intercom buzzed.
Sighing, the big man tossed the glossy magazine back into the drawer and crossed to the door. Running his hand through his light brown hair, he punched the intercom button. “Yes?”
“I need to see someone in the properties department,” a voice replied. Alexi looked up at the security monitor. A dark-haired Hispanic man stood on the other side of the door.
Alexi threw the lock and opened the door. “Can I help—”
The silenced weapon barked twice. Alexi stumbled backward, but eerily, he remained on his feet despite the twin holes over his heart.
The man stepped through the door and closed it behind him. Then he shot the guard again.
This time Alexi’s knees gave out and he dropped to the tiled floor, one leg out, the other folded under him.
8. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2:00 P.M. AND 3:00 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
Jack summoned his team to the security station for a briefing by Morris O’Brian. He leaned with folded arms against a desk while the cyber technician spoke.
“This morning, when Brice Holman refused to answer our friendly phone calls, I followed CTU protocol and issued a trace command on his cell phone.”
“A trace command? What’s that?” Layla interrupted.
Morris glanced at Jack, then smiled indulgently. “I used the unique identifiers on Holman’s phone to trace its activity. Nothing happens when the man’s phone is turned off, of course. But as soon as he turns it on, the trace commands imbedded in the telecommunications grid automatically attempt to triangulate his position, and then forward the data to me.”
“So what have you got?” Jack demanded. He moved behind Morris’s chair to stand over the man.
Peter Randall was there, too, doe-eyed behind his round glasses. Despite his boyish demeanor, Randall had assumed responsibility for internal security in Tony Almeida’s and Rachel Delgado’s absence.
In the last hour, he’d proved to be a valuable asset.
Randall had determined the intruders killed on the roof of CTU Headquarters had entered through the parking garage, and his security team also found the bodies of the murdered guards behind some parked cars.
Now they were hunting a third accomplice, clad in a good copy of a CTU uniform. He had been taped fleeing the scene by the reactivated security cam inside the parking garage, around the same time the firefight broke out on the roof.
“Here’s the skinny, Jack-o,” Morris replied. “At twelve twenty-eight this afternoon, Holman activated his phone for approximately thirty-nine seconds — not long enough to triangulate his position with any sort of accuracy, but I did learn that the low-power transmission from his cell went to a switch in the farming community of Alpha, New Jersey—”
Layla interrupted again. “A switch? What kind of switch?”
“Darling,” Morris said patiently. “In mobile lingo, or as you call it in the colonies, in
“So Director Holman is in Alpha, New Jersey?”
“I didn’t say that, luv. I said his cell phone signal came to the tower in Alpha. But you are correct, in a sense.
Director Holman is not far away. Cell phone signals are weak. CTU’s phones are better than most, but they only have a range of thirteen kilometers.”
Morris looked up at Jack Bauer, who peered over his shoulder at the grid map up on the HD computer monitor.
“About twenty minutes ago, Holman tried using his phone again. It was only activated for fifty-two seconds, but this signal went to different place… a tower in Clinton, New Jersey. Using the location of the prior call and this one, I was able to triangulate his position. Assuming he hasn’t moved, I know where Holman is.”
“Where?” Jack demanded, though he thought he already knew the answer.
“He’s in a town called Milton, New Jersey. A pictur-esque little community on the Delaware River. According to our geographic database, parts of the Erie Canal still exist in the area—”
“Cut the regional history tour and show me the map.”
“All right, Jack-o.” Morris tapped a key, and a flashing red dot appeared on the grid. “That’s Milton.”
Jack nodded. “Where’s Kurmastan?”
Layla moved behind him while Morris tapped another key. Instantly a second blip appeared, nearly on top of the first.
“Now we know where Director Holman is,” Layla said.
“But what is he doing there? And why hasn’t he responded to our calls?”
“We’re going to find out the answer, right now.” Jack faced Peter Randall. “Where are your choppers?”
“Two blocks away,” Randall replied. “There’s a secure compound on the banks of the Hudson River. The detention block is there, too.”
“Alert them,” Jack said. “Tell them to prep a helicopter, and get clearance for an immediate takeoff. Tell them they’re carrying two passengers to Milton, New Jersey.”
Jack turned to Layla. “You’ll need your weapon for this trip. And tactical assault gear, too.”
The woman’s lips parted in surprise. “You’re taking me?”
“You wanted fieldwork, didn’t you?”
“I… I’ll secure my gear from the armory,” Layla stammered.
It took Tony a while to locate the property room. Finally, he cornered an orderly in the ER and asked him where to go.
“Through that door over there and down one flight. You make a left and follow the corridor. The property room will be on your right. You can’t miss it. The sign on the door says morgue.”
Tony frowned. “Morgue?”
The orderly shrugged. “That’s the way it is, mon.”
Tony thanked the man and entered the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time, the heels of his shoes clicking hollowly in the cavernous space.
At the bottom of the steps, Tony bumped into a youth in a white smock.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
The dark-haired Hispanic did not reply. Hands in his bulging pockets, he hurried up the stairs. Tony shrugged off the encounter and followed the corridor until he spotted the door to the morgue. To his surprise it was ajar, cool air from the massive refrigerators streaming into the stuffy corridor.
Suspicious, Tony slipped his hand into his jacket and drew the Glock from its holster. He peered around the open door, into the room. A security guard was sprawled on the floor. Tony moved forward, examined the guard.
The one marked “Room 424” had been pried open. The axe used for the job lay on the floor. Tony stepped around the corpse and examined the contents of the small square locker. Agent Foy’s purse, wallet, and CTU ID were still inside, but her cell phone and the digital surveillance camera were both gone.
Tony cursed, recalling the man who’d bumped him.
Glock pointed at the floor, he chased after him, certain the Hispanic youth was the culprit.
