Chapter 12

The following takes place between 6:52pm and 6:58pm PST, 6 months, 4 days after the assassination of Omar Hassan.

Chloe coughed on the sand being propelled into her airways. Her navy jumpsuit was torn in a few places. The harsh sunset had turned the sky into a blazing orange. She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging the pounding sensation in her head. A grunt left her mouth as her fingers were halted by a large knot. As she placed a hand on the ground to lift herself up, she flinched. The ground was scorching. Chloe felt something dragging her down. Upon further inspection, a small, messenger bag was saddled around her. She squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of dust blew around her. Undoing the velcro hatch, she examined the contents of the bag. A small water bottle. Some crackers. A wad of twenties. A battery pack. But most critically, a cell phone.

—

The following takes place between 7:02pm and 7:15pm PST, 6 months, 4 days after the assassination of Omar Hassan.

"I'm not going to lie, I can't help but harbour a little resentment, after all, the mother of my child is in jail because she helped your girlfriend go get killed on a revenge-spree for you." Morris exhaled. "But I understand. You've been through thick and thin together, and when I was out of the picture, you were a good friend to her."

Jack shrugged. He didn't expect any less from him. And the bluntness of his statement was just another testament to why he and Chloe were so perfect for each other. Morris was also stressed. Not only was his wife in a prison across the country, but he was still fairly new at trying to manage single fatherhood. The fact that he had re-taken up the occupation of Beverly Hills shoes salesmen wasn't helping financially either.

"Well we made a breakthrough with the attorney today, we're going to try for entrapment, say she had no idea what Renee was making her do." He rotated the laptop so Morris could see.

Morris rubbed his chin between his thumb and index finger. "That sounds promising."

A ringing house phone broke his concentration. Groaning, Morris lifted it from the receiver. "Hello?"

"Morris? Morris! Can you hear me?" A crackled female voice came through, one belonging to none other than Chloe O'Brian.

"Darling?" Jack spun around in bewilderment. "Is that you? You're breaking up. Where are you?" He pressed the 'Speaker' button.

'I-I don't know! I think I was drugged, o-or something! The last thing I remember was the warden bringing me my food, then I felt dizzy, and t-that's it! I was out!."

Morris clicked his fingers. "Jack, pass me your laptop and your cell-phone, I'm going to forward the call so I can trace her location."

He obliged without hesitation. "Chloe, just stay on the line, we're going to find you."

"Jack? Is that you? You're alive? Oh thank God."

The Brit continued to hum away, as the map zoomed further and further in.

"Yeah, it's me. I pulled through."

"Bloody Hell."

"What?" Jack and Chloe asked.

"She's just past San Bernardino."

"As in California? How the hell did she get from New York to California?" Jack pivoted the screen towards him.

"Whatever the case, we're coming to get you darling." The jingle of Morris' car keys sounded.

"Wait. We can't, not yet at least." Morris crinkled his nose at Jack's protest. "If we do, we'll be aiding and abetting a fugitive, then she'll have no hope of an acquittal, we need to take this one step at a time."

"He's right, Morris. Look, don't worry, whoever did this to me, they left me cash, a cell phone, even water. I'll be fine, I'm sure I'll be able to get to a station and turn myself into the police tomorrow morning."

Jack pinched his nose. "Who would go to the trouble of flying you from New York and dumping you in California with a survival kit?"

"I-I don't know. I should probably save my battery too, but I'll let you know when I get somewhere safe."

"Be careful, love." Morris warned.

"I will."

—

The following takes place between 8:34pm and 8:40pm EST, 6 month, 4 days after the assassination of Omar Hassan.

Dana's exhale was audible as she refreshed the page once more. Yet again, the figure in her Swiss Account had not changed.

Balance: $74,023.43

Frustrated, she pulled out her burner phone. There were supposed to be significantly more digits preceding that decimal point by now.

"It's me." Dana had trained herself well by now to conceal her country drawl, but it had a tendency to show when she grew flustered.

"Hello to you too Dana…" Anatol sounded amused.

"I got O'Brian out, just like you wanted, now where's my money?" Dana did not.

The Russian tutted. "'Patience is a virtue'. Is that not something you Westerners say? You will get the payment when we have her."

"The deal was you'd pay me as soon as she was out of prison."

Anatol's voice deepened. "Well if we don't get ahold of O'Brian, then your efforts are a waste. I wouldn't persist the issue, need I remind you what happened last time you disobeyed us?"

Dana thought of Cole, alone and miserable in a jail cell. She had faked a lot of things in her life. Her name. Her origins. Her loyalties. But she had never faked the way she felt about him. She genuinely loved Cole Ortiz, and had planned to spend the rest of her life with him with all the money from the deal. They'd run away. Away from the US. Definitely away from Russia. Maybe they'd go to the Maldives? Maybe Tijuana? Bermuda? "You promised me he wouldn't get hurt. He had nothing to do with this, I just wanted to finish my last assignment, get my payment, and be done."

He cleared his throat. "Clearly you do not understand the relationship here. Do you have any idea how much we risked when we planted you at CTU? How tentative we had to be to ensure you'd be promoted to a position of use? Not only are we not willing to just let you go, we expected you to take a certain level of responsibility, and not let half our association get killed!"

"I was under scrutiny, all my communications were being monitored!" She pleaded.

"In any case, you will receive your payment when O'Brian is in Russian custody." Anatol replied, unsympathetically.

"I want evidence to exonerate Cole. If you're delaying the payment, you may as well get me evidence that'll clear him of Nick and Kevin's murders."

Anatol laughed. "Even if you get evidence, what makes you think he'll forgive you? I believe he thinks you set him up."

"I'll explain." Her voice wavered.

"That you're a Russian spy? Hm. That will go well." The man chuckled again. "Anyway. We have talked for long enough, there may be evidence of this call now. Прощай."

Dana threw the phone across the couch.

—

The following takes place between 10:04pm and 10:12pm PST, 6 months, 4 days after the assassination of Omar Hassan.

Panting, Chloe could finally see the outline of buildings in her vision. She'd spent the past few hours squinting at the map on the cell phone in her hand, trying to wander back to civilisation. A flickering neon motel sign indicating vacancy was prominent in all its putrid, yellow glory. She'd settle there for the night, hopefully news of her alleged 'escape' hadn't made headlines just yet. Once she did that, she'd call Jack and Morris back, tell them she's okay. Chloe wanted to hear her son's voice more than anything. But she worried if he got excited, he'd accidentally leak his secret at school. That wouldn't be good, she decided. The cell phone buzzed in her bag.

It's probably just Morris checking in.

"Hello?"

A foreign, slightly modulated voice sounded at the other end. "Do you know where your son is?"

A pit formed at the base of her stomach. "What? Who is this?" He repeated the question. "If you're calling this number, you know I'm not exactly at home. Just tell me what you want, I'm too tired to play games."

The stranger sniggered. "Not one for politeness, are we? Here's what's going to happen. You will meet us at nine-hundred hours tomorrow at a location I will send to you when this call ends. Don't worry, it's not far to walk. You do that, and your son will be returned to you safe. You fail to meet this requirement or tell anybody of this conversation, and your son dies."

The pit deepened. Chloe's stomach bile swished. "Y-you're bluffing. You don't have him."

But the cries of a young boy for his mother contradicted her theory. Rubbing her hand through her mangled hair, she screamed back into the phone, praying he could hear at least some part of her voice. Praying that he wasn't hurt. "I-I'll do what you want! Just don't hurt him, please! A-and at least let me tell my husband. You can't just let him go running into the streets!"

"Fine. It's in your best interest for us to see you at nine o'clock."

The beep of a waiting call interrupted the spiral of concern her brain was traversing down.

"Prescott's missing!"

"I-I know Morris, just listen to me…"

She was cut off by his rambles. "I-I don't know how this happened, he was in his bedroom, then I called out to him for dinner, then-"

"Morris!" He stopped. "Just listen to me."

—

The quiet hums of the ten o'clock news were suddenly overpowered by a frantic screaming match. Jack bolted upright from the couch, instinctively feeling for his pistol. If he wasn't going to be as agile as he wanted, he damn well was going to keep himself safe as best he could. Leaning on the couch to brace himself as he stood, Jack realised the voices were familiar. Moreover, they had a static quality to them, as if they were coming through some kind of receiver. His breath eased slightly. The likelihood of intruders was significantly reduced, but he was still intent on finding the source of this mystery noise. His Delta reflexes never once leaving him all these years allowed him to follow the sound precisely. Jack furrowed his brow when he realised the source was his laptop. He hadn't bothered to turn it off after Kim drove him home.

"We can't tell Jack!"

He clicked. The calls from Morris' house were still being forwarded to his laptop.

"And why the bloody hell not? You and I aren't equipped to deal with this kind of thing." Morris yelled.

It's Chloe. What's going on?

"We can't risk trying to one-up them. They'll kill him."

Kill him?

"This is a suicide play. I-I can't lose you, love. Not after everything." He pleaded.

Chloe sighed. "He's our son, Morris. We can't lose him, either. Whatever they need from me, I'll give them."

They've got Prescott.

Morris' breath hitched. "You're going to give yourself up?"

"What choice do I have?" She cried. "I-I'll send you the location, it's some old helipad just heading into San Bernardino. They said to be there nine o'clock tomorrow."

Jack scribbled the details down fervidly.

"O-okay. Okay. I'll be there."