“Richard Lesser has two other identities that we know of, only he doesn’t know we know because he thinks he’s covered his tracks. Those identities are represented by these two graphs right here. Of course, he might just use his real name — he’s not a fugitive down here, so I’ve covered that with this box right here…As you can see, there’s no activity yet, from any of the three protocols CTU is running, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“Time?”
“Remember what I said about living in the real world,” Fay replied. “Sooner or later, Richard Lesser is going to write a check, withdraw cash from one of over a dozen accounts, use a credit card, or turn on his computer. I’ll trace the activity back to the point of origin and we’ll know where he is — or where he was in the past thirty minutes or so, anyway.”
Tony rubbed his stiff neck. “I’m impressed.”
Fay brushed Tony’s short, newly grown ponytail aside, moved her hands over his neck and shoulders, kneading his aching muscles. He allowed the intimacy for a minute — mainly because it felt so damn good.
Finally, Tony leaned forward, out of Fay’s reach, while pretending to study the activity on the monitor. “So how do you know Lesser hasn’t launched another worm or some kind of cyber-attack, like the one against Boscom?”
Fay stepped around the chair, sat on the bed and crossed her bare legs. “The folks at Boscom Systems found Richard Lesser because he got lazy and left some errant codes buried in his invader virus. I did a little research and found out he tried a similar stunt on Microsoft when he was still at Stanford. Jamey Farrell got me a copy of Lesser’s bug from an old friend at MS security. True to form, that virus has the same code buried inside. It’s like his signature, a fingerprint.”
“So you think he’ll make the same mistake again?”
Fay nodded. “Sure. Richard Lesser is smart, maybe a genius, but he’s impatient or he wouldn’t be a criminal. He wants results now, which means he takes shortcuts. And he’s a creature of habit.”
Fay adjusted the hotel’s threadbare towel. “So what do you want to do now, Tony?…” She smiled. “I mean, we can’t go out because I have to stick around here and monitor these computers, but…”
Tony swallowed. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Fay Hubley’s feelings. For starters, hard feelings might compromise the mission. But then so would having casual sex with her in a Tijuana dive. Bottom line, for the duration of this mission, Tony was her supervisor. Any sort of intimacy would be completely inappropriate.
“I think it’s time we got a little sleep, but in shifts,” Tony declared. “Once Richard Lesser decides to make a move, we might be busy for hours or even days. Better rest while we can.”
“You’re the boss,” said Fay, trying hard to mask her disappointment.
On his quiet suburban street, Jack Bauer watched Frank Castalano’s Lexus swing around the corner and out of sight. The hint of a breeze from the ocean, nearly a mile away, slightly reduced the scorching heat of the day, but not Jack’s pounding headache. Bypassing the stone sidewalk, he crossed the lawn and strode toward the front door of his split-level, ranch-style house.
He glanced at his watch and realized he’d missed seeing Kim. Her school bus had come and gone. By now she was already sitting in homeroom. But then, missing his daughter on this particular morning might have been a blessing. Jack touched his wound. Under a thin jacket he was still clad in his black battle suit, the bloodstained bandage wrapped around his arm. Bad enough he kept weapons in the house. He didn’t like reminding Kim of the hazards that came with his job.
Looking forward to a cool shower and a few hours of sleep, he fumbled for his keys, felt the CD-ROM in his pocket, packed in an LAPD evidence bag. Though it took plenty of convincing, Detective Castalano allowed a team from CTU’s Cyber-Unit to take Hugh Vetri’s computer back to headquarters for analysis by Jamey Farrell. Jack’s argument — that CTU could do a much better job of mining the data on the hard drive than the LAPD — was logical and accurate. But both men knew the real, unspoken motive for Jack’s request.
It was the violation. The fact that Bauer’s privacy had been invaded and details about his personal life and the lives of his family had been compromised, perhaps putting them in jeopardy. Jack Bauer needed to know how and why that happened, and what he must do to protect those he loved.
That’s why he’d held on to the CD-ROM. He would slip that disk to Jamey later, unofficially and in private, and ask her to deliver her results to him personally.
The thought that his family might be in danger sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, and Jack paused before opening the door, to collect himself. Tamping down his fears, he steadied his hand. It was imperative that his family never see the anxiety, the uncertainty, the dread on his face. For Jack Bauer, bringing home his job, or its dangers, was not an option.
After unlocking the front door, Jack stepped into the foyer and then the living room, which was empty but hardly quiet. Kim had left the television on again — that, or his wife had taken to watching MTV. He slipped off his jacket, hung it in the closet. Then he quickly tore away the stained bandages and rolled thesleevedowntocover thewound.Heflexed his arm, moved it from side to side, happy to see the limb still worked and the pain had receded to a dull throb. Jack crossed the living room and switched off the television.
In the kitchen he stuffed the bandages deep into the garbage can. A fresh pot of coffee had just been brewed. The aroma was tempting, but Jack resisted it, knowing he needed a few hours’ sleep.
“Honey?” he called, walking toward the bathroom.
“In here,” came a muffled voice from farther down the hall.
Jack found his wife in the bedroom, still in her pajamas. She had pretty much emptied her closet, the clothes spread out across their queen-sized bed, the chair, desk and dresser, the shoes scattered across the floor.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“What’s going on is I don’t have a thing to wear.” Teri crossed the room, pecked her husband on the cheek. If she noticed his attire, she didn’t comment. Nor did she mention the lump on his head, though Jack wasn’t sure it was even visible.
“Are you going somewhere special?”
“I might be,” Teri replied. “Depends.”
Jack’s eyebrows arched. “Depends on what?”
“On whether I have something to wear tonight. Something suitable for television.”
“Oprah’s taping in L.A.?”
“Not even close.”
Jack emptied his pockets, tossed his key, wallet, cell phone on the dresser. “Okay, I give up. What’s going on?”
Teri draped a little black dress over herself and examined her reflection. “Do you remember when I had that freelance job with Coventry Productions?”
Jack moved some clothing, sat down on the edge of the bed. “The animation studio? I remember. You worked with that other artist…Natalie.”
“Nancy.”
“That’s right. Nancy.”
Jack mind raced back to that time, two years before. What sprang to mind first were his CTU missions. Since coming to CTU, his missions had become the measure of Jack’s life. Two years ago, Operation Jump Rope was wrapping up and Operation Proteus was just launching. And at home — well, Jack wasn’t home enough to know, he remembered that much. Kim was entering her teens and the mother-daughter bond became a pact of mutual destruction.
Jack recalled that Teri was working long hours then, too. With some British animator named Dennis at an office in Century City. Jack never met the man beyond hearing his voice when answering the phone, but Teri seemed impressed with him — Jack remembered that much, too.