24 Declassified: Collateral Damage 2d-8 Page 24
“Relax,” Noor said. “We’re only a few blocks away.”
“Good,” Kabbibi replied, moping his brow with a hand-kerchief. “I do not want to be anywhere near this place when the Zahhak is released.”
The light turned green, but so many cars blocked the intersection that they couldn’t make it through. Kabbibi became even more agitated.
“I told you to relax,” Noor rumbled. “By nine o’clock, we’ll be on a private jet to Geneva, and America will be on its knees.”
6:50:11 A.M. EDT
The Bartleby Broadway
Lower Manhattan
The roof of the mid-rise Bartleby Tower, right across the street from the Cunard Building, provided a perfect perch to observe traffic rolling down Broadway.
Jack Bauer was there, along with Tony Almeida, Layla Abernathy, and Director Christopher Henderson. Three telescopes had been set up, each focused on downtown traffic.
“I’m checking the truck that just turned onto Broadway from Exchange Street,” Jack said, peering through the lens. “The logo says Carvel Ice Cream.”
He zoomed in, spied a bored Asian man behind the steering wheel. “Looks like a negative,” Jack said.
His headset crackled. “This is Bio-Monitor One. That truck is clean.”
Jack exhaled.
“Are you sure the explosive charge is powerful enough?”
Bauer asked for the third time.
“The demolition boys know how to do their jobs, Jack,”
Henderson replied, his expression unreadable behind mirrored sunglasses.
Jack spoke into his headset. “Morris? How about the traffic lights? We need to isolate the vehicle as soon as it’s spotted.”
“I’m in control of the lights along Broadway, Jack,”
Morris said from Security Station One. “Give me the word and I’ll put in the fix. Frankly, I wish I had this kind of control in Los Angeles.”
Jack tensed. “Check the Consolidated Edison truck at the Pine Street intersection. Noor’s used that trick before.”
All three telescopes focused on the blue and white Con Edison van, and the two men inside the cab.
“That’s Noor, behind the wheel,” Jack hissed, clutching the telescope reflexively.
“And Kabbibi is beside him,” Layla cried.
“I see some kind of nozzle sticking out of the top of the truck,” Tony warned.
“This is Bio-Monitor One. Our meters are off the chart.
That truck is dirty.”
“I’ve got the vehicle on my monitor,” Morris declared.
“Facial recognition software has confirmed Noor’s and Kabbibi’s identities on this end.”
“Okay,” Jack declared. “This is it.”
On Broadway at Bowling Green Park, the uptown lights suddenly turned red. Cars braked abruptly. It was obvious to the drivers that something was wrong with the signals, but before anyone could jump the light, an FDNY ladder truck rolled into the middle of the intersection, blocking all traffic.
“Uptown traffic flow has been cut off,” Morris declared.
“Downtown traffic is next. I’ll have that vehicle isolated in less than a minute.”
Henderson touched the detonator in his hand. “This is your plan and your show, Bauer. Give the word and I’ll set off the fireworks.”
6:51:29 A.M. EDT
Intersection of Exchange Street and Broadway
At the head of the pack, Ibrahim Noor was the first driver through the intersection when the light turned green. He was also the only vehicle to make the light, which immediately turned red again, stopping all traffic behind him.
With two blocks of Broadway wide open, Noor picked up speed. But halfway down the block he slowed again, glanced into his rearview mirror.
“A fire truck has blocked traffic behind us,” he announced.
“There’s one ahead of us, too,” Kabbibi cried, pointing to the red vehicle two blocks away.
“Something’s wrong,” whispered Noor.
The big man checked his right. The uptown lane was empty, too. Noor frowned when he realized the Con Edison truck was the only vehicle on the block. Bowling Green Park was directly ahead of them, and Kabbibi urged Noor to speed up.
Noor slowed the van instead, eyes scanning Broadway like a hunted animal.
6:52:37 A.M. EDT
The Bartleby
“The truck’s slowing down,” Layla warned.
Jack Bauer stared through the telescope. “Don’t worry.
He’s almost reached the mark.”
Through the scope, Jack watched the vehicle approach a freshly painted yellow cross on the pavement, right in the middle of the downtown lane.
When the van reached the symbol. Jack faced Henderson.
“Now,” he rasped.
Henderson pressed the detonator…
6:53:01 A.M. EDT
Broadway
Kabbibi cried out when a powerful jolt rocked the van.
Before either man could react, the pavement opened up under their wheels.
The Con Ed van plunged six feet, landing atop a massive steam pipe — part of the Financial District’s underground infrastructure.
Noor cursed.
“Let me out!” Kabbibi howled, fumbling with the handle.
“Too late,” Noor whispered.
At that moment, a second blast shattered the pipe beneath them.
Instantly, the vehicle was engulfed in sizzling steam. In under a second, the temperature inside the truck soared to a thousand degrees.
As he howled, Noor’s scalded flesh blistered, then began to slough off his bones like chicken in a soup pot. Kabbibi’s eyes popped from the searing heat, and he clutched his face with fleshless fingers.
Behind them, in the cargo bay, the aluminum tank containing the Zahhak burst with a muffled thump.
A fountain of white steam erupted from the pit, filling the near-empty street. Millions of gallons of boiling water gushed out. Then the flow turned dark brown, as rocks and soil spewed out of the seething pit. Hot mud splattered buildings. Windows broke as high as the eighth floor.
Like a raging volcano, the lavalike mixture continued to stream up from around the ruptured pipe.
2:56:24 P.M. CEST
Ungar Financial Building
Geneva, Switzerland
Robert Ellis was the fifth man in the reception line. He waited patiently, watching Soren Ungar greet each member of the press with a handshake, smile plastered across his rigid face.
Jorg Schactenberg stood at Ungar’s shoulder, making introductions as his boss moved down the line.
“This is Robert Ellis of the Theological News Service in New York,” Schactenberg said.
Under thick glasses, Soren Ungar’s expressionless eyes regarded him. Stiffly, the financial leader extended his hand.
Ellis twisted the faux Fordham University ring on his left hand with his thumb, enfolded Ungar’s pale hand with his right.
“A pleasure, Herr Ellis,” Ungar said formally.
Still clutching Ungar’s hand in his right, Ellis covered it with his left. He felt the tiny needle plunge into Soren Ungar’s pale flesh.
“Greetings from the U. S. of A.,” Ellis hissed. Then he released the man.
Ungar stepped back, obviously surprised, though his face registered no expression. The currency trader turned to speak with the sixth man in line, and suddenly his knees buckled.
“Herr Ungar,” Schactenberg said. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ungar replied, waving him off. “I…”
Suddenly white foam flecked the corner of Soren Ungar’s thin lips, then a gush of dark red blood stained his chin. A stain appeared in the front of Ungar’s London tailored pants, too, as his bladder released its contents.
“Mein Gott,” Schactenberg cried in German. “Someone call an ambulance.”
Soren Ungar reeled, then pitched to the floor. Almost immediately, violent convulsions wrenched the man’s body, twisting his
limbs unnaturally as he writhed on the thick carpet.
Reporters instinctively rushed forward. Cameras appeared and flashbulbs flashed as Jorg Schactenberg tried to wave them back.
Robert Ellis slipped out of the press room, moved toward the exit. Security guards and paramedics rushed past him, heading in the opposite direction.
Too late, boys, Ellis mused.
The poison was a clone of something the Soviets had concocted back in the Cold War era. There was no cure for the toxin, which killed its victims after about five minutes of excruciating pain.
As Robert Ellis left the auditorium, an out-of-breath businessman called to him. “Am I too late to hear Soren Ungar’s address?”
“Mr. Ungar’s speech has just been canceled,” Robert Ellis said, and kept walking.
6:59:06 A.M. EDT
The Bartleby
Jack Bauer stood with his team at the edge of the roof, watching the steaming volcano on the street far below.
A voice spoke in his headset. “This is Bio-Monitor One.
We’re detecting water vapor, iron oxides, asbestos, rubber, granite, and particulate matter. No chemical or biological agents, however. The area around the blast is clean.
Repeat, the area is clean.”
Jack exhaled, yanked away the headset, and dropped it on the tarred roof. Christopher Henderson slapped his back.
“Good job, Jack.”
Jack nodded, still numb.
Tony called out to Jack. “Morris is on the line.”
Jack waved him off. “Take a message.”
Tony listened for a moment, one hand on his ear. “It’s the latest casualty report, Jack. Eleven hundred and fifty-eight, so far. Those figures are expected to rise.”
Jack groaned, turned away.
Layla moved, too, far away from the others. In the center of the roof, she oriented herself, then faced Mecca.
She threw up her hands, then folded them across her breast as she began to mutter a prayer.
Henderson tugged off his sunglasses, stared. “What’s she saying?” he whispered.
“The Salat al-Janazah,” Jack replied. “The Muslim prayer for the dead.”
Henderson blinked. “I didn’t know Agent Abernathy was one of the Faithful, did you?”
Jack smiled. “Yeah. I did.” He faced his boss. “You’d be wise to appoint Judith Foy the new Director of CTU New York. And I’d recommend Layla for the number two spot.
She’s young, but—”
Henderson silenced Jack with a raised hand. “There isn’t going to be a CTU New York, Jack. Not after this mess.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“The orders have been issued from on high,” Henderson informed him. “Walsh and the President are in agreement on this.”
“But what happened here proves the need for a CTU presence.”
“Security was compromised from the start,” Henderson replied. “The division was infiltrated before it even opened.
The political meltdown over this hasn’t even begun yet.”
Henderson shook his head. “CTU will continue to guard the rest of the country. But from now on, New York City is on its own.”
The man curled his long arm around Jack’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Jack, you have enough on your plate with Los Angeles.”
Jack stepped away, processing everything Henderson had said. With the mention of L.A., he suddenly remembered his wife and daughter, realizing in a rush how much he missed them. He pulled out his personal cell phone, noticed a text message from Teri. A reminder.
Coldplay poster. MTV store.
Don’t disappoint your daughter.
He smiled.
“How about breakfast?” Henderson called to him. “On me. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten in a day.”
Jack glanced at his watch. “Fine, Christopher, but after that I’m heading uptown.”
Henderson looked at him askance. “Sightseeing?”
Bauer shook his head. “Just keeping a promise.”
About the Author
MARC CERASINI’s writing credits include The Complete Idiot’s Guide to U.S. Special Ops Forces and Heroes: U.S. Marine Corps Medal of Honor Winners and several projects for Tom Clancy, including creating the bible for the Clancy Power Play series, writing the YA action/adventure thriller The Ultimate Escape for Clancy’s NetForce series, and writing a major essay on Clancy’s contribution to the technothriller genre for the national bestseller The Tom Clancy Companion. Among the movie tie-in novelizations Marc has written are Wolverine: Weapon X, based on the popular X-Men series, the USA Today bestseller AVP: Alien Vs.
Predator, based on the motion picture from 20th Century Fox, as well as five original novels based on the Toho Studios classic “Godzilla,” and co-authored (with J.D. Lees) a nonfiction look at the film series, The Official Godzilla Compendium. Marc’s other credits include the book 24: The House Special Subcommittee Investigation of CTU, which he co-authored with his wife, Alice Alfonsi, and the previous 24 Declassified novels Operation Hell Gate, Trojan Horse, and Vanishing Point.
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