THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 8:00 AM AND 9:00 AM
CTU Los Angeles
8:00:02
8:00:03
8:00:04
8:00:05
Jack entered the CTU workspace dragging with him a black suspect on his right arm. All eyes in the office were directed at him, but he didn't care, he had grown used to all the attention.
"Tony," he called as a Latino male in his twenties came into view.
"We heard about everything Jack," was his reply. "Anna from NSA is just in the conference room with some of our guys. She's awake and a bit shaken, and she's refusing any medical attention but she's okay."
That was Jack's first good news this whole morning. "Thank you. I'm bringing this guy in for interrogation, he was the only shooter left alive. Get shots of those KIA and see if Anna knows any of them."
Tony responded with a quick nod and left Jack's sight.
He had just made it in the interrogation room with the suspect intact. Jack physically directed him onto a chair inside the silent dim lit room.
"Now, tell me everything."
"Nobody was supposed to get killed man." Jack's ability to study eyes had served as a tremendous asset to his career. 'Liar', he mused.
'There is no time for this', and with that thought, Jack decided to go a little rough. He thought about his Browning Hi Power on the holster of his side. He grabbed the suspect on the collar and stuck the barrel of his gun on his temple. After this he knew that he would receive another complaint about excessive force, but that would have been nothing new. The suspect had finally complied, and that was all that mattered.
"This was all Tyler's idea", the man exclaimed.
"Who is Tyler?"
"Tyler set this whole gig up with those white guys"
This was only raising more questions. "What white guys?"
"I don't know. Tyler knows more about this than any of us."
Suddenly, a thought came to Jack. He left the interrogation room only to return in a matter of seconds holding up a photograph of Alex Whitmore.
"Is this him?"
The man nodded his head uncontrollably. "That's him."
It was confirmed. "Why did you try to kill an NSA agent?" The suspect didn't say anymore than that Tyler had set the whole thing up. The suspect had no idea who she was, only where she would be and what she looked like.
"Write down his address." He did. Jack stormed out of the room with a piece of paper in his hand and met a fellow field worker on his way. "Terrance." The man shifted his attention to Jack almost immediately. "Make sure he gets put in a cell," he continued pointing a finger at the entrance door of the interrogation room. Terrance nodded his head and went on.
Jack arrived at Tony's workspace. He handed a piece of paper and told Tony to 'find out who lives in this address and issue out a warrant, then call up some teams for a raid.'
Tony nodded in confirmation.
Mexico
8:29:41
8:29:42
8:29:43
8:29:44
Juarez was still confused about their previous assignment. He had thought about it long and hard on the back of the shaky military truck as it was voyaging to the base, running over a series of large stones on the way.
"Hey," Juarez called two other soldiers on board chattering about something else.
"Why would Colonel Cristobal order us to wipe out a crashed plane," he asked his fellow comrades in his native Spanish.
"Who knows?" was the unconcerned reply.
'It is strange. I don't understand,' Juarez wondered silently.
The truck stopped as it had reached the base. "We are here," proclaimed one of the soldiers. "Juarez maybe you can ask him yourself."
Juarez was curious to know, but stopped himself there. The Colonel was not a man famous for answering questions but rather hiding them. There have been numerous abnormal orders issued by Colonel Cristobal in the past, most of which the soldiers doubted were approved by or even introduced to superiors. After completing one of Cristobal's questionable assignments, a fellow soldier had asked too many questions and threatened to report to the activities to higher officers. Coincidentally, he disappeared just before being able to do so; that wasn't the kind of thing that Juarez wanted for himself.
"No thank you." Juarez had lost his concern over the matter and unloaded himself from the truck just like all the other soldiers had and he followed behind them back into the quarters.
Sam was confused yet certain. He had not long ago climbed onto the lower chest of the truck and it had led him on a Mexican military base. Sam was confused of who exactly ordered an attack on the plane, but was confirmed that it was Mexican military on the exterior. He didn't have a whole lot to go on, but one of the soldiers had mentioned something about a Colonel Cristobal and that he was presiding somewhere in this base. 'Whitmore had some powerful friends', Sam thought. It was broad daylight; the sun was eating on his skin. Ghostly stealth would be of no use now. His only option would be an outfit to get around defense. Before long, he heard footsteps approach into his vicinity. 'Perfect.'
Los Angeles
8:35:19
8:35:20
8:35:21
8:35:22
The teams had just arrived into a one story house in the local suburbs. They had immediately got into gear and came up with a game plan. Jack wore a Kevlar vest, anxious to lead the teams in. There were expected hostiles inside the building, but mostly street punks surrounding themselves with the wrong crowd. In any normal case Jack would let the teams go in without him, but he needed to get Tyler out alive. Anything less would be a failed mission. Jack trusted the teams with his life, but not with Tyler's.
There were two viable points of entry; the front door and the backdoor through the backyard. The plan was simple; Jack and two guys behind break in the front, and the second team would raid in from the back.
Jack was handed a Motorola hand radio with which to communicate with the second team. The doors were wooden; a simple ram on both entrances would do the trick.
"Do you read me Team 2?" Jack whispered into his Motorola tightly gripped in his left hand. On his right was his Browning Hi Power. Jack and the teams were all armed with sidearms for one reason only; they wanted to be sure of every shot made if any were necessary. Nobody on the team could risk even a shred on Tyler if they wanted answers without having to call in a medic.
"We read you Team 1", replied the from the hand radio. Jack acknowledged. He took three deep long breathes. "Go".
Team 2 had come in first. He could hear the back door break down. Meanwhile an officer in Team 1 barged the door and stepped back. Jack had run in almost immediately. There were three men sitting on a couch, eyes wide. They all had guns on their hands and responded by firing at the teams.
As if a reflex, Jack had ducked down before anything could hit him. However, the man just behind him was caught by surprise; the consequence was a bullet on the neck.
Before any of the remaining team members had time to act, Jack already blew the three men on their kneecaps with a perfect aim. Not a second later, each three men fell on the ground bleeding and screaming off the top of their lungs. They would have to call the medics.
Nothing ever went right for Jack Bauer.
Mexico
8:45:16
8:45:17
8:45:18
8:45:19
Colonel Cristobal called Juarez and Pepe into his office without delay. On any normal government assignment he would have asked for a report, but this was not the case. It was one of his "special assignments" that nobody outside the base would know about. And if they did, he would know about it. Cristobal made the most of his given rank, something he could obtain only through years and years of sucking up to his superiors and brushing away all those who stood on his path to a promotion. Cristobal was crooked and everybody knew it. Even some of the other Colonels and high ranks were aware of his "special assignments" which included a lot of illegal activity, including acts of treason, but as long as there was nothing to charge him on they would be nothing more than false rumors.
"You tell me you didn't find anything?" he cursed at his two soldiers. They responded only by standing still.
"Get out!" he ordered. "I will see to it that you get your just punishment." They left the room silently just as the Colonel ordered and shut the door behind.
Colonel Cristobal picked up his work phone and dialed a series of numbers. Had he not been occupied with what his contact would say to him, he would have noticed a cool breeze flowing in from a window behind him. This was only strange because he always closed the windows in his office.
Suddenly, a cold metal tube pressed on the back of his head. His eyes widened and he lost grip of the phone. Fearing it to be a gun, he made no attempt at moving.
"You ordered the attack didn't you?" came a voice from behind him speaking in his native Spanish. Judging from the accent of the deep voice, this man had to be American.
"Who are you?" the Colonel turned his head to look at whoever was behind him, but was prevented by a sharp knock on the back on his neck.
"Aaah!"
"I'll do the asking around here," demanded the voice. "Who are you working for?" The Colonel replied by saying something about the Mexican military. Wrong answer. He received another knock harder than the last time. The pain was excruciating.
The Colonel made loud coughs and struggled to breathe. "My contact...is Mr. Dan White."
Sam heard loud and clear. 'No. It can't be.'
NSA Headquarters, Baltimore
8:52:10
8:52:11
8:52:12
8:52:13
Colonel Irving Lambert took a deep sip into his coffee as he waited patiently. He expected a call from Anna not long from now, it never came. He had lost radio contact with Sam and Redding a few hours ago. 'Frequency problems', was his conjecture. It wouldn't have been the first time. But something about it all troubled Lambert a great deal. It had just occurred to him at the moment that he currently had no contact with the entire Third Echelon crew for reasons unknown. 'What the hell is going on?'
His office door had just opened. He expected someone from the team. Lambert turned his head to see who it was.
The man was in his early twenties, had a tanned skin and a well toned body.
"Who are you?" asked Lambert. "How did you get in here?" He had never seen the man anywhere on campus before, but that was probably the point. He saw a silenced pistol pointed at his face; that was all he needed to know.
Three gunshots whispered into Lambert's chest, and he fell on the floor almost immediately. The tiles stained with coffee and blood.
8:57:39
8:57:40
8:57:41
8:57:42
The job was done. The man looked over at his target. There was blood leaking out of his jacket. He packed his weapon back into its holster and walked out of the room closing the door behind him. He walked two stairwells down into the entrance, but was interrupted by a security guard looking over at his direction. The guard said that he had never seen the man before and asked for his employee card. Security was getting tight for some reason. The man fished out his card from the back of his wallet and handed it to the guard. The guard was satisfied and gave it back. The man retrieved it and walked away before he caught more suspicion. The card said that the man had been working in the office for two years; the truth was that he never did. The identity was a perfect forge, courtesy of Dan White, Director of NSA.
8:59:57
8:59:58
8:59:59
9:00:00
