“Is there any word on Kim?” he asked without saying hello.
Henderson shook his head. “National Health Services hasn’t called.”
Jack gritted his teeth. The virus, he told himself. The vaccine.
Tony Almeida and Nina Myers were already in Henderson’s office, along with Jessi Bandison.
“Okay, are we on top of Farrigian?” Jack asked. He had called ahead to tell them what he’d learned from Turkel.
Henderson replied. “He turned up dead. We found him in his warehouse with a bullet in his brain.”
Jack didn’t waste a moment’s grief over a small fish eaten by a bigger one. “Inventory?”
The Chief of Field Operations shrugged. “We have people looking, but no one knows for sure.”
“So we know it’s explosive. But a bomb? A rocket?” Jack thought aloud. “A stationary bomb would be difficult. I can’t imagine him getting it into a location, and a roadside bomb would make a lot of noise, but what would his target be? You have all these world leaders traveling separately.”
“It’s ETIM,” Nina said. “They want China. The Chinese Premier is here to make his case to the G8.”
“It’s going to be hard to figure out his plan if we don’t know the weapon,” Jack said, his tone edged in frustration. “Turkel seemed to think it was tonight. Do we have the G8 itinerary?”
Jessi Bandison called the schedule up on Henderson’s computer screen. A timetable appeared showing the whereabouts of the principals in the G8 at any given time during the summit. All eight heads of state would be attending a function at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.
“But the Chinese Premier won’t be there,” Henderson pointed out. He jabbed his finger at a box on the screen that stated the Premier’s location for that evening: in his suite at a separate hotel. “Al-Libbi wouldn’t attack then, like we said.”
Jack studied the schedule. Something was bothering him. “Why is he staying indoors?”
“What do you mean?”
Bauer ran his finger along the column for every other day and night. “His schedule is packed. He has events every day and every evening, especially evenings. The only blank spots are for sleep and some time during each day, but no rest at all the other evenings. Only this one.”
Tony saw where Jack was going. “You think he has a rendezvous planned?” Jack was already sliding the screen over to President Barnes.
“Well, look who else doesn’t have anything planned in that slot.” He smiled at the others. “I’d say these two have a meeting of their own scheduled. We just need to find out where it is. Let’s go over the facts we know and see how they fit.”
Each member gave a quick summary of recent discoveries. Tony reported that Dyson had died without recovering enough for serious questioning, and had mumbled only nonsense before he died. Jack cursed at that, but said nothing else. He repeated the information he’d pulled out of Kasim Turkel. Nina’s information surprised them all.
“Nurmamet Tuman is former Chinese intelligence. That’s about all I could get from my contact at the consulate, and even getting that was like pulling teeth,” she said. “My assumption is that he was Uygur trained to spy on other Uygurs, but my guy didn’t say any of that.”
“Maybe he was turned,” Jack mused. “Pretending to spy when his heart was still with his homeland.”
Nina nodded. “I thought the same thing, but they weren’t having any of it. It’s hard to have a conversation when they don’t even acknowledge that the separatists exist. There’s one other thing.” She paused. “When I was leaving Tuman’s house, the Secret Service arrived. They wouldn’t tell me why they were there. They seemed to know Tuman already.”
“You think they’re meeting at Tuman’s house? That wouldn’t make sense,” Tony pointed out. “Too public, too small, too insecure.”
Jack turned to Henderson. “We need to give them our information. Even if they won’t tell us what’s going on, they can at least change their plans; maybe that’ll stop al-Libbi.”
Henderson nodded in approval. Sometimes the best way to thwart a terrorist plan was the simplest: change a date, a time, a route. Denial of information was a primary part of counterintelligence, and counterintelligence was a foundational tool in any anti-terrorist organization. “I’ll ask Chappelle. But he might be in a mood.”
Jessi was standing back from the conversation, but she had continued to study the screen. “You know who else’s schedule matches up,” she said. “President Novartov from Russia. Remember, the contact I made was Russian, and the information on the Tuman connection was Russian.”
Jessi knew what they were going to ask the minute they spoke up. Henderson put the phone in her hand, and she dialed the number. A moment later she was listening to Anastasia Odolova’s melodramatic voice say, “My Jessi, what can I do for you now?”
Jessi felt extremely self-conscious with four experienced field agents all staring at her. “Anastasia, thanks again for helping before. If you have a minute, I could use a little more guidance.”
There was a pause, during which the analyst was sure she could feel Odolova smiling on the other end of the line. “First things first, Jessi. Call me Anna. Now, what else can I do for you?”
Jessi looked at Bauer and the others, who were studying her closely. Bauer, especially, made her nervous. The intensity in his eyes, in his movements, always shocked her in contrast to his boyish good looks. She knew how good he was at his job, but she hoped that he never had to turn that steely focus on her. “I’m digging into this Marcus Lee situation,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Everywhere I look, Russia keeps popping up. I thought you might be able to tell me a little more about what Tuman, or Lee, or whatever he’s called, might be up to.”
“Well, I always have an idea or two in my head,” Odolova replied. “But theories are sometimes misunderstood. It might be best if I were to tell you in person.”
Not me, Jessi thought immediately. I’m no field agent. “I could send someone to meet you.”
“No, no,” Odolova said gently, but firmly. “You are Kelly’s friend. I’m happy to meet with you, but no one else. And, if my idea is correct, we should meet soon. I can be at the Cat & Fiddle on Sunset in thirty minutes. I’ll be wearing white.” With these final words, the Russian’s voice had quickened to a short, terse tone, informing Jessi that this was her only offer.
“Okay,” she said weakly. Odolova hung up.
Jessi relayed the conversation to the group.
“She’s not a field agent,” Tony said, voicing her thoughts.
“She should go,” Jack insisted. “We’re missing pieces here, and if this Odolova woman can give us some, we need them. Come on.”
He grabbed Jessi by the wrist and started to guide her to the stairs when the phone rang. Henderson picked it up and said it was for Bauer.
Jessi was relieved. Now she would have time to a phone call of her own before they left.
4:33 P.M. PST CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
“Bauer,” Jack said.
“Agent Bauer, this is Ken Diebold with National Health Services. You sent us over a blood sample to examine.”
Jack’s attention narrowed suddenly to a laserlike focus. “Yes. What can you tell me?”
“The blood sample contains a virus…a sort of virus we haven’t seen before. Are you familiar with Ebola or Mar-burg?”
Jack felt as though a hand had clenched around his heart. “Yes.”
“They are hemorrhagic fevers. So is this one. We don’t know much about it, yet, but we’re using Marburg as a model. This subject is the second case we’re studying.”