Chapter 10

The following takes place between 11:20pm and 11:52pm EST, 1 year, 6 months after the US Senate hearing regarding the Counter Terrorist Unit.

Josef sighed as the ignition turned off. He could still hear the sounds of the gunshots riddling his little brother's chest. A chill ran through his spine as he was reminded of his father's callousness. Frankly, it made him sick. But it also made him angry. Angry enough to take his father's precious rods, the whole reason for his brother's death, away from him. His father would not dare cross him again. He turned and gazed at the container of weapons in the back of the van, before preparing to exit. The ring of his phone interrupted him.

"Farhad, where are you? You're late." The Russian was growing impatient.

"Josef, it's me, your father." A desperate, not-Farhad voice sounded. "Don't hang up. Stay on the line. Please. I know you have the rods."

He thought back to the way he'd left Oleg's cross hanging on the shipment container. How pleased he'd been with his message. "Yes. I wanted you to know." Josef replied smugly.

"The police know too!" Sergei panicked.

A wave of dread washed over him. "You told the police?"

"O-of course not. It was Vladimir's buyer, he is a federal agent."

"Just so we're up front, I'm here with your father. My name is Jack Bauer, I work with CTU." An American's voice cut through the call. He could hear faint traces of the man he had believed to be Ernst Meier.

"Well do what you want with him, I don't care." He replied coldly.

"Maybe you don't, but your father cares about you." There was a sense of sincerity to the agent's voice.

'Cares'? Like he cared about Oleg?

"He negotiated immunity for you. All you need to do is bring the fuel rods in." Again, Josef looked back at the rods. "Put the rest of this behind you. It's the only way you'll be safe."

Rather than admit the small pang of gratitude he felt for his father obtaining the deal, he would not concede. "'Safe?' Did my father tell you about my other brother? What he did to him?"

"Oleg was dying, you know that." Sergei defended.

"Yeah, we could have saved him. He would be alive if not for your precious deal." The sound of gunshots passed through the young Russian's mind again.

"Y-you're right. M-maybe you're right. I-I don't know. That doesn't bring Oleg back." The father stuttered. "And I cannot bear to lose another son."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"No you won't be! You won't be anything, it's over! Federal agents are here, they're going through everything!" Sergei pleaded. "The entire city is under guard! If you don't bring the rods in, they will hunt you down." He sounded even more desperate now. "They will kill you Josef! I won't be able to protect you." The next few words came out softly. Affectionately. "I don't want to see you hurt."

"If I hand in the rods, how does this work?" Josef hated to sound so defeated, but his father was right.

"Tell us where you are, and we'll bring you in." The American replied.

"Just like that?" He was suspicious now. "After everything we've done?"

"Yes, I told you! They've given us immunity!" Sergei couldn't contain the excitement in his voice. His son was coming back. "Please Josef, please. This is your last chance."

Josef was grateful his father couldn't see the warmth in his eyes at that point. Maybe things really were going to turn around. "Alright." His voice cracked. "I'll come to the restaurant. I'll be on my way." Turning on the ignition once again, he drove away.

Farhad screwed up his face in confusion. What's he doing? Why is he leaving? Quickly, he instructed Samir to take out the driver, the tyres, anything, but the rods.

The driver jolted as gunshots rang out. And not imaginary ones in his head. Clearly they were meant for him. Slamming his foot on the accelerator, Josef swerved out of the alley and onto the road, desperately driving as the shots diminished.

The sniper cursed as his rods sped away. Samir missed each shot again, and again. Desperate, he yelled at his men to chase after him. But from their vantage point, it would take some time to get down.

Enough time for Josef to escape back to the restaurant and hand over the rods.

—

"CTU has secured the rods." It took everything in Tarin to not scream with fury as he informed the president. He could feel his cause slipping away from him. First Red Square's assassination attempt had failed, and now his idiot associate couldn't even finalise the deal they'd planned for months. This was his ultimate goal, to bring America to its knees. To make sure the peace treaty with those filthy Americans wouldn't go through. Tarin grew distressed with every moment. So what does one do when the people you've chosen to rely on fail you? You finish the job yourself. If CTU was occupied with securing the rods, they wouldn't be devoting nearly as much attention on protecting Hassan. After all, they'd already thwarted one attempt, and Hassan had his own security to protect him, so CTU would simply feel no need to maintain their heightened security.

The Kamistanian president smiled with relief. "Good, good. Finally I can just breathe and focus on this treaty."

Tarin returned with a fake smile. "Yes, yes, the treaty. But before you get back to work, care to join me for a victory cigar in the park? It's a beautiful night."

Omar pondered this. "That sounds lovely, but I cannot be bothered with the hassle of leaving the building. I'm sure by the time we get out, we'll get a call and have to go back anyway." The man chuckled.

"Well being your head of security, I think I can pull a few strings. There's a back entrance with fewer protective measures, we can go through there." He prayed his charisma would be enough to convince him. Omar was incredibly incisive. Well, except when it came to Kayla. His overwhelming love for his daughter had a tendency to cloud his judgement. So much so that Tarin's affair with her had still gone un-noticed six months later.

"Very well then."

—

The president watched the swirl of smoke dissipate into the midnight air, listening to the rhythmic rush of the East River. Finally, he felt himself relax, after an arduous day that nearly resulted in the loss of his life. And how kind of Tarin to give him this moment of peace. Being in the position he was him, a moment alone was a rarity. He removed the cigar from his mouth, letting out a calm suspire.

Tarin had managed to obtain a rag and chloroform before he'd broken the 'good' news to Hassan. Being a foreign diplomat's head of security helped. Nobody batted an eye when he'd gone rummaging through a janitor supply closet.

Before Hassan could finish his breath, one hand grabbed his waist, and another, his face. Fabric and the pungent smell of chlorine filled his nose as the man struggled. But the more he struggled, the more sluggish he felt. As his vision faded, Omar's last thoughts were critical.

How could I not have seen this coming?

—

The following takes place between 2:01am and 2:33am EST, 1 year, 6 months, 1 day after the US Senate hearing regarding the Counter Terrorist Unit.

Jack gently tilted Hassan's head forward, closing his stunned eyes. He already felt so cold. So heavy. The dried blood felt sticky on Jack's hands, but he blocked the sensation.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. The whole reason he'd stayed in New York today, instead of blissfully getting on a flight back to LA. The whole reason he and Renee had risked their lives. Protecting Omar Hassan was supposed to be the end-game. They were supposed to finish the day satisfied that they'd made the right choice and achieved what they set out to do. But too distracted by locating the rods which jeopardised the entirety of New York City, and too naive to believe in the possibility of a second assassination attempt, they did not achieve such a thing.

Renee's face was heartbroken. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. Jack's too. He didn't know how long they'd been sitting there in silence until Hastings' voice came through the earpiece.

"Jack! Jack. Talk to me."

Returning himself to the present, he pressed his finger to his earpiece, reminding himself of its presence. "The uh, statement was pre-recorded. He was dead before we got here." His voice was weak with grief. Whatever instructions that followed from Hastings felt like a jumble of words to Jack. He didn't care. CTU saw the video. The White House saw the video. There was nothing to brief on. Nothing to explain. They failed. Softly groaning, he stood and turned to Renee. Tears ran down her face but she didn't bother to wipe them away. Jack touched her cheek with his thumb, pulling her into a gentle hug. They could have stayed like that forever, just holding each other for eternity.

But what Jack saw out of the corner of his eye snapped him right back.

A muffler at the end of a pistol sticking through the crawl-space door. Without hesitation, with one hand he grabbed his own gun, and with the other he pushed Renee aside. He knew undeniably that his single shot had blasted the man straight in the face. Years of experience meant his aim was seldom off. But as he fell to the ground with a blinding pain in his lower back, Jack Bauer began to worry. He had made an error somewhere and it had cost him. Jack only hoped that he was the sole beneficiary of his miscalculation. As the burning sensation spread around his body, he felt himself unable to focus, even on his breathing, something he always did to bring himself back to the present.

Renee let out a small cry as she desperately patted at Jack's face, her eyes wide and horrified. She clumsily held him in her arms, not knowing how to position him, not wanting to move him too much in case it exacerbated the injury. Jack felt his vision fading slowly, as her pleads rang out in his ears. But as the pain slowly consumed him, his other senses began to shut down.

"Stay with me…stay with me…Hastings!"

"Renee, what's happening?"

"Jack's been shot, we need medics here, now!" She yelled into her comm, as Jack's eyes fluttered closed.

—

Chloe's face dropped as Renee's desperate message entered her ears. Immediately, her mind went to Kim, who she'd reassured nearly twelve hours ago that her dad would be safe, and that she'd personally book his flight home to LA. She felt queasy as a wave of guilt washed over her.

He never should have stayed. I shouldn't have forced him to. This is my fault.

"Cole!" She called out to the young agent, on his way to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Jack…he has a daughter, she would have just gotten back to LA." She could barely communicate her thoughts.

He nodded, sympathetically. "They don't need me for clean-up, I'll get a chopper and fly her over. Just let me know which hospital he's being taken to."

The corners of Chloe's mouth upturned slightly. "Thank you."

—

As they carried him away in the stretcher, a large oxygen mask concealing his discomforted face, Renee was left alone in the room. The paramedic had raised an eyebrow when she hadn't decided to join them in the ambulance, but she insisted she just needed a minute to process herself. Without the leering presence of other agents, she began to sob into her hands, which smelled faintly of gunpowder. Never one to cry in front of others, always one to command a tough façade, ensuring that when people thought of Renee Walker, they associated it immediately with 'tough as nails', Renee allowed herself to finally break down. By this point she had been awake for over twenty-four hours. She had forced herself to endure Laitanin's abuse. She had set out to protect Omar Hassan, and not delivered. She was exhausted. But nevertheless furious. At herself, yes. The bullet that had struck the man she so dearly loved was meant for her. And for that, she was furious with herself. But she was more furious at the man who'd delivered it. In fact, she didn't even know who he was. Renee decided she had a right to the fact.

Forensic teams hadn't cleared the corpses yet. Walking out of the hidden room, back into the closet, his body sat slumped against an array of coats. Blood coated his face, rendering him unrecognisable. But Renee could not shake the feeling she knew who this man was. His hair was a light orange. His skin, pale, and not just post-mortem pale. She concentrated intently, trying to figure out where she would have seen such a man before.

Old FBI suspect? Someone from today? He doesn't look Kamistani…

Renee groaned slightly as she bent down to examine the John Doe more closely, with scorching pain arising between her legs once again. Somehow she'd been able to ignore it while in action before, but now it came to the forefront of her attention. This triggered something in her brain. She tore his shirt open violently, scanning ardently. A huff left her mouth as she identified the small, slightly faded broken cross tattoo on his left pectoral.

This man was a member of Red Square.

This man was sent by Vladimir Laitanin.

—

The following takes place between 3:03am and 3:16am EST, 1 year, 6 months, 1 day after the US Senate hearing regarding the Counter Terrorist Unit.

"He's still in surgery, the doctor's aren't really sure at this point. I mean, he did get shot in the back. That could affect his spine, which means even if he lives, he might not wa-"

"Okay, Chloe. Thanks." Renee cut Chloe off. Her blunt ramblings were not helping right now. Of course she knew how much Chloe cared about him too. Understandably, she was distraught.

Pulling up to the parking garage in a spare CTU car, she didn't know what to expect. She didn't even know if Vladimir was still there. Or if he was, with how many men. She didn't know if the order to kill her and Jack was a private request or a public one. Renee still had her Glock and vest, so come what may, she knew she would be able to defend herself. Warily, she walked into the warehouse, one hand on her weapon.

"Renee? You're alive? Vladimir's not going to like that." Ziya's voice echoed along the corrugated walls. Renee smirked. Ziya had a habit of running his mouth, she was surprised he was able to sweet-talk his superior into letting Renee back in today. She was glad it was him in the room and none of the other Red Square members. Over the sixteen months she spent undercover with him, she could tell he always had a thing for her. Which she gladly used to her advantage. If Vladimir wouldn't talk to her, he would talk to Ziya. No matter how sensitive the information, how jeopardising it was to Red Square, a few minutes of flirting with Ziya later, and Renee would have it to report back to the FBI.

"Yeah. About that." She moved closer to him, licking her lips. He returned this with a gleeful smile, reaching out to grab her waist. Not breaking eye-contact, she grabbed his throat with one hand, ramming the barrel of her pistol into his forehead with the other. "Where is he?!"

"Who? Vlad?" Ziya asked, nervously, attempting to free himself from her grip.

"Yes." She kneed him between the legs, keeping him still.

Ziya howled. "I-I don't know. He said he had some meeting."

"Call him. Tell him the man he sent is dead, and Meier's alive. Ask him how long it will be before he gets here." He hesitated. "Now!" Cautiously, she loosened her grip on him, so he could retrieve his cell phone from his pocket. Scrolling through his contacts, Ziya clicked on Vlad's number, placing the phone on speaker so Renee could hear.

"Yes?" She could hear faint chatter in the background. The gentle sounds of a fountain. Clinks of wine glasses. Definitely not his usual level of class.

"There's been a problem."

Vladimir groaned. "What kind of problem?"

"Meier…he's…he's alive. I saw him. In the assassination video. He killed Elson."

"What? Is Renee alive?" He grunted, the background noise diminishing, as if he'd walked away to a private corner.

"N-no." He gulped, as Renee's piercing gaze stared him down. "When are you coming back? We should go look for him."

"I told you I had a meeting with Novakovich. I can't just leave."

She pushed the gun into his forehead harder, as if to say 'and his first name too'.

"N-Novakovich?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mikhail. Why am I even telling you this? Just go find out where Meier is. You're the one who saw him, you figure it out." Renee realised he was growing suspicious. She mouthed 'hang up' to Ziya, who nodded.

"O-okay. Bye." Ziya sighed as Renee released him, still keeping the gun pointed at him.

Ziya exhaled audibly. "You were always a cheeky one, weren't you?" She raised an eyebrow at him, as he still attempted to make an advance, despite the lethal weapon directed at his chest. "You know…you really hurt me, are you going to kiss it better?" He looked her up and down, hungrily.

Renee had all the information she needed now. There was nothing left to do. Nobody she owed. No more deals to make or covers to uphold. 'Don't blow your cover unless absolutely necessary' she recalled hearing when she went undercover the first time. 'You never know if you'll need to go back in.' That advice had served her well today. Without getting back into Red Square, those rods would have fallen into the wrong hands. But now? It was over. Regardless of what the future held, she promised herself then and there that CTU, the FBI, the CIA, whatever, wouldn't be a part of it. She had given everything for her job, and now she felt it was due time for her to get something back.

So without hesitation, Renee fired two bullets into Ziya's chest, and walked out.

Grabbing her phone from her pocket whilst she returned to the car, she dialled the number of the only person who understood her pain right now.

"CTU, O'Brian."

"Chloe, find out all you can about Mikhail Novakovich."