Marc A. Cerasini
24 Declassified: Trojan Horse
This novel is dedicated to my mother, Evelyn May Cerasini
Trojan horse
noun
1: the large, hollow wooden horse filled with Greek soldiers and introduced within the walls of Troy by a stratagem
2: a seemingly innocent computer program that is willingly downloaded by the user without suspicion, but when executed, activates hidden programming that performs malicious or unwanted actions
After the 1993 World Trade Center attack, a division of the Central Intelligence Agency established a domestic unit tasked with protecting America from the threat of terrorism. Headquartered in Washington, D.C., the Counter Terrorist Unit established field offices in several American cities. From its inception, CTU faced hostility and skepticism from other Federal law enforcement agencies. Despite bureaucratic resistance, within a few years CTU had become a major force. After the war against terror began, a number of early CTU missions were declassified. The following is one of them…
PROLOGUE
He found Jack Bauer hunched over the conference room table, head cradled in his arms. It took Administrative Director Richard Walsh only a moment to realize his agent was fast asleep. Setting the digital audio recorder on the table, Walsh wondered how Jack could find peace amid the chaos that still reigned on the other side of the wall, in CTU’s war room, hours after the crisis had presumably passed.
Walsh unbuttoned the suit jacket that seemed to stretch too tightly across his broad shoulders. He would have preferred to leave Jack to his dreams. God knows, the man earned his rest. But with his bosses at Langley demanding answers — probably because their bosses in the House and Senate Intelligence Committees were demanding same — Walsh had no choice but to gather all the statements as soon as possible, and deliver his findings. The Administrative Director of CTU shut the door, sat down in a steel chair across from the sleeping man.
Jack awoke at the sound, instantly alert. He sat up, arrow-straight, fully aware of his surroundings. Jack self-consciously rubbed the stubble on his jaw, combed his sandy-blond hair back with his fingers, embarrassed to appear before his superior in such a disheveled state.
“ ’Morning Jack. Have a nice nap?”
Bauer shrugged off the gentle jibe as his superior tossed him a sympathetic smile. It vanished a moment later when Walsh keyed his digital recorder.
“Log number 32452, subheading IAC. Debriefing Special Agent Jack Bauer,” said Walsh, adding Jack’s service tag, the day, date, and time. Then Walsh scratched his closely shaved chin and fixed his pale-blue gaze on the man across the table.
“Ryan Chappelle tells me that a raid on a major movie studio triggered this unpleasantness. What the hell were you and Blackburn’s tactical team doing in Hollywood?”
“Utopia Studios is not a major movie studio and it’s not in Hollywood,” Jack replied. “Utopia was a marginal direct-to-video production company until they fell on hard times — a combination of rising production costs and diminishing interest in the soft-core porn and low-rent horror films they were peddling did them in.”
“So Utopia Studios became a threat to national security?”
“Utopia Studios doesn’t exist. Not anymore,” said Jack. “Its CEO declared bankruptcy, incorporated a brand new firm with a new financial partner and shifted production facilities to Montreal. The move saved him a bundle but left his old studio on the ass-end of Glendale’s industrial zone vacant, its proprietorship a matter of ongoing litigation. In the meantime, narco-terrorists moved in and set up shop — or at least, that was the intel we had at the time.”
Walsh studied the sheaf of papers in front of him.
“According to the DEA this was primarily a drug raid.”
“That’s true. Chet Blackburn and I were members of a joint task force working with the DEA — part of District Director Ryan Chappelle’s interagency initiative.”
“Yeah. I think I got the memo on that,” Walsh said dryly.
“The initiative was launched because the CIA and the DEA unearthed intelligence indicating a new level of cooperation between international terrorists and certain drug cartels. Chappelle thought it best to team up with the Drug Enforcement Agency in order to better manage the problem—”
“And spread some of the responsibility around in case things went south.”
Jack nodded. “That too.”
“So beyond some faulty intelligence, what was the rationale for this interagency initiative?”
“Things are heating up. In the past twenty months, the DEA has captured military-grade weapons in several raids along the U.S. — Mexican border. And you recall that CTU recently thwarted a plot to use smuggled North Korean Long Tooth shoulder-fired missiles to down U.S. commercial airliners.”
Walsh smoothed his walrus moustache with his thumb and index finger. “You’re talking about Hell Gate.”
It wasn’t a question so Jack didn’t reply.
Walsh shifted in the steel chair, which seemed too small for the brawny man.
“Chappelle also tells me that despite the obvious threat to national security, you initially resisted this assignment. Now why would you do that, Special Agent Bauer?”
Walsh was staring at Jack now, waiting.
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”
Walsh turned off the audio recorder. “Talk.”
“When it comes to the Counter Terrorist Unit, interagency cooperation has always been a one-way street,” Jack began. “CTU gave, the FBI, the DOD, the DEA took. Period.”
“It’s gotten better,” said Walsh. His lined face was impassive, unreadable.
“I’ll concede that the situation has improved in recent months. But CTU is still getting squeezed out of the big picture — by some of the same people Chappelle ordered me to work alongside.”
“You could have refused the assignment. You could have come to me and I would have handled things with Chappelle. You had to make a choice here.” Walsh paused. “So what changed your mind, Jack?”
“Karma.”
Richard Walsh activated the recorder. “Tell me everything that happened to you and members of the Los Angeles unit in the past twenty-four hours, Special Agent Bauer. Start at the beginning…”
1. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5 A.M. AND 6 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Jack Bauer gazed at Utopia, or so the sign proclaimed. But beyond the vacant security gate and tattered chain link fence, Bauer saw only an expanse of pitted asphalt abutting an interconnected cluster of ugly, graffiti-stained concrete block buildings.
Squinting through a telescopic imager, Jack scanned the shuttered loading docks and steel doors, the windows boarded up tight. He double-checked one particular entrance, with the number 9 painted on its flat steel door. Then he tucked the tiny device into a sheath on his night-black assault suit. Now that the sun was creeping above the horizon, he no longer required the imager’s thermal or light-enhancing capabilities to pierce the gloom.
Sprawled on his belly atop a rocky brown rise that separated Utopia from another dusty industrial park, Jack lowered his head behind a clump of scrub-grass and adjusted the assault rifle in the Velcro zip holster strapped across his back. He had arrived at his position hours before, moving into place along with five members of Chet Blackburn’s CTU assault team, now scattered and invisible among the rocks and low hills around him. Though Jack could not see them, he knew another tactical squad from the Drug Enforcement Agency lurked in the bluffs on the opposite side of the complex. When the signal came, the two assault teams would converge on the buildings in a coordinated two-pronged attack.