24 Declassified: Trojan Horse

3. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7 A.M. AND 8 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME

Tony dragged the remaining backpack out of the cargo bay, set it on the hot pavement. Music blared on the street. Not a traditional Mexican ballad or even brassy mariachi music — just raucous urban hip-hop chanted in Spanish. Men, old and young, headed to jobs or to look for work. Children traipsed off to school in groups, darting among the cars as they raced across the crowded streets, while stalled traffic continued to pump noxious fumes into an already smog-choked atmosphere.

The back of the van was empty now. This would be Tony’s final trip. Upstairs, Fay Hubley had already gotten the satellite interface up and running. The computer system would be next.

Before he closed the driver’s side door, Tony considered pocketing one of the two Glock C18s hidden in a secret compartment in the floor — then changed his mind. Guns were trouble and the fugitive they hunted wasn’t prone to violence. Tony hoped he could get through this mission without resorting to weapons.

He was almost finished when he suddenly felt his sweat-dampened skin prickle. Someone was observing him. He could feel it. Without looking up, he reset the van’s security system and slammed the door. While adjusting the backpack on his shoulders, Tony casually glanced around. A policeman leaned against a squad car on the opposite side of the street. His gray uniform appeared crisp, despite the melting heat; his face was impassive, unreadable; his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

Tony considered the possibilities. He could be eyeing the van for towing later. Though the vehicle was legally parked, auto extortion was common enough in Tijuana, especially cars with U.S. license plates. Vehicles disappeared only to be returned after a hefty “towing fee” was paid to the policia.

On the other hand, the guy could be watching out of natural curiosity, the need to know what’s happening on his beat. Tony hoped it was the latter. Among other things, the CTU pre-mission briefing reminded him and Fay that criminal gangs did, on occasion, kidnap Americans and hold them for ransom. Corrupt police had been known to get a piece of that action as well.

With a final yank on the strap, Tony circled the van and walked through the doors of La Hacienda. With every step he could feel the cop’s eyes boring into his spine.

Back in room six, things seemed suddenly cluttered. Several laptop computers, interconnected with a small server to form a network, were now spread out across the small desk and one of the two beds. Lights blinked and disk drives whirred, but Fay was nowhere in sight. Tony saw the closed bathroom door and heard water running. He peeled the pack off his shoulder and set it down next to five others just like it — all empty now.

With a tired groan Tony sank into a lumpy chair and pulled off his boots. Leaning into the seat, Tony crossed his arms, propped his legs on the edge of the laptop-covered bed and closed his eyes. The persistent rattle of the air conditioner had nearly lulled him into sleep when he heard the bathroom door open. Fay bounded out in a cloud of steam, swathed in nothing more than a towel. Her hair was pinned up and she smelled of citrus. Tony shifted position to let her pass, uncomfortable with the woman’s choice of attire — or lack thereof.

“Any word on Lesser?” Tony asked.

Fay sat down on the edge of the bed, across from Tony, and crossed her long legs. “He hasn’t logged onto the Internet yet, but we’re watching for him,” she replied. “Of course, Richard Lesser may have some fake identities, servers and accounts we don’t know about, but he can’t launch any attacks without using his signature protocols, and when he does that we’ve got him.”

As she spoke Fay undid her hair. Blond locks tumbled down around her pale shoulders. Though she clutched the towel to her breasts, the terrycloth had dipped low enough for Tony to see the dragonfly tattoo on her lower back. He looked away, his gaze settling on the computers scattered all over the hotel room.

“Back at CTU, your boss Hastings said you required a half-million dollars worth of stuff to find Lesser,” said Tony. “But all I see are a few laptops, a server, a satellite hookup, and some network connections.”

Fay laughed. “Most of the expensive stuff is back at CTU,” she told him. “I’m sure Hastings was talking about the cost of allocating all of CTU’s resources for a single manhunt. This stuff here just interfaces with the systems and protocols running back at CTU’s cyber division.”

Tony leaned forward, glanced at one of the monitors. Data scrolled along the flat screen. Though he was hardly a novice, Tony could make no sense of the information being displayed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Well,” said Fay, sliding across the bed to the largest monitor. “As you know, originally CTU used two separate computer systems to gather intelligence information. One system mined data from unclassified but secure sources — credit card companies, airline logs, banking records, state and federal bureaus, chemical supply stores, stuff like that. Since your average terrorist lives in the real world, they have to do everyday things like eat, buy things, go places, work at jobs and pay the rent. By utilizing an algorithm similar to the mathematical model employed by Able Danger—”

Tony rubbed the black stubble along his jawline, scratched his new goatee. “You’re talking about the clandestine DOD project to hunt al-Qaeda?”

“That’s the one. By using a similar system, algorithms and protocols, CTU has had some success in locating and capturing terrorists within our borders.”

“Using CTU’s random sequencer, right?”

Fay nodded. “We also have a second system which mines data, but this one collects its intelligence from closed, or even classified sources. With it CTU can access private accounts, trace secured transactions, search classified CIA and DOD files, the State Department and Commerce Department files, telephone logs, corporate computers, secure medical data — even Interpol files. In the case of Richard Lesser, we’re running protocols that will even let us know if he phones his bank for a balance. Any electronic activity at all will show up on our radar.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what you’re up to with this setup.”

Fay tossed long blond curls over her shoulder. “Using the random sequencer, I’ve managed to set up a third system. This one mines data from the World Wide Web, all of it — including a lot of stuff once considered secure.”

“What, like a super search engine?”

Fay grinned, her pride evident. “More like a super bloodhound. Once I know who I’m looking for, what computer, server or ISP is being used, then my program and CTU’s mainframe working in tandem with my magic fingers will hunt them down.”

Tony was skeptical. “How close can you get?”

“From this laptop I can trace a subject’s activity to a specific server, then on to a specific phone number or Wi Fi zone. If I’m on top of my game — which is, like, always—no matter how many times Lesser washes his system or tries to cover his tracks, he’s mine. With the warrant we have, I can legally access all kinds of data that the government was barred from collecting before.”

Tony folded his arms. “Funny how extending the RICO Act makes some people crazy. But if we can use these laws to prosecute drug dealers, why not apply the same laws to stopping terrorists, too?”

“Yeah, strange how no one complains about the IRS knowing every single financial transaction a citizen makes in a given year, but knowing what book a suspect borrows from the library is suddenly a problem.”

“It’s the theoretical versus the real world,” said Tony. “Most people aren’t lying awake at night worrying whether the Feds know what book they borrowed from the library. They’re worried red tape is going to prevent the government from failing to stop a terrorist attack like Beslan, or Bali, or London.”

Fay fumbled with one of the laptops, almost losing her towel. “Here, check this out.”

She rose, tiptoed over to Tony and set the portable PC in his lap. Fay moved behind him, leaned over his shoulder to point at the screen. He could feel her breasts pressing against his shoulder, long hair tickling his nose.

“Richard Lesser has two other identities that we know of, only he doesn’t know we know because he thinks he’s covered his tracks. Those identities are represented by these two graphs right here. Of course, he might just use his real name — he’s not a fugitive down here, so I’ve covered that with this box right here…As you can see, there’s no activity yet, from any of the three protocols CTU is running, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Time?”

“Remember what I said about living in the real world,” Fay replied. “Sooner or later, Richard Lesser is going to write a check, withdraw cash from one of over a dozen accounts, use a credit card, or turn on his computer. I’ll trace the activity back to the point of origin and we’ll know where he is — or where he was in the past thirty minutes or so, anyway.”

Tony rubbed his stiff neck. “I’m impressed.”

Fay brushed Tony’s short, newly grown ponytail aside, moved her hands over his neck and shoulders, kneading his aching muscles. He allowed the intimacy for a minute — mainly because it felt so damn good.

Finally, Tony leaned forward, out of Fay’s reach, while pretending to study the activity on the monitor. “So how do you know Lesser hasn’t launched another worm or some kind of cyber-attack, like the one against Boscom?”

Fay stepped around the chair, sat on the bed and crossed her bare legs. “The folks at Boscom Systems found Richard Lesser because he got lazy and left some errant codes buried in his invader virus. I did a little research and found out he tried a similar stunt on Microsoft when he was still at Stanford. Jamey Farrell got me a copy of Lesser’s bug from an old friend at MS security. True to form, that virus has the same code buried inside. It’s like his signature, a fingerprint.”

“So you think he’ll make the same mistake again?”

Fay nodded. “Sure. Richard Lesser is smart, maybe a genius, but he’s impatient or he wouldn’t be a criminal. He wants results now, which means he takes shortcuts. And he’s a creature of habit.”

Fay adjusted the hotel’s threadbare towel. “So what do you want to do now, Tony?…” She smiled. “I mean, we can’t go out because I have to stick around here and monitor these computers, but…”

Tony swallowed. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Fay Hubley’s feelings. For starters, hard feelings might compromise the mission. But then so would having casual sex with her in a Tijuana dive. Bottom line, for the duration of this mission, Tony was her supervisor. Any sort of intimacy would be completely inappropriate.

“I think it’s time we got a little sleep, but in shifts,” Tony declared. “Once Richard Lesser decides to make a move, we might be busy for hours or even days. Better rest while we can.”

“You’re the boss,” said Fay, trying hard to mask her disappointment.

On his quiet suburban street, Jack Bauer watched Frank Castalano’s Lexus swing around the corner and out of sight. The hint of a breeze from the ocean, nearly a mile away, slightly reduced the scorching heat of the day, but not Jack’s pounding headache. Bypassing the stone sidewalk, he crossed the lawn and strode toward the front door of his split-level, ranch-style house.

He glanced at his watch and realized he’d missed seeing Kim. Her school bus had come and gone. By now she was already sitting in homeroom. But then, missing his daughter on this particular morning might have been a blessing. Jack touched his wound. Under a thin jacket he was still clad in his black battle suit, the bloodstained bandage wrapped around his arm. Bad enough he kept weapons in the house. He didn’t like reminding Kim of the hazards that came with his job.

Looking forward to a cool shower and a few hours of sleep, he fumbled for his keys, felt the CD-ROM in his pocket, packed in an LAPD evidence bag. Though it took plenty of convincing, Detective Castalano allowed a team from CTU’s Cyber-Unit to take Hugh Vetri’s computer back to headquarters for analysis by Jamey Farrell. Jack’s argument — that CTU could do a much better job of mining the data on the hard drive than the LAPD — was logical and accurate. But both men knew the real, unspoken motive for Jack’s request.

It was the violation. The fact that Bauer’s privacy had been invaded and details about his personal life and the lives of his family had been compromised, perhaps putting them in jeopardy. Jack Bauer needed to know how and why that happened, and what he must do to protect those he loved.

That’s why he’d held on to the CD-ROM. He would slip that disk to Jamey later, unofficially and in private, and ask her to deliver her results to him personally.

The thought that his family might be in danger sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, and Jack paused before opening the door, to collect himself. Tamping down his fears, he steadied his hand. It was imperative that his family never see the anxiety, the uncertainty, the dread on his face. For Jack Bauer, bringing home his job, or its dangers, was not an option.

After unlocking the front door, Jack stepped into the foyer and then the living room, which was empty but hardly quiet. Kim had left the television on again — that, or his wife had taken to watching MTV. He slipped off his jacket, hung it in the closet. Then he quickly tore away the stained bandages and rolled thesleevedowntocover thewound.Heflexed his arm, moved it from side to side, happy to see the limb still worked and the pain had receded to a dull throb. Jack crossed the living room and switched off the television.

In the kitchen he stuffed the bandages deep into the garbage can. A fresh pot of coffee had just been brewed. The aroma was tempting, but Jack resisted it, knowing he needed a few hours’ sleep.

“Honey?” he called, walking toward the bathroom.

“In here,” came a muffled voice from farther down the hall.

Jack found his wife in the bedroom, still in her pajamas. She had pretty much emptied her closet, the clothes spread out across their queen-sized bed, the chair, desk and dresser, the shoes scattered across the floor.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“What’s going on is I don’t have a thing to wear.” Teri crossed the room, pecked her husband on the cheek. If she noticed his attire, she didn’t comment. Nor did she mention the lump on his head, though Jack wasn’t sure it was even visible.

“Are you going somewhere special?”

“I might be,” Teri replied. “Depends.”

Jack’s eyebrows arched. “Depends on what?”

“On whether I have something to wear tonight. Something suitable for television.”

“Oprah’s taping in L.A.?”

“Not even close.”

Jack emptied his pockets, tossed his key, wallet, cell phone on the dresser. “Okay, I give up. What’s going on?”

Teri draped a little black dress over herself and examined her reflection. “Do you remember when I had that freelance job with Coventry Productions?”

Jack moved some clothing, sat down on the edge of the bed. “The animation studio? I remember. You worked with that other artist…Natalie.”

“Nancy.”

“That’s right. Nancy.”

Jack mind raced back to that time, two years before. What sprang to mind first were his CTU missions. Since coming to CTU, his missions had become the measure of Jack’s life. Two years ago, Operation Jump Rope was wrapping up and Operation Proteus was just launching. And at home — well, Jack wasn’t home enough to know, he remembered that much. Kim was entering her teens and the mother-daughter bond became a pact of mutual destruction.

Jack recalled that Teri was working long hours then, too. With some British animator named Dennis at an office in Century City. Jack never met the man beyond hearing his voice when answering the phone, but Teri seemed impressed with him — Jack remembered that much, too.

“So what’s up with Nancy?” he asked.

“Well I heard she just had a baby. A little boy.”

“You heard? From Nancy?”

Teri tore through another pile of clothing. “Actually Dennis Winthrop called. He was Nancy’s boss. I don’t think you ever met him so you wouldn’t remember his name.”

“No.”

“Anyway, Demon Hunter—the animated feature Coventry Productions produced — has been nominated for a Silver Screen Award. Since I worked on the art direction, I was invited to the show tonight. It’s going to be broadcast live on television.”

“That’s great,” said Jack. “Are you going to get a trophy if you win?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Teri laughed. “I worked as a freelance assistant for the background artist. I’m lucky to be invited. I can’t wait to see Nancy. And Carla and Chandra, too.”

Jack stood up, embraced his wife. “Since you might be on television, why don’t you go out and buy something brand new to wear?”

“That’s silly, Jack. I’ve already decided on the black dress.”

“Good,” he smiled. “You look pretty hot in that.”

“You don’t mind, do you Jack?”

“Of course not. Kim and I can get take out pizza.”

“Great. But don’t get pepperoni. Kim’s a vegetarian again.”

Jack snorted skeptically. “Since when?”

“Since I cooked meat loaf last night.”

“Well, we’ll have a great time trying to spot you during the broadcast.”

Teri laughed. “Don’t blink then.”

Jack sat back down on the bed, yanked off his chukkas, and tossed them into the corner. Teri walked to the mirror, brushed the short locks of dark hair away from her face with her long fingernails and studied her features in the glass.

“One more thing,” Jack said, rising and heading for the bathroom and a quick shower. “lf you do win, don’t forget to thank your faithful and supporting husband in your acceptance speech.”

Teri smiled, catching Jack’s eye in the mirror. “You and Kim are always first on my list, Jack. You know that.”