Instantly, the vehicle was engulfed in sizzling steam. In under a second, the temperature inside the truck soared to a thousand degrees.
As he howled, Noor’s scalded flesh blistered, then began to slough off his bones like chicken in a soup pot. Kabbibi’s eyes popped from the searing heat, and he clutched his face with fleshless fingers.
Behind them, in the cargo bay, the aluminum tank containing the Zahhak burst with a muffled thump.
A fountain of white steam erupted from the pit, filling the near-empty street. Millions of gallons of boiling water gushed out. Then the flow turned dark brown, as rocks and soil spewed out of the seething pit. Hot mud splattered buildings. Windows broke as high as the eighth floor.
Like a raging volcano, the lavalike mixture continued to stream up from around the ruptured pipe.
Robert Ellis was the fifth man in the reception line. He waited patiently, watching Soren Ungar greet each member of the press with a handshake, smile plastered across his rigid face.
Jorg Schactenberg stood at Ungar’s shoulder, making introductions as his boss moved down the line.
“This is Robert Ellis of the Theological News Service in New York,” Schactenberg said.
Under thick glasses, Soren Ungar’s expressionless eyes regarded him. Stiffly, the financial leader extended his hand.
Ellis twisted the faux Fordham University ring on his left hand with his thumb, enfolded Ungar’s pale hand with his right.
“A pleasure, Herr Ellis,” Ungar said formally.
Still clutching Ungar’s hand in his right, Ellis covered it with his left. He felt the tiny needle plunge into Soren Ungar’s pale flesh.
“Greetings from the U. S. of A.,” Ellis hissed. Then he released the man.
Ungar stepped back, obviously surprised, though his face registered no expression. The currency trader turned to speak with the sixth man in line, and suddenly his knees buckled.
“Herr Ungar,” Schactenberg said. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ungar replied, waving him off. “I…”
Suddenly white foam flecked the corner of Soren Ungar’s thin lips, then a gush of dark red blood stained his chin. A stain appeared in the front of Ungar’s London tailored pants, too, as his bladder released its contents.
“
Soren Ungar reeled, then pitched to the floor. Almost immediately, violent convulsions wrenched the man’s body, twisting his limbs unnaturally as he writhed on the thick carpet.
Reporters instinctively rushed forward. Cameras appeared and flashbulbs flashed as Jorg Schactenberg tried to wave them back.
Robert Ellis slipped out of the press room, moved toward the exit. Security guards and paramedics rushed past him, heading in the opposite direction.
The poison was a clone of something the Soviets had concocted back in the Cold War era. There was no cure for the toxin, which killed its victims after about five minutes of excruciating pain.
As Robert Ellis left the auditorium, an out-of-breath businessman called to him. “Am I too late to hear Soren Ungar’s address?”
“Mr. Ungar’s speech has just been canceled,” Robert Ellis said, and kept walking.
Jack Bauer stood with his team at the edge of the roof, watching the steaming volcano on the street far below.
A voice spoke in his headset. “This is Bio-Monitor One.
We’re detecting water vapor, iron oxides, asbestos, rubber, granite, and particulate matter. No chemical or biological agents, however. The area around the blast is clean.
Repeat, the area is clean.”
Jack exhaled, yanked away the headset, and dropped it on the tarred roof. Christopher Henderson slapped his back.
“Good job, Jack.”
Jack nodded, still numb.
Tony called out to Jack. “Morris is on the line.”
Jack waved him off. “Take a message.”
Tony listened for a moment, one hand on his ear. “It’s the latest casualty report, Jack. Eleven hundred and fifty-eight, so far. Those figures are expected to rise.”
Jack groaned, turned away.
Layla moved, too, far away from the others. In the center of the roof, she oriented herself, then faced Mecca.
She threw up her hands, then folded them across her breast as she began to mutter a prayer.
Henderson tugged off his sunglasses, stared. “What’s she saying?” he whispered.
“The
Henderson blinked. “I didn’t know Agent Abernathy was one of the Faithful, did you?”
Jack smiled. “Yeah. I did.” He faced his boss. “You’d be wise to appoint Judith Foy the new Director of CTU New York. And I’d recommend Layla for the number two spot.
She’s young, but—”
Henderson silenced Jack with a raised hand. “There isn’t going to be a CTU New York, Jack. Not after this mess.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“The orders have been issued from on high,” Henderson informed him. “Walsh and the President are in agreement on this.”
“But what happened here
“Security was compromised from the start,” Henderson replied. “The division was infiltrated before it even opened.
The political meltdown over this hasn’t even begun yet.”
Henderson shook his head. “CTU will continue to guard the rest of the country. But from now on, New York City is on its own.”
The man curled his long arm around Jack’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Jack, you have enough on your plate with Los Angeles.”
Jack stepped away, processing everything Henderson had said. With the mention of L.A., he suddenly remembered his wife and daughter, realizing in a rush how much he missed them. He pulled out his personal cell phone, noticed a text message from Teri. A reminder.
Coldplay poster. MTV store.
Don’t disappoint your daughter.
He smiled.
“How about breakfast?” Henderson called to him. “On me. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten in a day.”
Jack glanced at his watch. “Fine, Christopher, but after that I’m heading uptown.”
Henderson looked at him askance. “Sightseeing?”
Bauer shook his head. “Just keeping a promise.”
About the Author
