24 Declassified: 07 - Storm Force

by David S. Jacobs

  He had a habit of leaning forward as he spoke, rising on the balls of his feet when he wanted to emphasize a point. The stall could not last forever, though, and presently Jack and Pete found themselves squaring off against the KHF coterie.

  The blocking of the scene emphasized the confrontational nature of the meeting.

  On one side stood Jack and Pete. Opposite, facing them, were Susan Keehan and her seconds: Hal Dendron, Alma Butterworth, Sears, and Jasper.

  Hal Dendron, fortyish, had thinning auburn hair, curling over his ears and shirt collar. His face was soft, boyish, freckled. He wore a bow tie and a seersucker suit. His loafers looked like golf shoes.

  Alma Butterworth had a pug nose and a bulldog jaw. She was short, squat, solidly built.

  Susan Keehan wore a navy blazer, pale yellow silk blouse, skirt, and shoes. Her hair was still damp from the recent shower. Her demeanor and body language expressed skepticism and downright hostility.

  She stood face to face with Jack and Pete, taking the fight to them. Her subordinates would have stood in front of her if they could, physically screening her, but this desire was negated by Susan's take-charge attitude. Nobody gets in front of a Keehan.

  Mylon Sears handled the introductions. He was in the uncomfortable position of the man in the middle, his loyalty to his employers balanced by his knowledge of the Golden Pole massacre and the potential threat element bubbling up around the scene.

  Susan was uninterested in the agents' names and barely took notice of them. All she saw was two frontline troops of The Enemy, that is, the U.S.

  government.

  Hal Dendron, anxious, was all but wringing his hands. "I suggest we wait for Ferlin to arrive and let him do the talking." Ferlin Maybrick was KHF's chief legal counsel in New Orleans, as high-powered and effective as they come. He'd been called to the Mart but hadn't yet arrived.

  Susan said, "I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself, thank you very much. I've certainly had enough practice in dealing with government snoopers for the last six months, ever since the Initiative began. This is nothing new; it's the same old story."

  Pete said, "That's what you think."

  That got her attention, at least, giving her free-floating hostility a focus and allowing it to crystallize on the agents, whom she looked on with frank distaste, like a pair of particularly noxious insects that had scuttled out from under the baseboard. She was handicapped by the fact that Sears hadn't had time to brief her on the full extent of the developing situation.

  Jack, playing the good cop to Pete's bad cop, said, "We'd like to see Mr. Garros as soon as possible, please. It's for his own good."

  Susan said, "Where's your warrant?"

  "We don't have one."

  "Then you don't belong here. You're trespassing and I have every right to have you thrown out."

  Mylon Sears became the focus of her discontent. She turned to him and said, "What are they doing up here? I'm surprised you let them get this far."

  Sears cleared his throat. "This is an unusual situation, Susan. There are a lot of tricky angles here. This is one time when we're all working on the same side, and speed is of the essence."

  Jack said, "We don't need a warrant when it comes to saving a man's life."

  Susan said, "What man?"

  "Your man," Jack said. "Raoul Garros."

  She looked at Jack with new interest, the kind demonstrated by a scientist when a lab specimen exhibits an unusual pattern of behavior. "That's a new one."

  Pete said, "You've got us all wrong, Ms. Keehan."

  "I doubt that's possible," Susan said, in a tone meant to be withering. "I've played this same scene too many times."

  "We're trying to protect Mr. Garros — no thanks to you."

  Susan shook her head, firm knots of muscle flexing at the hinges of her jaw. "I know how the government protects people. Like the way you protect the people of Iraq."

  Mylon Sears winced. Jack, irked, said, "We didn't come here to argue politics. Or play games. Garros is in danger, serious danger."

  Susan said, "The only danger he's in is from you."

  Jack forged ahead. "Earlier today, an attempt was made to assassinate Colonel Paz. Two of his men are dead and he's missing."

  Susan tossed her head. "I don't believe you."

  Pete Malo chimed in, "We wouldn't dream of asking you to take the word of a couple of Federal agents who're sworn to uphold and protect the Constitution. Try turning on a television set. The local news is full of the story. Seven people are dead."

  Jack gestured at Mylon Sears. "Ask him."

  Susan said, "I'm not minded to carry this farce any further."

  Mylon Sears harrumphed, loud enough so that everybody looked at him, Susan included. "It's true," he said.

  Susan said, "You know it for a fact? Or is it just something they said?" "They" meaning Jack and Pete.

  Sears said, "It's a fact. We've confirmed it — independently."

  Susan paused, hesitant, her timing thrown off. There was still plenty of fight in her, though. Plenty of stubborn opposition. She said, "What about the Colonel?"

  Jack said, "He escaped, when last heard from."

  Susan said, "Thank God for that!" It sounded heartfelt. Then, accusingly, "If anybody tried to assassinate him, it was probably our government."

  Jack said, "It was our government that saved his life." Why bother to mention that he and Pete had been the ones who rescued Paz? She probably wouldn't believe him, anyway. Besides, he wasn't so sure anymore that rescuing Paz had been such a hot idea — but there was no choice for it, not when Paz held the potential to point the way to the Holy Grail that was spymaster Beltran.

  Jack went on, "The attack on Paz may not be an isolated incident; it might be part of a series of attacks. The Venezuelan Consulate and LAGO Tower are on lockdown. Paz was the first target. Garros is a known associate of his. He may be marked for murder, too."

  Susan was starting to seem a bit unsteady on her feet. "This is too utterly fantastic."

  Jack said, "The sooner you trot Garros out and produce him, the safer he'll be."

  She fired back, "What makes you think he's here?"

  Jack pressed. "Are you saying he's not?"

  Susan said, "Yes — that is, he's not here."

  Jack said, "Are you sure you want to stick with that answer? Because it's a crime to lie to Federal agents in the course of an investigation."

  Mylon Sears stepped in. "As far as Ms. Keehan knows, Mr. Garros is not on the premises."

  Susan said, "Don't worry about protecting me. Raoul's not here."

  Jack said, "Where is he? If you want to save his life, you'd better talk fast."

  Susan was definite now. "He's not here. That's the truth."

  "Where is he?"

  Sears cautioned, "You don't have to answer that, Susan... "

  "We'll sort out the legalities later," Susan said. "If Raoul really is in danger... "

  "He is," Jack said.

  "...then we've got to do anything we can," she said. "But if you're lying... "

  Jack said, "Where is he?"

  "He's gone," Susan said. "He was here earlier but he left."

  "Does he know he's in danger?"

  Susan was abstracted, her gaze turned inward. "No, he knows nothing about it... neither of us did."

  Jack was openly skeptical. "The consulate didn't notify him?"

  "No — I don't know. They might have. His cell was turned off... We were holding an important conference and he didn't want to be disturbed."

  Jack let that one pass. "The consulate didn't phone, didn't try to reach him here?"

  "No," Susan said. "I don't know." She turned to Alma Butterworth. "Did they?"

  Alma Butterworth said, "No, they didn't, Susan."

  Susan glanced at Mylon Sears, who shook his head no. Jack said, "So Garros doesn't know the score. When did he leave?"

  Susan said, "Five minutes ago. Maybe more, ten."

  "Where did
he go?"

  "I don't know. He said he had business to attend to."

  Jack said, "Did he have a car and driver?"

  Susan shook her head. "He doesn't have a driver. He likes to do the driving himself."

  "Where's his car? Downstairs in the parking garage?"

  "Yes, I suppose; I don't know... "

  Jack and Pete exchanged glances. They stepped aside from the others. Pete said, "Good thing we've got Topham and Beauclerk covering the garage."

  Jack was worried. "We should've heard from them by now if Garros is on the move."

  Pete took out his cell, pressed some buttons, inputting a number. He held the cell to his ear. Seconds passed, ticking away, the silence unbroken. His brows knit, his face darkening. "No reply."

  Jack said to Susan, "See if you can reach Garros."

  She took out her cell, hands trembling. Fear made her clumsy and she misdialed, said, "Damn!" and tried again.

  "No answer," she said. "His cell was off and he might have forgotten to turn it back on."

  Jack said, "How'd he leave? Which way did he go?"

  She indicated a passageway several doors down, to the left, away from the main banks. "There's an elevator there."

  Mylon Sears said, "I'll show you." He was in motion, energetic, briskly striding forward, leaning into it. He walked flat-footed, the soles of his shoes slapping the floor tiles.

  The others followed, all trooping down the main hall, turning left into the side corridor. They halted at the elevator. Jack pressed the button. The wait for the car seemed interminable, though it couldn't have been long.

  A bell pinged; the doors slid open. Everybody got on, crowding the car. Jack bumped into Susan, jostling her. "Sorry, excuse me."

  She glared but made no reply.

  All in; the button was pressed for the underground parking garage. The elevator car descended, making no stops on its plunge to the bottom.

  * * *

  The Mega Mart's infrastructure extended for several levels underground. Beneath the sprawling, stepped pavilions and landscaped gardens at surface level lay an extensive underground parking garage complex. It was huge, occupying the space of a city block. A necessity for the legions of employees who drove their own vehicles to and from work.

  Admittance was restricted. Nobody could just drive in out of the blue and grab a space. The underground complex had a number of ramped portals, each of which was secured by mechanized gates and tollbooths. It was monitored by security cameras, most of which were trained on the main aisles and cross passages and the entrances and exits.

  There was room for several hundred vehicles.

  Most of the companies housed in the Mega Mart and their employees put little credence in the concept of the five-day workweek. On Saturdays, from eight A.M. until mid-afternoon, it was not unusual to see the underground lot filled to anywhere from a fifth to a quarter of its full capacity.

  Not today, though; not this Saturday, with Everette coming on. Here was where the truly dedicated stivers and workaholics were separated from the merely ambitious corporate worker bees and drones. They had come, even today, several score of them, their vehicles scattered around the subterranean lot.

  Due to the reduced demand, and in preparation for the coming storm, all but one of the exit/entrance ramps were closed. That ramp was secured by a mechanical gate and manned by a single attendant in the tollbooth.

  * * *

  The express elevator touched bottom, easing to a halt. The doors opened, spilling out its carload of passengers. The riders exited on the hustle, double-timing their way through winding corridors of white-painted concrete blocks and slick gray cement floors.

  In the lead were Jack Bauer, Pete Malo, and Mylon Sears. Susan Keehan raced along with them, but the three in the lead were grouped to screen her from potential threat and wouldn't let her pass them. Gene Jasper jogged alongside her, for additional security. Alma Butterworth flanked her on the other side, her short thick legs churning. Bringing up the rear was Hal Dendron, huffing and puffing.

  Trouble lay ahead, the only question being how much.

  Jack and Pete had a two-man CTU backup team posted in the garage to keep an eye out for Garros, to intercept and detain him should he elude the senior agents and make for his car. These agents, Topham and Beauclerk, failed to respond to Pete's repeated cell phone calls.

  Raoul Garros, likewise, failed to answer the calls to his cell made by Susan Keehan.

  Building security had reported that the attendant in the exit tollbooth also did not reply to their increasingly urgent queries.

  * * *

  The newly arrived group half-walked, half-ran as they threaded the corridors into the vast underground space.

  It was a totally artificial environment made of stone and steel, lit by electric lights. Modern-day catacombs, subdivided by rows of round, upright pillars that created vanishing point perspective lines as they filed across the expanse of cement floor toward the space's far-distant opposite end.

  It smelled of exhaust fumes, oil, gas, rubber, and a flinty dankness that came of being below the surface of one of the most humid cities in the world. These scents persisted despite a powerful ventilation system.

  Rank has its privileges, not only aboveground but beneath it. Those at the apex of the Mega Mart organization and the businesses it housed had been assigned parking spaces that were conveniently close to the elevator banks. Not for them the inconvenience of having to traverse the cavernous space of the lot to go to and from their vehicles; they had merely to step out of the elevators and proceed to the nearby reserved area that had been set aside for them.

  Naturally Susan Keehan and her upper management cadre were allotted prime parking places in this privileged compound.

  As the object of Susan's affections, Raoul Garros was routinely assigned one of these coveted spots and issued a permit and sticker allowing him unrestricted access to it.

  His car, a late model maroon Mercedes with diplomatic plates, was there now, neatly positioned within the painted lines of its high-status parking space amid a cluster of similarly entitled VIP vehicles.

  But Garros himself was gone, nowhere to be seen.

  Sprawled on the floor near the Mercedes were two bodies. They lay in plain sight, where they had fallen. No attempt had been made to cover them up. They were CTU agents Topham and Beauclerk.

  Topham's head lolled at an unnatural angle, the result of a broken neck. Beauclerk's death was messier. His throat had been cut with such force that the head was almost severed from the neck.

  Susan Keehan gasped, biting the back of her hand to keep from screaming. She swayed, seemingly in danger of fainting. Gene Jasper grabbed her upper arms, steadying her. Alma Butterworth gave him a dirty look.

  Jack, eyeing Beauclerk, said, "The angle of the cut and the pattern of the blood spray indicate he was attacked from behind."

  Pete Malo said, "No mean feat, to sneak up on Topham. He was a good man. Beauclerk, too." His expression consisted of mingled parts of grief and rage. "It probably happened while we were wasting time on that jag-off session upstairs in the KHF offices," he said.

  Mylon Sears said, "That's not necessarily the case; we don't know that for sure."

  Pete said, "Give me a break and stop singing the company song."

  * * *

  It was a long walk across the concrete pavement to the far side of the garage, where the exit ramp lay, the only one that had been in operation this afternoon.

  The ramp slanted up to street level.

  Before exiting or entering, all vehicles must go through the checkpoint and gate.

  Machines belonging to persons employed in the building were fixed with a plate or card similar to the automatic EZPass system used on certain state highways. A card with a microchip was fitted to the front of the vehicle. At the checkpoint, a monitoring device with a sensor electronically read the pass card; if valid, the gate lifted and the vehicle was allowed to proceed.

&nbs
p; Visitors without the pass card must punch an auto-tab machine before entering, to receive a ticket stamped with date and time of entry. The gate would then lift, admitting them. If they were transacting business with one of the companies in the building, the ticket would be validated at the respective office or by the front security desk on the ground floor.

  Since the sprawling subterranean site had more space than there were vehicles issued to building personnel, it also served as a public parking lot for the midtown business district, another way for Mega Mart management to maximize profits.

  It also allowed entry to the public at large, with all that implies for good or ill.

  In which case, the driver would present the stamped ticket at a tollbooth on the way out, where an attendant would levy charges for the time spent parked in the lot, collect the fare, and open the gate for the vehicle to exit.

  * * *

  Today, one sole tollbooth had been in operation. Violence had been done to the gate, a yellow-and-black striped metal pole that worked like a railroad crossing barrier, lifting when the fare was paid. The pole now lay on the ramp, crumpled and twisted and torn almost completely loose, except for a rivet or two that attached it to the gatepost.

  Violence had been done to the gatekeeper, too.

  The attendant now sat on the floor of the booth, his legs extended through its open doorway. He was wearing loafers, one of which had come off, leaving him with one foot shod and the other shoeless. He was wedged in the bottom of the booth, arms raised over his head and pinned in place by the narrow, upright walls.

  His head was slumped forward, eyes open and staring, chin on chest, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

  Pete said, "Drilled him right between the horns. A young guy, couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen."

  Mylon Sears tsk-tsked, said, "I know him, I've seen him around. Lonnie, his name was. Nice kid. He worked here part-time to help pay his way through school. That's why he was working today."

  Jack said, "Garros was the target. The job was probably done by some members of the same outfit that made the try on Paz. Had to be two of them at least, maybe three or more. They eliminated Topham and Beauclerk first, clearing the way to move on Garros. They might have killed him, but it's more likely they took him alive; otherwise, why not leave his body behind?