“You’re quite resourceful, Agent Almeida. The way you whisked me out of the hospital… It was some of the quickest thinking I’d ever seen.”
“Call me Tony,” he said.
While she spoke, his gaze continued to scan the coffee shop. So far, the only other patrons were a pair of college coeds bemoaning their romantic life, and a man in a jacket and tie pounding on the keyboard of his laptop.
“What are you thinking, Tony?” Judy said. “Wish I could tell. But for the last hour, your expression covered the emotional spectrum from A to B.”
Tony arched an eyebrow. “You caught me at a bad time.”
Judy Foy shook her head. “I caught you at a very good time. You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen.
You were smart to grab the wheelchair and put me in it.
When you put on those green scrubs, even I thought you were part of the medical staff. Then you triggered the fire alarm, pushed me right past the police guarding the door, along with the rest of the evacuees… makes me wish you worked for me.”
Tony ignored her praise. “Too bad about Delgado’s car.
We had the keys. We could have been in a safe house by now, if the police hadn’t cordoned off the parking lot.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Foy said. “You recovered my cell phone and camera. That’s what counts.”
“Not if we don’t get the information to CTU.”
“We’ve been over this, Agent Almeida.”
“Look,” Tony said. “You can trust Jack Bauer. He’s from Los Angeles, not New York. He never even heard of Kurmastan until today.”
Foy shook her head so vigorously, her scarlet ponytail whipped back and forth. “I don’t know your boss from Adam, or who this Bauer chose to trust,” she replied. “He can unwittingly help the traitor if he shares information with the wrong person.”
“Maybe we got the traitor,” Tony argued.
“Rachel Delgado was a mole,” Foy replied. “But I doubt she’s the only one. I don’t trust Brice’s assistant, either.”
“Agent Abernathy?”
Foy nodded. “I told Holman about my suspicions, but he laughed them off…”
“What if we call Morris, forward the intelligence to him—”
“We’ve been through this, Almeida. Any data we forward to your friend will have to go through CTU New York’s network. I’m convinced the traitor has access to the data dump. The bastard will see the intelligence as soon as it comes in — maybe even delete it before your friend has a chance to retrieve it.”
The woman stared through the window, at the rush hour traffic building outside.
Tony calmly sipped his espresso, but inside he was cursing. Judith Foy had ordered him not to use his cell phone, and almost made him deactivate his GPS chip, until she realized CTU New York didn’t have Tony’s telecommunications signatures in their database and couldn’t track him if they wanted to. The woman was so cautious, it bordered on paranoia. She even tossed Rachel Delgado’s cell into a storm drain, along with the woman’s car keys, purse, and wallet. Foy kept only the dead woman’s cash and her Glock.
“If only your friend Morris had a laptop,” Foy said.
“Something not connected to the mainframe.”
Tony struck the table with his fist, rattling the espresso cup on its saucer. “That’s it!”
“What?”
Tony leaned across the table, speaking softly. “Before we left Los Angeles, George Mason gave Jack Bauer a briefcase computer with all the codes and mission protocols inside. Only we never even cracked it because things went Code Red in a hurry.”
“So?”
“What if we forward the intel you collected to that system, then alert Morris to open the files inside the briefcase computer, effectively cutting CTU New York out of the loop.”
“That might work. But how are you going to transmit the data?”
Tony shrugged. “There’s an internet café around the corner and down the block. We rent a computer for an hour and download the information.”
“But you still have to contact this Morris person. If you call him, even on a public phone, that could compromise everything.”
Tony shook his head. “I won’t be contacting Morris.
Someone from CTU Los Angeles will. Someone Morris can’t ignore.”
11. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5:00 P.M. AND 6:00 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
Chloe’s expression soured when the phone warbled. Irri-tated by the interruption, she pushed her disheveled blond hair back from her face and returned to work. The phone rang again.
“How am I supposed to get anything done around here?”
No one replied, because no one wanted to work near Chloe.
The phone rang again, then again. Finally, Chloe snatched up the receiver.
“What?” she said sharply.
“Chloe? This is Tony Almeida. Listen, I need you to pass along some information to Morris—”
Chloe’s mouth twisted into a frown so deep, it threatened to deconstruct her face. “Why? That doesn’t make sense. Morris is in New York with you. Why can’t you pass along your own information?”
“It’s a long story,” Tony replied.
Chloe glanced at her watch. “I see.” Her tone was dis-approving. “Well, I really don’t have time to hear it. You seem to have all the time in the world, but some of us actually have to work for a living.”
“Give me a break, Chloe.”
“Give me a break. I can only guess it’s happy hour on the East Coast. Have one on me.”
“Don’t hang up!” Tony cried. “This is a matter of national security. Have you heard about the bombs?”
“If you’re talking about the ones that disabled satellite capabilities in the Mid-Atlantic states, then yes, I’ve heard about them. In fact, I’m in the middle of analyzing a list of—”
“My information might have something to do with those attacks,” Tony said. “All you have to do is forward some data in an e-mail attachment to Morris O’Brian’s ISP account, then tag it with something personal so he reads it right away. Can you do that?”
Chloe’s face scrunched up again. “I don’t know. That little British creep took me out a couple of times, then he stopped calling—”
“Chloe, please.”
“Oh, all right!” She rolled her eyes. “But how in the heck can I tag the e-mail so Morris will read it right away?”
Tony sighed. “You’ll figure something out…”
Jack Bauer took the lead as he and Layla Abernathy followed the tree line along the top of a gentle slope. Between breaks in the foliage, Jack caught a glimpse of the mobile home park. Even from this distance, the trailers seemed decrepit, with rusty and pitted walls, broken windows, and missing doors.
The late afternoon sun was scorching — so hot that Jack signaled Layla to hunker down in the shade for a moment.
She removed her cap and wiped sweat from her forehead.
Jack loosened his body armor to let some air through.
They both gulped water from plastic bottles.
Layla glanced at her watch. “We’ve been hiking for half an hour, ever since we debarked from the chopper. We must be close now.”
Jack rose and used micro-binoculars to scan the area below.
“We’re almost there,” he replied. “I can see the compound. There’s no sign of life, no one on the streets or—”
Jack fell silent.