President. But they’re on the right track. There is a terrorist cell inside the country and they’re on it. I think. sir, I think concerns over this will push the NAP Act through.”
Barnes studied his Attorney General. He wished he had Mitch in the room with him — Rasher was an excellent strategist with a knack for seeing right into the heart of other people’s schemes. Barnes, however, had a talent for reading people themselves, and even if he couldn’t figure out the details, he sensed what Quincy was up to. “Then this has all been convenient for you, Jim,” the President noted.
The Attorney General’s face turned the lightest shade of pink. “It’s not about me, Mr. President. It’s about protecting our country from—”
“Of course it’s about you,” Barnes said. He spoke with no disdain, no judgment. He spoke in the matter-of- fact tones of one power seeker to another. “It’s about putting power into your own hands. Don’t deny it! I know, you think once you get more power you’ll do more good things. We all do, and maybe we’re right. But that comes second. First comes getting the power.”
“If you say so, sir.”
Barnes took a deep, thoughtful breath and exhaled it slowly. “There’s never been a lot of bullshit between us, Jim. This Privacy Act, even the name if it, it’s all dressed up to look like a gift to the people, but it’s dangerous. Once you break down these walls of privacy, well…those walls might never be rebuilt.”
“Sir. ” Quincy hesitated. “Sir, if the NAP Act passes, are you going to veto it?”
Barnes let his head fall back against the cushion of his chair. “Yes, I think I might, Jim.”
“I understand, Mr. President.”
Barnes seemed eager to change the subject. “Are you flying down to San Diego with us?”
“No, sir,” Quincy replied. He knew in that moment that he had to get off the plane and make one more phone call. “I’ll be taking a different route.”
Jack and Darryl rode the elevator back down to the lobby, then walked to the security station. Behind the desk, Jack saw a row of small, black-and-white screens — monitors hooked up to security cameras all around the building.
“Is all this centralized somewhere?” Jack asked.
“Supposed to be, but the security office isn’t working. They had some kind of technical trouble. All we got are these right now.”
“Do they show you everything?”
“Every parking level, all the entrances, but not the office floors.”
“Can you toggle through the parking areas?”
Darryl sat down at his desk and pressed a button on one of the screens. The image began to change rapidly. “It’s four cameras on every level, and six parking levels, so—”
“Wait!” Jack said. “Go back one.”
Darryl flipped back. They were looking at P6, the lowest parking level. Like all the security cameras, this one angled down, and showed a driving lane bordered by parking slots and thick support pillars. Peeking out from behind one of these pillars, Jack could just make out the back of a white van.
“Where’s that camera?”
“It’s on the southwest side, near the elevator. If you go down the elevator, you’ll make a left.”
“How about if I walk down the driving ramp?”
“Seriously? Then it’s straight ahead.”
Jack drew his gun.
“Goddamn,” Darryl breathed. “Aren’t you supposed to be calling for backup or something like that?”
“I wish I could,” Jack admitted. “But you can. You just watch those cameras. The minute you see or hear anything, call it in. Got it?”
“Okay.”
“One more thing. Do you have a flashlight?”
A few minutes later, Jack took the elevator down to P5. For the first few seconds, he allowed himself to feel the full measure of his anger. Goddamned idiot! He’d been Marks’s dupe from the beginning, from the very goddamned first day! Kelly hadn’t said so, but it must have occurred to him, as it had to Jack, that Marks might have pegged him as an undercover agent from the minute he infiltrated the Greater Nation. If Marks was working with Newhouse and Newhouse had the right sources, he would have known about Jack’s mission
By the time the elevator dinged open at P5, Jack had cooled himself down. He left the elevator, weapon drawn, and jogged quickly across the parking lot until he came to the downward-sloping ramp that led to P6. It was a short drive but a long walk, especially as Jack now moved slowly and carefully. The ramp circled around and leveled out on P6. Jack reached the bottom and pressed himself up against a support column. He listened, but there was no sound. He slipped out from behind his cover and trotted down the lane. Straight ahead, about fifty yards off, he could see the support column and the tail of the white van. Jack slowed as he approached, looking around every few seconds. The parking level was empty except for two or three cars. Parked near the white van were two older model cars — a 1969 Chevy Nova and a 1967 Camaro.
Jack reached the white van and leaned against the pillar. No sound or movement came from inside. Jack crept along the side of the van — which still had its sign saying Ready-Rooter — and peeked in the passenger window. No one there. He slipped to the back and tested the door. It was unlocked. He opened it, pointing his pistol, but the back of the van was empty.
Jack knew that Newhouse and Marks wouldn’t take the elevators. The security guards would see them. He jogged over to the elevators and found the staircase next to them. Six parking levels plus forty-four floors, plus the access way to the roof. Fifty floors was a long way to climb.
At least he wasn’t carrying a bomb…
“It’s been a long night,” Ryan Chappelle said. “Let’s send all nonessentials home.”
Kelly hesitated. “I’m not sure we can do that. We’ve still got investigations going…”
Chappelle flapped his hand in annoyance. “What can’t wait? The Iranian bodies will be there in the morning. The Swenson girl is in the hospital. Your two prisoners might as well be released.”
“The EMP devices are still out there.”
“Yes, but you don’t have any leads on them.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, we do.”
Ryan Chappelle looked at Kelly first in surprise, then in annoyance, then in something on the borderline between mild curiosity and complete dread. “Where’s Jack Bauer?”
Jack climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. According to the emergency exit diagrams, there were three other stairwells in the building, but he was betting on this one. It was closest to the vehicle, limiting the distance they had to carry their device, and closest to the elevators in case they needed another exit.
He reached ground level before he started to lose his breath. He’d been up for well over forty hours and he’d been moving nonstop for more than twenty. He felt wide-awake thanks to the adrenaline, but his body wasn’t performing at its peak. By the tenth story he was moving slower, the air rattling in his chest as he breathed. He scolded himself to keep motivated. Time was he could hump thirty kilometers with a forty-pound pack before breakfast. Now a few hours without sleep were leaving him weak as a—
Scuffing sounds drifted down the shaft toward him. Someone was moving up above. He listened a little longer, noticing that the scuffing sounds had a rhythm to them: scuff, scuff, stop; scuff, scuff, stop. Someone was lifting something heavy along the steps, then stopping to rest.
Jack hurried his pace, but he moved in rhythm with the scuffing sounds — two big steps and a pause, two big steps and a pause, covering a stairwell in two legs with this pattern.
Fifteenth floor. Jack could see them. Leaning out over the stair rail and looking up, he could see the shoulders and arms of two men. They would move a few steps, then stop for a minute. Jack hurried along, using their sounds
