“Like what?” Tony asked.
Milo shrugged. “It’s blocked by a security code, but the Cyber Unit is working on it now. They’ll come up with answers soon.”
“What about the Japanese characters inscribed on the outside?”
“They’re Korean, Jack,” said Nina. “North Korean, specifically.”
A moment of perplexed silence followed.
“We need to put this investigation into high gear, ramp it up,” said Jack.
Nina stepped forward. “We got lucky. The Marine Corps agreed to send an officer from their Special Weapons Unit to examine the device. Seems they’ve seen something like it once before. ”
Milo perked up. “And the embedded software?”
“Division is dispatching a software security expert to extract the data it contains. She’s apparently an expert on the intricacies of Korean software.”
“What about Dante Arete?”
“He’s giving us the silent treatment,” Tony replied. “A real tough guy. Acts like we’re not even in the room.”
Jack activated one of the monitors in the center of the conference table. Dante Arete sat on the only chair in the interrogation room, gazing straight ahead, his arms cuffed tightly behind his back. Jack studied the image onscreen. “I need a hook to get into this guy. We need to find out what he was doing, and who he’s working for.”
A three-toned ring interrupted his thoughts. Jack answered the briefing room phone, listened for a moment, then slammed down the receiver.
Nina met his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s an FBI agent at the security gate with two federal marshals in tow. They’re here to claim custody of Dante Arete.”
“They can’t do that!” Tony threw up his hands. “We haven’t even told the other agencies about this operation yet. How the hell did the FBI find out?”
Jack glanced back at the monitor, then rose. “Tony, Nina. Intercept our visitors, stall for time. I’m going to talk to Arete right now.”
Almeida folded his arms and shook his head. “Come on, Jack. Get real. How long do you think we can stall them?”
Jack stared at Tony, his voice soft steel: “As long as you can.” He strode to the door, jerked it open. Ryan Chappelle blocked his path. The Regional Director of CTU locked eyes with Jack, who looked away.
“Hello, Jack. ”
“Ryan, I’ve got to go—”
“You’ve got to stay right here, Special Agent Bauer,” Chappelle said evenly. “We’re going to sit down together and wait for Special Agent Hensley of the FBI to be escorted in.” Chappelle looked over Jack’s shoulder. “The rest of you can go back to your stations. Now.”
As they filed out, Nina gave Jack a sidelong glance, Tony Almeida couldn’t hide his disgust.
“That’s okay,” said Milo Pressman, glancing at his watch. “I’m off duty as of an hour ago.”
Jamey Farrell paused at the door, searched Jack’s face for some sign of what to do.
“Get back to work, Jamey,” Chappelle commanded, impatient with what he saw as the Loyal Staff act. He’d seen it before where Jack’s people were concerned, and he didn’t like it. When the petite woman was gone, he closed the door behind her. Then Ryan Chappelle turned to find Jack Bauer in his face.
“You can’t let the FBI take Arete away from us.” Jack’s voice was soft but tight. “At least not until we interrogate him.”
“It’s out of my hands.”
“Ryan, I lost an agent today. She was twenty-eight years old—”
“A tragedy.” Ryan turned from Jack, brushed his fingertips along the conference table. “The good news for you is I won’t hold you accountable, even though I recommended that we hold off on the action you took until further voice tests could be made on the phone tip.”
“There was no time, Ryan. You know that. And you know we paid a high price for Arete. We can just give him up without a fight.”
Chappelle sat down, leaned back, and opened his arms. “We’re all on the same team, Jack. Think of it as a gesture of interagency cooperation.”
Almost imperceptibly, Jack winced. “Cooperation’s been a one-way street with the Bureau since day one. You know that, Ryan.”
“Maybe this gesture will change things.”
But Jack knew letting go of Dante Arete would change nothing. The current Administration had intentionally erected an impenetrable wall between the various governmental law enforcement and intelligence agencies. They were not allowed to share intelligence, even if it involved the same suspects, the same crimes. The CIA had allowed CTU to be created as an experiment in getting around those dangerously constraining walls, but they only seemed to grow higher. These days, interagency cooperation was not only rare, it was illegal. While Jack bristled under the limitations of what he saw as an absurd policy, the pragmatic and ambitious Ryan Chappelle chose to adapt.
Chappelle was the new model for a career bureaucrat. A product of Wharton’s MBA program, he’d come up through assistant positions in the Agency; no field work, no military or police training, which made him suspect in Bauer’s mind. Post — Cold War Washington had already taken the teeth out of its intelligence communities, making the language of
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” The door had opened without a knock. Jason Ridley, Chappelle’s young, dapper assistant, escorted FBI Special Agent Frank Hensley into the conference room. With a polite nod, Ridley quickly departed. Chappelle rose to shake the man’s hand. Bauer was already standing.
“Special Agent Hensley, your fame precedes you,” said Ryan Chappelle. “I received a call from Dennis Spain, Chief of Staff to Senator William Cheever of New York. He mentioned you were coming.”
“Senator Cheever has been keeping close tabs on the Arete case,” Hensley replied.
“This is CTU Special Agent Jack Bauer. He commanded the assault team that apprehended your man.”
Frank Hensley gazed at Bauer through close-set eyes that were so dark blue they were nearly black. Under thick brows and a shock of dark, slicked-back hair, Hensley’s sneer appeared to be a permanent fixture on his face. The shape of his jaw, his thin lips, and aquiline nose were all slightly twisted, as if to better accommodate the man’s perpetual scowl. As tall as Jack, Hensley was thinner, more compact under a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit and spotless white Egyptian cotton shirt, a tie of cornflower blue.
“Special Agent Hensley.” Jack offered his hand.
Hensley clenched his hands into tight fists and rested them on his hips. “You’re the guy who blew two years of sweat, blood, and hard work.”
Jack lowered his arm. “I don’t understand.”
“I mean I put two years of work — nine months of it undercover — to gather enough evidence to indict Dante Arete. The case was almost made. We were ready to grab him in his Red Hook hangout, along with his associates, his cache of weapons, drugs. ” Bristling now, Hensley slapped his fist into the palm of his hand. “We had that SOB Arete under constant surveillance. We had wiretaps, electronic surveillance. My partner followed him around for six weeks with a goddamned parabolic amplifier!”
Jack didn’t blink. “If that’s the case, then how did Arete end up in Los Angeles, pointing an anti-aircraft missile at a cargo plane?”
Instead of answering, Hensley looked away, stared at the closed door for a good twenty seconds. “Two days ago Arete slipped through our net,” he said at last. “He murdered my partner and got away. Used a stolen credit card and fake ID to fly to California. The next thing we heard was that you had him. ”
