Eastern Europe — the distinctive crack of a Soviet-style AK–47 assault rifle.
Jack found the choice of weapon intriguing. It also occurred to him that Dante Arete had sent the shooters inside that tavern personally. That might mean that the assassins’ intended victim was involved in whatever plot was unfolding. This person might even know something about the missile launcher, and the two men who had driven away with it. If Jack was really lucky, he might capture one of Arete’s assassins alive, and possibly find out where Dante was holed up.
So while fleeing vehicles sped away from Tatiana’s Tavern, Jack drew the Browning Hi-Power from his shoulder holster and moved cautiously toward the building.
Ryan Chappelle caught up with Nina Myers and Tony Almeida at Jamey’s workstation. Jamey was watching a map grid on her monitor. Dante Arete’s GPS beacon blinked intermittently. Meanwhile Nina was attempting to interface with the DEA’s database and Tony was tracing the license plates Jack had read off.
“We’ve finally heard from the FBI,” Ryan announced. “The New York office has issued an arrest warrant for Jack Bauer.”
Jamey exploded. “That’s crazy. What are the charges?”
“The murder of two federal marshals and the wounding of an FBI pilot. Aiding a fugitive to escape federal custody, one Dante Arete.”
“Ryan, that’s ridiculous and you know it,” Nina said.
“I’ll admit it sounds far-fetched,” Ryan conceded. “But Special Agent Frank Hensley survived the airline crash; he’s talking to his bosses and that’s his story.”
“Are there any other survivors?” Tony asked.
“Besides Jack and Dante Arete? Just the pilot, and he’s not talking.”
“The FBI keeping him under wraps?”
Ryan flashed his displeasure. “He’s in a coma, Tony.”
Almeida bristled at Chappelle’s tone. “Hold on a minute, Ryan. You sound like you believe the FBI’s version of what happened.”
“I don’t believe and I don’t disbelieve anything. I’m waiting to be convinced—”
“But you heard what Jack said. He’s innocent and you know it,” Nina argued.
“I don’t know anything,” Chappelle replied. “Until another witness steps forward, what happened is open to interpretation. What happens next is up to you. You’re going to have to convince me that what Jack Bauer said is true—”
“Convince
“Yes, Tony. Convince
Georgi Timko cowered under a table; another toppled on its side served as scant protection against the 9mm bullets whizzing around the room. Still clutching the warm cup in his fist, he gulped reflexively, scalding his tongue.
From somewhere inside the shadowy tavern, lit neon blue from the sign outside the shattered window, old Yuri was still plugging away at the remaining assassins. The ancient AK–47 rattled, muzzle flash bright. Georgi could hear spent cartridges bouncing on the floor following each carefully timed burst.
Georgi smiled, remembering the surprise on one assassin’s face when the old man who begged for pennies at the door suddenly pulled the assault rifle from its place behind a loose wall panel. Before anyone could react, Yuri stitched a bloody line of holes up the gangster’s chest with an opening burst — hey, not so “toothless” after all. The dead man still lay where he fell, head askew, eyes staring blankly. The Uzi he had brought with him lay just out of Georgi’s reach.
Another Uzi fired, the burst shattering what remained of the mirror, which came crashing down behind the bar. Georgi hugged the dirty floor, cursing his laxity in not wearing a firearm, or fetching one when the four assassins first stepped into his establishment. Instead he trusted his employees to handle things. Now Nicolo was dead and Yuri was cornered, though the old man was still fighting valiantly. Poor Alexi had not fired a shot in a long time, and Georgi feared the worst.
He shifted his position in an effort to reach the Uzi on the floor. His movement elicited a burst of fire that chewed up the floorboards and shattered a chair near his head. Yuri answered the shots with a burst of his own, drawing the assassins’ fire away from his boss with the last of his ammunition.
Georgi Timko cursed. He wanted to protect such loyal men, but feared he’d already cost them their lives. Only luck or a guardian angel could save them all now.
Jack Bauer had slipped to the back of the tavern and used a metal Dumpster to get a boost to the flat tar roof. He waited until he heard shots. Then he peered through the skylight, into the darkened tavern. By the blue light of the neon exterior, he counted three shooters — someone moving right under him was using the AK–47. Arete’s men, the two left standing, fired 9mm Uzis from behind splintered pool tables. Jack saw three other shapes from his vantage point— two on the ground, the third sprawled across a table. A pair of those men were Arete’s; Jack recognized them from their dusters. The third was unknown to Jack, and most likely dead.
Jack ducked away from the skylight, leaned against the satellite dish while he contemplated his next move.
He had to capture at least one of Arete’s men alive. The only way to get information fast was a rough interrogation of the suspects. He was certain he could quickly break any of Arete’s punks — if they had any useful information.
Jack also wanted to speak to the person or persons Dante Arete sent his hit squad to assassinate. Jack didn’t always subscribe to the dictum that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but right about now he could use an ally on this coast to make up for the deficit of CTU support he was facing. And if Arete wanted someone dead, it was probably because he knew something that could hurt the gang leader. Jack wanted a part of that as well.
In the tavern below, a short burst from the AK–47 was followed by a hollow click on an empty magazine — the shooter was out of ammunition. Arete’s men knew it, too. Like shadows in the blue neon glow, they slipped out from behind the pool tables and moved to flank the defenseless man.
Jack balanced over the skylight, reloaded his weapon. He shot through the glass and dropped into the middle of the tavern. Jack landed in a crouch in front of a startled gunman. The man raised the Uzi and Jack fired, blowing the top of his head off.
Jack ducked under a broken table and rolled as the other man fired on him. The shots kicked up splinters from the floor.
“Give up and I won’t hurt you,” Jack cried. He was answered by another burst — which also ended with an empty click.
Jack leaped to his feet and leveled his weapon. The man in the blue duster looked up fearfully, then let the weapon fall from his grip.
“Step forward and I won’t—”
Suddenly shots filled the tavern as a long burst tore the man in the long coat to bloody pieces. Jack whirled to find a heavy-set man facing him. The man instantly dropped the Uzi and threw up his arms when his eyes met Jack’s.
“You must help me,” Georgi Timko pleaded. “That son of a bitch over there shot my friend. I…I think he’s dying.”
4. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 12 A.M. AND 1 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
On his way through the command center, Tony Almeida fell into step beside Captain Jessica Schneider.
“Where are you headed, Captain?”
