fastened, he gazed out the window. Far below, Jack could see the winking lights of the Borough of Queens spread out before him, a muted golden glow against a purple-black evening sky. Jack’s stomach lurched as the aircraft dipped sharply, then leveled off as it began its final approach. A high-pitched whine, then a thump, signaled the deployment of the landing gear. The flaps dropped and the aircraft slowed drastically.
Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as Hensley unsnapped his seatbelt and stood up to stretch. The marshals ignored him, gazing out the window or straight ahead. Hensley turned his back to the others, reached into his jacket to carefully tuck the PDA into his suit pocket. When his hand came out again, it was clutching a Glock 19, the semi-compact version of the standard 9mm recoil-operated composite handgun, undetectable to weapons scanners. In one smooth motion Hensley disengaged the safety, cocked the striker.
Then he turned and pointed the weapon at the larger of the two marshals.
The man saw the Glock, and his mouth opened in surprise. Then the noise of a gunshot reverberated throughout the cabin. The dead marshal jerked spasmodically as the back of his head blew out, but the safety belt kept him erect in the chair. Gore splattered the beige plastic panel behind the corpse, splashed to the floor in thick black drops.
Shocked, the other marshal stared up at Hensley while Jack reached for his P228. Bauer had just slipped his own gun free of its holster when Dante Arete punched him full in the face with his free hand. Jack reeled when he felt the hot sting on his jaw. The SigSauer flew from his hand and bounced across the floor. Bauer felt Arete’s hands groping for his throat — ineffectively because of the handcuffs that hobbled his movement. As Arete continued trying to strangle Jack, Bauer released his safety belt, pushed himself out of the seat, and slammed the heel of his hand under Arete’s jaw. The man’s head snapped backward.
Meanwhile, with a bored expression on his face, Hensley shot the second marshal in the forehead before the young man could even draw his service revolver. Then he swung around to train his weapon on Jack Bauer — only to find the CTU agent hiding behind Dante Arete’s body, his arm locked around the helpless prisoner’s throat. With a muttered curse, Hensley dropped the Glock on his empty chair, drew his own FBI service revolver, and aimed it at the two men.
“Don’t shoot, man,” Dante Arete whined, free arm extended to ward off destruction. “Don’t fucking shoot me.”
“Listen to your prisoner,” hissed Jack. “You’ll have to put a slug right through Dante to get to me.” As he spoke, Jack eyed his gun on the floor, too far away to do him any good.
Hensley’s neutral gaze turned poisonous. “You crack me up, Bauer. What makes you think I care about the life of the punk son of a bitch who murdered my partner?”
Jack watched apprehensively as Hensley tightened his grip on the trigger…
“I can carry my own luggage, thank you very much!” The young woman charged past the security escort who’d met her at the airport and chauffeured her to CTU headquarters. She also ignored his call as she pushed through the double glass doors.
The young woman was gangly and too thin, her legs lean and muscular under a purple micro-mini and black tights. Her oversized Doc Martens clip-clopped on the unpainted concrete floor as her long, skinny arm hauled a bulky Pullman behind her. Strapped to the back of her “Nasicaa—Valley of the Wind” T-shirt was a pink Hello Kitty pack containing a personal computer, a cell phone, an MP3 player, and a PDA. A large black messenger bag dangled from her small shoulder, swaying with every bold step she took.
Seeing her barreling forward, the guard quickly stepped around the security desk and blocked her path. “Stop right there, miss. You need a pass to go in there.”
“I’ve got time to get a security pass, but no time to find a place to sleep? Jeez, I mean, what’s the rush? At least let me check into a hotel!”
The young woman’s head seemed large for her wispy frame. Her pale features and wide mouth were hidden behind a silky curtain of long, straight black hair, parted only by dark-framed glasses too large for her tiny face. Behind the oversized lenses were wide, curious, almond-shaped eyes. Her only makeup was black eyeliner.
The young woman tapped her giant shoe impatiently while the guard verified her CTU identification and administrative transfer from the D.C. office. Finally he snapped her picture with a digital camera mounted on the desktop, then handed her a small plastic ID badge with a magnetic strip that allowed her access to some but not all areas of the CTU facility.
When she was officially checked in, the young woman kicked her American Tourister into a leaning position. Then she yanked it along, rolling it behind her as she marched into the center of CTU’s busy command center. Technicians and analysts scurried about, ignoring her as they raced from station to station.
“Hey! I need to speak with the person in charge, please.”
Nina Myers heard the cry and left her workstation.
“Can I help you?”
The girl released the Pullman and blew an errant lock of hair away from her face. She offered Nina a bony hand sheathed with smooth, ivory skin. “My name is Dae Soo Min. Someone around here is supposed to know I’m coming.”
“You’re the software expert?”
The young woman nodded. “If it’s made in Korea I can hack it.”
Nina could not hide her surprise. She had expected someone older, with more experience. Perhaps an ex- military type, a veteran of the North/South Korean demilitarized zone — or an
Nina shook the woman’s hand. “Hi. I’m Nina Myers, Ms.—”
“My friends call me Doris.”
Nina picked up her bag. “Follow me and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team.”
Jamey was at her workstation processing the hourly reports when Milo Pressman appeared at her shoulder. “Hey, check it out.”
She followed Milo’s gaze. “My God. Is CTU recruiting at elementary schools now?”
“Quick, pretend to be looking at the monitor,” whispered Milo. “I think they’re headed this way.”
By the time Nina and Doris arrived, Milo and Jamey were seemingly swamped in the sea of intelligence data. “Sorry to interrupt your work,” Nina said without a trace of irony. “I want you to meet—”
“I’m Doris. Hi.”
“Milo is our security systems specialist, Jamey is our head programmer. You’ll be working with them for the duration of this assignment.”
Milo and Jamey exchanged looks. Nina crossed to the auxiliary workstation and powered it up. “Jamey, could you send all of the encrypted data we’ve recovered from the memory stick to station six, so Doris can begin her preliminary evaluation?”
Jamey frowned. “Jack put everything that has to do with the Arete case on Level Four security clearance…”
“No problem. I’m assigning Doris a Level
Behind Nina’s back, Milo made a face at Jamey.
“You got to be kidding me,” Jamey protested. “I didn’t get a Level Three clearance code until I worked here for over six months.”
Nina rose to her full height, looming over the seated Jamey. “Do you feel threatened? I understand if you do. But not to worry, the situation is only temporary. Just until Doris cracks the code.”
Milo watched Doris sit down in front of the keyboard. Inside of a minute she began isolating data, separating the wheat from the chaff. He scratched his sparse goatee. “At the speed she’s working, that won’t be very long…”
Dante Arete stared down the muzzle of Special Agent Hensley’s weapon, eyes wide, lips beaded with sweat. Jack Bauer’s grip around his throat tightened.
“What the hell are you doin’, man?” Dante croaked, wide eyes staring at Hensley. “This ain’t what we talked about. This ain’t part of our deal.”
Jack dragged Arete against him in a bear hug, spoke in his ear. “What deal? Tell me what deal you made with Hensley.”
