Jake was genuinely excited. He loved being a professional fighter, but he had always felt a twinge of guilt that he could not follow the family path. His grandfather’s endorsement meant a lot to him. “I’m excited now. I’m definitely going to win this one for you. And you can come to the back after the fights, and meet some of the other big names.”
“I’d be honored,” Martin said. “So who is your opponent? Does he know what he’s gotten himself into?”
Jake laughed. “He’s a tough guy, but he’s older. A former champ named Mark Kendall.”
16. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 11 A.M. AND 12 A.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
Dan Pascal walked into CTU Headquarters like a bull slotting up for his rodeo rider — all calm and still, but tense and ready to buck. He made and received the obligatory introductions with various personnel there: George Mason, whom he recognized from last night; Chris Henderson, who looked like a no-nonsense fellow; Ryan Chappelle, who looked like a walking corpse; Tony Almeida, a good-looking fellow who stared at him out of sleepy eyes, and some others. Pascal heard himself make short, charming quips at them in his usual Louisiana style, but inside, he was seething. He was pretty goddamned tired of chasing this Jack Bauer around, and the fact that Bauer had beaten him up had not improved his mood. Once he’d recovered, Pascal had grilled Talia Gerwehr, but gotten nothing from her except the fact that her work was top secret. He had no choice but to accept her story that she thought she was helping a Federal agent. At that point, Pascal had gotten tired of playing games and gone right to the source.
“Enough with the how-do-you-do’s,” Pascal said, sitting down on the edge of a table that creaked under his weight. “I’ve got local law enforcement and U.S. Marshals running around all over this city looking for Jack Bauer. I’ve had that sumbitch kick me in the testicles and I’ve had one of your own people smash my nice government- issue car. I need someone here to tell me what the hell’s going on, and I need it right now!”
Pascal hadn’t actually raised his voice much, but the angry rumble from his chest, combined with his size, made him intimidating.
Unfortunately, he was in a room full of people who did not intimidate easily. “I’m not sure we can tell you, Marshal,” Henderson said calmly. “But we are working on a case of a sensitive nature.”
“Jack Bauer is out in the field,” Chappelle added. He’d been recovering slowly but steadily. “We expect him to be out for some time, under deep cover. He may not be able. to. contact us. for. ”
Chappelle’s voice trailed off in astonishment, because Jack Bauer had just walked through the door.
Jack walked into CTU Headquarters tired, hungry, and wounded. He’d been shot twice in the same arm, and on top of that he’d been punched, kicked, and smashed by a car. He was ready for a little more down time.
So he could be forgiven for feeling a moment’s dread when he walked past the astounded faces of analysts at CTU and into the conference room to find Marshal Pascal waiting for him. The big man jumped up from the table where he sat and lumbered toward Jack like an avalanche.
Jack pulled his gun from his belt and pointed at Pascal’s barrel chest. “Stop,” he said calmly.
All two 270 pounds of U.S. Marshal froze.
“I’m not guilty,” Jack said simply. “And I’m sorry I kicked you. But I’m also in a bad mood, so if you take one more step I’m going to shoot you.”
Pascal didn’t back down, but he didn’t advance, either. Finally it was George Mason who stepped between them. “Easy, boys. You were both doing your jobs. Let’s leave it at that.”
Chappelle didn’t seem to care about the tension between the two men. He was glaring at Jack, so angry that some of the color actually returned to his face. “Bauer, what the hell are you doing back in?”
Jack expected that. He didn’t even mind Chappelle’s irritating tone. “It was time. I need to find someone now.”
As quickly as he could, Jack summarized the events of the last fifteen hours. It was a long story, but Jack had been called before enough special committees to know how to summarize his actions, and after four or five minutes the CTU team had a clear picture of what was going on.
“It almost worked,” Chappelle said. “You came close.”
“One room away,” Jack agreed. “I’ll still get him.”
Tony Almeida had listened closely to Jack’s story. A few details still bothered him. “There are still holes, though. Why was MS–13 after you in prison? Was Zapata after you even then? Was it coincidence?”
“Didn’t MS–13 have a grudge against you from before?” Henderson suggested.
Jack nodded his head. “Yeah, I just don’t know why they’d come after me this hard. Could be just coincidence. If that’s the case, then I just lucked out with the tattoo. Whatever is going on, right now they’re my only link to Zapata. Ramirez didn’t know much, but he knew something was going on tonight. I’m going to get Lopez what he needs.”
Dan Pascal had listened to Bauer’s story with growing incredulity. He was a man’s man and a tough cop, but what Bauer had been through sounded beyond belief. But this last statement wasn’t just astonishing, it was criminal. “Hold on there, Captain America,” he drawled. “You ain’t really going to steal crystal meth from one gang and give to another?”
“Yes, I am,” Jack said.
“Don’t you think that’s criminal?”
Jack nodded. “What do you expect from a guy who just broke out of jail?”
“There are still a whole lot of questions,” Tony said stubbornly. “Only three people had direct knowledge of Jack’s innocence: Chappelle, the warden, and the corrections guard. All three of them were attacked or put out of commission when Jack was attacked. Who did that? Zapata?”
“Not Zapata,” Jack said. “If he was on to us then, we’d never have gotten as close as we did.”
Henderson jumped in. “Besides, there’s something more urgent to focus on. We don’t know what Zapata is targeting.”
This observation triggered an eruption of voices all talking at once. Several theories bubbled to the surface, the most immediate of which was espoused by Tony Almeida. Tony had a calm, steady voice, but somehow he made it cut through the din.
“It’s got to be something to do with the Pacific Rim Forum,” he insisted. “The Jemaah Islamiyah guys were for real. They were using a code that we” —he nodded toward Seth— “that repeated the letters PRF. We think it stood for Pacific Rim Forum.”
“Do we even know if those e-mails were going to Zapata?” George Mason said skeptically.
“Gmail accounts bouncing off ISPs in public networks in libraries,” Jamey replied. “We couldn’t trace them.”
Jack considered this. “Well, we were both working with middlemen, and that’s definitely Zapata’s style.”
“But Zapata also walks away when there’s trouble,” Nina pointed out. “Maybe our job’s already done.”
Chappelle was unsatisfied. “We don’t know that for sure. There could have been trouble on every one of his other bombings or attacks, we just didn’t know about it. Besides, he might think he’s closed the door on us by killing those two middlemen. We need to work on the assumption that Zapata is still moving toward his goal. Any suggestions besides the Southeast Asian forum? Any other targets?” A cacophony of voices erupted. “One at a time!”
Jamey Farrell declared over a few other raised voices, “The Chairman of the Fed is in town. I’m not sure he’s much of a target. ”
Pascal snorted. “Right now he is!” Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged. “Ain’t any of you that buy stocks? My 401(k)’s goin’ down the tubes. Right now, I had a choice between savin’ my mama and savin’ Webb, I’d have to give it some thought.”
Jamey thought of herself as a thorough analyst and didn’t appreciate this slow-talking newcomer on her turf. “He’s been on our list since the beginning,” she sniffed. “But he’s not a visible target. Four-fifths of the population couldn’t even name the Chairman of the Fed.”
