Chapter 2: Welcome Home, Jack
A tiny, reluctant smile lit Jack Bauer's features as he surveilled the teeming FBI field office.
Winding his way through the plethora of hustling workers, he was reminded of the havoc that had surrounded him on a daily basis back at CTU headquarters in Los Angeles. The difference here was that everything seemed … cozier. The harsh metallic greys that had been – and probably still were – a staple of his former workplace were replaced by comforting red brick walls and old-style green shutters on the windows. Polished and friendly.
And nobody gaped at him like they were looking at a ghost.
It was a clean slate for Jack, and he could appreciate that Bill knew his situation well enough to give him a few weeks worth of work without the last 18 months' baggage hanging over his shoulder at every turn. It felt nice not to have any history to answer to.
His decision to blend into the background as much as possible hit a snag as he realised he had no idea where the building's conference room was.
"Mr. Bauer?"
Jack twisted around and nearly stumbled in his attempt to pull away from the person who had just tapped his shoulder. Eyes wide and a little stunned, an African-American woman with cropped hair stared up at him from where they stood in the middle of the floor. A hefty folder was gripped between her hands.
He quickly smoothed his face over, even though he couldn't keep his eyes from darting around, checking to see whether anyone else had noticed his faux pas.
"Yeah," he finally replied.
"I'm Agent Lang," said the woman, eyeing him carefully. "Mr. Buchanan's waiting around the corner. He sent me to get you."
She was speaking in an unnaturally measured voice, as though she was afraid of making him snap at any moment.
He grimaced inwardly. "Lead the way."
Throughout his years as a CTU operative, the number of things that had managed to surprise Jack had diminished exponentially with every passing year. It had gotten to the point that facing several life and death situations in a single day had ceased to faze him. But now – it was the smell of freshly cut grass. The sight of a clear blue sky. The sounds of laughter and carefree bliss. It was truly amazing how spending nearly two years in a dark and hellish Chinese prison had reconfigured the way Jack drank in the world.
At the moment it was the relative quiet of the hallway he was walking down, coupled with the soft lighting which soothed his sensitive eyes, that caused his tense features to diminish into a relaxed poker face. He could imagine working in this place longer than he expected to.
The female agent stopped outside a set of double wooden doors and turned around, proffering the bulky folder she was holding to him. He took it, noting with bemusement the single label of 'FR8 case overview – BAUER' printed neatly on its cover.
"I'll have someone check for Agent Mahone's whereabouts if he isn't here in ten minutes."
"That's not necessary," said Jack, tucking the folder under his arm. "He told me himself he'd be arriving shortly."
"Of course, Mr. Bauer."
"It's Jack. Formalities aren't an issue with me."
The petite woman's mouth stretched into what was clearly a rare workplace smile. As she strode off, Jack wondered for a brief moment whether the agent's meekness was inherent, or a result of being constantly terrorised by a certain superior who he'd recently been partnered with.
Setting the cool mask back onto his face, he swallowed the questions in his head and entered the conference room.
"Thought you'd never arrive."
Bill was rising from a seat at the far end of the conference table, paying no heed to the stacks of papers he sent flying in the process.
"It's good to have you here, Jack."
Running a hand over the lacquered surface of the table, Jack absently registered just how much more grey-streaked and lined Bill's hair and face had become. He wondered if it had anything to do with whatever had made his friend leave CTU.
"So," continued Bill awkwardly, noticing the scars on Jack's hands and knowing better than to try and shake either of them. "I hope you were comfortable on your flight in?"
Jack returned Bill's concerned gaze with a bland one of his own.
"First or second?"
There was a pause as Bill's brow furrowed in momentary confusion. Jack pulled out a chair and sat, hands clasped together in his lap, as the rush of emotions evoked upon seeing Bill again began to tire him.
"Right, I didn't think," Bill said at last, following Jack's lead and sitting opposite him. "I suppose you're wondering why we had you flown to LA first – it's quite a story, actually …"
Bill trailed off, looking like he wanted to kick himself as Jack let out a faint sigh and pushed his thumbs over the bridge of his nose. He toned back his typically loud and brisk voice as he went on.
"I know you must have a million questions, all unrelated to the contents of that folder. And I promise, they'll be answered in due time. Except right now, time is of the essence. Four of the country's most dangerous fugitives are running around the country as we speak, and Agent Mahone –"
Stopping short, Bill quickly realised the obvious, and asked, "Where's Agent Mahone?"
"Important phone call," Jack replied with a rueful shrug. "Give him ten minutes. Tops."
Bill let out a heavy breath, as though a wrench had been thrown into a carefully laid out steel contraption of his own making. He stood again, and ducked his head outside the conference room. Seeing a deserted corridor, he closed the doors with one vigilant sweep.
"I'm here on a time limit, Jack," said the older man, mouth a thin line of worry. "I was either going to fill you and Alex in on the dummy plan and have Lang or Wheeler give you the meatier details later, or tell you the truth from the start. Guess it'll have to be the second one."
Jack stared.
It had been 36 hours since the cargo plane he'd been thrown into by Chinese operatives had landed on American soil. In between the shower, shave and nap he'd been afforded, the only confidant from his former life who he'd come into contact with had been Special Agent Curtis Manning. Although the man had been a great friend to Jack for several years, he'd only managed to croak out two people's names to the man, inquiring about their respective well-beings, before closing back into himself again.
Kim.
Audrey.
If it hadn't been for the dozen or so armed guards who had given him about as much choice in getting on the flight to Illinois as Cheng Zhi had when he'd bundled him off to China, Jack would have torn out of the hanger with the closest available GPS-equipped PDA in tow. It had only been Curtis' reassurances that had calmed Jack down.
Still, now that he was here with Bill, it became clear to Jack why he'd been speaking whole sentences with complete strangers since his arrival in Chicago, and yet hadn't managed a single contraction with Curtis.
Anything familiar was painful.
"Curtis told me, back in LA, that it had to appear that … the last 18 months never happened, that I was only coming out of retirement," Jack said finally, working the agonising words around his tongue. "But I'm sure the Lang agent knows already."
"Only her and Wheeler do," replied Bill.
Jack shifted around in his seat as Bill ambled over to a large white screen and projector situated at the uncluttered end of the conference table.
"I don't understand."
"Then listen closely," Bill said, flipping the projector on. He frowned as he caught Jack's slight wince. "I'm sorry for being belligerent, Jack, but the story behind why you're here, like I said, is long, and we don't have the luxury of time. You're the best. You're the only one who can do this. We all know that. But I need your assurances right here and right now that you're up for this."
Jack buried his guilt as Bill's words brought into question what had been given up to secure his freedom.
"I am," he murmured.
His friend studied his gaunt face before nodding his satisfaction and brandishing the projector's remote control at the folder lying in front of him. Flipping it open, Jack read the debrief sheet to himself.
Fernando Sucre, armed robbery. Michael Scofield, armed robbery. Benjamin Miles Franklin, possession of stolen goods. Theodore Bagwell, multiple cases of kidnapping, rape and homicide. Lincoln Burrows, single homicide.
He rubbed his temple. "I'm in Chicago for three petty crooks and two low-rung murderers?"
"Nothing appears out of the ordinary when it comes to these prisoners, I agree," said Bill. "But the first thing you should know is that during the time you were incarcerated in China, Michael Scofield mapped out a prison break from Fox River State Penitentiary so intricate it would've saved Napoleon from Waterloo."
"He's the structural engineer," noted Jack.
"And he believed his brother Lincoln Burrows was innocent. He went in deliberately to get him out."
Jack stared at the mugshots with impassive eyes.
"Franklin was a DOA in one of the interrogation rooms earlier today," he recalled.
Looking impressed, Bill replied, "You're as quick as I'd hoped you'd be."
"Agent Mahone told me, actually. Looked pretty broken up about it, too."
"That'd almost be surprising, considering he's used to it by now. Franklin wasn't the first one."
Jack's head snapped up. "The first what?"
"Casualty. The name coined for the group that got out three weeks ago was the Fox River Eight. Three others from the group are dead – John Abruzzi, David Apolskis, and Charles Patoshik. The first two were shot dead. The last one suicided. At the time of their deaths, all of them were in the presence of –"
"Alex Mahone," finished Jack.
"Exactly."
"How do you explain Franklin's heart attack?"
Bill threw his hands up in the air, exhaling in frustration. "I don't know. Until toxicology reports come in, I don't know."
"If the man's a sociopath who's been after the blood of the eight cons all along, he's a hell of a good actor to go along with it." Jack paused, then let out a cough that sounded half like a chuckle. "Or do you think I have some kind of history with him, or one of the escapees?"
"No, not at all."
"Then why am I here, Bill? If you thought he had another agenda, you should have pulled him off the manhunt, or set Internal Affairs on him. This isn't my thing. Not that I'm not grateful."
"It's not what Mahone's been doing – it's why he's been doing it," Bill clarified, raising the remote in his hand and pointing it at the dormant projector. "This was recorded and aired six days ago."
Kneading his forehead, Jack flicked his eyes from the folder to the white screen as the image of a subdued, unshaven and sleep-deprived face filled it.
"My name's Lincoln Burrows, and I'm innocent," the man began in a deep growl. "I escaped from Fox River Penitentiary because I was sentenced to death for a crime I did not commit. I did not murder Terrence Steadman. He committed suicide last night at the Cutback Hotel, 30 miles from Blackfoot, Montana."
Jack raised an eyebrow at Bill, but he merely diverted his attention back to the screen as the camera shifted to a young man sitting to Lincoln's right.
"He killed himself out of fear," Michael Scofield continued. "Fear of the people who've been hiding him for the past three years – the same people who want my brother dead. They don't want you to know who they are, but know this. They've stolen billions of dollars, and murdered hundreds of civilians, and yet they plaster our faces on the news, and tell you to be afraid."
Lincoln folded his arms. "They are a group of multinationals, corporate interests – together, they are known as the Company."
"They are working with the highest levels of government," intoned Michael. "Including the President of the United States."
"Stop," Jack said abruptly, turning away from the screen in disgust.
Bill complied, pausing the video. He glanced at Jack, but like many occasions beforehand was unable to decipher his expression.
"Charles Logan has been out of office for nearly two years, if that's what you're thinking," he said.
"Terrence Steadman?"
"No. He was the brother of the President." Bill grimaced. "He was the brother of Caroline Reynolds."
To Bill's astonishment, Jack actually laughed. A long, loud laugh that echoed around the empty conference room.
Finally, he stopped and asked, "Caroline Reynolds is President?"
"She's been in power for less than a month. You know her?"
"I've heard stories. Secretary Heller used to call her the 'Two-Faced, Backstabbing She-Bitch of Congress', Michelle knew one of her personal assistants, I think, and Audrey …"
Jack cut himself off. It had come out so easily.
"Yeah," he said at last.
A sadness that Jack had never witnessed from Bill pooled into the other man's eyes as he struggled for words, yet managed to keep his voice unemotional.
"We have reason to believe that a group partly responsible for the nerve gas situation 18 months ago – is still out there in force. And that they have somehow managed to monopolize the Commander in Chief's services."
"Again," Jack uttered insipidly.
"It may seem far-fetched …"
"Even a blind man could tell from that video that Burrows and Scofield – from their voices, their body language, their eyes – that they're lying."
"They may have been doing so deliberately so as not to leave themselves open to accusations of insanity. As far as we know, they were joined by an ex-Secret Service agent at one point. It was only a later part of their message that caused Agent Wheeler to contact me. We started our investigation from there."
Bill fast forwarded through the video as Jack looked on, sensing what was coming next.
"One man – Special Agent Alexander Mahone – is responsible for multiple deaths," said Michael Scofield, reading from a scrap of paper in his hands. "He murdered not only John Abruzzi and David Apolskis, but also the last fugitive he was assigned to chase. A man named Oscar Shales. A man who escaped from prison two years ago, who remains one of this country's most wanted – despite the fact he will never be found."
"Alex is our weakest link to the Company," said Bill, turning the projector off. "From there, we've uncovered everything we know today. Several deaths and disappearances of those connected to Lincoln Burrows, and several deaths and disappearances of those connected to those deaths and disappearances."
"And nothing was done until the video aired."
"Because the Company has a way of burying things and distracting agencies. I should tell you now – everything I've told and shown you in this room must remain confidential. Only a select few within the Bureau and the CIA are in on the plan. Even I –" Bill stumbled over his words for a split second, before turning away from Jack. "Karen Hayes is President Reynold's current NSA advisor. She has no idea the administration she's working under is being investigated. I've been her husband for six months and I've been lying to her for a tenth of that time."
Jack blinked at the news of Bill's marriage.
"Congratulations," he said. Then, thinking better of it, he continued, "The Karen I knew would never be complicit in anything resulting in innocent deaths."
"But we can't afford to be sure."
Bill sat down opposite Jack again, looking even more agitated than when he'd first caught sight of him.
"The most important thing I ever learned, going into this line of work, was to never make things personal. Except in this case, I've done it twice. Involuntarily, by being involved with a member of the President's staff. And with you. Wheeler and Lang don't have backbones strong enough to go against their boss. So when the Director was looking for someone to come in and keep an eye on Alex, I recommended you, based on your history with the Company. And because … you could watch out for Karen."
Jack nodded in quiet understanding, knowing he would've done the exact same thing in Bill's position.
"It's imperative we find out who Alexander Mahone has been taking orders from. Through his contact, we could possibly bring them all down."
"Why not –" Jack coughed. "Why not use more expedient methods?"
"He served in the Gulf War, Alex did, in Special Ops. During a routine patrol, he was captured by enemy forces and tortured for information. When he was rescued two months later, he hadn't broken. Not once."
Lowering his eyes, Jack rubbed his shoulder unconsciously. Well, that explained the pills, in part.
"Taking Mahone out of the manhunt and interrogating him would not only yield nothing, but also cause the Company to cut all ties with him. He'd be useless to us. That's why we need you."
Bill pulled a sheet of paper out from the bottom of the folder Jack was gazing at emptily.
"This is a list of things we've gathered on Alex so far. On the other side's a list of what you need to find out. Memorise it and destroy it as soon as you can."
"I've got two questions," murmured Jack, taking the sheet from Bill.
"Go ahead."
"You've kept the fact I've been in China all this time a secret, I'm supposing, because you don't want Alex to know what steps have been taken to get me here."
"That's right," Bill said.
Frowning at Bill's avoidance of the implied question in his words, Jack continued, "The story that I've been retired instead – it raises just as big a red flag."
Bill drew his hands together on the desk, in a gesture that Jack knew meant he was calculating his next words into a precise sentence that conveyed everything he wanted him to know without it being mistranslated.
"Alex is an extremely intelligent man," he explained. "If we tried to make it look like you never left CTU, he'd find out. Pretty much immediately. And then he'd run. But. By giving him the truth without giving him the whole story, he's on guard, that's true – but he underestimates how much he's fallen under suspicion. And how good you are."
"Your idea?" Jack asked, shredding the sheet in his hands having memorised its contents.
"It was." Bill retrieved the torn up paper, stowing them in his briefcase. "What else did you want to know?"
There was a soft clanging noise as Jack stretched his rigid legs, pushing his chair away from the table. His eyes drifted over Bill's shoulder.
"How did Agent Mahone react to Michael Scofield's accusations?"
Bill's mouth thinned quizzically. "I imagine he denied them."
"In addition to pointing out that Scofield has a history of mental problems. Right up to a week long stint he took in Fox River's psych ward preceding the break out."
It took Bill a moment to register that Mahone was standing behind him in the conference room's doorway. He shared a look with Jack as the veteran FBI agent sauntered around the conference table and sat two chairs away from them both.
"Bill," he said, smoothing his suit jacket with practiced hands.
"Alex," countered the other man, doing an admirable job of keeping the coldness in his eyes from becoming entangled in his voice.
Jack could tell from the two men's terse greetings that there was a history between the both of them that he wouldn't get to hear now that Mahone had arrived. He settled for studying Mahone out of the corner of his eye as Bill discussed his 'formal' strategy with the agent.
He appeared more composed than he had reason to be. Especially for a man who'd only been given five minutes to clean himself up after having a nervous breakdown in the office bathroom.
It wasn't an unambiguous thing, whatever it was that had driven Jack to open his mouth and speak for the first time since his arrival on American soil – much less to talk with another person. It had certainly been something to do with the pills illicit enough to be hidden within a ballpoint pen. But Jack figured that since he didn't officially work here, there was no reason to blow the whistle on the man.
He'd once had a drug problem amplified by the stresses of the job. He sympathised.
But no.
What it really had been was the near primal look of desperation in Mahone's eyes as he'd forced the pills into his mouth. Chewed down on them. And then promptly thrown them back up. It was a look Jack had identified at once, one that reflected a feeling that he himself had grown as accustomed to as the sting of a knife cutting into his flesh, or the searing pain of a thousand volts of electricity coursing through his veins, or the sound of his own screams.
Resignation.
Defeat.
Hopelessness.
In hindsight, it was enough to convince Jack that Mahone was neck deep in a situation that was out of his control. Someone was definitely pushing the FBI agent's buttons, and Bill had placed his faith in Jack to find out who it was.
"I'm sure Agent Bauer will be a fine addition to our team. I'm looking forward to working alongside him."
Jack tore his eyes away from the spec sheets he'd listlessly been scanning to see that Bill and Mahone had gotten to their feet. Following suit, he gazed from one man to the other. Bill looked like he'd just been punched in the face – Mahone was directing at Jack the kind of stare that would have made any other agent curl into a ball in the corner.
But Jack merely smiled.
"I have to agree with that sentiment, Alex," he said, holding out his hand.
Mahone's brow creased momentarily, before he took Jack's hand and shook it as briskly as he could.
"There's one more thing you need to know, Jack, and then I'm afraid I have to leave," said Bill, as the two partners broke their handshake. "Agent Lang has organised your living arrangements for the time you'll be required to stay in Chicago. At first I considered giving that responsibility to Mrs. Raines, seeing as she lives closer to our temporary units, but it turns out she's busier than I thought. I'm sure she'd be sorry she couldn't help you out … if she knew you were here."
Jack's expression fell as he tried to keep at bay all of the questions pressing against his lips following Bill's cryptic message. If only Mahone wasn't in earshot. He swallowed, finally managing a weak nod.
"When this is over, maybe I could visit her and fill her in on what retirement was like."
"I'll let her know as soon as I can."
Clapping a hand on Jack's shoulder, Bill led him out of the conference room, closely followed by Mahone. The look on his friend's face told Jack everything else he needed to know.
As Bill said his goodbyes and left the building, Jack could tell that Mahone hadn't completely fallen for the set-up, judging by the feel of the agent's icy blue eyes burning into his back. He suspected Jack, alright – but for all the reasons Bill had planned out.
He just hoped Mahone would break soon.
Because then he'd get to see Audrey, and ask her himself why she'd moved to Chicago.
