“The cops are here,” said Darnell’s partner, Luis. He pointed through the windshield as Darnell parked his ambulance next to the sanitation truck.
Darnell was relieved to see the patrol car rolling toward them. Sometimes he and Luis had to wait for the police to arrive at scenes like this, which meant they remained inside their locked ambulance until the cops finally did show. On streets like Bilson Avenue, a paramedic took his life into his hands if he did anything else.
Two cops emerged from their car, and a police van was just arriving as Darnell popped his door and ran forward, clutching his medical kit.
“She’s pinned!” called the sanitation worker, standing next to the Lexus.
“What about the truck driver?” Darnell asked.
“Punk ran away,” one of the other sanitation workers cried. “Hopped into a black Hummer with tinted windows and took off.”
“You got a license number for that?” the older cop demanded, showing attitude.
“I got the first couple of numbers,” replied the black sanitation worker, mopping sweat off his forehead with his ’do-rag. He avoided eye contact with the white cop, directed his comments at Darnell and Luis.
The older cop and his partner immediately hauled him to their van for a statement. Darnell moved to climb into the twisted car. A third policeman tried to help.
“Anything I can do?” the cop asked.
The officer was young and white and earnest.
“I’ll call when I need you,” Darnell replied. “Now get out of the way and let me get this done before the Fire Department gets here and takes over.”
The policeman quickly gave Darnell space.
That line always works, the paramedic mused. Cops and firemen got no love for each other.
He pulled a pair of disposable gloves out of his kit and slipped the white latex over his brown hands. Then he touched his fingers to the woman’s throat.
The pulse was strong, but she was unconscious and probably in shock. He pushed the red hair away from her forehead and saw the bloody gouge where the rearview mirror had caught her. He slapped a pressure pad on the wound to stop the bleeding.
“How she doin’?” Luis called.
“Probably a concussion,” Darnell replied.
He thought for a second that he’d heard a tiny voice—
the car’s radio? Darnell inspected the Lexus interior, spied the woman’s purse on the dashboard, the bloody cell phone in her hand. He gently slipped the device from her limp fingers and dropped the phone into the bag he’d retrieved.
In the purse, Darnell spotted a digital camera.
“Yo! Luis!” he called, tossing the purse to his partner.
“Take her stuff so it can go with her.”
3. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9:00 A.M. AND 10:00 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
Jack Bauer checked his watch and tossed the file onto the conference table.
“I’ve heard enough about Kurmastan,” he said sharply.
“You still haven’t told me why Director Holman and Deputy Director Foy are missing. Or why Holman’s computer is locked so tight not even Morris O’Brian can break through.”
The woman lowered her eyes. “I really don’t know—”
“You’re lying,” Jack said evenly. “You’re hiding something — maybe something your bosses did or are doing.”
Layla’s dark eyes stared at the floor.
“You can’t protect them, Agent Abernathy,” Jack said quietly. “If you try, you’ll only go down, too.”
The woman glanced away, tightly folded her arms. Then she met Jack’s gaze.
“Well,” she began, “I think maybe I’m the reason there are so many security protocols on Brice Holman’s computer.”
Jack drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Go on.”
“Six weeks ago, I was assigned to help open this office, but I found Holman’s activities to be overly guarded.”
“What do you mean? Be specific.”
“He’d disappear without explanation — and then with explanations that began to sound suspect. So two weeks ago, I got curious and cracked his files. I couldn’t break the copy protection program or download anything, but I got a pretty good look. Brice believes a terror attack originating from Kurmastan is imminent. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it to protect the country.”
“Why didn’t he issue an alert?” Jack asked. “Talk to Langley?”
“I told you before, Agent Bauer. Holman was ordered to halt all surveillance on Kurmastan. And because I violated his computer, I’m afraid I may be the reason Brice doesn’t trust the staff assigned to him now.”
“He figured out you broke into his system?”
Layla nodded. “The next time I tried to gain access, he’d erected all kinds of new security barriers. I think my actions made him paranoid.”
The conference room’s intercom buzzed. “I’d better take this,” she said.
“Put it on speaker,” Jack commanded. He noticed her eyes flash with annoyance, but she did what Jack asked.
“Abernathy here.”
“This is Peter Randall in Communications. I just received a strange call from Deputy Director Foy’s cell.”
Layla leaned forward. “Where is—”
“This is Special Agent Jack Bauer from CTU Los Angeles,” Jack interrupted. “What did the Deputy Director say?”
“That’s what’s strange, sir,” replied Pete Randall over the speakerphone. “Agent Foy didn’t say anything. There was silence, followed by the sound of a siren. Finally, I heard voices, then the line went dead.”
Jack and Layla exchanged looks.
“Did you trace the signal?” Jack asked.
“That’s standard procedure,” the comm tech replied.
“But the call was so short we can’t triangulate.”
“I’ll be right down,” Jack replied, ending the call. Then he snatched the receiver and dialed Brice Holman’s office.
On the eighth ring, O’Brian picked up.
“What do you bloody want?” O’Brian barked. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“It’s Bauer.”
“Oh. Hello, boss,” Morris said smoothly.
“I need you at the comm station. Now.”
Morris groaned. “Can’t Almeida handle it? I’ve got my hands full with the locks on the Director’s computer. This Holman person is nearly as devious as you are. Needless to say, I haven’t quite cracked it — though I’m close.”
“It can wait,” Jack replied. “I need you to trace a cellphone signal. The call didn’t last long so there might not be much of a trail.”
Morris snorted. “Child’s play compared to this, Jack-o.
I’ll be there on the double.”
Agent Abernathy led Jack down a flight of steel steps, onto the floor of the Operations Center. There were no offices, only workstations inside cubicles. When they arrived at the communications station, Morris was already there.
He stood beside a lanky, thirty-something technician with a receding hairline and nervously blinking eyes partially obscured behind small, round glasses.
Jack extended his hand. “Peter Randall? I’m Jack Bauer.
Have you retrieved the memory cache of Deputy Director Foy’s call?”
Randall nodded. “I have, sir, but the call lasted less than two minutes, so triangulation will be difficult, even if we can isolate her digital trace inside the phone company’s transmitters.”
“You have signature protocols, correct?” Morris asked.
“Of course. Each member of this unit has intelli-signatures unique to them embedded in their cell phones.”