Sandoval said, “Naturally we’ll be relying on your discretion, Don.”
“You’ll have my full cooperation, of course, and the entire firm’s as well.” Jack said, “We’d prefer that this be kept between the three of us. Private and confidential.”
Sandoval said, “We don’t want to rile up any of the guests. Might cause them to choke on their caviar and truffles.”
Bass said, “I understand completely. You call the signals and I’ll play them.”
“Thanks, Don, I knew we could count on you.”
“You bet!” Bass was happy and excited, like a young baseball fan with a ticket to a big league game. “Boy oh boy! This is really something. I never had much use for the pussyfooting little creep, but who’d have thought that Oliver had it in him to run afoul of Uncle Sammy? This’ll really knock old Huntington Wright back on his heels.”
The car pulled over to the side of the main drive and rolled to a halt a few lengths short of the front entrance. Sandoval said, “The three of us will handle it, Don. Please don’t mention this to your associates.”
“I’ve been to the fair before.” Sandoval switched off the car and the trio got out. A uniformed Brand guard came hurrying over to wave them away. “Hey! You can’t park here — oh, sorry Mr. Bass, I didn’t know it was you.”
Bass said, “That’s okay, they’re with me. See that nothing happens to this car.”
“Yes, sir!”
Jack, Sandoval, and Bass made for the front entrance, an elaborately pillared portico. Bass said in an aside, “Once you’ve got your man we’ll have the car brought around to the side and you can take him out that way. Makes less fuss all around.”
Sandoval said, “Sounds good.”
Bass strode a pace ahead of the two others, his mere presence assuring that they breezed past all potential obstacles of the Brand guard variety. There were few uniformed guards in the building, most of the indoor security being handled by plainclothes operatives with the agency’s emblem on the left breast of their navy blazers.
The conference’s events had ended for the day, giving the guests an hour or two to freshen up and dress for tonight’s formal dinner banquet.
Knots of attendees stood lingering in the grand hall, chatting and socializing. The women were mostly beautiful and on the thin side; the men displayed a far greater variety of age, height, weight, and physical attractiveness or the lack of it.
Jack recognized a number of familiar faces from the financial pages of the news and the TV business channels. There was a California aerospace tycoon, a Seattle software titan, a maverick oil wildcatter from Texas with a big stake in alternative energy sources, a deputy assistant to the Secretary of the Treasury, and a Manhattan real estate magnate, to name a few.
He caught glimpses of them as he, Sandoval, and Bass made their way through the grand hall and down a corridor leading into the east wing. Their progress was brisk but without urgency to avoid attracting any undue attention. All the in- house personnel, guards, staffers, and service persons, moved at a similar pace; only the guests lounged, ambled, or lingered.
The trio bypassed a cordon of security guards before arriving at the grandiose anteroom outside Cabot Huntington Wright’s office suite. Marion Clary still occupied her post at the reception desk, glancing up as the visitors entered and greeting them with a warm smile as she recognized them.
She said, “Good afternoon, or good evening, I should say. One loses track of the time out here.”
She looked down at an open ledger on her desk, scanning the entries. A frown creased her smooth, shining forehead as she looked up with mild vexation and puzzlement. “I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to have you gentlemen down in my appointment book—”
Bass interceded. “This is a special matter, Marion, one that’s come up rather suddenly. It’s somewhat urgent. I’ll take full responsibility.”
“It’s all very strange to me but if you think it’s important—”
“It is. Is Mr. Wright in?”
Her face showed signs of strain. “I’m afraid he’s away from his office.”
Jack stepped forward, a pleasant smile masking inner urgency. “Actually it’s Mr. Oliver we’re interested in. May we see him, please?”
Marion Clary said, “Brad Oliver? He left here some time ago.”
“I’m sorry to trouble you, but do you know where he went?”
“No, I don’t. But he certainly was in a hurry.”
Jack and Sandoval exchanged glances, Jack wondering if he looked as crestfallen as the other did.
Marion Clary went on, “Yes, he rushed right out of here. Probably one of those little minor emergencies that always seem to come up during a conference and has to be fixed immediately if not sooner.”
She reached for her desk phone. “Shall I have him paged for you?”
Jack said, “No, don’t do that!” The receptionist was somewhat taken aback by his sudden burst of vehemence and he added quickly, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
Sandoval and Bass had already stepped off to one side for a quick, low-voiced exchange. Bass got out his handset and started talking into it.
Marion Clary fretted. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”
Jack assumed a cheeriness at odds with the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Just one of those little emergencies you were talking about.”
Sandoval was giving him the high sign, gesturing for Jack to join them. Jack said, “Excuse me.”
He went to the others. Bass’s handset fell silent as a crackling transmission ended. Bass said, “That was the gatehouse. Brad Oliver signed out and drove out of here a half hour ago. Like a bat out of hell, the guard said.”
Jack was out of words for the moment. He had nothing to say. Neither did Sandoval. Don Bass looked from one to the other. “Tough break, fellows. Looks like you missed him. Gee, if you’d just contacted me ahead of time, I could have picked him up and held him till you got here!”
17. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7 P.M. AND 8 P.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME
Rimrock Road, Colorado
Brad Oliver had had a short run.
Sandoval said, “This is one of those good news— bad news situations. The good news is that we don’t have to tell our bosses that Oliver got away from us. The bad news is that he’s dead.”
Jack Bauer said, “If that is Oliver down there.” The two CTU agents stood in front of the Mercedes, which was parked on the shoulder of the road about twenty-five yards away from a gaping hole in the guardrail on the east side of the roadway.
The hole was several car lengths wide. It was bracketed by the twisted ends of a severed rail section. They had corkscrew shapes and were bent back so they thrust out into the empty air over the chasm.
This ordinarily empty stretch of Rimrock Road now bustled with lively activity.
A hundred-yard length of the east lane with the hole in the rail had been blocked off at both ends by patrol cars from the county sheriff’s department. The two-way, two-lane road had been turned into a one- lane, two-way road in the area where Oliver’s car had gone off the cliff.
Deputies with baton flashlights stood at opposite ends of the closed lane directing traffic. Southbound vehicles were temporarily halted at the north end to allow northbound vehicles to pass the accident site, then northbound vehicles were halted at the south end to allow some of the southbound vehicles to go on their way. The direction alternated every few minutes. The stop- go system caused vehicles to collect at both ends, creating a mini traffic jam.
A complicating factor was that everybody who drove by wanted to gawk and rubberneck at the spectacle, even though there was nothing much to see except the hole in the rail. Deputies shouted at the drivers of creeping vehicles, telling them to “Keep it moving! Keep it moving!”
Jack said, “Funny how an accident can draw a crowd even out here in the middle of nowhere. Before Oliver went over the side, the
re probably wasn’t a car coming along this way more than once every five or ten minutes. Now it looks as busy as Main Street.”
Sandoval said, “If it was an accident.”
“And if that’s Oliver.”
The sun was behind western peaks, leaving the eastern slopes thickly shadowed with purple- blue gloom. Flashing lights on top of the police cars created a kind of carnivallike atmosphere. Most of the civilian vehicles had their headlights on. Emergency flares had been placed on the pavement at both ends of the closed east lane, throwing a lurid red glow in their immediate vicinity.
The closed lane and surrounding shoulder were reserved for parked patrol cars and their complement of officers who now stood around surveying the damage — all except those handling traffic control chores.
Sandoval’s CTU ID card had placated the deputies who tried to shoo away the Mercedes and its accompanying SUV with the backup crew when they first arrived at the site and pulled over at the side of the road. The backup men stood grouped around their vehicle, doing what everybody else at the scene was doing; namely looking down over the edge into the gulf below.
It was a long, long way down. Vertical cliffs alternated with angled wooded slopes, stepping down for many hundreds of feet to the bottom of a rocky chasm. A handful of small fires lit the shadowy murk at the foot of the precipice. They looked like candle flames when seen from Rimrock Road. Other lights twinkled in the same general area, the lights of police and emergency vehicles that were gathered at ground level. They had to stand off some distance away from the fires because the car had fallen where the road below did not reach.
Jack said, “We’ll have to go down there and take a look at the body for ourselves, even though it may be burned beyond recognition.”
Sandoval said, “There’s ways of identifying a burned body.”
“But not immediately. It buys time.”
Sandoval raised his gaze from the chasm to look Jack in the face. “You think Oliver pulled the old switcheroo and had someone else’s body thrown off the cliff in his car?”
Jack shrugged. “Who knows?”
“He didn’t have much time to pull off a tricky fast one like that.”
“He had time enough to evade us.”
“Yeah, I don’t like that angle myself. It smells of a tipoff.”
A state police car rolled into view driving along the shoulder of the southbound lane. A deputy halted traffic so the newcomer could edge across the lane into the closed northbound section. It halted and two uniformed officers got out: Lieutenant Bryce Hardin and Sergeant Cole Taggart.
They crossed to a knot of deputies at the side of the road. Sandoval said, “There’s your buddies from the MRT, Jack.”
Jack nodded. “I’d like to have a little chat with them, see what they know about the wreck. They reported it in first, according to the radio chatter.”
“Why don’t I go on ahead and check out the body while you do that? It’ll save us some time.”
Sandoval added, “Besides, it looks like a long hike over rough ground to get to the crash site and there’s no need for both of us to it. You’ve done enough walking for today.”
Jack waved it away. “That’s all right.”
“Why not? I’ll ride down with the backup boys and you can join me later in the Merc.”
Jack thought it over. “Okay.”
Sandoval said, “I’ll see you down below then.” He started toward the SUV, paused, and turned around to face Jack again. He said, “Um, that’s all you’re going to do with Hardin and Taggart, right? Just talk?”
Jack said, “Just talk.”
“Because you still might be sore about last night— I wouldn’t blame you if you were — and Garcia’d raise holy hell if you get physical with the MRT again.”
“Don’t worry about it, we’re all chums now.”
“I bet.” Sandoval’s laughter was a little shaky. “See you later.”
“In a bit.” Sandoval crossed to the backup crew clustered around the SUV. They all got into the vehicle, which started up, made a K-turn, and eased into the closed section of the southbound lane. Jack absently rubbed his swollen left jaw as he watched a deputy halt the traffic flow so the SUV could exit the scene.
Hardin stood off to the side talking to some deputies. Taggart stood by himself, hands on hips as he gazed into the abyss. Jack went to him.
Taggart looked up at the sound of approaching footfalls, turned, and saw Jack. He grinned tightly, said, “Well, well.” He raised his hands in an I-surrender gesture, said, “Don’t shoot!”
Jack said, “Ha-ha. I’ve already bagged my quota for today.” Taggart’s toothy grin widened. “Just joshing you. No hard feelings?”
“What’s done is done.” Jack kept his expression blandly noncommittal. “Here we are again at another cliffside high dive.”
Taggart said, “It’s only been since this morning and already it seems like old times.”
“Same road, different victim.”
“ ’Cept the ATF boys going over was no accident. They were already dead when they were put in their car and shoved over the side.”
“That’s the consensus.” Jack indicated the hole in the guardrail with a tilt of his head. “You think this was an accident?”
Taggart pushed back his hat brim to scratch his head. “Beats me. I didn’t see it.”
“I thought your MRT unit was the first to call it in.”
“That’s right, we did. Sharon Stallings over to Mountain Lake got the call. She’s working dispatcher on the front desk. Some citizen phoned in to report that he’d seen a cargo plowing off the cliff and she broadcast the alert.”
Jack said, “That citizen have a name?”
Taggart shook his head. “Anonymous call, I do believe.”
“Was the caller male or female?”
“I don’t know, but Sharon could tell you. You know how these civilians are, they don’t want to get involved. Afraid they’re going to be called in as a witness and lose a lot of unpaid time in court waiting to testify. Can’t say as I blame ’em much. So they phone in the tip and figure they’ve done their civic duty.”
He looked shrewdly at Jack. “Any reason to think it wasn’t an accident?”
Jack said, “Two in one day on the same road seems like more than coincidence.”
“It’s a dangerous road and by all accounts that boy was flying when he hit the rail. Must’ve been doing sixty, seventy miles an hour the way that rail is all torn up. Say, who was it, anyhow?”
“Brad Oliver.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He worked for one of the big shots at Sky Mount.”
“Uh-oh. That’ll raise a big stink. Means a whole lot more paperwork for everybody.”
A second state police car entered the scene, approaching from the northbound direction. It halted beside Taggart and Hardin’s car, which was parked a dozen yards north of where Jack and the sergeant were standing. The new arrival held one trooper behind the wheel and two shaggy- haired figures in the backseat. Taggart smiled slyly, said, “There’s your buddy Miller Fisk.”
Jack failed to rise to the bait. “Looks like he’s got two prisoners.”
“Looks like.”
Fisk tapped the horn a few times, tooting lightly, causing Hardin to look away from the deputies with whom he was chatting. Hardin crossed to Fisk’s car, approaching it on the passenger side. The passenger side window was rolled down, and Hardin rested his forearms on top of the door as he bent down and leaned forward to speak with Fisk.
Jack peered at the duo in the backseat. They were Griff and Rowdy, the two Hellbenders outlaw bikers who’d appeared earlier at the site of the ATF car wreck. They looked much the worse for wear, like they’d had a pretty hard time of it.
Hardin did more telling than listening and he didn’t do much of either, engaging in a quick exchange with Fisk before straightening up and taking a step back from the car. Fisk put the car in drive and eased away, creepin
g up to where a deputy stood directing traffic.
Hardin turned, looking around. He spotted Taggart, scowling when he recognized Jack. He motioned to Taggart, gesturing for him to come over. Taggart said, “Oh well, back to work. See you around.”
Jack said, “So long.”
Taggart crossed to Hardin. They stood talking for a brief exchange, Hardin glancing again at Jack, the same scowl still on his face. He and Taggart turned and went to their vehicle, Hardin getting in on the front passenger side and Taggart on the driver’s side. The car drove away, following in Fisk’s wake. Jack crossed briskly to the Mercedes and got behind the wheel. The keys were in the ignition where Sandoval had left them. Jack started the car and pointed it northbound.
He had his CTU ID ready for use in getting through the tie-up ahead but didn’t need to use it. The deputy working traffic control duty must have assumed that any vehicle that’d been parked in the closed section had priority and automatically halted the traffic flow to let the Mercedes proceed.
Jack drove on the shoulder to the right of the northbound lane to get clear of the civilian vehicles clustered beyond the restricted area. Gravel crunched under the tires as his car snaked its way along the curved path until breaking through to the open road.
He had solid blacktop under his wheels now and he stepped on the gas, the Mercedes accelerating smoothly with a hum of power. The state police cars were out of sight, but this stretch of Rimrock Road led to the Mountain Lake substation a few miles ahead, and Jack guessed that that was their destination. He’d keep going if it weren’t, in the hope of picking them up later, but he thought he wouldn’t have to.
He reached for the hand mic of the dashboard radio comm set to contact Central to let them know what he was doing but stopped. Earlier events had given him pause. Brad Oliver had known that he was going to be arrested, and that tip could only have come from someone in CTU, someone high up in the command structure here or in L.A.
He didn’t want the MRT members to know he was tailing them, and he feared that if he gave Central the information, the troopers would know. He stopped reaching for the mic and put both hands on the wheel and concentrated on closing the distance between himself and the state police cars.
24 Declassified: Head Shot 2d-10 Page 21