half closed. There was no furniture.
Quickly Mercy pulled at the ropes tying her ankles. They were tied tightly, and at first her fingers fumbled over the knots. Although her heart was pounding, Mercy forced herself to stop. Focus, she told herself. Slow and steady wins the race.
She found the bit of rope that would loosen more easily, and tugged.
Kim Bauer’s heart was pounding as she passed through the metal detectors and into the Federal Building itself. The doors closed behind her, and the sound and energy of the protest outside was sealed away as neatly as if it were a scene on television. She could still see the protestors fifty yards away from the glass walls of the lobby, but they seemed a world away from the quiet, air-conditioned interior.
The three policemen still surrounded her, and one was still holding her arm. “I really didn’t do anything,” she said to them, her voice rising a little in panic. “It was those guys next to us. They started the fight.”
“Maybe so,” said the cop with the bad wrist.
At their direction, Kim walked into an elevator and rode it down to a basement level. She was led along a beige corridor with fluorescent lighting past several rooms occupied by men and women in business attire, but wearing guns in shoulder harnesses like the one her dad wore sometimes.
The officers stopped at one door, which opened just as they arrived. Out walked two men: the cute college guy and the gray-haired hippie. Kim’s eyes went wide. “That’s them!” she said. “Those are the two guys who caused the trouble.”
The gray-haired man smiled at her and looked back over his shoulder. “I guess you gotta be good at something,” he said. He moved out of the way, and Kim saw the person to whom he’d addressed his comment.
“Dad!” she yelled.
Her father pulled her into his arms and held her as though his hug could squeeze the infection from her body. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay, but these guys are arresting me and I didn’t do anything—”
“I know, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re not being arrested.” He had already decided not to tell her about al- Libbi’s threats, or the virus. The news would terrify her, and he could offer no comfort. For all he knew, the terrorist
Kim looked back out the door. “But what about Janet and Brad and everyone?”
“They’re okay. They’re being sent home.” More lies. “I just needed to make sure you were okay. By the way,
Kim felt her blond hair clinging to her forehead and pushed it back. “It’s so hot out there. I think I’ve got a fever.”
Jack saw his opening. He’d been wondering how he was going to get a sample of Kim’s blood without telling her why. This was his chance.
“Okay, there’s a doctor on call down here. I’m going to have her look at you. She’s a pretty thorough lady. She may want to give you a complete checkup, is that okay?”
Mercy dug her fingernail under a stubborn loop. She felt her fingernail tear away, but the loop came loose and she pulled hard. The ropes around her ankles fell away. She jumped to her feet but immediately stumbled as a thousand hot pins and needles stabbed at her legs.
A young man wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt walked into the room. His jaw dropped. “What the—?”
Mercy lunged toward him as fast as her numb legs would carry her. He had just enough sense to raise his hands as she punched him, and her knuckles smashed into the back of his hand, which in turn smashed into his forehead. Ignoring the pain in her legs, she kicked him in the groin.
He had no skill, but he was stubborn. As he doubled over, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her still-burning legs. She nearly lost her balance, but bent her knees forward, resting her shins on his shoulders and using her hands to push his face down into the floor. He grunted and loosened his grip. Mercy jerked her legs free and stomped on the back of his leg, then launched herself over him and out the door.
She was in a living room as bare as the room she’d left, except for a stack of five or six wooden crates filled with glass vials. Three people walked into the room from a hallway and gave Mercy the same surprised look that the first man had — except this time one of them moved more aggressively. He was another young man in his twenties, wiry and bald, with a hard look in his eyes as he threw himself at Mercy. She had no time to move. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but he was stronger, and he grabbed her in a bear hug so hard, she thought her back would break.
Mercy had been in fights before. Coming up from the uniform ranks, working as a female cop in Los Angeles, of course she had. She dug her thumbs into his eyes and pushed up and back. He screamed and lifted his chin, flinching away from the pain. Mercy headbutted him on the nose and felt it crush beneath her. Lifting her own head away, she let go of his face with her right hand and punched him in the throat. He made a wet gurgling sound and threw her away from him. Mercy smashed into the stack of glass vials. Glass cut her skin and warm wetness spread across her back.
“You idiot!” yelled one of the other two. Mercy saw a tall man in his forties, slightly balding, with a fierce, hawkish face. The voice told her this was Seldom Seen Smith. “Do you realize what you’ve—”
He didn’t bother to finish; his look of anger turned to horror and he started to back away. “Both strains,” he said fearfully. Beside him, a girl spewed a stream of obscenities. Only then did Mercy realize that it was Frankie Michaelmas. She glared at Mercy but she, too, had begun to step back. Mercy scrambled up and away from the broken glass beneath her. She didn’t know why they looked so suddenly upset, but her command instincts took over and she stepped forward as though she’d just drawn her gun. “Both of you, get down on your knees!”
Smith took one more look at the mess Mercy had made, turned, and ran.
Jack Bauer walked out into the lobby of the Federal Building. He knew Kim was safe now, and there wasn’t much he could do while the doctor examined her. He was afraid that if he stayed, he’d give away his concern. So he’d come upstairs for some air. He knew something was wrong immediately, since the cops who manned the metal detectors and X-ray machines were pacing back and forth along the tall windows, and two of them now stood before the shut doors.
He looked beyond the glass and saw why.
Around the Federal Building, the sea of people had turned into a storm. Protestors surged over the grass field and onto the concrete plaza. Police wearing helmets and carrying shields appeared out of nowhere, forming a hasty line before the building doors. A plume of tear gas rose up from somewhere. The protest had turned into a full-scale riot.
7. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 1 P.M. AND 2 P.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
The elevator doors opened behind Jack and half a squad of uniformed policemen hustled out, hastily strapping on their riot helmets, their thick plastic riot shields bumping against one another as they hurried toward the doors.
LAPD had managed to form a perimeter ten yards out from the building itself, and the sight of their wall of shields had slowed the crowd. They formed their own line a few yards from the police, shouting epithets and chants, raising their fists and their voices in anger. They were two armies drawn up in battle, waiting for the moment to strike.
But ten thousand people, once roused, needed some outlet for their frustration. Over the heads of the vast crowd, Jack saw smoke rising on the street, and he guessed that a car was burning. Jack’s lip curled into a sneer. From his training with the L.A. Sheriff Department years ago to his time in Delta Force to CTU, Jack had seen more
