet and turned around, arching her back and shifting her hips in a way that reached past all of Jack’s training and grabbed him in that deep place where all his primal urges lay.
A fast movement to his right caught Jack’s eye. A man ran by, followed by a big shadow. The smaller figure headed for the front exit and looked like he’d get there, but a second shadow detached itself from the wall and swallowed the little man. Jack heard a squeal. Then he heard Farrah’s voice say, “Come on, Farid, okay, okay. Come outside and talk with us. That’s all.”
The two giants turned around and started toward the back. In a flash of light from the dance floor, Jack saw a smaller man, looking like he’d just been sentenced to death, walk between them. He looked Middle Eastern.
“What’s all that?” he asked.
Tina looked over her shoulder seductively and shrugged. “Shit goes on here sometimes” was all she said.
“You know that guy with them?”
She looked, as though paying attention for the first time. “The little one. No. I mean, he’s come in once or twice but he doesn’t go for me. He’s an Arab, and they all go for the blonds.”
“An Arab,” Jack wondered, taking a long shot. “First time you saw him was maybe a few months ago? With Farrah?”
The girl shrugged. “I guess, maybe.”
“Excuse me,” he said, standing up. If Farrah’s actions in the loft were any indication, they were going to kill this man, and it occurred to Jack that this victim might be one that he needed alive.
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THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLAC
E
BETWEEN THE HOURS OF
4 P.M. AND 5 P.M.
PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
4:00
P
.
M
. PST Peppermint Club
Jack walked across the dark club, leaving the hot-bodied girl in the schoolgirl outfit behind and chasing after the Armenian thugs and their prisoner, thinking, not for the last time, that the twists and turns of his job were sometimes ridiculous.
He reached the back door as it swung closed, and caught the handle with a sliver of light still visible. Farrah was close enough to the door that he could hear the man talking. Not wanting to reveal himself, Jack kept the door ajar and listened.
“Farrah, please, please,” the other man was plead
ing. “I didn’t know Rasheed would steal from you. He never stole from me.”
“Okay, okay,” Farrah said angrily. “I believe that. I believe he was stealing with you, how’s that!”
“No, please—”
“No, please,” Farrah mocked. “What I know is that you recommended that cocksucker and he stole from me. That makes me think he stole from me and maybe moved some of the merchandise through you, eh?”
“No, I swear!” the other man, Farid, pleaded.
Farrah laughed. “And do you know what else he did? What you did? You used my place as a dropoff. My place. I’m not the bus station, Farid, okay? You drop off people like that, it brings attention that I don’t want, okay?”
“Don’t kill me!”
“Why not? I thought your type was always ready to die for your cause. Isn’t that what you do, give your lives to Allah?”
“I’m not one of those!” the other man said.
“No? Your friends were, weren’t they? The ones you and Rasheed brought in. They were supposed to work for me, weren’t they, but they went off with my guns and some of my money and now where are they? Where is my money?”
“I-I don’t know. I swear I don’t know!” Just as he had with Ramin, Jack could tell that this Farid was telling the truth. He could also tell that Farrah didn’t particularly care and planned to kill him anyway. He couldn’t let that happen.
Jack pulled the door wide open and sauntered out into the bright sunlight. He blinked a little till his eyes adjusted, making all his movements big and careless.
“What the fuck—” he said casually, seeing the two big Armenians and Farrah looming over Farid, who was on his knees. Farrah, with his back to Jack, held a gun, his hand hanging low along his side.
“Just a little more business,” Farrah said.
Jack walked up to them, eyeing Farid. He was Persian, not Arab, which fit the profile Jack was looking for. He was also clearly terrified.
“Like I said, I’m looking for business,” Jack said. “You want to pay me a little something, I’ll kill him for you.”
Farrah laughed. “What, you think I catch the fish and then I need someone to carry him for me?”
“Suit yourself,” Jack said. He stepped back.
Farrah raised his gun. When he did, Jack lunged forward, covering the distance between them in a single burst, his arms extending as far as possible. One hand caught the gun and the other hand clutched Farrah’s wrist. Jack twisted his body and snapped the gun from Farrah’s hand. In nearly the same motion he smashed the muzzle into Farrah’s face and shoved him backward. He jumped away from the clutches of the two startled giants and turned the weapon on them.
Farrah spat blood out of his chubby mouth. “Okay, okay, I got to kill some people for this.”
“I’ve had one of those days, too,” Jack said. “You, Farid, I need you to stand up and come over here. You two, Dumb and Dumber, you stay where you are.”
The Peppermint’s back door flew open and Tina walked out. “Hey, someone’s got to pay me!”
The sound of the door flying open seemed to break a spell that bound them all. The two giants lumbered into action. Farid bolted like a frightened rabbit. Farrah reached down to his ankle for what was undoubtedly a backup weapon.
Jack fired, but Farrah’s gun jammed. The first giant put a huge hand on him and Jack, still holding the weapon by its grip, punched the muzzle into his teeth. He snatched his own weapon from the Armenian’s belt and, at the same time, kicked the other one in the groin. Both giants sagged down to their knees. Jack took off after Farid, who had nearly reached the corner of the building.
4:31
P
.
M
. PST CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Jessi Bandison buzzed Kelly Sharpton in his office.
“Kelly, we have results.”
“I’ll come down. Call Chappelle.”
Kelly descended the stairs and headed for the conference room. Chappelle was there before him, along with Nina Myers and half of CTU. Nina Myers said specifically to Kelly and Chappelle, “Let me introduce Amy Brant. She’s on loan to us from the NSA, because we didn’t have anyone who recognized the wiring we found. Ms. Brant.”
A heavyset woman with the face of a farmer’s daughter stood up. She held a tiny piece of blue rubber in her hand. When she pressed a button on the conference display, an image of the same piece of blue rubber appeared on the screen, greatly magnified.
“This is a sample of what your forensics team found in the condo,” Ms. Brant said in a Minnesota accent. “This, plus some interesting plastic connectors, like this.” She clicked a mouse, and a new image popped up. This piece looked like an orange plastic cap. “This is a connector, the kind you use when you have two wires you want to put together.”
“Like if you’re installing a lamp in the ceiling,” Kelly offered.
“Right there,” Brant said. “So the functions the wire and the connector serve aren’t anything special. But the rubber coating on the wire, and the shape and content of the plastic connector, these were things we hadn’t seen before.”
“Do you know where they come from?” Chappelle asked.
“We do now,” Brant said. “They come from us. We make them.”
“What do they do?”
Brant said. “This rubber coating and these connectors are designed to insulate electronic devices against attacks from electromagnetic pulse weapons. EMPs.”
The room filled with the low buzz of questions. Chappelle leaned over to Kelly. “Another loose end,” he whispered.
Kelly tapped his knuckles on the table for attention. “Wait, wait. I understand what electromagnetic pulses are. Those are the things that knock out electronic devices, right?”
“A nuclear blast might cause one,” Nina Myers said.
“A number of people have been working on devices that cause EMP bursts without wiping out the territory with a nuclear blast,” Amy Brant said. “EMP burst weapons would neutralize unshielded enemy electronics, everything from night vision goggles to fighter bombers. Some of the research is going on at Cal Tech over in Pasadena.”