PART XIV

Chapter 1

Chappelle hadn't believed Jack when he said that he had no choice when he shot Nina; no one had. Hammond and all the others up the chain were convinced that he had deliberately blocked the security camera so he could kill Nina without anyone seeing, and for all his time in the agency Jack's denials made no difference. He had made so many enemies over the years that this was their way of getting pay-back. This was an even easier slam-dunk than his addiction.

None of them could really disprove his claim that heroin had been a necessary part of his 'cover,' for they all knew what the Salazars were, and what they were about. As with all of Jack Bauer's incredible successes, his ends actually justified his means, and in this case the question wasn't even close. He had put himself on the line, made himself a fugitive with no possibility for personal gain, just to accomplish his self-set, seemingly impossible and obviously self-destroying mission of interdicting the virus. That he had decided that he had to use heroin to deliver the Salazars really couldn't be questioned. But killing Nina - that was a gift to his handlers. That was the one they would hang him with.

Everyone at CTU, even his many detractors, had sympathized with him when Nina had killed Teri, and more than some were surprised, even amazed, that he had restrained himself from killing Nina even sooner than he had, when she was pardoned, or when all of the other opportunities had presented themselves afterwards. Everyone knew that more than anything that was what Jack wanted to do, and they were sure that he would, some day. It was his timing that left him wide open.

From his first mission Jack had made enemies at the agency, for he was a rebel even then, disdaining so many of what he considered hand-tying protocols that governed far too much, in Jack's opinion. He believed that field agents had to be able to improvise, to adapt to circumstances, and the strictures of the agency required everyone to go by the book. He'd found it necessary to throw the book away many times, and The Powers That Be - the people who wrote the book - felt he was throwing it in their faces. Jack honestly believed that rules had to be broken, more often than TPTB would admit, and he thought that the ones who made the rules often wrote them knowing he would do just that.

Sometimes it seemed to the honchos that Jack treated it like a game, when the stakes weren't high and no one's life was on the line, and Jack would try to accomplish his assignment by finding a better, more efficient way to get things done than his so-called superiors had devised. But they were wrong. When he was in the field Jack was serious, dead serious, although some at CTU seemed unable to accept it. Richard Walsh had tried to rein Jack in, tried to school him on the bureaucratic facts of life as often as he could, telling Jack time after time that he had to learn to play by the rules, even kiss some as sometimes, or 'they' would make his life as miserable as they could, and Jack would suffer the consequences. Jack learned the hard way to take Richard's words to heart and he went by the book when he could, but when he thought it was necessary, when things really were on the line, he still broke the rules and did what he had to do. The inevitable result was that his enemies continued to accumulate, and his sins mounted up in the view of his detractors. So did the consequences to Jack, although until his death Walsh ran interference for him. When he died Jack became fair game, and then it was only a matter of time before they nailed him.

Chapter 2

After the virus was contained he expected to participate in the de-brief as he always did, but he noticed the change as he prepared to submit his report. For one thing, they changed protocol. Usually, an agent entered his version of events by computer, and after the written report was reviewed if there were any questions there was a conference that was taped, with the transcription reviewed by still higher-ups. This time there was no written report; they went straight to a conference with a live stenographer, attended by Hammond and other people from Division, the Inspector General from D.C. and the agency Chief Counsel, also from Washington.

They questioned Jack for hours about every last detail, from his first intel about the Salazars more than a year before, setting up his first meeting with Ramon, his decision that he had to start to use heroin to establish a cover, then when he learned of the existence of the virus and planned the mission to go back in, including Tony and Gael in the secret arrangements, scheming to make it appear that Kyle Singer had been infected with the virus, deciding to break Ramon out of prison so he could get the Salazars to buy the virus, losing Amador, killing Nina, killing Chappelle, threatening Jane Saunders, putting Michelle at risk, not stopping Tony from trying to save Michelle, ruthlessly, brutally, and unnecessarily (to them) chopping off Chase's hand. As the questioning wore on it became more pointed, more accusatory.

Jack had never recovered from Ryan Chappelle's death, and of all the things he had ever done, that was the one that haunted him the most. So he wasn't stunned when the agency charged him with murder; but that it was the murder of Nina Myers, and not Chappelle, that left him reeling.

The irony, of course, was that Chappelle had been in charge when Jack shot Nina, and he had been the first to question its justification. Ryan had told Jack that he would take a lot of heat if he let Jack back out into the field when there was an inquiry into Nina's shooting, but Chappelle was dead before the agency even started to look into it. Ryan had reluctantly let Jack take charge of the hunt for Saunders, and once again Jack had saved the day; for that, TPTB at CTU seemed to forgive Jack for the death of one of their own. But that he had killed a traitor who had done so much damage to their agency, humiliated them because they hadn't had an inkling that she was working against them, for that they wanted his head, and that was too bizarre for him to contemplate. English lit major that he had been, he had to think of Kafka. Irony didn't come close to covering it.

According to agency protocol he was entitled to a lawyer, and Kim had hired one for him. He was good, there was no doubt about it, but the deck was so heavily stacked against Jack that it was hopeless from the start. He was also struggling through withdrawal, with no time to go through detox, for CTU was wasting no time and wanted an end to the 'embarrassment' that was Jack Bauer immediately. Jack barely fought them. He knew his addiction wasn't about going undercover; he could have accomplished his mission with the Salazars and somehow avoided that, but he hadn't. There had been severe emotional problems that underlay his habitual drug use that he would only later come to grips with, and then only after experiencing tremendous pain and the torture of electro-shock therapy.

He had cooperated with his lawyer only half-heartedly, for but he clearly wasn't well, and his crushing guilt over Chappelle's death made him believe he deserved punishment, albeit for the crime he wasn't being tried for. CTU wanted more than anything to keep the mess from the public so it was hushed up and handled inside the agency, the dirty linen kept hidden, and Jack was solely at the mercy of his superiors, due process be damned. The three agency 'judges' hearing his case gave them only three days to prepare, and they refused his lawyer's pleas for an adjournment. The pain, the shakes, the chills and the sweats that tore through him, the vomiting and unquenchable thirst left him barely coherent. Jack would have to face 'justice' as a junkie, a non-functioning, half-dead, glassy-eyed, dehydrated, nauseated junkie.

The day of the hearing was not auspicious. It was muggy, humid, the kind of weather that clings to you, that saps the strength from you, and it made Jack hot and cold. The heat slapped him in the face as he merely walked from his car in the CTU garage into the building, and it was enervating. The chills that he couldn't stop while the perspiration poured off him made him look like a virus victim himself, and the judges looked at him not with pity but with disdain. He wasn't being tried for being an addict, but they all knew of his heroin use, of course. That this man had ever have been trusted with a gun was astonishing to all of them, and they couldn't believe that he could ever have used it rationally, responsibly. He couldn't have possibly acted properly when he shot Nina Myers. All this was what they thought before the trial even began.

At that point he was incapable of focusing, so as he sat through the trial glassy eyed he tuned everything out, partly because of the withdrawal, partly because of his disbelief that they were trying him for the wrong crime. The absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him. They'd betrayed him, all of them, and he didn't give a damn about them. Or about himself. He'd brought it all on himself.

His lawyer was doing his best, but it clearly wasn't enough. Jack's history with Nina, their affair, her betrayal, her cold-blooded murder of Teri, her attempt to murder Jack, even demanding a pardon in advance for killing him, everything she had done to destroy him and his family was put before the judges. What more motive anyone could possibly have was unimaginable, but the judges of course knew all this already, for they were all CTU mucky-mucks, The Very Powers That Be themselves, but hearing it all spelled out had a great effect on them. They wondered again how this man had ever been an agent, let alone given charge of the LA office. Their utter loathing and contempt for Jack was evident on their faces, and they made no attempt to hide it.

Each piece of evidence was more damning. Even Kim had been forced to testify that her father had hated Nina, and that he had ordered Kim to leave when Nina was already wounded and incapacitated on the floor. The prosecutor emphasized over and over that Jack knew where each surveillance camera was placed in the building, and that he had deliberately stepped in front of the camera on the wall in what the prosecutor constantly called the 'murder room' to block the shooting. The tech department had used all of its resources to augment the tape, but there had been no way to make it clear whether Nina had really been going for her gun. The gun was visible, and there was movement of her arm, but the question for all was clear: why hadn't Jack just kicked it out of the way? She was wounded, lying on the floor, clearly unable to be a serious threat to him, not only because of the bullet wound, but due to the severe blood loss caused by the puncture of the major artery in her neck during her interrogation. Jack could easily have protected himself, the prosecutor said, and his claim that Kim was in danger was belied by the tape itself: Jack and Nina had been alone in that room.

Jack's conviction was a foregone conclusion. Despite the embarrassment to the agency the CTU judges referred his case to the civil authorities for prosecution for cold-blooded murder, for which he could be sentenced to death. The only one who seemed to care was Kim. Jack certainly didn't.

Chapter 3

He awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, feeling the unbearable shaking start, and once again he was desperate for a fix. It had been more than thirty years, but the dream was so real that suddenly his body was craving, demanding heroin. Then he felt the pounding in his chest and he remembered that as terrible as all that had been, this was worse. Lesley was missing, kidnapped because of him, and he was helpless to do anything about it. Her life was on the line, in fact she might already be dead, and it was his fault.

He was disoriented as he looked around the darkened conference room, not aware that the others had left and dimmed the lights so he could sleep. Damning himself and them he struggled to his feet and was overcome with dizziness; standing upright so quickly had thrown off his balance.

"Fck this!" he muttered to himself as he grabbed onto the table, and as the wave passed he headed for the door. He was embarrassed as heads turned to look at him as he exited the darkened room, sure that they were thinking that the 'old man' must have really fallen apart, to need a nap in the middle of a crisis. Nevertheless, he climbed the stairs to Tony's office, still not having fully shaken off the pangs of the nightmare, which were joined with the jolts of the one he was living through.

Tony looked as tired as Jack felt, and no more cheerful. "Still waiting for the lab to get back to us on the wool, Jack," he said, sorry he could give his friend no better news. He was shaken by Jack's disheveled appearance, but he decided to ignore it. "Our people haven't been able to find the boy who brought the picture yet, either. Maybe once school lets out..."

Jack knew from the way Tony's voice trailed off that there was nothing else. No more leads, if the slim one with the kid even qualified for the term. Nothing. All that was left was for the two old friends to look at each other helplessly.

Chapter 4

Lesley's feeling of panic was stronger than Jack's. She'd heard no more from her kidnappers, and she still had no inkling of why they thought Jack had their money. She knew that the man she'd fallen in love with was not a thief, would never have stolen from them or anyone, and although he'd never told her of Gaines, she knew, as did everyone, of the day he'd saved President Palmer. But he'd never told her about Nightfall, or the other things that gave him nightmares that she knew frequently woke him, trembling and sweating. She knew he'd lived through hell, and somehow survived. That seemed to be enough for him. It had to be enough for her.

Not that he couldn't face his dreams, he'd gotten past that, but re-telling them would mean re-living the horrors that he had finally mastered, and he'd never inflict that on her. But that didn't stop his sub-conscious from resurrecting them still, and there were nights, although fewer with time, when he awoke to gratefully find himself safe in her arms, knowing from the sweat that covered his body that his subconscious had again assaulted him, and yet being with her brought a feeling of peace and security that he thought he'd never know again. She held him close then, wanting to tell him to open up to her, tell her what plagued him so but respecting his privacy, sensing his need to tell her yet knowing that he believed he had to protect her. It was at these times that he understood what he had craved, what he had so desperately had to have and had lacked all these years: the silent acceptance by another of his need, and the willingness to meet it, to fill it, no questions asked, with tenderness, with respect. With love.

She thought of these things as she lay trussed in the darkness, sure that Jack was searching for her, wondering why these women thought Jack had something of theirs, and how he could possibly find her. She was relieved that her captors weren't with the Mafia, for she knew all too well what they were capable of doing, yet at the same time the FBI had information about them, leads they could follow, that might enable them to find her. Did anyone know about Laura and Lucy? Did Jack? She could only wonder, and wonderment turned to despair.

Chapter 5

More hours passed before Tony finally said, "Jack, go home. Nothing's happening. When something does, I'll call you. You're accomplishing nothing by being here, except getting more stressed. If you fall apart you'll be useless, and you won't be helping Lesley. I'll have one of the agents drive you home."

Jack started to protest, but he saw that it wouldn't do any good. Besides, Tony was right. If he was going to help Lesley, he had to get his mind working, and that meant he had to get some sleep. And he knew Tony would keep his word: if something developed, he'd call.

Chapter 6

One of Jack's many talents, one born of necessity, had been his absolute ability to fall instantly asleep in any situation, no matter the conditions, no matter the pressures. It had stood him in good stead during his active years when sleep had had to come whenever it was available, in the most stressful situations, so he could stay alert in others, and it helped him now. As soon as he stretched out on his bed he was out, and he was in the past again.

He was allowed to go home after the hearing, when he'd heard his fate summarily declared by the judges at CTU. "Mr. Bauer, you're discharged from this agency, and we're referring this matter to the District Attorney for prosecution for murder."

He'd refused to stay with Kim, he'd insisted that he wanted to be alone. Despite her protests he'd walked into the house and shut the door, although he'd gone out for a couple of bottles of scotch after he heard her drive away. Slowly, methodically, he drank himself into oblivion.

He came to the next morning sprawled on the couch in his den, drenched in sweat, stinking of sweat and vomit, the combination of drunkenness and withdrawal making him hate himself with a feeling he'd never known. Sheer loathing made him yearn for the gun he'd had to surrender the day he was brought up on charges. He tried to get up and landed on the floor in a pool of vomit, swearing and puking some more until he managed to get to all-fours and push himself up, knocking over a table and lamp in the process. He wove his way to the shower, pushing off walls for stability, tripping over his feet, finally falling and hitting his head on the edge of the sink. He was out cold.

When Kim came in an hour later he was still groggy, his head a bloody mess, and Chase got him into the shower, still dressed, and turned the cold water on him to sober him up. Jack came to somewhat, not enough, and took a swing at Chase, connecting weakly with his chest. He collapsed again onto the floor of the shower before he vomited some more. Trying to hide his disgust Chase ran cold water over him and then got him out of the shower before tearing Jack's soaking clothes off, and then he covered him with a towel and left him on the bathroom floor to sleep it off. He then went into the kitchen to find Kim.

"I don't know what you're going to do with him," Chase said as he entered. "I mean, he's gotta go to detox, and I think he's given up."

"What do you mean, 'do with him?'" she asked. "I'm going to do whatever I can. I'm going to get him help. A new lawyer, drug rehab, whatever he needs. Why, Chase? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I think he's given up, Kim. He doesn't care anymore. He's an addict, a junkie, and he just doesn't give a damn. You saw the way he acted at the trial, he doesn't care what happens, or what they do to him. There's no way you can help him."

"That's not true! He'd never give up! You don't know him, Chase, not like I do. He'd never give up. When I was in trouble, when Mom and I were kidnapped, nothing could stop him, and you know what he's like when he's in the field. How can you talk like that? He wouldn't give up, and I won't let him. Are you giving up? Are you, Chase? Are you?"

"No, Kim, I'm not," he said, moving to hold her, but she pulled away. Kim didn't think she'd ever been angrier. She thought that Chase, certainly, would understand, and would support Jack no matter what. The idea that he wouldn't be there for him, for his partner, tore through her. She looked at Chase, seeing him differently than before.

Kim went to check on Jack, and what she saw cut her like a knife. The crumbled man on the floor, ashen-faced, so thin and wasted beneath the towel, bore no resemblance to the vibrant, purposeful man she knew as her father. He indeed looked like he'd given up.

Chapter 7

The ringing brought him awake with a start, and the pounding in his head seemed to match the rhythm of the phone. He reached for it and knocked it over, cursing as he fumbled for it in the darkened room. "Hello," he said, slurring his words, and Tony thought he sounded drunk.

"Jack?" he asked, surprised that his friend would have let himself drink under the circumstances. He knew Jack was exhausted, that he needed sleep, but to get drunk, let himself get incapacitated when Lesley was in danger – that shocked him.

"Yeah, Tony, what's going on?" Jack asked, still not speaking clearly. "Did you find something?" He was trying to force himself to wake up.

"Yeah, we may have a lead on the wool," he replied, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. "The Bureau lab id'd it, it's unusual, a blend of cashmere and New Zealand boiled wool that's only sold in a few shops locally, and we're tracking them down now. Unfortunately, we don't have pictures of Lucy or Laura, so we can only go by descriptions, but we have the photo of the guy at the airport, 'though it seems unlikely that he was the one who bought the stuff."

Jack was fully awake now, and Tony was relieved to hear it in his voice. Apparently, it was exhaustion that he had heard, not alcohol. "I'll be right in, just let me grab a shower." There was a brief pause. "Dammit, I don't have my car. Anderson drove me home."

"I'll send someone for you. Twenty minutes?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Jack responded. "I'll be ready."

He was ready in fifteen, showered, shaved and dressed, and he hoped there was fresh coffee at CTU, and he meant to have regular, he needed the caffeine that morning. The nightmare had taken more out of him than he could afford.

Anderson knew better than to try to engage the pensive Jack in conversation as he drove him to CTU, and Jack just gazed out the window, lost in thought. If the lead on the wool didn't pan out, they were out of luck. There was nothing else to go on, and yet it didn't make sense that amateurs could have covered their tracks so well, better than pros, yet that was what they'd done from the beginning, when they'd grabbed Jack and held him in the warehouse. CTU hadn't been able to find him then; Jack had freed himself and gotten away. It was too much to hope that Lesley could do the same thing.

Tony was waiting in the conference room with a carafe of coffee, his own cup already filled, and he started to pour a mug for Jack when he stopped him. "I need high-test this morning, Tony. Regular. Is that decaf?"

"Yeah, Jack. You're not supposed to have caffeine, remember?"

"I remember, but not this morning. I need some caffeine to get me going. Please, Tony, don't be my nurse, okay?"

Tony nodded, and used the intercom to ask for a pot of 'real' coffee. When it came Tony poured two fresh mugs. "Because we're sitting here, I take it there's no news yet?" Jack asked. He had to emphasize the last word; there had to be hope.

"That's right, the agents are still canvassing the shops. There're about a dozen, and it shouldn't take long. But it's early, most of them are still closed, so we have to wait for them to open. It'll be a little while, Jack. I'm sorry I called you so early, but I promised to let you know if there were any developments. I didn't want you to think I was holding anything back."

Jack was appreciative, and he told Tony so. "Do we have anything else, Tony? In case the wool doesn't pan out?"

"We're still looking for the kid, but there are an awful lot of skateboards out there, and a lot of schools nearby. Plus, because it's Saturday, we can't canvass them. We may not be able to do that until Monday." Tony didn't have to tell Jack what that would mean. Lesley might not last another two days.

"Dammit," Jack said softly, his thoughts mirroring Tony's. But then something else occurred to him. "The Valium, Tony. How were we drugged? That's another loose end. How'd they get that into our food?"

Tony's weary sigh told Jack that so far no progress had been made in determining the source. "We still don't know. We've checked out everyone in the restaurant, the deliveryman, everybody. Nothing, Jack. No one had access to Valium, no one had a connection to Gaines, no one had any unusual financial dealings, deposits, spending, anything suspicious. Nada. We came up dry."

Jack exhaled through his teeth, the exhaustion more severe than coffee could overcome. He didn't remember feeling so helpless; always, in the past, there had been some lead to follow. Something. This time, there was nothing.

Then, an idea. "The agents, Tony. Did you check them?"

"What, the Bureau guys? The ones who were guarding you? They were drugged, Jack, just like you and Lesley." But Tony saw where Jack was going, and he thought it through.

There was a pause. Finally, he said, "No, we didn't follow it. The Bureau vets its people, just like we do, and I'm sure they checked them out. But there's no reason we can't take a look at them."

"Get on it, Tony," Jack urged, not giving his friend an order, and Tony didn't take it that way. He was too busy kicking himself for not having thought of it before.

Tony was already reaching for the phone, and Baker was in the conference room within a minute. "Tom, I want you to take a look at the FBI agents who were guarding Lesley and Jack at her house the night they were drugged. See if one of them was in on it."

Baker knew that the Bureau would have checked out its own people, but he saw instantly where Tony was going. If nothing else, it would give Jack some peace of mind, so he merely nodded before he left the room. Besides, there had always been a rivalry between CTU and the FBI, along with an innate mistrust. CTU would be all too glad to investigate Bureau agents.

Jack poured himself more coffee, thankful that at least there was another avenue to look at, no matter how slim it was. He kept trying to block images of Lesley from his mind, images of how he, himself had been kept prisoner so many times, not wanting to remember what he had been subjected to when he'd been held captive. Lesley was weakened, not fully recovered from her head injury, and Laura and Lucy Gaines were vicious. They were obviously all too ready to inflict horrors on the woman Chapter 7

The ringing brought him awake with a start, and the pounding in his head seemed to match the rhythm of the phone. He reached for it and knocked it over, cursing as he fumbled for it in the darkened room. "Hello," he said, slurring his words, and Tony thought he sounded drunk.

"Jack?" he asked, surprised that his friend would have let himself drink under the circumstances. He knew Jack was exhausted, that he needed sleep, but to get drunk, let himself get incapacitated when Lesley was in danger – that shocked him.

"Yeah, Tony, what's going on?" Jack asked, still not speaking clearly. "Did you find something?" He was trying to force himself to wake up.

"Yeah, we may have a lead on the wool," he replied, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. "The Bureau lab id'd it, it's unusual, a blend of cashmere and New Zealand boiled wool that's only sold in a few shops locally, and we're tracking them down now. Unfortunately, we don't have pictures of Lucy or Laura, so we can only go by descriptions, but we have the photo of the guy at the airport, 'though it seems unlikely that he was the one who bought the stuff."

Jack was fully awake now, and Tony was relieved to hear it in his voice. Apparently, it was exhaustion that he had heard, not alcohol. "I'll be right in, just let me grab a shower." There was a brief pause. "Dammit, I don't have my car. Anderson drove me home."

"I'll send someone for you. Twenty minutes?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Jack responded. "I'll be ready."

He was ready in fifteen, showered, shaved and dressed, and he hoped there was fresh coffee at CTU, and he meant to have regular, he needed the caffeine that morning. The nightmare had taken more out of him than he could afford.

Anderson knew better than to try to engage the pensive Jack in conversation as he drove him to CTU, and Jack just gazed out the window, lost in thought. If the lead on the wool didn't pan out, they were out of luck. There was nothing else to go on, and yet it didn't make sense that amateurs could have covered their tracks so well, better than pros, yet that was what they'd done from the beginning, when they'd grabbed Jack and held him in the warehouse. CTU hadn't been able to find him then; Jack had freed himself and gotten away. It was too much to hope that Lesley could do the same thing.

Tony was waiting in the conference room with a carafe of coffee, his own cup already filled, and he started to pour a mug for Jack when he stopped him. "I need high-test this morning, Tony. Regular. Is that decaf?"

"Yeah, Jack. You're not supposed to have caffeine, remember?"

"I remember, but not this morning. I need some caffeine to get me going. Please, Tony, don't be my nurse, okay?"

Tony nodded, and used the intercom to ask for a pot of 'real' coffee. When it came Tony poured two fresh mugs. "Because we're sitting here, I take it there's no news yet?" Jack asked. He had to emphasize the last word; there had to be hope.

"That's right, the agents are still canvassing the shops. There're about a dozen, and it shouldn't take long. But it's early, most of them are still closed, so we have to wait for them to open. It'll be a little while, Jack. I'm sorry I called you so early, but I promised to let you know if there were any developments. I didn't want you to think I was holding anything back."

Jack was appreciative, and he told Tony so. "Do we have anything else, Tony? In case the wool doesn't pan out?"

"We're still looking for the kid, but there are an awful lot of skateboards out there, and a lot of schools nearby. Plus, because it's Saturday, we can't canvass them. We may not be able to do that until Monday." Tony didn't have to tell Jack what that would mean. Lesley might not last another two days.

"Dammit," Jack said softly, his thoughts mirroring Tony's. But then something else occurred to him. "The Valium, Tony. How were we drugged? That's another loose end. How'd they get that into our food?"

Tony's weary sigh told Jack that so far no progress had been made in determining the source. "We still don't know. We've checked out everyone in the restaurant, the deliveryman, everybody. Nothing, Jack. No one had access to Valium, no one had a connection to Gaines, no one had any unusual financial dealings, deposits, spending, anything suspicious. Nada. We came up dry."

Jack exhaled through his teeth, the exhaustion more severe than coffee could overcome. He didn't remember feeling so helpless; always, in the past, there had been some lead to follow. Something. This time, there was nothing.

Then, an idea. "The agents, Tony. Did you check them?"

"What, the Bureau guys? The ones who were guarding you? They were drugged, Jack, just like you and Lesley." But Tony saw where Jack was going, and he thought it through.

There was a pause. Finally, he said, "No, we didn't follow it. The Bureau vets its people, just like we do, and I'm sure they checked them out. But there's no reason we can't take a look at them."

"Get on it, Tony," Jack urged, not giving his friend an order, and Tony didn't take it that way. He was too busy kicking himself for not having thought of it before.

Tony was already reaching for the phone, and Baker was in the conference room within a minute. "Tom, I want you to take a look at the FBI agents who were guarding Lesley and Jack at her house the night they were drugged. See if one of them was in on it."

Baker knew that the Bureau would have checked out its own people, but he saw instantly where Tony was going. If nothing else, it would give Jack some peace of mind, so he merely nodded before he left the room. Besides, there had always been a rivalry between CTU and the FBI, along with an innate mistrust. CTU would be all too glad to investigate Bureau agents.

Jack poured himself more coffee, thankful that at least there was another avenue to look at, no matter how slim it was. He kept trying to block images of Lesley from his mind, images of how he, himself had been kept prisoner so many times, not wanting to remember what he had been subjected to when he'd been held captive. Lesley was weakened, not fully recovered from her head injury, and Laura and Lucy Gaines were vicious. They were obviously all too ready to inflict horrors on the woman who they knew was so precious to him.

Chapter 8

She'd been that way for days, how many she'd lost count, without food or water, and she lay in her own soil, trussed like an animal, without feeling in her arms or legs.

I don't know how much more of this I can take, Lesley thought, the bonds tearing into her, the pounding in her head worsening by the minute until she was on the verge of losing consciousness. There was no indication that she hadn't been left to die, wherever she was, no hint that Jack was getting close to rescuing her. I might never be found, she kept thinking, and she felt herself starting to give up. But she knew, knew, that Jack wouldn't give up, and she hung onto that. That was her mantra, her link to sanity.

Jack's despair matched her own, and as he waited for news, of the canvass of the knitting stores, of the search for the boy, of the background checks on the FBI agents, he was again overcome by grief and guilt. He tried to shake off the last, knowing from his therapy that nothing good could come of it, that paralysis was the only result, and that it would only impede his effectiveness. He'd lived with guilt all of his life, and if he'd learned anything from his breakdown and struggle for recovery it was that he had to forgive himself, and that this crisis was no exception. He'd done nothing to imperil Lesley; this situation was not of his making, and it could not have been foreseen. He couldn't have protected her from it or prevented it, and even if he had, blaming himself would accomplish nothing. All he could do was to concentrate on finding her, saving her. His strength had to be devoted to that. He thought thankfully of Dr. Logan and the progress he had helped him make. He understood, finally, that he had found his way to mental health. That, in the end, was what he had to offer Lesley, for that would allow him to work to help her. And, he told himself, to love her when she was back, safe, with him.

His introspection was interrupted by Baker, who burst into the room. "We found something," he said excitedly. "One of the feds, Buchman, has a mistress, and he's been paying to support her. Through the nose, keeping her in an apartment, and it's costing him a hell of a lot more than he can afford on his Bureau salary. As soon as we started to question him he broke. It's apparently been on his conscience. He admitted drugging the food, he's been taking money from Laura Gaines. He's in Interrogation Room 3, Jack, we just brought him in. Do you want to watch?"

Jack hauled himself out of his chair without answering, and he was out of the room instantly, almost pushing Baker out of his way in his rush to Interrogation. There, behind the glass, was Buchman, looking broken and ashen. Tony was already with him in the inner room.

"All right, Buchman, where is she? Where are they holding Lesley Kramer?"

"I don't know," Buchman replied in a flat voice. "All I know is that I met Laura Gaines outside the post office in Oxnard, she gave me the money and the Valium there."

"C'mon, how did she contact you? How did she know you needed money?"

"I don't know how she knew. She called me on my cell, said she knew I was in financial trouble, and she had a way to help me. Said all I had to do was put some drugs in the food when I was on duty, drug myself, too, that no one would get hurt, and I'd be covered 'cause I'd be out, too. It seemed so simple, so innocuous. I didn't think anyone would be hurt."

"That's bull, Buchman, and you know it. Why'd you think she wanted everyone drugged? You must have known she was going to snatch Lesley."

"Yeah, I guess so," Buchman allowed wearily, "but I didn't think she'd hurt her, honest. I just thought – I guess I didn't want to think what she'd do. I just needed the money so bad – I – that's all I could think of. Honest, that's all."

Tony looked at the window with disgust, sure that Jack was watching from there. Jack wanted to bust in and strangle the FBI agent, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, there had to be more that the man hadn't yet told them.

"So you only saw her once? Did you speak to anyone else?" Tony wasn't giving up.

"Yeah, I just met her that one time," Buchman replied, his voice barely audible. "I didn't talk to anyone else, just her."

"How'd she know you'd be assigned to watch Lesley?"

"I don't know."

"Did you volunteer?" Tony wanted to know.

"No," Buchman replied, and it was obvious that someone else from the Bureau had to be involved. There was no way Laura Gaines had left this to luck; she had to have been sure that Buchman would be put on the detail to guard Lesley. They had to find out who had made the assignment. Jack reached for the phone in the observation room as Tony came out of Interrogation.

Chapter 9

TPTB at the FBI, of course, were livid, first that one of their own had taken a bribe, and then that another was obviously complicit in the same plot, but it couldn't be denied. The FBI wanted to do the investigation themselves, but the supervisor who had assigned Buchman was soon brought into CTU and questioned, and after he pugnaciously denied any role in Lesley's abduction Richards was called in. Not long after drugs were administered he revealed that he, too, had taken a bribe, and gave up the location of the house in Oxnard where Lesley was being held.

Jack insisted on accompanying Baker's team and the other tactical unit that went to rescue her, although he reluctantly agreed to remain in the vehicle. The agents were surprised to find Lesley alone in the house, unguarded and relatively unharmed, although much the worse for wear from her ordeal. When the location was proclaimed safe Jack rushed in to find her semi-conscious, not aware of her surroundings or his presence, and as she was gently placed on the ambulance stretcher he held her hand tightly, willing her his strength.

He insisted on riding to the hospital with her, trying to stay out of the way of the EMT's as they placed an oxygen mask on her face and administered IV fluids. She remained unresponsive during the trip, and Jack had to be pulled away as she was rushed to a treatment room. Tony stayed with Jack as he paced and waited for news.

"Jack, she's alive," Tony softly told his friend for reassurance. "She's conscious, and it doesn't appear that she's been beaten or anything. I'm sure the docs can help her. I've called Kim, and she and Chase are on their way, so try to relax. You've got to take it easy."

Jack knew Tony was right, so he reluctantly sank into the chair in the waiting room, and was soon lost in thought. He didn't return to the dreams of the night before. His mind focused on how he'd had to stay in the van – hide in the van, stay out of harm's way – while other, younger agents went in to rescue Lesley. It took him back to the first mission for CTU when he'd been in charge, and he'd wondered if he really had what it takes to be a counter-terrorist agent.