by John Whitman
“We just had contact from one of our people,” the Iranian voice said. “They’ve been released.”
“Good. I hope now that you see my worth.”
“You did not really deliver the antivirus to the Americans, did you?”
The terrorist rolled his eyes. “Of course not! The package they have is a surprise. They’ll probably defuse it, but one can always hope.”
“Hi there.” Ayman al-Libbi looked up to see the blond man standing beside his car. He didn’t have time to react as the fist smashed into his face and everything turned black.
Jack hit al-Libbi four or five more times, though he knew the bastard was unconscious and unable to feel it. Still, it made him feel better, and that’s all he could ask. Opening the door, Jack dragged the terrorist’s limp body from the car and searched him, removing a Springfield .45. He also found exactly what he was hoping for: two glass vials in the terrorist’s breast pocket. He hoped they were what he thought they were. He used al-Libbi’s shoelaces to tie his hands, then dragged the unconscious man over to his own car. It would have been easier to drive the car around the corner to that spot, but the thought of al-Libbi’s face and knees getting scraped along the concrete did not displease him. As soon as he had the terrorist stuffed in the trunk, he called CTU.
4:27 A.M. PST CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
“Jack got him!” Jamey Farrell yelled.
CTU staffers erupted in cheers. Even Henderson, exhausted as he was, joined in.
“And he thinks he’s got the antivirus for the President, for both of them.”
More cheers.
Henderson said, “Call Chappelle over at National Health Services. Tell them what’s going on. I want a whole team of squad cars to meet Jack wherever he is and escort that virus at high speed.”
4:29 A.M. PST National Health Services, Los Angeles
Ryan Chappelle was so happy when he heard the news, he forgot for a moment how much he hated Jack Bauer. When the information was relayed to the President, the entire NHS laboratory burst into cheers of gratitude. Even Premier Xu smiled and clapped his hands.
Chappelle was so happy, in fact, that when Jack Bauer’s old telephone rang, he didn’t think what it might mean as he answered.
4:31 A.M. PST 405 Freeway Northbound
When the line of police cars pulled Jack over he was expecting them. He pulled over on the side of the freeway, which was all but deserted at that ungodly hour. One of the uni
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formed cops said, “Sir, we’ve been told you have an item that we need to pick up and take to National Health Services.”
Jack nodded. He carefully removed the two vials from his pocket and handed them to the officer. “Did they tell you what those are?” He knew that the administration and Chappelle had worked hard to keep the crisis a secret.
“No, sir,” the officer said.
“Then let me just tell you that those two little glass bottles are probably the most important things in the world right now. Take good care of them and get them to NHS as fast as you can.”
The cop took them gingerly. “Oh,” Jack said, “and I have a prisoner in the trunk. I didn’t have anywhere else to put him. Can you spare a cruiser to get me to CTU with my prisoner?”
Jack’s phone rang. “Bauer.”
“It’s Chappelle,” the Division Director said morosely. Leave it to him, Jack thought, to spoil a happy moment. “Listen to this.”
Before Jack could reply, Chappelle activated a recording.
“This is Muhammad Abbas. I know that you have captured Ayman al-Libbi. You must know something. I have been inside the airport with vials of the virus. I have actively spread the virus among three groups traveling on three airplanes. If you release Ayman al-Libbi, then I will tell you which three airplanes and you can stop them. If you do not, you will find this disease spreading across your country. This is my leverage. I do not care if you trace my call.” He even left his cell phone number.
No. No, no, no. Not after everything he’d done to catch this son of a bitch. “He could be bluffing,” Jack said of the recording.
“He could be. How would we know? They did have the virus. He could have done it.”
“Goddamn it!” Bauer roared. The cops looked at him anxiously, but he waved them off. “You want me to let him go? There’s no guarantee that he’ll tell us afterward.”
“You have a better idea?” Chappelle asked.
“No,” Jack thought. “Wait. Yes! I have one more idea. But I can’t pull it off until al-Libbi and Abbas are together. I’ll call you back.”
Jack opened the trunk. Ayman al-Libbi was conscious. His face was bruised and his lip was swollen, but otherwise he seemed whole. He even seemed a little smug. “Has Muhammad Abbas called you yet?” he asked as Bauer helped his bound prisoner out of the car.
“He just did,” Jack said grimly. “I think you’re bluffing.”
“It’s always possible,” the terrorist said with a twinkle in his eye. “You strike me as one to gamble. Hold me and find out.”
“Unfortunately,” Jack said with just a hint of threat in his voice, “it’s not my decision. If we release you, where do you want us to take you?”
“Santa Monica Airport,” Ayman al-Libbi said in his best American accent. “And make it snappy.”
4:45 A.M. PST National Health Services, Los Angeles
Ted Ozersky hurried through the glass doors and flashed his badge three times to Secret Service agents before finding Dr. Diebold. “This is it,” he panted. “The documents from the man who caused all this.”
Dr. Diebold grabbed the files and began thumbing through them. “Page Celia,” he called out, and someone paged Celia Alexis. “Interesting, interesting,” he said, reading the notes. “We never would have found this out in time.”
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Celia appeared in the hallway and Diebold handed her the file. “Look at this. There’s a resin in a tree down there that contains a linking molecule. It creates adhesion between the virus and whatever antivirus we want to use. We’d never have discovered it.”
Celia was both excited and concerned. “We can replicate this, but not in time. It will take hours to get samples of this resin up from Brazil. The source is Croton lecheri. The resin is Sangre de Drago.”
“Dragon’s Blood,” Diebold translated. “Well, the sooner we start, the sooner it’ll be done.”
4:55 A.M. PST CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Henderson saw the text message come through and jumped on the phone immediately. “Tony, it’s Henderson. Don’t pick up that package.”
“Already done,” Almeida replied. “I thought this was for the President—”
“We found the antivirus. Get rid of whatever that is before it explodes. And I need you to do something for Jack right away.”
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5 A.M. AND 6 A.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
5:00 A.M. PST National Health Services, Los Angeles
President Barnes watched as Dr. Diebold hurried into the bio containment unit, followed by another doctor. Each held a syringe in his hand. “If you would please, sir, and quickly,” Diebold said, indicating that Barnes should roll up his sleeve.
As soon as he did, Diebold jabbed the syringe into his arm and squeezed the liquid into his body gently and evenly. He withdrew the syringe, daubed the blood from the needle prick, and sighed with relief.
Barnes waited, but Diebold said nothing. “What, that’s it?” the President said. “No fanfare? No trumpets? No choirs of angels?”
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Diebold shook his head. “In this business the cure is as silent as the disease, sir. But we checked it out. You’ve just been injected with an antivirus specifically engineered to go after this virus, bond with it, and render it inert.”
Barnes rolled down his sleeve and turned to Xu Boxiong, who had also ju
st been injected. He held out his hand and Xu shook it. “Whatever we may say about each other and our countries in the time ahead,” Barnes said, “I want you to know personally that I thought you handled this like a man.”
The Chinese leader nodded. “It is these times that show us our character, isn’t it true?”
5:12 A.M. PST En Route to Santa Monica Airport
Jack’s phone rang for what must have been the fifteenth time
in the last few minutes. It was an extension at CTU. “Bauer.”
“Bauer, it’s Ted Ozersky.”
“Did you deliver the package?”
“Yes, and they say they can work with it, which is good news. But that’s not why I’m calling. Mercy is still at the Santa Monica Airport.”
“I’m headed there now,” Jack said, “but for a totally different reason.”
“Jack, she’s dying.”
“The virus? But you just said they could create the antivirus...”
“Not in time. She made me leave her. She’s contagious now. I’ve asked NHS to send in a bio containment unit, but they’re cordoning off the airport for some reason.”
“I’m the reason,” Jack said. “I mean, al-Libbi is the reason, but I’m taking him. Damn it!” Jack smashed his fist down on the steering wheel, breaking a section off. “I’ll get to her, Ted.” He hung up. And though he should have spent the last few minutes of his drive focused on the last shreds of a plan, he did not. He thought about Mercy Bennet, and what he had done to her, and what she had done for him, and he knew that the scales were not balanced there.
CTU had given him the location of the meet. It was a private hangar that had, apparently, belonged to Bernard Copeland. Jack pulled up next to the hangar, got out, and opened the trunk. Al-Libbi looked more put off by being placed in the trunk, but he’d get over it. Jack hauled him to his feet. He looked the terrorist in the eye and found nothing staring back at him. Jack didn’t often wonder what made men like Ayman al-Libbi tick. They were evil and needed to be squashed.
“I’m going to kill you,” he promised.
Al-Libbi laughed. “But not today, I guess.”
“We’ll see.” Jack looked across the tarmac to a distant building. Mercy was over here somewhere. She was dying. And he was here, doing his job. That should make him feel good, that he was doing his job, but somehow al-Libbi ruined even that small reward.
Finally another car drove up, a black Mazda. Abbas got out. He waved to them, then hurried over to the hangar and pressed a button to open its huge door. As the door rolled aside, Jack saw a small Learjet. Abbas motioned them over.
Jack grabbed the terrorist by the arm and escorted him across the tarmac and stopped just outside the hangar.
“Cut him loose,” Abbas ordered. Jack complied, using a small folding knife to slice through the shoelaces that had bound the terrorist.
“This is what will happen,” Abbas said. “I will tell you the name of one of the compromised flights now, and you will let Ayman go. I will tell you the second flight as we taxi
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down the runway. I will radio the third to you as we leave American air space. These terms are not negotiable.”
“You know, it’s a shame you came all this way and didn’t get what you wanted,” Jack said to al-Libbi.
“Agree to the terms!” Abbas called.
Jack continued to address al-Libbi. “You didn’t kill the President. You didn’t do much for your friends in ETIM. Hell, all you did for your Iranian friends is give us a chance to wipe out a cell they had here.” He smiled. “You don’t even have the virus.”
Al-Libbi glared at him, a little uncertain as to Jack’s purpose.
“Let him go,” Abbas demanded.
“Name the flight,” Jack said, suddenly focusing.
Abbas named a Chicago-bound flight. Jack snapped open his cell phone and relayed the information. He shoved al-Libbi forward and followed a few steps. He continued, “I mean, you can’t tell me these Iranian friends you’ve made, that they want you back just because you got us in an uproar. There had to be something tangible to give them. I would have thought the virus was a good start.”
“Don’t speak to him,” the terrorist told Abbas.
“Oh,” Jack said ironically, “but then you do still have a sample of the virus, don’t you?”
“Let’s get to the plane, Muhammad!” al-Libbi said, spinning Abbas around.
“You have it because you infected your friend there!”
Muhammad Abbas stumbled. “Wh-what?” he gasped.
“It’s true,” Jack said, inching forward. There was still a wide gap between him and them, but he did not want them getting too close to the airplane. “One of the Iranians told me before he died. He said Ayman was bragging about it, and that you were too blind to realize it.”
Abbas stared at his companion. “Is this true?”
Al-Libbi rolled his eyes. “Look at him. He is American. They lie. To us, to themselves, to everyone! You are an idiot if you believe his lies.”
“And you are an idiot if you think the Iranians would take him back if he didn’t have something to offer.”
Muhammad Abbas stared at Ayman, his eyes examining his entire body. Ayman al-Libbi, who for years had felt only rage and, in later years, felt nothing at all, now felt suddenly naked. Abbas, who had known his every quirk, his every habit, now sized him up.
“You did it, Ayman,” Abbas said with a sense of heavy, sad recognition. “You gave them my death so that they could...could harvest this virus inside me.” The look of pain that molded itself to Abbas’s face was staggering in its depth. “You meant what you said. It really is only about the money.”
Ayman al-Libbi held out his arms wide. “Muhammad,” he said. Then he lunged at his colleague and pulled Abbas’s gun from his belt. He fired three rounds into the man, then turned on Jack. But Jack had already rolled away. Al-Libbi ran for the Learjet.
Jack ran forward and knelt beside Abbas. The terrorist’s eyes were wide open, his breath coming in gasps like a fish out of water. “Tell me the flights,” Jack said. “Tell me the flights and he doesn’t win.” Jack patted Abbas’s cheek. “Tell me the flights and you die together, the way it should be.”
Abbas blinked and whispered six words. Three airlines and three cities. It was enough. CTU could figure out the rest.
The Learjet’s engines whined as it taxied out of the hangar. Jack watched the jet make the turn and head toward one of the small runways. At the same time, Jack saw Tony Almeida appear out of the hangar, carrying a long tube in his arms. Jack knew what it was, and as Tony approached, he saw it more clearly: the RPG–29 that al-Libbi himself had
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bought in the United States. As he reached Jack, Tony took a
new rocket and primed it.
“Thanks for getting it,” Jack said.
“Just shoot him,” Tony replied.
The Learjet was still taxiing, but hurrying away. Jack hefted the RPG up to his shoulder and took aim. “Clear behind,” he said calmly. He pulled the trigger. The armor-piercing RPG hurtled through the space between them and ripped through the jet’s hide. The jet exploded, fire bursting out of every window and seam in the plane.
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THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 6 A.M. AND 7 A.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
6:00 A.M. PST Santa Monica Airport
Jack didn’t wait to see what happened next to the plane. He jumped in his borrowed car and raced to the shed number Ted had told him. He burst inside and found Mercy lying on the floor. Two lesions had appeared on her face. She looked weak, and a trickle of blood came down from her nose.
“There’s a bio containment team on its way,” Jack said. “They’ll get you out of here.”
“I think...,” she said, “I think it’s too late.”
“We’ve got to try.”
She shrugged. “Pl
ease do. I’d like to live. I just don’t think it’s what’s going to happen.” She pushed herself to a seated position, and Jack saw more lesions on her chest. “You
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know, that word Copeland was trying to tell me. It wasn’t Uma ghetto. I read his files. It’s uña de gato. Cat’s Claw. I was close, anyway.”
“You were amazing. For the entire day,” Jack said. He leaned toward her, but he did not approach too closely.
“Nah, I’ve been braver since then,” she said. “Look over there.” She was pointing at a desk across the small room, closer to him than to her, where his jacket lay. “That’s my jacket.”
She nodded. “I took it at the harbor. It’s still wet. But look in the pocket.”
Slowly, already knowing, Jack slid his hand into the pocket and pulled out the vial of antivirus. “I didn’t want you to think I’d lost it. I know how important it is.”
He was holding the vial that could save her. But it could also save someone else. And somehow Jack was not surprised that Mercy had lain there dying, all the time holding on to the very substance that could have saved her.
“Mercy, I’m sorry. I was saving it for—”
“For your daughter. I know.”
“Mercy.”
“It’s okay, Jack,” Mercy Bennet said. “Really. Really, it’s okay. You said earlier that you’re sometimes wrong, but they are never right. You are not wrong now. You are doing the right thing.”
She slumped back down and coughed. When her hand came away from her mouth, it was covered in blood. “Jack, go now. I don’t want you to see me looking like that.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“If you do me one favor, do this one. Let me do this the way I want to. Take that to your daughter. It’s the right thing to do.”
Despite her request, Jack waited a few more minutes. The bio containment team arrived, and although there was little they could do for her, at least she wasn’t going to die alone.
Jack turned and ran out of the shed. He jumped into the borrowed Prius and raced home. Traffic was getting heavier, but he managed to get there in record time. If Copeland’s timetables were correct, he might have a little time to spare. But he would never know.