Megan Reed frowned. She’d done everything she could to forget the pain. It only reminded her of Corporal Stratowski’s sacrifice and filled her with guilt. She’d counted the hostages in the hangar — twentytwo. She busied her highly-trained brain a dozen different ways, yet nothing worked. The image of Corporal Stratowski’s final seconds would suddenly flood her mind. The memory was impossible to ignore.
“They just shot him,” she whispered. “Like he was a lab specimen or something.” Dani nodded. “All they need is an excuse. If they’re so eager to kill us, what are we doing here?”
That question was answered ten minutes later, when a tall Asian man strode into the hanger. A woman in a black jumpsuit followed him like a shadow. The man’s arrogant gaze swept over the hostages as he walked among them. Most of the prisoners averted their eyes. To her shame, Dr. Reed did, too. But not Dr. Bascomb, The doctor’s undisguised hostility only seemed to amuse their captor.
“My name is Jong Lee,” the stranger said at last. “You will each tell me your names, your fields of expertise, so that I may determine your value. If I am satisfied by your answers, you will board the airplane outside. If I am not…”
Lee paused, gestured to the woman at his side. “My assistant Yizi will deal with any unpleasantness.”
18. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5 A.M. AND 6 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Tony’s plan was to sneak over to Hangar Six, where he’d stashed a Glock and a cache of ammunition inside an idle generator. But with daylight coming on fast, and the fuel truck parked on the dimly-lit tarmac, pumping hundreds of gallons of JET A–1 into the Boeing’s tanks, the 737 was a target of opportunity too tempting to ignore.
Tony had scouted around Hangar 18 a number of times. It was the largest structure on the base, capable of holding a pair of Boeing 737s. Tony knew experimental aircraft were being stored there, but because access was restricted he’d never been inside
He did know that welding tools and tanks were stored in a small cinder block maintenance shed next to the massive hangar. He’d been there a few days ago because that’s where civilian welders had assembled the microwave tower that was later erected at the test site.
Under the fast-brightening sky, Tony moved without detection across the desert terrain, well away from the illuminated runways and building lights. He observed a contingent of prisoners being herded into Hangar Five. He’d hoped the raiders would ignore the dormitory and stick to the technology labs and testing centers. But it seemed the enemy wanted more than just machines. Either they were gathering hostages to use as human shields, or kidnapping highly trained technicians. Either way, Tony would do his best to stop them.
It took a long time, but Tony finally reached the shed. The door was locked so Tony used a rock to smash the padlock. It took several minutes and plenty of scraped knuckles, but he finally slipped through the door and closed it behind him. In the glow of the overhead light Tony gathered up everything he would need to make a modern variation on the old-fashioned Molotov cocktail.
Five minutes later, Tony left the shed with two hand-held welding tanks strapped to his back, and a striker thrust in the elastic band of his sweatpants. As he circled the massive hangar, the building’s interior echoed with shouts and the sound of things breaking.
Cautiously, Tony approached the runway near the tail of the aircraft — and couldn’t believe his luck. Most of the activity around the airliner had ceased. The men had finished loading the cargo bays, and had once again fanned out across the base in a search for more loot. The Boeing was guarded by only three men now. Better yet, the fuel truck was parked less than twenty yards away from the spot where Tony lurked. The man who worked the hose was standing under the wing, facing two guards who had gathered at the bottom of the portable stairs.
This was going to be a whole lot easier than Tony first thought. He watched the man at the hose abondon his post and move closer to his comrades. Crouching, Tony sprinted across the tarmac, covering twenty yards in seconds. He dropped to the ground behind the fuel truck, slipped a welder off his back and touched the starter to the nozzle.
The gas hissed loudly as a blue jet of fire spewed from the nozzle. Tony feared the enemy would hear the sound, but the whine of the fuel pump masked the noise. Tony ignited the second welder, and wth a tank in each hand, he positioned them on the hose rack so the blue flame bored into the side of the fuel tank.
Then Tony ran, circling the hangar in the hope that the building would be enough to protect him from the explosion to come. He counted to ten, then to twenty. Tony was about to circle back to see what went wrong when an orange ball of fire shot up into the purpling sky. A powerful wave of debris and hot gasses rocked the hangar, shattering windows and blowing out the electricity. That same scorching wind washed over Tony a split second later, knocking him flat on his back, singeing his hair and blistering the skin across his torso.
The first blast was followed by a secondary explosion, then a third. Keeping his eyes closed, his hands over his face, Tony waited a full five minutes before he peeked out over the edge of the pit. A grim smile creased his battered face when he saw the remains of the Boeing 737 scattered all over the runway.
Playing a hunch, Tony checked the display on the late Steve Sable’s cell phone. His smile widened into a grin when he realized he must have destroyed the jamming system with the airplane, because now the cell phone had locked onto a powerful signal.
Tony knew there was only one man who could help him stop this invasion. By the wavering light of the burning debris, Tony dialed Jack Bauer’s cell phone.
Jack burst through the glass doors, leading with his Glock. As soon as he entered the terminal, he smelled death. Back to the wall, Jack moved cautiously along the corridor, shifting his Glock with his gaze.
“Clear,” he called. Curtis came through next. Glock in hand, he moved to the opposite end of the hall, checked all four points of the compass before he called “clear.”
Finally Nina entered in a crouch, gun held low but ready.
It took them only a few minutes to determine the terminal was deserted, except for the dead.
“They launched their raid from here,” Jack said. “They killed everyone and hijacked the airliner. Disguised as a regulation flight, they landed at Groom Lake and took over the base.”
Nina averted her eyes from the carnage around them. “Tony said the attackers spoke Chinese. This might not be terrorism, Jack.”
“Then we’re at war,” Jack replied, face grim.
“What’s our next move?” Curtis asked.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “CTU has been mobilized, but it’s almost sunrise and we don’t have time to wait for reinforcements to arrive,” Jack replied. “Anyway, I’m sure the raiders are prepared to deal with any large- scale assault. Tony estimated there were between twenty and thirty commandos, all highly trained — too many for him to stop alone. They have hostages, and they have radar and anti-aircraft missiles at the base. If they need to, they could threaten American lives, or turn our own weapons against us.”
Nina met Jack’s gaze. “So you’re thinking what?”
“We’ll split up here,” Jack replied. “I’m going over to the main terminal, see if I can commandeer an airplane or helicopter. I’ll fly in below the radar if I can.”
Curtis frowned. “What about us?”
“The raiders are concentrated around the experimental hangars. I want you to join up with Morris and approach that section of Groom Lake Air Force Base by land.”
Curtis shook his head. “There’s only one road in or out of there. They bad guys are sure to be guarding it.”
“Then it’s simple,” Jack replied. “Don’t use the roads.”
19. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 6 A.M. AND 7 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT
