give you Cindy Fromme’s—”
“I tried them. They say they never heard anything. I was thinking you guys had heard something.”
“Oh, no problem, then let me connect you to our investigations dep—”
“I tried them, too. They didn’t have anything, and when I kind of pushed it, they sent me to you.”
“I see. Well. How can I help?”
“To be honest,” said the Special Agent, “I have some reason to believe that this militia group did turn in a tip on Islamic terrorists. The militia group is called the Greater Nation. You may have heard of them, they’ve made a lot of noise lately. I’ve been told the tip went right to the top over there, and I’m trying to track it down.”
“Told by whom?” Brian asked. The brightness in his voice had lost a bit of wattage.
“I can’t say,” the CTU agent said evasively. “Look, I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’m just trying to track down a lead.”
“I wish I could help you, Special Agent, but we don’t know anything.”
“I see. Well, thank you.”
Brian Zelzer hung up. The minute the line went dead, he hit his speed dial. It was answered immediately. “Jim, it’s Brian. I think I might know who broke into your computer…”
The miracle of the modern age was the instantaneous transfer of information. A reporter speaks into a microphone in Kabul, Afghanistan, and her voice comes out of a television in Boise, Idaho. A man presses his thumbprint into a scanner at London’s Heathrow Airport, and his name appears on a computer screen in New York. And when a CTU agent makes a phone call from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., he finds his own telephone ringing a few minutes later.
“Sharpton,” he said.
“Special Agent Sharpton,” said the caller. “This is Attorney General James Quincy.”
Uh-oh, Kelly thought. He felt fear and anger churn together in his stomach. This man had just tried to blackmail the woman he’d loved for years. He was also one of the most powerful men in the country, and Kelly had just hacked his computer. “Yes, Mr. Attorney General?”
“I understand you were making inquiries regarding the Greater Nation. Something about a tip.”
“Um, yes. Yes, sir,” Kelly found himself totally unprepared for the AG’s directness. Did he know that Kelly had tampered with his evidence? “I…I’m following a lead. According to some of our sources, the Greater Nation had information on a terrorist cell in the U.S. We were hoping you — your office had more information. Also, again according to our sources, we had information that you might…that your office might actually have assets inside the Greater Nation—”
“Assets,” the AG said calmly. “You mean spies.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you come by this information?”
Kelly said, “I’d rather not say.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure I can help you here, Agent Sharpton. I’m aware of the Greater Nation, of course. We incarcerated some of their people when I was a prosecutor in Kansas. But I wouldn’t count on any tips from them. In my experience, they’re a bunch of far-right zealots. They’re certainly capable of doing damage to themselves and others, but I hardly think they know more about terrorism than CTU does.”
“That’s true, sir,” Kelly said, “but it’s our job to follow up on any leads—”
“Yes, it is. And if you did your jobs, this probably wouldn’t be an issue,” the AG said sharply.
“Excuse me, sir?” Kelly felt his neck heat up.
“I’m not attacking you, Agent Sharpton. I just think CTU, and many other agencies as well, could be more efficient. I’m working to give you the tools to make you more efficient. The NAP Act—”
“Yes, sir,” Kelly said, sharpening the edge in his own voice. “Well, perhaps you should save the sales pitch for the Senators.”
The phone line was deadly quiet for a moment. “What did you just—?”
“I’m not attacking you,” Kelly said with just a hint of sarcasm. “I just think the DOJ, and many other agencies as well, could be more cooperative. I’m not sure we need less personal privacy. I think we need less interagency privacy. For instance, if you could tell me about Frank Newhouse. ” He let the name hang in the air. A pause followed the name, but Kelly could not interpret it over the phone.
“You are insubordinate,” James Quincy said. “I did you the favor of returning your inquiry personally, and you — you’ll be hearing from me again.” He hung up.
Kelly slumped back in his chair, filled with bewildered dread, like a healthy man who’s just been told he has a month to live. It didn’t make sense. Why would the Attorney General call him directly? Was the Greater Nation that important? Was Frank New-house? Or maybe it had nothing to do with the militia and the terrorists. Maybe the AG knew that Kelly had hacked his computer and helped Debbie. It wasn’t impossible — phone taps, computer taps, and a dozen other surveillance devices allowed even the most secret information to leak out instantaneously, given the right conditions. Kelly put his head in his hands. Whatever had happened, one thing was sure: he had just bought himself a lot more trouble than he’d bargained for.
Jessi Bandison watched Kelly from her desk in the pit. Her gravedigger shift was long over, but the more ambitious analysts often stayed behind for overtime or for advancement. The security team noticed that she hadn’t logged out or left the building, but once they confirmed she was all right, no one gave her any more notice.
She could still feel the heat that had risen into her cheeks. The flush of embarrassment she’d felt in asking him to coffee had turned instantly to anger. Why had he spoken to her like that? He’d flirted with her almost as much as she’d flirted with him. The way he stood so close to her when they worked a program together, the way his face lit up when he smelled that jasmine on her skin. He was more obvious than she was. He had no right to snap at her like that.
George Mason walked past her terminal. He was the Assistant Administrative Director of CTU. “Bandison, are you still on?”
“Oh,” she said, halting her internal diatribe. “Oh, no, not technically.”
Mason looked disappointed. “We need help running a simulated attack on the network. It’s a slow day, so we’re doing diagnostics and security checks. I knew you liked to hack, so I figured you might want to give us a run for our money.”
Jessi shook her head. “If it’s optional, I’d rather opt out, if that’s okay. It was a long night and I’ve already done one test hack.”
“Really, for them?”
“No. I did one for Kelly.”
Mason shrugged. “I didn’t know we were running anything else. It wasn’t scheduled.” Mason blew by her, forgetting his own comment as soon as he’d said it.
But Jessi didn’t. “It wasn’t scheduled,” he’d said. Kelly was a top analyst, but he wasn’t the administrative director. Why would he know about a fire drill when Mason didn’t? Jessi bit her lip. What had she done? What had
She walked up to him. “Excuse me, Mr. Chappelle?”
“Yes?” he said in his normal voice, which was as sharp as shattered glass. Jessi almost retreated from it. She hesitated, which only seemed to annoy him further, so she finally said, “Can I — can I speak with you for a minute?”
7. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9 A.M. AND 10 A.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
Jack Bauer pulled his SUV into the CTU parking lot and yawned. The drive from Culver City had meant downtime, which was the worst thing for him at the moment. Lacking the adrenaline dump, he now felt tired, dirty, and hungry. He was still wearing his BDUs and equipment from the Greater Nation raid, gear that had already
