Jessi presented her findings to a room full of people that included Chris Henderson, Nina Myers, Jamey Farrell, District Director George Mason, and even Regional Division Director Ryan Chappelle. Both had been called in from other appointments as the protests at the Federal Building heated up.
“The entire investigation began with a lead from Jack Bauer,” Jessi began. Immediately Ryan Chappelle shifted in his seat. The Regional Division Director had no patience for a man he considered a troublemaker. “Agent Bauer was certain he spotted the known terrorist Ayman al-Libbi slipping past border security aboard a flotilla of ships sailing up from Central America to protest the G8 summit.
“These suspicions were strengthened when Bauer was kidnapped briefly, then released, by subjects unknown but assumed to be al-Libbi. We began to search for connections between al-Libbi and the G8.”
“Al-Libbi’s a gun for hire these days,” Chappelle said in a high voice that, along with his narrow face, contributed to his reputation as a weasel. He did, however, do his homework.
“Yes, sir,” Jessi said. “Since China is at the top of the G8 agenda, we searched for groups with motivations in that area. A random search for anomalies uncovered a transfer of two million dollars to an account associated with the East Turkistan Independence Movement, or ETIM. Two million dollars is a huge sum of money for a movement that small. The money was then immediately withdrawn from that account, destination unknown. We traced backwards. The transfer came from a Cayman Islands account associated with one Marcus Lee, a Chinese national.”
“Would a Chinese-born person want to help a separatist group?” Mason asked.
“We almost hit a dead end there,” Jessi continued. “But I discovered that our information on Marcus Lee and the Cayman Islands account had actually come from a data exchange with the Russian SVR. I had a contact there, and through them I learned that Marcus Lee has an alias that the Chinese withheld from us. In fact, Marcus Lee is pretty much an invented person. Marcus Lee’s real name is Nurmamet Tuman. He was born in Urumchi, in what the Chinese refer to as the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region.”
“East Turkistan,” Chappelle murmured. “So the money trail leads from this Nurmamet whatever to ETIM and then possibly to al-Libbi. To do what? Do we have ID on al-Libbi except for Bauer seeing someone who looks like him in a crowd?”
Henderson hid a grimace. That was Chappelle summed up in two sentences: a mind sharp enough to put the details together in a snap, and a tongue sharp enough to insult everyone who’d done the work before him.
“Nurmamet Tuman”—Jessi emphasized the name—“is one of our leads. Under the alias Marcus Lee he lives in Los Angeles.”
“I plan to bring him in,” Chris said. He looked to George Mason for approval, and Mason nodded.
“You said one of our leads,” Chappelle noted. “What’s the other?”
Jessi continued. “Earlier in the day surveillance spotted someone who looked very much like Muhammad Abbas, alLibbi’s aide-de-camp, meeting with an unknown subject. A short time ago, Bauer, who is still at the Federal Building, spotted the same man.”
Jessi looked to Jamey Farrell, who took over the narrative. “Bauer sent us a photo of the man, which we ran through computer enhancement and facial recognition. We have a nearly one hundred percent match for a man named Kasim Turkel, another Chinese national. His record was a little more transparent than Tuman’s. No criminal record we could find, but he’s from Urumchi as well.”
Henderson summed things up. “Turkel meets Abbas. Abbas means al-Libbi is around somewhere. Money goes from Nurmamet Tuman to ETIM, and then disappears. We’re guessing it went to al-Libbi as payment for whatever he’s planning. He’s in L.A. now, so it’s got to be the G8.”
“What’s on the agenda?” Mason asked. “Likely targets?”
Chris replied, “That’s our next problem. Each is as likely as the next. Security is tight everywhere. Hitting a target this hard isn’t al-Libbi’s usual style.”
“There was the Russia-Israel détente meetings back in ’94,” Chappelle reminded him.
“He missed and was nearly caught,” Mason observed. “He never tried anything like that again.”
“He’s desperate for money,” Chappelle said. “Anyway, so we bring this Marcus Lee or whatever his real name is in for interrogation.”
Chris hesitated. “There’s a complication. The Chinese are insisting that this Marcus Lee has nothing to do with ETIM, that he’s not Nurmamet Tuman. They say we’ve got the wrong guy.”
He saw the look on Chappelle’s face change, watched what little color there was drain out of it. Henderson wanted more than anything for Chappelle to say, Bring him in anyway. But knew that wouldn’t happen. The Regional Division Director was a political animal, and at that moment he was connecting an entirely different set of facts: the United States wants China in the G8, the United States plays host to China for the summit; U.S. Federal agents arrest a Chinese national whom the Chinese have already cleared…
“Let’s use kid gloves,” Chappelle said at last. “Send someone to check this Chinese national out. If there’s something suspicious, I’ll clear it higher up.”
Henderson had known this was coming. He looked at Nina. “Go pay him a visit. And be nice.”
The effects of the OC spray were finally wearing off. Jack was sitting inside a police wagon — a long truck, the back of which was designed with two long metal benches. He’d been sitting there, half blind and choking, for what seemed like hours, but he guessed it wasn’t more than five or ten minutes. His hands were still flex-cuffed behind his back. He was the first one into the paddy wagon, and he had been shoved all the way back into the corner as the police brought in more rioters.
“Hey!” he said, pounding his head against the metal wall of the vehicle. He knew there must be a driver up front. “Hey! I’m a Federal agent!” he yelled.
A small window in the wall between the cab and the container slid open to reveal a metal screen and a police officer’s face staring through it. “What?”
“I’m a Federal agent,” Jack said. “I tried to identify myself to your partners, but I didn’t get a chance.”
“You have proof of that?” the officer said.
“You guys searched me,” Jack said, remembering the hands pawing at him when he was down. “You must have found my ID.”
“Hold on.”
The metal shield slid closed. As the OC spray wore off, Jack’s anxiety increased. His daughter, al-Libbi, the G8, Mercy Bennet… not a single loose end had been tied up. He had to remind himself that it had been only a few hours.
The metal door slid open again. “Sorry, pal, we bagged everything. There was no ID on you at all. Nice try, though.” The shield started to close.
“Wait!” Jack said. He thought back to his struggle with the man in the blue shirt. His ID must have fallen out then.
“Look, I’m telling you the truth. Call CTU Los Angeles—”
“CTU?” the officer asked.
“Counter Terrorist Unit,” Jack said impatiently. Of course, CTU was a relatively clandestine unit. There was no reason for every beat cop in Los Angeles to recognize its name instantly. He recited an emergency number. “Call that number. They’ll clear me.”
The cop sounded accommodating. “Okay, look, I’ll do it, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. The city’s pretty much gone to hell, and it may take a little while.”
“I don’t have a little while,” Jack said.
“You may not have a choice.” The metal door slid shut.
Jack Bauer fumed. He had no time to wait. For all he knew his daughter was dying, and he was sure Ayman al-Libbi was about to attack the G8. For the first time, he looked down the bench at the other rioters who’d been captured. There were four of them… including the man in the blue shirt, sitting on the bench opposite him and near the door. Jack looked at the person next to him, not more than a teenager. “Move,” he said, sliding past him so that he was near the door and across from his target. He stared at the man without asking a question. He would ask questions eventually, but only when he knew he would get answers.