24 Declassified: Collateral Damage 2d-8

by Marc A. Cerasini

  Dani and Holman bolted through the door, into the harsh afternoon sun. They were on main street, where Holman hoped to board the church bus. But the vehicle had been tipped over on its side.

  Cursing, he grabbed Dani’s arm and they dashed down the dusty street.

  “I want you to go that way,” Brice said pointing. “Get to the woods beyond those mobile homes and you’ll have a chance to get out.”

  Dani took a step forward. Brice gripped her arm.

  “Take this,” he cried, shoving his cell phone into the girl’s pocket.

  “What is it?”

  “Intelligence,” Holman cried. “Images, recordings.

  Give it to the FBI. Do you understand? The FBI. Don’t trust anyone from CTU—”

  “Huh?”

  “CTU. The Counter Terrorist Unit. They’ve been compromised. Promise me you’ll give that phone to the FBI and no one else.”

  The girl nodded, Brice noticed a chunk of blond hair had been yanked from her scalp. “The FBI, I got it,” she said nervously.

  Holman pushed her. “Go!” he commanded.

  Dani took off in a run toward the line of mobile homes in the distance. Holman whirled to face the Community Center. Legs braced, he aimed at a pair of angry women and an old man who stumbled through the door.

  He fired once, bringing down the man. Then Brice fled the scene, fumbling with a clip to reload.

  Cries battered Holman’s ears as an enraged mob streamed out of the Community Center. Someone fired a shot that whizzed over his head. They chased after him, and Holman swerved onto the road that led to the factory.

  Good, you dumb bastards, he thought. Follow me and Dani will get away clean…

  4:49:48 P.M. EDT

  Joe On the Go

  Newark, New Jersey

  In the cool darkness of the brick-lined coffeehouse, Tony Almeida studied the woman across the table while he sipped his fourth espresso. Judith Foy fidgeted in her chair while she nursed her third iced tea.

  The Deputy Director was wearing a navy-blue tracksuit, no-name sneakers, and a knockoff New York Yankees cap meant to hide the bandages on her head. Tony was no fashion guru, but he had grabbed what he thought was appropriate at a discount store on a shabby block of clothing and apparel shops in the Central Ward, while Judith Foy cowered in the hospital gown, inside the stall of a McDon-ald’s restroom.

  Securing clothing was their first priority after the escape, and Tony had handled that situation well and efficiently. He was having less success convincing the Deputy Director of the New York Division to turn over the intelligence she’d gathered to analysts at CTU Headquarters.

  Every time he broached the subject, Agent Foy changed the topic of conversation. Now she peered across the table with an expression that bordered on admiration.

  “You’re quite resourceful, Agent Almeida. The way you whisked me out of the hospital… It was some of the quickest thinking I’d ever seen.”

  “Call me Tony,” he said.

  While she spoke, his gaze continued to scan the coffee shop. So far, the only other patrons were a pair of college coeds bemoaning their romantic life, and a man in a jacket and tie pounding on the keyboard of his laptop.

  “What are you thinking, Tony?” Judy said. “Wish I could tell. But for the last hour, your expression covered the emotional spectrum from A to B.”

  Tony arched an eyebrow. “You caught me at a bad time.”

  Judy Foy shook her head. “I caught you at a very good time. You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen.

  You were smart to grab the wheelchair and put me in it.

  When you put on those green scrubs, even I thought you were part of the medical staff. Then you triggered the fire alarm, pushed me right past the police guarding the door, along with the rest of the evacuees… makes me wish you worked for me.”

  Tony ignored her praise. “Too bad about Delgado’s car.

  We had the keys. We could have been in a safe house by now, if the police hadn’t cordoned off the parking lot.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Foy said. “You recovered my cell phone and camera. That’s what counts.”

  “Not if we don’t get the information to CTU.”

  “We’ve been over this, Agent Almeida.”

  “Look,” Tony said. “You can trust Jack Bauer. He’s from Los Angeles, not New York. He never even heard of Kurmastan until today.”

  Foy shook her head so vigorously, her scarlet ponytail whipped back and forth. “I don’t know your boss from Adam, or who this Bauer chose to trust,” she replied. “He can unwittingly help the traitor if he shares information with the wrong person.”

  “Maybe we got the traitor,” Tony argued.

  “Rachel Delgado was a mole,” Foy replied. “But I doubt she’s the only one. I don’t trust Brice’s assistant, either.”

  “Agent Abernathy?”

  Foy nodded. “I told Holman about my suspicions, but he laughed them off…”

  “What if we call Morris, forward the intelligence to him—”

  “We’ve been through this, Almeida. Any data we forward to your friend will have to go through CTU New York’s network. I’m convinced the traitor has access to the data dump. The bastard will see the intelligence as soon as it comes in — maybe even delete it before your friend has a chance to retrieve it.”

  The woman stared through the window, at the rush hour traffic building outside.

  Tony calmly sipped his espresso, but inside he was cursing. Judith Foy had ordered him not to use his cell phone, and almost made him deactivate his GPS chip, until she realized CTU New York didn’t have Tony’s telecommunications signatures in their database and couldn’t track him if they wanted to. The woman was so cautious, it bordered on paranoia. She even tossed Rachel Delgado’s cell into a storm drain, along with the woman’s car keys, purse, and wallet. Foy kept only the dead woman’s cash and her Glock.

  “If only your friend Morris had a laptop,” Foy said.

  “Something not connected to the mainframe.”

  Tony struck the table with his fist, rattling the espresso cup on its saucer. “That’s it!”

  “What?”

  Tony leaned across the table, speaking softly. “Before we left Los Angeles, George Mason gave Jack Bauer a briefcase computer with all the codes and mission protocols inside. Only we never even cracked it because things went Code Red in a hurry.”

  “So?”

  “What if we forward the intel you collected to that system, then alert Morris to open the files inside the briefcase computer, effectively cutting CTU New York out of the loop.”

  “That might work. But how are you going to transmit the data?”

  Tony shrugged. “There’s an internet café around the corner and down the block. We rent a computer for an hour and download the information.”

  “But you still have to contact this Morris person. If you call him, even on a public phone, that could compromise everything.”

  Tony shook his head. “I won’t be contacting Morris.

  Someone from CTU Los Angeles will. Someone Morris can’t ignore.”

  11. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5:00 P.M. AND 6:00 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

  2:04:17 P.M. PDT

  CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles

  Chloe’s expression soured when the phone warbled. Irri-tated by the interruption, she pushed her disheveled blond hair back from her face and returned to work. The phone rang again.

  “How am I supposed to get anything done around here?”

  No one replied, because no one wanted to work near Chloe.

  The phone rang again, then again. Finally, Chloe snatched up the receiver.

  “What?” she said sharply.

  “Chloe? This is Tony Almeida. Listen, I need you to pass along some information to Morris—”

  Chloe’s mouth twisted into a frown so deep, it threatened to deconstruct her face. “Why? That doesn’t make sense. Morris is in New York
with you. Why can’t you pass along your own information?”

  “It’s a long story,” Tony replied.

  Chloe glanced at her watch. “I see.” Her tone was dis-approving. “Well, I really don’t have time to hear it. You seem to have all the time in the world, but some of us actually have to work for a living.”

  “Give me a break, Chloe.”

  “Give me a break. I can only guess it’s happy hour on the East Coast. Have one on me.”

  “Don’t hang up!” Tony cried. “This is a matter of national security. Have you heard about the bombs?”

  “If you’re talking about the ones that disabled satellite capabilities in the Mid-Atlantic states, then yes, I’ve heard about them. In fact, I’m in the middle of analyzing a list of—”

  “My information might have something to do with those attacks,” Tony said. “All you have to do is forward some data in an e-mail attachment to Morris O’Brian’s ISP account, then tag it with something personal so he reads it right away. Can you do that?”

  Chloe’s face scrunched up again. “I don’t know. That little British creep took me out a couple of times, then he stopped calling—”

  “Chloe, please.”

  “Oh, all right!” She rolled her eyes. “But how in the heck can I tag the e-mail so Morris will read it right away?”

  Tony sighed. “You’ll figure something out…”

  5:27:36 P.M. EDT

  Inside the Warriors of God compound

  Near Kurmastan, New Jersey

  Jack Bauer took the lead as he and Layla Abernathy followed the tree line along the top of a gentle slope. Between breaks in the foliage, Jack caught a glimpse of the mobile home park. Even from this distance, the trailers seemed decrepit, with rusty and pitted walls, broken windows, and missing doors.

  The late afternoon sun was scorching — so hot that Jack signaled Layla to hunker down in the shade for a moment.

  She removed her cap and wiped sweat from her forehead.

  Jack loosened his body armor to let some air through.

  They both gulped water from plastic bottles.

  Layla glanced at her watch. “We’ve been hiking for half an hour, ever since we debarked from the chopper. We must be close now.”

  Jack rose and used micro-binoculars to scan the area below.

  “We’re almost there,” he replied. “I can see the compound. There’s no sign of life, no one on the streets or—”

  Jack fell silent.

  “What do you see?” Layla asked.

  “There’s a minibus in the middle of main street. It’s lying on its side, windows broken.”

  The cell phone went off in Jack’s pocket. “Morris?” he answered.

  “News, Jack,” O’Brian began. “I’m still tracing Holman’s phone, and he’s close by. He’s moving up the hill due south of your position. Maybe three hundred yards away.”

  Jack swung his binoculars around and scanned the next hill. All he saw were trees and thick brush.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive, Jack-o.”

  Jack closed the phone. “Wait here,” he whispered to Layla, handing off his phone. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, call Morris.”

  Layla took the phone and nodded. A moment later, Jack faded into the thick brush.

  5:33:14 P.M. EDT

  Inside the Warriors of God compound

  Dani had been spotted somewhere near the mobile homes.

  She never noticed anyone as she passed the cluster of ram-shackle old trailers, but someone must have seen her and put the alarm out. Almost as soon as she entered a heavily wooded stretch, Dani heard excited voices — both women and boys — followed by the sound of several people crash-ing through the brush.

  Still clutching the shotgun in her sweating hands, Dani ran until she was too exhausted to continue on. Finally, she dived into a thicket at the base of a hill, hoping to elude the hunters. Cowering in the brush, knees curled under her, the teenaged girl fought panic and tried to control her rasping breath.

  Suddenly the traumatic events of the past few hours overwhelmed her. Dani felt a knife through her guts and she heaved. Then she began to tremble uncontrollably.

  Tears filled her eyes and dug canals through the filth and caked blood that stained her cheeks.

  Dani sobbed once, then clapped her hand over her mouth — too late, for a moment later the branches parted above her head and a young man cried out.

  “She’s here!”

  Startled out of her fear trance, Dani looked up. The youth loomed over her. He was maybe fourteen. Round face. Deep brown eyes. His triumphant grin exposed a missing front tooth. He wore a frayed T-shirt and a hemp necklace around his thick, sweat-stained neck. He lifted a baseball bat—

  She shot him in the chest with both barrels. The kid was blown off his feet by the impact, and bounced off the trunk of a tree.

  The explosive double blast shocked Dani, and the recoil was more than she could handle. The stock slammed against her shoulder; the smoking gun flew from her hands.

  Moaning, Dani clutched her bruised shoulder and stumbled to her feet. Without a second glance, she stepped over the dead boy and scrambled up the hill.

  5:36:27 P.M. EDT

  Inside the Warriors of God compound

  Jack Bauer heard the shotgun blast and took off. Leading with his Glock, he ran through the trees until he reached the edge of a shallow valley. Crouching among a cluster of trees, he immediately spotted the injured teenager moving up the hill.

  Where’s Holman? Jack wondered.

  At the base of the hill, three women in black robes clustered around a figure sprawled on the ground. Jack heard anguished cries and wailing. Then the trio spotted the blond girl. Brandishing pitchforks and kitchen knives, the woman hiked up their robes as they climbed the hill.

  The teenager glanced over her shoulder, saw the women, and picked up her pace. In another minute, she would reach his position.

  Jack slipped the Glock into its holster and ducked behind the thick foliage. When the girl reached the trees, Jack reached out, snagged her, and pulled her to the ground in one smooth motion.

  The girl screamed and fought him.

  “I’m a friend,” Jack hissed. “I’m here to rescue you.”

  Still the girl struggled. Part of her wanted to believe him — Jack could see it in her eyes — but she was beaten bloody and half mad. Too terrorized to trust anyone.

  Jack heard voices, peeked through the leaves and saw the women. They were almost on him. Holding the girl down with one hand, he drew his Glock with the other.

  The women reached his position a moment later. They stopped in their tracks when they spied Jack.

  “Get down on the ground now!” Jack cried, reluctant to fire.

  One of the women surprised him by hurling a kitchen knife. Jack deftly avoided the blade, then shot the woman in the head. As she toppled, the others reared back. Then both women fumbled for their belts. Only then did Jack notice their bulging robes, and the detonation cord dangling from their waists.

  Jack aimed — but before he could fire, a volley of shots cut the women down. Layla Abernathy stepped out of hiding, a smoking Glock gripped firmly in both hands.

  “I thought I told you to stay put,” said Jack, one hand pinning the teenaged girl on the ground.

  “I heard the shots,” Layla replied. “I thought maybe you were in trouble.”

  “Check the dead women. I think they’re wearing explosive belts. Be careful not to set one off.”

  Jack looked down, into the teenager’s eyes. By now, she’d stopped struggling against him. “Are you calm? ”

  The girl nodded and Jack released her. She sat up and rubbed the reddening flesh on her bare shoulder.

  He examined the girl. One sleeve of her sweatshirt had been torn away; the other hung by a few threads. Dried blood caked her thin arms, covering bruises and gouged flesh. She had a black eye and a swollen nose, and chunks of her hair had been torn out by th
e roots.

  Though she was fairly banged up, Jack concluded the physical wounds were superficial. Her psychological condition was another matter.

  “You were right, Agent Bauer,” Layla said. “These women are all wearing explosive devices — bricks of C–4, connected to a detonation cord.”

  She frowned. “Two of them had IDs. Both are… were born in the United States. And none of these three dead women are of Middle Eastern descent.” The notion seemed to confound Layla Abernathy, but Jack didn’t have time to deal with her existential dilemmas right now.

  Jack addressed the teenager. “Who are you? What were you doing inside the compound?”

  Danielle Taylor told them her name and where she lived.

  Then the harrowing story of her captivity came tumbling out of her mouth. She told them about the church group, the torture, and the beheadings. Near the end of her tale, she mentioned a Mr. Holman, the man who helped her escape.

  “Holman?” Layla interrupted. “Brice Holman?”

  Dani nodded.

  Before Jack could silence her, Layla spoke again.

  “Holman is an agent for the Counter Terrorist Unit of the CIA,” she told Dani. “I’m from CTU, too. Brice is my superior.”

  Dani instantly paled, and Jack could see the look of fear and panic return to her eyes. He also sensed the girl was hiding something. He knew the only way she would open up was if he somehow earned her trust.

  “Forget about that,” Jack said gently. “We’re here to help. My name is Jack Bauer. I’m—”

  Then the ground trembled under their feet. As one, thousands of birds burst out of the trees and took to the sky as the rumbling roar of multiple explosions battered their ears.

  Dani cried out. Layla dropped to the ground, clutching her head.

  Jack whirled, seeing a dozen blasts and plumes of black smoke rising from the center of Kurmastan. On the opposite end of town, flames lit up the sky above the old paper factory.

  More explosions followed. Several clapboard homes blew apart, sending debris leaping into the afternoon sky.

  Then a mobile home erupted, bursting asunder like a shoe box stuffed with firecrackers.