24: Deadline (24 Series)

by James Swallow

  Jack didn’t stop to make sure the first man was out of action. If he didn’t act with speed, it wouldn’t matter one way or another. Dropping the skillet, he bolted across the room and met the other agent as the first man was coming back out of the bathroom, calling, “Clear!”

  “Not exactly,” Jack retorted, and landed a crippling punch in the agent’s throat. The man’s cry for help was choked off and Jack shoved him back into the bathroom, using one hand to push aside the MP5/10. He had the momentum and he used it to slam the agent’s head down against the toilet cistern, then kicked at his opponent’s legs to rob him of what little balance he still had. Clad in body armor, a helmet rig and tactical vest, the FBI agent moved slower than Jack, and in the confined space of the apartment’s bathroom that small edge was all that Bauer needed.

  He tripped the man into a fall that sent his head ringing off the rim of the sink and the agent fell limp, collapsing into a heap.

  In the same second, the small can of deodorant Jack had stuck inside the kitchen’s microwave oven reached a point of critical combustion, and with a flat concussive chug, the oven door blew off its hinges. A ball of orange fire puffed out, immediately setting off the smoke alarm.

  The agent in the kitchen reeled, catching the heat of the improvised explosive across his back. He swore, falling against the balcony door, and scrambled to bring his submachine gun around to bear.

  One after another, a half-dozen small black cylinders came flying out of the bedroom, clattering off the walls and the wooden flooring. Jack tossed flash bangs and smoke grenades he had pulled from the belts of the other agents, and then threw himself aside as they went off in a staccato ripple of thunder.

  A dense white fog filled the apartment, taking visibility down to almost nothing. Jack heard the other agents calling out, cursing and shouting for help.

  Pulling a discarded T-shirt across his face as a makeshift mask, Jack surged forward, and the man in the kitchen stumbled into him as he tried to feel his way back into the room. Along with the grenades, Bauer had snatched a pistol-shaped X2 Taser from the agents he had neutralized, and he used it to quietly put the other man down.

  In the smoke, the other three agents were calling out to one another. “What the hell?” said one voice, high and tight with tension. “You see anything?”

  “We need to fall back,” said another.

  A pair of green targeting lasers snapped on, threading through the haze. “Stay focused. Find this guy!”

  Jack kept low, and out of the smoke came a figure clad in blue and black, sweeping the muzzle of his weapon back and forth. The stolen X2 still had another charge in it, so Jack pivoted and jammed it into the ribs of the agent.

  The stun gun buzzed like a hornet in a tin can, and the agent screamed. His hand twitched and he unwittingly fired off a burst from his weapon, a cluster of 10mm rounds ripping into the plaster of the ceiling. Jack let him fall and moved toward one of the other voices.

  He heard a crash as the agent carrying the shotgun collided with a freestanding lamp, glass crunching underfoot. Jack repeated the same attack he had used on the man in the bathroom and came in low, aiming a lethal kick down at the point where he guessed his knee would be.

  His aim was good. Bone cracked and the shotgunner folded, howling in agony. Jack silenced him with a second and then a third blow, before sweeping up the Remington and moving after the last man.

  The final member of the tactical team was retreating back toward the vague outline of the ruined doorway when the muzzle of the shotgun was suddenly pressing into his throat. He froze.

  “Put your weapon down,” said Jack. “Drop the gun belt too. Do it now.”

  The agent did as he was told. “Easy, Bauer…” he began. “What do you think you’re doing, man? You gonna kill me? You’re just making this worse.”

  “No one here is dead,” Jack shot back, and then with a savage jerk he cracked the agent across the face with the butt of the Remington, knocking him out.

  He spun the gun around and fired toward the windows of the apartment, blowing out the blinds and the glass with each shot. Immediately, the smoke began to vent into the evening air. He dropped into a crouch and ran a professional eye over the unconscious FBI agent’s gear.

  A tinny voice issued out of the radio clipped to the agent’s shoulder. “This is Kilner, tac team report! Report! Does anyone copy this message, over?”

  Jack snatched up the radio handset and stuffed it in a jacket pocket, and then with quick, spare motions, he stripped the downed agents of all the gear he was going to need and stuffed it into his gym bag.

  04

  Agent Kilner stared at the radio handset, his throat dry. “I repeat, does anyone copy my transmission?”

  Only static answered him. The two NYPD cops had emerged from their car after the sounds of the grenade detonations, and now they stood, guns drawn, staring up at the streamers of white smoke billowing out of the shattered apartment windows. Kilner heard one of them calling it in, and the other shot him a look. “We’re gonna check the entrance, you stay put!”

  Both men sprinted across Twenty-Third Street, veering around stalled cabs and other traffic that had slowed to take a look at the unfolding confusion. Kilner discarded the tactical radio and pulled his cell phone, hitting the redial key. “Agent Hadley, where are you?”

  Hadley’s voice had the echoing timbre of someone on a speakerphone. “I’m three blocks away, damn traffic is a pain in the ass in this city. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve lost contact with the SWAT team! The unit commander insisted on going in straightaway, he didn’t want to wait for you to get here.”

  Kilner could hear sirens in the background of the call, and seconds later the same sound reached him. Hadley swore under his breath. “I warned them not to underestimate Bauer.”

  Without warning, the Ford rocked as someone wrenched open one of the rear doors and dropped into the seat behind him.

  “Good advice,” said a voice that was all gravel and hard edges. An FBI-issue Springfield M1911A1 semiautomatic pressed into the back of Kilner’s neck and a hand snaked forward to snatch the phone from him, cutting off the call.

  The agent tried to turn and the pistol dug hard into his skin. “Wait, no…”

  “Kilner, right? From DC?” said Jack. “I remember you.” He gave him another prod with the gun. “Drive.”

  “Did you kill those men up there?”

  Jack snorted quietly. “They’ll survive. Now get this thing moving. I’m not gonna ask you again.”

  “Okay…” Kilner put the Ford into gear and pulled out into traffic.

  “Step on it,” Jack insisted. “Don’t stop for anything.”

  Kilner moved the car into the middle lane and started heading west, in the direction of the Hudson River. “Where are we going?”

  “Just drive.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kilner saw the other man lever off the back of the cell phone he had taken and pull the SIM card and battery, temporarily rendering the built-in tracking device useless.

  “Bauer … Jack.” Kilner swallowed and tried to keep his voice even. “There’s still time to end this. Give me the weapon, let me take you in. We can work this all out.”

  “You think so?” Jack shifted a bag on the backseat and leaned closer. “I go in, I’m going to disappear. I know how this works. Either my own side drops me down a deep, dark hole or the SVR gets to me first.”

  “SVR?” Kilner repeated. “The Russians can’t move on you…” He caught up with his own words. “At least, not legally.”

  “Now you’re catching on…” Jack’s tone shifted as Kilner took his foot off the gas. They were coming up to the crossing with Eighth Avenue and the traffic signals were against them. “I said don’t stop!”

  Kilner was about to answer, but a flash of headlights in his side mirror caught his eyes. A glossy black Ford Expedition SUV was coming up fast behind them, and he glimpsed a familiar face behind the wheel—Markinson. In t
he passenger seat was Hadley, a pistol in his hand and a phone at his ear.

  Suddenly, hidden strobes flashed blue and red from behind the Expedition’s grille and the SUV crowded in on the smaller sedan.

  Jack pushed forward and grabbed Kilner’s knee with his free hand, clamping it like a vise. He forced Kilner’s leg down on the accelerator and the Fusion’s engine snarled as it leapt forward.

  The agent gripped the steering wheel tightly and snaked the car through the lines of traffic crossing the junction, a storm of blaring horns and shouted curses following them as they hurtled across and down the next block. The speedometer ticked up and up as Jack continued to force him to accelerate.

  Hadley’s SUV was still coming, the larger vehicle losing precious seconds as it slewed to avoid a bus.

  Jack pointed the Springfield back toward the Fusion’s rear window and fired off two rounds. The first turned the clear glass into an opaque, frosted mess; the second blew out the window and gave him a clear line of sight toward the pursuing Expedition. He aimed carefully and loosed off another shot, this one blinding one of the SUV’s glaring headlights.

  Agent Hadley was already up and leaning out of the passenger side window, a weapon in his hand. He returned fire, putting shots into the sedan’s trunk. Then the SUV put on a surge of power and closed the distance as the Ninth Avenue intersection came up at the end of the block.

  Ahead of them, a pair of water trucks filled the westbound lanes from one side to the other. Kilner moved to hit the brakes, but Jack had other ideas. At the last moment, he reached forward and yanked the steering wheel to the left, throwing the car across and into the path of oncoming traffic.

  “Shit!” Kilner veered to avoid a head-on collision with a people-carrier and shot across the intersection. Markinson was still with them, however. The female agent nimbly powered the tall-sided SUV through the same maneuver, rocking it dangerously on its higher suspension as both pursued and pursuer wove back and forth across Twenty-Third Street. “Are you trying to kill us?”

  “Turn off at Tenth,” Jack demanded. He paused for a second. “You said you have a kid, right?”

  “What?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but then he remembered. Years earlier when they had first met, Jorge had talked to Bauer back in DC after the FBI had him in lockdown. Just the two of them in the car, talking about what they believed was true, about their families and their jobs. “Yes. A daughter. Fiona.” Now it was happening all over again, but the circumstances were markedly different.

  “You just do what I tell you and you’ll see her again.” The next intersection was coming up fast. “Make the turn.”

  Kilner swallowed. It wasn’t like he had a lot of options. As they came up on the junction, he swung around a car rolling along in front of them, and tires screeched as the Fusion left a black streak on the asphalt, the rear end fishtailing into the turn.

  More gunfire lanced after them as they bounced onto Tenth Avenue and raced north. Jack shot back. Kilner guessed he was keeping his aim low, trying to put rounds into the wheels or the engine block of the SUV.

  Hadley didn’t seem to be extending them the same courtesy, however. A bullet barely missed Bauer and blasted a fist-sized hole in the windshield, and in the moment that followed Kilner heard a grumbling crackle issue out of the tactical radio laying were he had left it on the front passenger seat.

  “Stop the vehicle,” barked Hadley over the open channel. “Kilner, are you hearing me? Pull over, man!”

  “That guy the one in charge?” said Jack, as they passed Twenty-Sixth Street and continued on through the encroaching traffic.

  Kilner nodded. “Agent Hadley. Yeah. He’s got a real hate on for you.”

  “He can take a number and get in line. I don’t even know him.”

  “He was Pillar’s guy…”

  “Jason Pillar?” Jack scowled. “I’m not responsible for what happened to him.” He reached forward and grabbed the radio, squeezing the push-to-talk switch. “Hadley. Back off before someone gets hurt.”

  * * *

  “That’s not going to happen, Bauer.” Hadley shot a look at Markinson, releasing the transmitter switch so his next words wouldn’t be broadcast. “Where does he think he’s going?”

  “Gotta be making a break for the Lincoln Tunnel,” she told him. “All he needs to do is ditch the car halfway and get into the service passages. It’s a rat’s nest down there, we’d never find him.”

  Hadley glanced at Dell, who was hunched over a laptop in the backseat. “Converge any units we have on Thirtieth Street. If he is going for the tunnel, he’s going to have a nasty surprise.”

  “Air support is unavailable,” she told him. “We have two more cars and another tactical team.”

  “That’ll be enough.” He spoke into the radio again. “Last chance, Bauer. Because if I have to blast that vehicle off the street to take you out, I will do it.”

  “I have a hostage. I’ll kill him if you don’t pull back.”

  “No, you won’t.” Hadley dropped the radio and held out his hand to Dell. “Give me the M4.”

  * * *

  Kilner blinked at the exchange he had just overheard.

  “He’s right,” said Jack. “I won’t kill you.” Then he pressed the muzzle of the M1911 against Kilner’s kneecap. “But I will put a hole in your leg that’ll mean you’ll never be able to take a walk with your kid again.”

  “Understood…” His hands were sweating and he kneaded the grip of the steering wheel. As they crossed Twenty-Eighth Street Kilner saw a blur of white and blue, and an NYPD patrol car swerved out to meet them.

  The two cars slammed into one another, running parallel as they bumped, trading paint and sending flashes of sparks out across the roadway.

  Jack acted without hesitation, blowing out the Fusion’s side window and the toughened glass of the police car’s rear compartment. Kilner heard the familiar tink sound of an arming pin being pulled and a faint whiff of sulfur. Jack lobbed a smoke grenade into the backseat of the cruiser and ducked back down.

  There was a thudding discharge and white haze filled the cruiser’s interior. The police car wavered before it skidded to a halt and the officers inside scrambled out, but the FBI SUV was still coming, and Kilner saw Markinson use the heavier vehicle to shove the stalled cruiser out of its way. The Expedition’s moon roof slipped open and Hadley’s head and shoulders emerged.

  The special agent had decided to trade up from his handgun. Now he was armed with a Colt M4 carbine, a weapon of higher caliber and faster rate of fire. Hadley opened up, putting 7.62mm rounds into the trunk of the Fusion. Kilner felt one of the rear tires blow and the car’s traction became mushy. He fought to compensate.

  “Guess he meant what he said,” Jack muttered, pausing to reload the Springfield. “Gloves off, then.” He popped up over the rear seat and fired off a salvo of rapid shots that whined off the hood of the SUV in bright ricochets, others cracking but not penetrating the armored windscreen. Still, it was enough to make Hadley retreat back inside the vehicle for a moment.

  “Sooner or later we’re gonna run out of road, Jack!” shouted Kilner, as the stress and the fear pressed him into his seat. It was hard to keep the sedan from drifting into the oncoming lane. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting out of this city,” he retorted. Ahead of them, the intersection with Thirtieth Street was coming up fast. They could both see it, the crossroads capped by a black iron structure like the legs of an oil rig; it was the remains of the old elevated train system, now repurposed as a ribbon of urban parkland. “Make the turn there.”

  Kilner blinked. “They’re never going to let you get into the tunnel, Jack. It’ll be a kill-box!”

  “I know.” He leaned forward again and pointed in the wrong direction as they came up on the intersection. “Go down there.”

  “It’s a one-way street!”

  “We’re only gonna go one way.”

  Jack did the same tric
k as he had before, grabbing the wheel and turning it so that the Fusion spun the opposite way and lurched against the flow of the traffic. Kilner hung on for dear life as they charged straight into the path of other cars and vans, sending them skidding away to mount the sidewalk rather than crash. The agent banged on the horn bar in the middle of the steering wheel, shouting for the other drivers to veer off. They were no more than two or three blocks away from the edge of Manhattan now, and the river beyond. They were quite literally running out of road.

  The driver’s-side mirror exploded as a shot blasted it apart, and Kilner flinched. The bigger SUV, hemmed in on the smaller street, was still lumbering after them, but once more the turn had allowed the car to extend the distance between them. Racing past the Hudson Yards on the right, Kilner glimpsed the bulky shapes of garbage trucks moving back and forth on the courtyard of the Sanitation Department parking lot. He mashed the accelerator to push the Fusion past the front of one of the big white trucks as it nosed out into the street, and somewhere behind there was a screech of tires as the SUV had to throw on the anchors to avoid plowing into it.

  Now they were almost at the junction with the Lincoln Highway and Kilner’s heart was pounding in his chest. Hadley had shown he was more than willing to risk the agent’s life to get his quarry—and Bauer, a man that Jorge respected, seemed just as determined never to let that happen.

  The hot muzzle of the pistol jabbed him in the leg. “Get out,” Jack snapped. “Do it now!”

  “But we’re—”

  “Now!”

  Kilner thought about Fiona and a gunshot that could cripple him, and he snapped off his seat belt and opened the door, even as the car was still rolling at a swift pace. He pushed against the frame of the vehicle and launched himself into the air.

  The agent landed hard against the asphalt and he tumbled, bouncing to the curb, the rough roadway ripping at his hands and shredding his jacket. Dazed, he came to a halt against the base of a light pole in time to see the sedan bolt forward again as Jack slipped into the driver’s seat and stamped on the accelerator. The car careened over the lanes of busy highway, causing shunts and collisions as other vehicles tried and failed to get out of the way in time.