—”
“We will survive,” Sanjore cried. “No one knows your true identity. No one could possibly know of this place. Even if that foolish actress implicates Nikolai Manos, who will believe her? The Old Man on the Mountain will endure.”
Hasan seemed mollified by Sanjore’s words, but a shadow of doubt crossed his face. “We have lost assets. Irreplaceable assets. ”
“A mere setback. We can rebuild. The vision has not died.”
“But if I am exposed?”
“Then you shall continue your operations in secret, from this very base of operations. Do not forget that a great portion of your wealth is intact, unreachable in a Swiss account.”
“But we have lost so much.”
“But not all, never all. You are still alive, Hasan. And alive, you can still fight. The Americans, the Russians, they cannot harm you as long as you remain hidden in this impenetrable fortress. In time, from this secret place, we will again launch an attack.”
Hasan pondered the man’s words. “You restore my faith, Nawaf. Truly you are the most loyal and valuable of my followers.”
Nawaf Sanjore’s heart soared at his master’s compliment, rarely given. He bowed deeply.
“I live to serve you—”
The architect was interrupted by explosions, screams, gunshots. Then an amplified voice boomed throughout the underground cavern.
“This is CTU. Lay down your weapons. You are surrounded and cannot escape. Surrender now or you will be shot.”
EPILOGUE
Richard Walsh turned off the recorder, sat back in his chair. Jack Bauer stifled a yawn, fought back the throbbing pain behind his eyes. His black battle suit was scorched and he still smelled of cordite hours after the raid had been successfully concluded.
Walsh opened a file on the table in front of him. He leafed through it, shook his head. “There’s evidence that Manos had contact with Hugh Vetri, the murdered producer. They worked together on a number of charities, and last year Vetri accompanied Manos to Eastern Europe to tour some of the refurbished film studios.”
Jack nodded. “I think Manos tried to brainwash Hugh Vetri, but it didn’t take. Maybe because Vetri had a wife and a family, something to live for beyond himself. In that sense Vetri was different than Ibn al Farad, Richard Lesser, Nawaf Sanjore, Abigail Heyer, maybe more grounded in reality. I think Vetri resisted Hasan, and he was murdered.”
“The LAPD found hundreds of personal files in Vetri’s computers,” said Walsh. “At his Summit Studio offices and his home. He was big on investigating the people with whom he intended to do business. That’s most likely why he had that file on you, Jack— he was trying to find someone he could trust to tell the things he’d learned about Manos, about Hasan. Lesser somehow supplied Vetri with the data disk as a way to lure CTU into the case.”
“That makes as much sense as anything,” Jack replied.
“I’m going to debrief Tony Almeida next,” said Walsh. “Chappelle tells me I should reprimand him for disobeying a direct order, staying behind in Mexico for no other purpose than revenge.”
“Chappelle’s got it wrong,” said Jack. “Lesser was sent to us by Hasan to divert our attention away from his operation in Mexico. His plan would have worked if Tony had listened to Chappelle. The midnight virus would have been unleashed from the command center in Tijuana, and Hasan would have been able to coordinate and direct continued assaults against the country from his secret base on the Avenue de Dante.”
Walsh slipped another file from the bottom of his stack. “I have something else here you might find interesting. Washington has run an extensive background check on Nikolai Manos and came up with a dossier. Are you curious about their opinion, Jack?”
Bauer did not reply so Walsh pressed on.
“According to Langley, Nikolai Manos was born somewhere in Eastern Europe, probably Chechnya, but no one really knows. In the chaos following the first Chechen insurgency, Manos was orphaned and became a refugee. At the age of nine, he was discovered by a wealthy Greek family who adopted him. While our knowledge of his adopted family is extensive, we don’t know much about his real parents, except that they were murdered by the Soviets when he was still very young. The analyst who reviewed the data believes Manos was seeking revenge against the Russian people for their crimes against the Chechens. That’s why he wanted their First Lady — to humiliate and intimidate the hated Russians. What do you think?”
“I think the analyst missed the boat.”
“Excuse me?”
“Manos…Hasan. He’d gone beyond mere revenge. He was setting himself up as a religious leader, a living god. He found his model in the medieval Islamic leader, but he was no Muslim either. Hasan was building a brand new religion, a faith he hoped would outlive him.”
Walsh stroked his moustache. “Did he succeed?”
“Manos refused to surrender — killed himself in the bunker along with Nawaf Sanjore — so I think we stopped him in time. But maybe not. If his disciples survived…if there is even a single follower left, then his religion lives on as well.”
Walsh shifted, uneasy with this idea. “Well, there were a lot of deaths in that auditorium but CTU saved the lives of most of the hostages, not to mention some of the country’s most beloved stars.”
“There’s only one star on my mind now,” Jack replied.
Walsh understood his meaning. On the wall in the lobby of CIA headquarters at Langley, Virginia, there hung more than seventy stars — all of them anonymous — one for each of the CIA operatives who died while serving their country. Behind a glass case, the Book of Honor held some of their names. Other identities were still classified. Though Fay Hubley’s name and her service would probably not be revealed for decades, Walsh had no doubt her star would shine continually in the minds of her colleagues.
Jack yawned, massaged his forehead.
“You know, Jack. It sounds simplistic but I always felt that family was the only thing in this world that kept me grounded in reality, that kept me sane, and this operation certainly doesn’t dissuade me from that notion.”
“Sir?” asked Jack, the endless day finally catching up to him.
Walsh closed the file. “Go home, Jack. Kiss your wife and hug your daughter. Have a nice dinner with your family and play chess with Kim.”
“Thank you sir, I think I will.” Jack rose from the table.
“And Special Agent Bauer. ”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take tomorrow off.”
Acknowledgments
The author sends out a hearty “w00t” of thanks to Sharon K. Wheeler, software engineer (and mainframe maven), for her helpful guidance in all things digital. If there are any errors, or if literary license was taken in the depiction of computer technology in this book, the responsibility falls entirely with the author.
Special thanks to Hope Innelli and Josh Behar of HarperCollins for their vision, guidance, and personal encouragement. Thanks also to Virginia King of 20th Century Fox for her continued support.
Without the groundbreaking, Emmy Award-winning “24” creators, Joel Surnow and Robert Cochran, and their talented writing team, this novel would not exist. Special thanks to them and also to Kiefer Sutherland for breathing life into the memorable character of Jack Bauer.
