Castalano showed Jack the vial he pulled out of the wrecked Jaguar. “I thought it was methamphetamine, dyed blue for street marketing, maybe a gang marking. But it’s not meth, which might explain the color.”
Jack held the vial up to the light and his frown deepened. “This is a new drug called Karma,” he said hoarsely. “This stuff makes meth look like NoDoz.”
Jack handed the vial back to Castalano. “Did he have anything else on him? A murder weapon? A copy of the Koran?”
“He had a note. It’s in Ibn al Farad’s own handwriting — we matched it with university records. But the note doesn’t make much sense, it just seems like ravings scrawled when this guy was under the influence.”
Castalano opened another file, showed Jack the handwritten document now sealed in a Mylar evidence bag. The handwriting alternated from tiny and cramped to expansive, the language lapsed between
English and his native Arabic.
“Crazy stuff,” muttered the detective.
But from what Jack could understand from scanning the man’s writings, it was not all that crazy — not to a newly converted Muslim fanatic who claimed to have experienced a powerful vision of the afterlife, as Ibn al Farad did in this document. The man also vowed to purge the Islamic world of the satanic and pervasive influence of American culture.
Could that have been the reason why Hugh Vetri and his family were murdered? Because he made movies?
Much of the document was unreadable and Jack gave up trying. Perhaps CTU’s Language and Document Division could make more sense of it.
Bauer turned his back to the prisoner, faced Detective Castalano.
“Frank, I need to move Ibn al Farad to CTU Headquarters for a thorough interrogation. As a suspect in a homicide, there are limits to the means the L.A. police can use to break him. But as the obvious perpetrator of the brutal terrorist act, the assassin of Hugh Vetri, a prominent and influential U.S. citizen, CTU can push his interrogation to the limit using methods you don’t want to know about.”
He could see the war behind Castalano’s eyes. “Believe me, Frank,” Jack continued. “I can break this man, but not here. Police methods are inadequate in the face of this man’s fanaticism.”
Castalano’s features darkened. “A couple of years ago, the loss of basic civil liberties you’re talking about would have scared the hell out of me…But that was before I saw the horrors in Hugh Vetri’s home this morning.”
The detective paused, thought of that van full of innocent kids, thought of his own. He swallowed hard. “If the Chief of Police signs off on the transfer, then this bastard’s yours. But I’m going with you, Jack. I’m going to sit in on this man’s interrogation and I’m going to hunt down any accomplices he names, no matter who they are.”
Fay Hubley heard a sound in the hall outside the door of her hotel room. Heavy footsteps, then whispering. She quietly saved her work, put the computer to sleep and slipped out of her chair. Silently she crept across the room. Remembering Tony’s instructions, she placed her ear against the door rather than open the peephole — a move that only served to alert anyone lurking outside that the room was occupied.
Fay held her breath, listened for a long moment. She heard nothing. Relieved, she took a step toward the bathroom. The knock exploded like thunder in the tiny room and the noise made her jump.
What do I do? What do I do?
Tony had told her that if someone knocked, she was to pretend she wasn’t there, that the room was empty. With the chain lock in place, even with a key, it would be difficult for someone to get inside without making a whole lot of noise and attracting undue attention.
Fay stifled a gasp when she noticed she’d neglected to fasten the chain lock after Tony left with Dobyns. The knock came again. Louder and more insistent this time.
Fay remembered the gun Tony had given her, telling her to have it in her hand if anyone tried to gain entry to the room. There’d been two Glocks hidden in their van outside and he’d brought one of them up, shown her how to fire it — but she had told herself the entire time she didn’t want to fire it, never intended to, wouldn’t have to. So she’d shoved it beneath a pillow on her bed.
Now she’d have to choose — run for the gun or fasten the chain.
The chain. That’ll be enough, she told herself.
Practically leaping to the door, she fumbled with the metal links, barely got it fastened into place before the door reverberated from a powerful blow that knocked her backward. The frame splintered, the lock and chain gave way, and the door flew open.
Fay opened her mouth to scream, but the first of three men was too fast. His hand closed over Fay’s mouth, even as he dragged her to the bed. Two other men followed the first one into the room, slammed the broken door behind them.
She struggled helplessly, her muffled cries reaching a frenzy when the man’s rough hands fumbled under her blouse, groped her soft flesh.
Jamey Farrell had finished updating the Lesser file with information she culled from her conversation with Fay Hubley. Now she was ready to analyze the CD-ROM disk Jack had given her. But when she turned away from the monitor to retrieve it, she found Ryan Chappelle silently hovering over her shoulder.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I was looking for Jack Bauer,” said Chappelle. “Have you seen him?”
“He was in his office a half an hour ago. I’ve been busy since.”
Chappelle made a sour face. “So you have an analysis of the virus for me?”
Jamey blinked. “Excuse me?”
“An analysis of Lesser’s Trojan horse. I promised the Cyber-Division Headquarters in Washington that I’d have something for them today.”
“If that’s what you wanted, you probably shouldn’t have sent Milo — our encryption expert — to Mexico on a wild goose chase.”
Ryan’s frown intensified. “So you’re saying you can’t do it?”
“I’m saying I’m the head programmer. Mayhem-ware is not my specialty.”
“Well contact Division and get someone — pronto. We need to know what systems and programs the Trojan horse targets, and what it does.”
“But—”
“Now, Jamey.”
Ryan turned and walked away. Jamey cursed under her breath. What was she supposed to do now? Pull an expert out of her butt?
Jamey was about to make what she knew to be a futile call to the Cyber-Unit in D.C. for help, when she suddenly remembered the name of someone who might be available to do the job on short notice. Jamey opened her Filofax and flipped through it. She found the name and phone number she was searching for on the first pass.
Lifting the receiver, Jamey punched up an outside line and dialed the number of Doris Soo Min.
7. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 11 A.M. AND 12 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Jack Bauer opened his cell phone, tapped the speed dial with his thumb. Nina Myers answered on the first tone.
“Jack? Ryan was just in my office, he’s looking—”
“Listen, Nina, I don’t have much time. I just sent you a data dump from the LAPD Central Facilities computer. Cache 32452.”
He heard Nina tapping the keyboard. “Got it,” she said.
“That file contains everything we know about a Saudi national named Ibn al Farad and the multiple murders he committed last night—”