24 Declassified: Collateral Damage

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

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…”

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.

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.

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 the 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.

Trailers went up in smoke and flames, the eruptions continuing for almost thirty seconds before the cacophony finally subsided. As Layla hugged the earth, smoke billowed over their position. It stank of cordite, scorched metal, and burned flesh.

“Inshallah,” Layla muttered from the ground.

Jack crouched over Agent Abernathy. “Stay here,” he told her. “Call Morris and tell him to send backup. We’ll need tactical teams and a medical unit.” Jack pointed to the teenager. “Take care of the girl, too—”

“What are you going to do?” Layla demanded.

“I’m going down there to find out what the hell is happening.”