CTU Director Brice Holman’s cell rang three times, before she was connected to his voice mail. From somewhere on the street she heard cries, then a face appeared at the window. The man wore a red ’do-rag over a retro Afro, a pair of gray city sanitation overalls.
“Jesus, lady, you okay?”
“I’m pinned,” she replied weakly.
“Don’t try to move. An ambulance is on the way.”
She tried to reply, but waves of nausea and dizziness suddenly overwhelmed her. Desperate to report to someone, Agent Foy placed a second call, this one to CTU
Headquarters in Manhattan.
Paramedic Darnell Peasley saw the accident scene as soon as he swung his ambulance around the corner. “
A silver Lexus was wrapped around a telephone pole; a faded red pickup truck had smashed into it. Smoke poured from under both hoods.
Darnell noticed a sanitation truck had stopped at the scene. Two workers were waving at him. A third was poking his head through the Lexus’s window.
“The cops are here,” said Darnell’s partner, Luis. He pointed through the windshield as Darnell parked his ambulance next to the sanitation truck.
Darnell was relieved to see the patrol car rolling toward them. Sometimes he and Luis had to wait for the police to arrive at scenes like this, which meant they remained inside their locked ambulance until the cops finally did show. On streets like Bilson Avenue, a paramedic took his life into his hands if he did anything else.
Two cops emerged from their car, and a police van was just arriving as Darnell popped his door and ran forward, clutching his medical kit.
“She’s pinned!” called the sanitation worker, standing next to the Lexus.
“What about the truck driver?” Darnell asked.
“Punk ran away,” one of the other sanitation workers cried. “Hopped into a black Hummer with tinted windows and took off.”
“You got a license number for that?” the older cop demanded, showing attitude.
“I got the first couple of numbers,” replied the black sanitation worker, mopping sweat off his forehead with his ’do-rag. He avoided eye contact with the white cop, directed his comments at Darnell and Luis.
The older cop and his partner immediately hauled him to their van for a statement. Darnell moved to climb into the twisted car. A third policeman tried to help.
“Anything I can do?” the cop asked.
The officer was young and white and earnest.
“I’ll call when I need you,” Darnell replied. “Now get out of the way and let me get this done before the Fire Department gets here and takes over.”
The policeman quickly gave Darnell space.
He pulled a pair of disposable gloves out of his kit and slipped the white latex over his brown hands. Then he touched his fingers to the woman’s throat.
The pulse was strong, but she was unconscious and probably in shock. He pushed the red hair away from her forehead and saw the bloody gouge where the rearview mirror had caught her. He slapped a pressure pad on the wound to stop the bleeding.
“How she doin’?” Luis called.
“Probably a concussion,” Darnell replied.
He thought for a second that he’d heard a tiny voice—
the car’s radio? Darnell inspected the Lexus interior, spied the woman’s purse on the dashboard, the bloody cell phone in her hand. He gently slipped the device from her limp fingers and dropped the phone into the bag he’d retrieved.
In the purse, Darnell spotted a digital camera.
“Yo! Luis!” he called, tossing the purse to his partner.
“Take her stuff so it can go with her.”
3. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9:00 A.M. AND 10:00 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
Jack Bauer checked his watch and tossed the file onto the conference table.
“I’ve heard enough about Kurmastan,” he said sharply.
“You still haven’t told me why Director Holman and Deputy Director Foy are missing. Or why Holman’s computer is locked so tight not even Morris O’Brian can break through.”
The woman lowered her eyes. “I really don’t know—”
“You’re lying,” Jack said evenly. “You’re hiding something — maybe something your bosses did or are doing.”
Layla’s dark eyes stared at the floor.
“You can’t protect them, Agent Abernathy,” Jack said quietly. “If you try, you’ll only go down, too.”
The woman glanced away, tightly folded her arms. Then she met Jack’s gaze.
“Well,” she began, “I think maybe I’m the reason there are so many security protocols on Brice Holman’s computer.”
Jack drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Go on.”
“Six weeks ago, I was assigned to help open this office, but I found Holman’s activities to be overly guarded.”
“What do you mean? Be specific.”
“He’d disappear without explanation — and then
“Why didn’t he issue an alert?” Jack asked. “Talk to Langley?”
“I told you before, Agent Bauer. Holman was ordered to halt all surveillance on Kurmastan. And because I violated his computer, I’m afraid I may be the reason Brice doesn’t trust the staff assigned to him now.”
“He figured out you broke into his system?”
Layla nodded. “The next time I tried to gain access, he’d erected all kinds of new security barriers. I think my actions made him paranoid.”
The conference room’s intercom buzzed. “I’d better take this,” she said.
“Put it on speaker,” Jack commanded. He noticed her eyes flash with annoyance, but she did what Jack asked.
“Abernathy here.”
“This is Peter Randall in Communications. I just received a strange call from Deputy Director Foy’s cell.”
Layla leaned forward. “Where is—”
“This is Special Agent Jack Bauer from CTU Los Angeles,” Jack interrupted. “
“That’s what’s strange, sir,” replied Pete Randall over the speakerphone. “Agent Foy didn’t say anything.
