Marc A. Cerasini
24 Declassified: Vanishing Point
To Chuck Hoffman and Bob Langer, who were instrumental in the creation of this novel. And to my brother, Vance, who helped me out of a couple of technical dilemmas I’d written myself into. But most of all to my wife, Alice Alfonsi, who helped immeasurably with the preparation of this complex and difficult manuscript.
After the 1993 World Trade Center attack, a division of the Central Intelligence Agency established a domestic unit tasked with protecting America from the threat of terrorism. Headquartered in Washington, DC, the Counter Terrorist Unit established field offices in several American cities. From its inception, CTU faced hostility and skepticism from other Federal law enforcement agencies. Despite bureaucratic resistance, within a few years CTU had become a major force in the war against terror. After the events of 9/11, a number of early CTU missions were declassified. The following is one of them.
PROLOGUE
The door opened without a knock. Jack Bauer looked up from the daily threat assessment file to find his former boss standing over his desk.
“Busy, Jack?”
Christopher Henderson hadn’t been on this coast in over a year, not since he’d become CTU’s Director of Covert Operations. The promotion required a temporary move east, to CIA headquarters in Virginia.
Jack rose and shook the man’s hand. “Christopher. How are things at Langley?”
His old mentor had arrived sans jacket. The sleeves of his starched white shirt were rolled up to expose sinewy biceps. A platinum Rolex glittered on his knobby wrist.
Outwardly the man hadn’t changed much since being cast into Washington’s bureaucratic vortex. Still tall and lanky with dead gray eyes, he’d obviously staved off an administrator’s bulge by making use of the Company’s gym. Then again, his early years in the Agency had earned him the nickname “Preying Mantis”—although that had as much to do with his rangy physique as his ability to convert vulnerable hard targets into Agency assets.
“I read about the biological threat you neutralized in New York,” Henderson said. “Exposing a renegade FBI agent didn’t endear you with the boys in the Bureau.”
Jack tensed, still chafing over the lack of follow up on his recommendations. “Frank Hensley was more than a renegade. He was a mole with ties to—”
“I’m not here to talk about Operation Hell Gate or Hensley’s Middle Eastern puppet master — although the official assessment is that your conclusions are shaky at best, your theories unsubstantiated.”
Henderson raised a hand. “I came here on another matter. I have a critical situation down in Colombia, and I need a favor…”
Jack’s momentary defensiveness dissolved into curiosity. He studied Henderson’s expression, even though there wasn’t much to read beyond a relaxed confidence, which was typical Henderson.
“Go on,” Jack said, settling back behind his desk.
Henderson pulled up a chair. “Three days ago, one of my agents, Gordon Harrow y Guiterrez, went missing. For the past six months, he’s been posing as a gadget guy for the Rojas brothers.”
The Rojas family — a father and three sons — ran cocaine out of South America. They were a successful and ruthless gang, but not yet the top of the food chain among Colombia’s many drug cartels.
“I don’t understand,” Jack said. “Guiterrez didn’t call in a code red? Request emergency extraction?”
Henderson shook his head. “He just vanished. Went black without warning, ditching the false identity Central Cover created for him. We only learned he’d gone missing through intercepts. From what we gleaned eavesdropping on cartel chatter, Guiterrez had stolen something the Rojas family feared he would sell on the black market.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “And is that what really happened?”
“I wasn’t sure at first. Within twenty-four hours, all chatter ceased inside the cartel. Even the loquacious Senora Rojas stopped calling her mother in Bogota, so we knew something was up. After forty-eight hours, Guiterrez still hadn’t made an appearance at the CTU safe house in Cartegena. So we assumed the worst.”
“Was Guiterrez executed?”
“He’s alive and for a very good reason. He knew something we didn’t. The Cartegena safe house had been compromised. Yesterday it was attacked.”
Jack frowned. “I saw the alert on that. Six dead, one wounded…. but Intel said the attack was a reprisal for a raid on a cartel factory last month.”
“A cover story. The raid was staged by the Rojas family. They knew about our safe house, how many agents and staffers worked out of the facility, the daily schedule… the
“I see.” Jack exhaled, knowing the implications for a hit like that. “I assume the attack compromised more of the Agency’s operations in Colombia?”
Henderson nodded. “You’ll see the reports soon enough.”
“Reports of…?”
“The hits, Jack.” Henderson’s easygoing mask momentarily slipped. “CIA and DEA operations in Cartegena, in Medellin, in Cali and in Barranquilla… They’ve all been quietly taken out in the past several hours,” he said.
Jack took a few seconds to process this. He leaned forward, resting his forearms over the threat assessment file. “Christopher, that can’t be the work of the Rojas gang. They’re too small time to hold sway in Cali, Bogota, or Barranquilla. They couldn’t act on rival turf without cooperation. A deal of some kind must have been made…”
Henderson nodded but hesitated before saying more.
“What do you know?” Jack pressed. “I need all the facts before I can help. Are the Rojas consolidating power? Going national? International? Is this a political situation?”
Henderson moved to the edge of his chair. “The target of these raids was my agent. The Rojas family and its rivals are desperate to find him. They’re trying to recover what Gordon stole from them.”
“But you don’t know what he has,” Jack assumed.
“That’s not… precisely… true.” Henderson stared at Jack, unblinking. The mask was back. “Guiterrez contacted me again last night, through a… back channel connection.”
Jack didn’t care for Henderson’s sudden vagueness of wording. It smacked of legalese. “What kind of ‘back channel’ connection?”
Henderson lowered his voice. “He called me on a sat phone I maintain privately.”
Jack didn’t know why Henderson was sidestepping Agency monitoring, but he didn’t ask. If anyone understood the occasional need to violate protocol, Jack did.
“Gordon told me what he’d grabbed, and I understood why he had to get out, and take it with him. He snatched a prototype of a portable electronics device that can render an airplane virtually invisible to conventional radar.”
Jack blinked. “Is that possible? I thought an aircraft’s stealthy characteristics came from its shape… along with the composite materials used in its construction?”
Jack knew all about the Hopeless Diamond configuration of the F–117 Stealth fighter, and the flat-surfaces, angular design and non-reflective fuselage of the Raptor. The shape and materials of both aircraft were engineered to deflect radar, rendering them practically invisible.
Henderson nodded. “Our advanced fighters do rely on materials and shape, but they also have electronic sub-systems that can generate a field around the aircraft. This field effectively absorbs, deflects, or dissipates radar
