15. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5 P.M. AND 6 P.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME
Lila Gibbs said, “Is that your Reb?”
She and Jack Bauer were occupying a cubicle in a section of one of the mobile home trailers that housed CTU/DENV’s command post at Pike’s Ford. They sat side by side facing a flat-screen computer monitor that was set on a countertop.
Jack was freshly showered and wore a change of clothes that had been lent to him by an agent of similar height and build who had a spare set of garments in a locker in another trailer that served as a barracks for the on- site team.
He still wore his own gun and shoulder holster. Weapon and harness both had taken a lot of punishment lately but were still operable. The same could be said of Jack. He’d forgotten that he even had a gun during his BZ- induced fugue, but it had remained in his possession throughout the experience. He told himself it was a good thing he had forgotten it during his altered state because otherwise he might have been tempted to look down the barrel to see where the bullet comes out of or done some other thing that would have gotten his head blown off permanently.
He’d repeated the now-familiar routine of test-firing the gun at the outdoor range, this time to determine that it had suffered no internal damage when he’d tumbled down the ridge. It checked out fine. So did he. His eye was sharp, his hand steady, and his aim true. The shoulder harness was scratched and sweat-stained but unbroken. He stuck with it because he was used to it and didn’t want to risk breaking in a new rig whose unfamiliarity might slow down the speed of his draw. Especially since he was going back out in the field to serve as live bait.
But not yet. There was still an important task to be carried out here at Pike’s Ford. That’s why he was now working with Lila Gibbs.
She was an expert in the use of facial morphology software for identification purposes. Her role was like that of the old-time police sketch artist who draws a suspect’s picture based on eyewitness testimony. The software was essentially a twenty-first century update of the classic police Identi-Kit that uses a variety of facial features to create a composite image of the suspect’s likeness.
Jack had described Reb to her: “He’s between his mid-thirties and forty in age. Height about six-four; weight anywhere from 220 to 240 pounds. He’s all pumped up like a pro wrestler or bodybuilder, even his muscles have muscles. I’d say look for heavy steroid use in the profile because nobody can get that kind of build without getting on the juice. Platinum-blond crew cut, a flattop. That hair color isn’t found in nature and must have come out of a bottle. His left eyebrow is split by a diagonal scar a couple of inches long. Square- shaped face with a lot of jaw and chin. Clean-shaven. No identifying marks or scars that I could see, except for that scar over the left eye. He’s a mean- looking dude, too, if that’s any help.”
Lila Gibbs was in her forties, matronly, with curly brown hair, green eyes, and a heart-shaped face. She worked the keyboard, inputting the specifications and searching the archives. The computer was linked to the CTU data net, itself able to draw on a multiplicity of sources among law enforcement, intelligence, the military, and other governmental agencies.
She said, “The name Reb could be a help or hindrance depending on whether or not it’s a longtime alias or one that was recently assumed. If the latter, it may not be in the files or it could be a name he’s taken to deliberately mislead the authorities and hide his real identity. But we’ll include the alias with the first search. If it hits, so much the better, and if not, we can rule it out and proceed from there.”
Her fingers deftly manipulated the keyboard, calling up the data. Somewhere in an unknown location massive CIA supercomputers processed the request, winnowing through oceans of binary zeroes and ones to find the desired droplets in the cyber sea.
There were thousands of “Rebs” in the archived United States police, military, and national files, more in the international ones. A hundred fit the general description; a dozen or so had facial scars in the vicinity of their left eye. Three of that twelve were described as having scars that split the left eyebrow.
Lila Gibbs pulled up their facial photos one at a time. Jack selected the third, said, “Try that one.”
The screen was filled with a police mug shot containing two views of the suspect, one full- facial and the other a profile. Jack said, “I didn’t see him in profile, just full-on.”
Gibbs minimized the profile and maximized the frontal. It depicted a man with shoulder- length dark hair and a full beard; a cold-eyed, glowering thug with a scar across his left eyebrow. “Is that your Reb?”
Jack said, “Could be. It could be. It’s hard to be sure with all that foliage covering the face, but definitely maybe.”
“I could search for other photos of the subject but this is the most recent one. There’s an easy way to get rid of that mess, though.”
She worked more keys and a mouse, and after a pause the subject’s image broke up only to be immediately reformatted. “This is how he’d look without the hair and beard.”
Jack said, “Bingo! That’s him. That’s Reb.” She did some more manipulations. “Just to be sure, that’s how he’d look with a crew cut.”
“That’s him all right.”
The subject was identified as one “Weld, Gordon Stuart; aka Reb, The Rebel, Gordy, Gordo,” and a number of other aliases that were mostly variations and combinations of his first and middle names.
Gordon Stuart Weld, thirty-seven, born in Atlanta, had an extensive criminal record throughout the South and Southwest. He had a high IQ, a hatred for authority, and a propensity for ultra-violence.
His early years included several stays in a state reformatory and six months’ confinement in a mental hospital for stabbing a schoolmate with a penknife. His psychiatric record featured frequent use of the terms “sociopathic,”
“narcissistic,” and “paranoid.” He became heavily involved in gang activity during middle school, a pattern that would continue into his adult life. He was an avid motorcycle enthusiast, a skilled rider, and an expert mechanic.
He’d enthusiastically embraced the world and lifestyle of violent biker gangs, belonging to several such outfits in the South. His lengthy arrest record showed numerous counts of assault, illegal possession of firearms, drug dealing, and theft. He was arrested for rape several times but released when complainants refused to press charges due to intimidation by his fellow gang members.
His size, strength, and ruthlessness won him a spot as gang enforcer, dealing out beatings and brutality on a businesslike basis. He freelanced as a collector for loan sharks and a hired gun for drug dealers. He served three and a half years in a state penitentiary for manslaughter and five years in Federal prison for gunrunning. His arrest record fell off after that, largely because the witnesses to subsequent crimes were found slain or simply disappeared.
He became a member of the Hellbenders Motorcycle Club, an outlaw biker gang with chapters throughout Texas and the Southwest. He rose fast through the ranks and was a major player in the gang’s rackets that included methamphetamine manufacturing and distribution, forced prostitution of topless and strip club dancers, gunrunning, extortion, and murder. He was rumored to be part of the gang’s elite squad of executioners.
Weld had had a falling-out with his associates in the past year following an arrest in Texas for illegal gun dealing. The mug shots in his computer file had been taken during his booking on those charges. He turned informant to avoid a lengthy prison sentence for this second Federal term. He set up his fellow biker gang partners for a bust, at the same time absconding with the loot from the racket and dropping off law enforcement agencies’ radar. He was now a wanted fugitive sought by police and the Hellbenders M.C., the latter having posted an open murder contract on his head with a fifty-thousand- dollar bounty collectable by anyone who could produce same. Literally.
Jack Bauer said, “Two Hellbenders were at the gorge today where the AFT agents were found. They must be looking for Reb. His being on the run explains the platinum hair dye job, too. It’s such an obvious giveaway that it could only have been done to draw attention away from his previous appearance.”
Lila Gibbs said, “He should have changed his name along with his hair color.” Jack grinned. “He never planned on any outsiders hearing it and living. I got a lucky break.”
