24 Declassified: Cat's Claw

“A fancy name for loggers, real estate developers, like that. They file lawsuits to repeal environmental protection and fight against the Clean Water Act. The Free Enterprise Alliance is one of those groups that eats endangered spotted owls for dinner and takes baths in baby seal blood.”

“How does that involve us?” Jack had asked.

“I did some research. The Free Enterprise Alliance had several clashes with some splinter groups from Earth First! a radical environmental group. These splinter groups, like the Earth Liberation Front and some others, are on CTU’s terrorist watch list.”

Jack didn’t even try to hide his shock. “A bunch of treehuggers are on the terrorist watch list?”

“You should check into these guys, Jack. They aren’t just a bunch of granola heads. They’re eco-terrorists — organized, sophisticated. They’ve killed people, sabotaged companies. They’re as radical as anyone else out there.”

“No planes into buildings, though,” Jack pointed out.

“No, but I wouldn’t put it past some of them. There’s a splinter group that left Earth First! because it felt that Earth First! was too soft. They sent a half-dozen death threats to Gordon Gleed in the last year or so.”

“Even if this guy was murdered by eco-terrorists, it’s not something I can focus on now.” He spread his arms as if to embrace the entire Federal Building. “I’ve got the G8 to worry about, and a known political terrorist to track down.”

“That’s why I tracked you down. From what I could dig up, Gordon Gleed had taken matters into his own hands. No one at the Federal level did much for him, so he started digging up his own dirt on this splinter group. I think he found out they were planning something at the G8, and that’s why they killed him.”

“Planning what?”

“Jesus, Jack, if I knew I would have started this conversation there,” she said, her temperature rising.

“Well, come on, Mercy!” Jack snapped back. “What do you expect me to do with this? You want me to drop a potential lead against a man who’s responsible for about a hundred terrorist acts over the last ten years and look into a local murder because of some Greenpeace guys who are really, really upset?”

Mercy’s neck reddened. She fought the urge to bite back, and kept her sentences short and factual. “Gleed was smart. He reported everything he learned to the FBI, even though they weren’t really interested. He also did his own investigating. He heard this splinter group was planning something for the G8. Something big.”

Jack held his hands up in appeasement. “Okay. That’s not much, but it’s something. This splinter group, does it have a name? A leader?”

Mercy fidgeted. “They call themselves the Monkey Wrench Gang.”

“The Monkey Wrench Gang!” Jack said incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”

“I laughed it off, too,” Mercy said defensively. “But it has meaning. The Monkey Wrench Gang was a book written by a guy named Edward Abbey. That was the book that inspired the founders of Earth First! In some ways it was the inspiration for the whole eco-terrorist movement.”

“Who’s the leader, Magilla Gorilla?”

Mercy bore the brunt of his jokes bravely. “According to Gleed’s notes, he’s known as Seldom Seen Smith.” When Jack rolled his eyes, she added, “Another reference to the book.”

“Right. Monkeywrench Gang. Seldom Seen Smith. Mercy, I hear what you’re saying, but even if you’re right, I don’t have much to go on—”

“I have Gleed’s notes. Run through them with me. We could dig up something—”

“—and I have a possible sighting of Ayman al-Libbi and a positive sighting of one of his lieutenants here already. I’ve got to stay on that. Why don’t you take it to someone else?”

Now it was Mercy’s turn for sarcasm. “After what we’ve been through, do you think I’d go to you first?”

Her statement hit Jack like a slap in the face. She hadn’t wanted to see him. She had actively avoided it. And now she’d come to him only as a last resort. “Mercy…”

“The FBI had the same reaction you did. I’m telling you, these guys fly under the radar because no one puts ecoterrorism high on the list, and because the names are so ridiculous. But that’s only going to last until they do something big. For God’s sake, the Muslim Brotherhood sounds like it belongs in a comic book, but you take those guys seriously.”

“Forget that for a minute,” Jack said. “I want to”—he glanced around but none of the uniforms was paying any attention to them—“let’s talk about you and me.”

She didn’t move a muscle, but to Jack it seemed as if she had stepped back. There was suddenly more distance between them. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said flatly.

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Jack insisted. “Just because we stopped doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

Mercy had been three months on the job as liaison when her weekly updates with CTU turned into one-on- one meetings with Jack Bauer, and those meetings became coffee, and then dates at the firing range for a little friendly competition, and then lunch…

Mercy smiled at him, the corners of her eyes wrinkling ever so slightly, and ever so sadly. “I didn’t say there was nothing there. I said there’s nothing to talk about.” She stepped closer, so that even on the warming asphalt of a Los Angeles street Jack could smell her perfume. “Jack, I want you. We fit together. And I’m not going to pretend that you have to leave your wife first. But I don’t want to sleep with you just because you need a little something extra. If there’s a thing here, I’m all for it. But if it’s just you feeling itchy, you need to set your sights on a different target.”

Jack smiled awkwardly. He hated her for saying that, and loved her, too. She was blunt, factual, efficient; a bullet in the brain. She stated her case without equivocation. He had nothing but respect for that.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll look at this when I can. But only for you. I…” He gathered himself. “I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, where we are, or whatever your situation…you’ll always have someone who’s on your side. Always.”

Mercy smiled again, her eyes shining. “Thanks.” She opened her car door and pulled out a stack of files. “Here,” she said. “Read through those. If you finish and still don’t think there’s something here, forget it. Blow me off. But if this interests you, you know where to find me.”

She handed him the file. As he took it, she brushed her finger along his hand. “Talk to you soon,” she said, then slid into her car, started the engine, and drove away.

8:30 A.M. PST Northeast Corner of Federal Plaza, West Los Angeles

Kim Bauer was still talking to the boy with straight hair that hung down to his eyebrows. His name was Brad Gilmore. He was the current cutest boy in school, and half the reason Kim had joined Teen Green.

“So what does this meeting really have to do with the environment?” she asked Brad as they put the finishing touches on their posters. She knew the answer already, but she also knew boys. They liked to show off, and smart girls gave them every chance.

Brad pushed his hair behind his ears. “The G8 is made up of the biggest countries in the world. I mean, not the biggest exactly, but some of the biggest polluters. And they’re also talking about letting China join up, and China is totally a big polluter, too. I went to Beijing one summer with my mom and you could taste the air.”

“And demonstrations like this are going to help, right?”

Kim meant for her voice to sound cute and coy, but she was still Jack Bauer’s daughter, and a hint of skepticism crept in.

Brad squirmed a little. Clearly he didn’t want to get into a political debate with Kim. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, this is our planet, too, right? Maybe it’s more ours than theirs, since we’re going to be around longer. Besides, it’s pretty cool to be here, isn’t it?”

“That’s the quote of the day!”

Both Kim and Brad turned to see who was talking to them. The man standing behind them was short and round, his belly pushing against the buttons of a blue button-down shirt. He smiled a puffy, big-cheeked smile from behind a pair of round black glasses. He was wearing a badge on a red ribbon around his neck, which he lifted and waved in front of their faces. “How’re you doing? I’m Martin Olivera with the L.A. Weekly. You two have time for a quick interview?”

Kim looked from the short round man to Brad to Marshall Cooper, the club advisor. Mr. Cooper glanced at the