“It’s an interesting job, I’ll give you that.”
Ziminova frowned. She disliked the idea of bringing an outsider into the loop on this mission, especially a foreigner, even if they were someone with the talents that Bazin so prized.
“Is that a yes?”
“Jack Bauer…” The dulled, mechanical voice sounded out the name. “He’s a singular target. Many have tried to deal with him before and failed. It’ll be a challenge. Not to mention the time pressure.”
Bazin smiled thinly. “You are looking to increase your fee, is that it? You want ‘danger money’?”
“Thirty percent on top of my usual payment, Arkady. That’s my counter.”
Ziminova’s commander didn’t hesitate. “Done. It does not matter to me how he is dealt with, only that Bauer is terminated with extreme prejudice. And quickly.”
“What about collateral damage?”
He shrugged. “I am indifferent to it. The method of execution I leave to you to decide. The only stipulation is that you provide proof after the fact that he is dead.”
There was a soft chuckle. “You want me to send you his head in a box, is that it?”
“Whatever is most expedient. The man who has ordered this will wish to be certain that the job was done.”
“I can arrange that.” There was a pause. “A third of the money now, nonrefundable, the rest when you get the proof. Use the Brightstar Cayman Trust account. You know the codes, same as last time.”
Bazin nodded. “The transfer will be done within the hour. I will have one of our people forward you all the data we have on Bauer’s most recent movements.”
“I have my own resources,” said the assassin. “But go ahead.”
Ziminova raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Bazin nodded again. “Of course, if we find Bauer first, you understand that the deal is off, yes?”
“Good luck with that.”
“A pleasure to be working with you again, my dear.”
“Likewise, Arkady. I’ll be in touch.”
The phone went dead and Ziminova cut the line, studying the handset for a moment as if it might give her some clue as to the identity of the mystery “contractor.” “Why do we need this person?” she asked. “Surely that money can be spent in better ways?”
“You don’t trust mercenaries?” said Bazin.
“Loyalty to money is not loyalty,” Ziminova replied. “It is greed. And the greedy can always be manipulated.”
“Perhaps,” Bazin allowed. “Think of this as … an insurance policy. And remember, Bauer is ‘a singular target.’ Our friend there may not even live to collect the rest of the bounty on his head.”
“President Suvarov approved it?” She failed to keep an edge of faint scorn from her tone.
“It is within my authority,” Bazin replied. “You share Ekel’s view of the president.”
The statement came out of nowhere and caught her off guard. “Sir?”
“Am I wrong?” Bazin pressed the issue, studying her for any reaction.
“I didn’t vote for him,” she replied, at length.
Bazin laughed without humor, but in the next moment, Ziminova’s commander became cold and serious. “He is what our country needs, Galina. That is something beyond politics. It is about strength of intent.”
She didn’t respond. Ziminova had not risen to her rank by openly stating her opinion at every opportunity.
But Bazin would not let it drop. “Speak freely,” he said, and it was an order. “I know you have your doubts.”
She framed her words carefully. “When the presidential aircraft touches down, there is a good chance that Yuri Suvarov’s authority as Russia’s leader will cease at the same moment. I find myself wondering how you will respond to that, sir.”
He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if she had gone too far with her words. Then Bazin looked away. “I will do what I have always done. I will do what best serves my country and my people.”
“Bauer thinks that way as well.”
“Never compare me to someone like him.” Bazin rounded on her, his eyes flashing. “Not unless you wish to earn my annoyance. I am nothing like Bauer, and we are nothing like the Americans.” He gestured around at the city passing by outside. “This place … these people. They do not deserve to be the victors, in any battle. They have not earned it, as we have. We endure, and for what? To see this country and its soldiers, men like this Bauer, march about the world as if it is their playground?” He shook his head, as if coming to some sort of understanding. “We find our target and we pay him back for his crimes. In that, there will be a lesson to America…”
“What lesson?”
“That Russia is not to be disrespected.”
* * *
Jack took a seat on the arm of an overstuffed chair across the game board from Hex, and he toyed with one of the counters. “I need to get to the West Coast within the next day. Los Angeles. And I need to do it without anyone seeing me.”
“Tall order.” Hex’s fingers rattled as he tapped them on the frame of his revolver, thinking through the demand. “So why should I care? I let you in here ’cause I owed Charlie for a thing, but that don’t get you anything more.”
Without hesitating, Jack reached into his pocket and placed an inch-thick wad of bills on top of the war-game map. “That enough to make you care?”
Hex’s eyes widened and he snatched up the cash as if he was afraid Jack would suddenly change his mind. “I don’t usually deal in actual physical currency,” he added, licking his lips.
“So spend it quick,” suggested Chase. “Y’know, before the crunch and all.”
The money went into an ammo case for safekeeping and then Hex was looking back at Jack, measuring him. “Okay, that’s your down payment. So who’s after you?”
“Everyone,” muttered Chase.
“I need specifics,” Hex said, leaning forward. “What is it, local cops or staties? Federal? Or is it the Mob, the triads? Come on! I need to know everyone you’ve pissed off, even if it’s the Rotary Club and the Freemasons. Who wants to punch your ticket?”
“For sake of argument, let’s say all of the above,” offered Jack. “I can’t risk showing my face on a commercial flight. Railroad stations and interstate highways are going to be monitored…”
Hex dropped into a chair on castors and wheeled across to the computer terminal. “So you got a BOLO out on you. When did it drop?”
“Three, four hours ago,” said Jack. “I’m not sure.”
“Let’s take a look-see.” Hex flipped switches to bring the terminal online, and Jack saw that the machine was connected to an isolated encryption circuit of the same kind they had employed back at CTU. Hex noticed him looking and nodded. “Yeah. See, most of the time I keep my deck cut off from the World Wide Web so I can’t be digitally backtracked. I use burst-encoded wireless transmissions … There’s nothing to connect me to the real world. It’s kind of like being in a submarine … I only stick up the periscope when I need to look around, then it’s back to the bottom again.”
“A fake ID and a fast ride isn’t going to cut it,” Chase said, thinking aloud. “You can’t do anything that’s going to leave a footprint, Jack. You need to be a ghost.”
He nodded, watching Hex perform a quick-and-dirty hack to get him inside the firewalls of the Pennsylvania State Police’s primary server. In a few moments, a directory of the day’s warrants and all-points bulletins were scrolling down the screen. Jack caught a glimpse of his own face and pointed. “There.”
“Hello…” Hex tapped an icon and the BOLO dispatch appeared in a new window.
The accompanying still image had been taken from Jack’s old CTU identity pass, the rigid and unsmiling face that he saw in the mirror every day.
“Jack Bauer. Wanted for … Holy crap…” Hex trailed off.
“Wanted in connection with the murders of multiple Russian nationals and a former federal agent,” Jack read aloud, listing out the
crimes that the FBI had announced to the world at large. “Possible terrorist associations. Additional violations include assault with a deadly weapon, obstruction of justice, breaking and entering, grand theft auto, reckless endangerment…” He skipped the rest of the list to the last line. “Consider armed and extremely dangerous. Approach with caution.”
Hex swallowed hard and he seemed to remember the revolver, which he had put aside on the desk near the keyboard. He eyed it, clearly deliberating about grabbing it. “So … You’re what, America’s Most Wanted?”
“Here and now?” said Chase. “More or less.”
“It’s worse than you think.” Jack looked Hex in the eyes, holding his gaze. “There’s a good chance that the Russian intelligence service is also hunting me. Is that a problem for you, Hector?”
“Damn right it is! You have to get out of here now!” he insisted. “I don’t need the kind of heat you’ve got on you, man!”
“And we will,” Jack said carefully. “As soon as you help us. You understand how serious this is now, right? I want to be gone; you want me gone. So make it happen.”
“Okay.” Hex’s hands clamped together and his fingers knit. He was starting to sweat. “Okay,” he repeated. “Lemme think … Will they be watching LA? Do they know you’re heading west?”
Jack and Chase shared a look. “It’s likely.”
Hex got up and started to pace in a small circle. “So. Airports, railroad stations and bus terminals are all out of the question.” He made a looping motion with his finger, drawing a line in the air. “Driving the back roads could work, but you’d have to take a complex route and that means two, maybe three days travel.”
“Can’t wait that long.” Jack shook his head. “With everything that’s happening in New York and all the fallout from Taylor’s resignation, there’s a chance for me to slip through the cracks. But that’ll be gone by this time tomorrow, at best. By then, I’ll have the full attention of every lawman in the nation.”
“Plus a long drive means more chance of getting caught,” said Chase. “It means changing cars, avoiding witnesses…”
“Can’t you just go north?” Hex insisted. “Hop the border into Canada, get lost in Canuck country?”
“Not an option,” Jack said flatly. “It has to be LA.” He looked away, thinking of Kim. “I made a promise.”
“You heard him,” insisted Chase. “What else is there?”
Hex’s face set in a grimace. “Trucks are a possibility, but they’ll be checked if the feds are monitoring turnpikes and toll roads … Look, unless you want to steal a jet fighter from the Air Force or dig your way to California, you’re boned! Nothing short of an underground railroad is going to…” He stopped speaking abruptly, staring out into space.
“What?” Chase pressed.
“You can … take a train.” Hex’s face split in a grin. “Oh yeah. That could work.”
“Didn’t we just agree that was a no-go?” Jack shook his head. “Train stations will have transit cops on duty and security cameras watching the platforms. That’s too big a risk.”
Hex dropped back into his seat, shaking his head. “No, no, I’m not talking about passenger trains. I mean hopping a freight. Riding the rails, old-school.” He worked the keyboard, bringing up a map of the USA. “See, the majority of folks think that trucks and planes carry all the cargo around the country these days, but it’s the trains that still do the heavy lifting, they’ve done it for more than a hundred years…” He spoke without taking a breath, his fingers a blur over the keyboard, warming to his subject. “When the collapse comes, they’re gonna be one of the first connections to break, you get it? When diesel fuel is worth more than gold, those big locos will be left to rust…”
The map showed a complex web of overlapping rail lines, networks cross-connecting from East Coast to West Coast, from Canada all the way down to Mexico. Jack looked for and found Pittsburgh, sitting on a nexus of lines spreading to all points of the compass. Hex worked the image, repositioning it to center on an area many miles away, toward the Midwest. A long ribbon of crimson wound across and down from the edge of the Great Lakes, before bending back across the American heartland to form an arcing pathway that terminated at the Port of Los Angeles.
“Union Pacific will get you where you wanna go,” Hex announced. “There’s a high-speed freight run that originates in Chicago and it doesn’t stop until it hits LA, only been up and running for the last couple of years. That’s your ride, right there. No waiting, no metal detectors, no cops. Minimal security once it’s on the move.”
“That’d work,” said Chase, “except for the whole nonstop part. How exactly are we supposed to get on a freight train moving at sixty, seventy miles an hour?”
Jack studied the map. “Can’t be that fast all the way. They’d have to slow down for gradients, curves…”
Hex snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Exactly! And I can give you the closest point where the train will be at the best, lowest speed…” The route map lit up with clusters of dots arranged in varying density as a measure of the typical speed of the freight train. After a moment, Hex leaned in to peer at the screen and grinned. “This looks good. Yeah. Here we go. About five miles outside of a small town in the middle of flyover country, a few hours’ drive from here.” He shot a look at his watch. “Just before dawn tomorrow, the Blue Arrow cargo run from Chicago is going to be passing along this stretch of track. It’s gotta slow down here because the rails aren’t built for high-speed wagons. That’s where you can hop on.”
“That’s if you don’t get ripped to shreds trying,” Chase said grimly.
Jack studied the map. “What’s the name of the place?”
“Oh, you gotta love this.” Hex smirked as he read it off the screen. “The town’s called Deadline.”
08
The night seemed to crowd in on them as the Chrysler sped along the highway, the engine a low and ever-present hum as Chase kept the speed at an even fifty-five. On leaving Hex’s bunker, his first instinct had been to dump the car and look for something else, but the clock was against them and the 300 had the benefit of still having plenty of gas in the tank, and a GPS with a back roads route that the hacker had helpfully provided. Before they set off again, Jack and Chase recovered their guns and rendered their cell phones inert. The phones went into the trunk, alongside the car’s LoJack antitheft circuit, which had been the first thing Chase had removed after leaving Big Mike’s Autos.
Jack was in the backseat, the black gym bag he had carried from the diner on the seat next to him. In the rearview, Chase watched him removing the contents item by item, checking and taking inventory of what was there. He saw police-issue tactical radios, a gear vest with armor plate inserts, banana magazines of 10mm ammunition and the familiar shape of an MP5/10 submachine gun. “Jeez, Jack. What did you do, empty a police armory on your way out of the city?”
“Something like that,” Bauer said absently, checking the SMG’s action before reloading it. “You got anything else apart from that Ruger you’re carrying?”
He nodded and tapped the base of the driver’s seat. “Roker always keeps a Remington short-frame under here. Y’know, in case of complications.”
Jack fished out the silver pump-action shotgun and worked the slide to eject all the cartridges, methodically checking each one before reloading them again. “This should be enough.”
“For what?”
“Like you said.” The other man stifled a yawn and rubbed his brow. “In case of complications.”
“Hex is solid.” Chase anticipated the unspoken comment before Jack could voice it. “He’s not going to talk to the FBI. You know these survivalist guys, they hate the federal government and everyone in it.”
“It’s not the bureau I’m worried about.” Jack replaced the shotgun and sat back. Patterns of color washed over him as the occasional beam from the headlights of another car traced across the Chrysler. “The Russians … They’re the wild c
ard. Don’t have to adhere to due process or follow protocol. Suvarov’s proven that his people are more than capable of anything. If they connect me to you … to Charlie Williams…”
“They’ll eventually figure out Hex is a known associate, yeah,” Chase concluded, frowning. “Hadn’t really thought that far ahead…”
“If he’s smart, he’ll sell us out the second they come to his door,” said Jack. “And by the time that happens, it won’t matter. We’ll be long gone.”
“All the more reason to stay one step ahead.” Chase shifted in his seat, guiding the car around a slow-moving semi. A faint tremor went through his bad hand and he tensed, feeling the muscles in his arm go rigid for a moment, pulled taut like steel cables. After a few seconds, the pain ebbed and the spasm went away. Sense memory brought the chalky taste of Percocet tablets to his mouth, immediately associating it with the ache, and he licked dry lips. The plastic pill bottle was still in his jacket pocket, unopened.
He pushed the thought away. “This freight train thing, it’s a good call. Along with the false flags Hex laid out, it should work.” As part of his payment for finding them a route to California, the hacker had also set up a number of dummy purchases using some of Bauer’s less reliable cover identities. Anyone searching for Jack would find a handful of airline and bus tickets to various destinations, every one set out to muddy the waters a little more.
Jack nodded slowly. “We’ll see what happens. I always plan for the worst-case scenario.”
“That’s a little downbeat.” Chase tried a wan smile.
“It’s experience,” said Jack. “So, what was the thing you did for Matlow?” he asked, changing the subject.
Chase sighed. “I kept him out of jail. He … got caught up in something that went wrong. Someone was killed. I got him away from it before the deputies got to the scene.”
Jack settled into the wide seat, and he seemed to vanish into the shadows back there. “You knew him … through Roker?”
“Yeah. For my sins.” Unconsciously, Chase’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “After I left Valencia and did my disappearing act, I bounced around for a while. But I was bleeding money.” He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but here and now with the steady rush of the road and nothing else ahead of them but silence and blacktop, Chase could feel the burden of those years of bad choices rising up to the surface. “I wound up in Pittsburgh with nothing to my name and a lot of regrets. Work was scarce … Well, work that was legal was scarce, yeah? The other kind, not so much. So Roker pulled me in. He needed muscle and I needed a job, any job.”
24: Deadline (24 Series) Page 10
