24: Deadline (24 Series) (6 page)

He glanced back toward the window, then down at the MTM Blackhawk watch on his wrist. Jack estimated that he had around ten minutes before his guests were going to arrive. He pulled the cord to drop the blinds and walked back toward the front door.

*   *   *

Kilner blinked as the man in the dark jacket appeared and disappeared in the window of the apartment. His throat went dry.

“He’s there. He’s
actually
there.” Kilner had to say it out loud in order to fix the thought in his mind. Somehow, Bauer had slipped past the cops and made his way back to the apartment. The agent’s mind raced. It was either the most foolish or the most calculated move the man could have made. Did he think that no one would ever look for him here? Or had Bauer come back to get something that the evidence techs had missed?

It didn’t matter. Kilner stabbed the speed-dial tab on his phone and Hadley picked up on the second ring. “
What?
” he demanded.

“I have eyes on Bauer,” Kilner blurted. “He’s at the Hotel Chelsea, right now!”

“
You’re certain it’s our man?
”

“I just looked right at him.” He licked his lips. “Sir, we’ve got a chance to end this now, before it goes any further … If I get up there, I can—”

Hadley shut him down with a snarl. “
Hell, no. You’ve got your orders, Agent Kilner. Maintain your position and watch the exits. If Bauer leaves the building, follow but do not engage, you hear me?
”

He nodded, deflating. “Yes, sir.”

Kilner heard Hadley calling out to someone else, scrambling to move. “
I’m heading to you right now. A tactical team has been mobilized. Listen to me, you remain on station, let the team do their thing. Do not get in the way.
”

“What…” Kilner hesitated. “What are their rules of engagement?”

“
Bauer is a lethal threat,
” Hadley replied firmly. “
The tac team has orders not to take any chances with him.
”

Kilner’s blood ran cold as he realized that he had just signed Jack Bauer’s death warrant.

*   *   *

Exactly twelve minutes had elapsed before the FBI tactical team arrived.
Sloppy,
thought Jack.
I could have been out of here in half that time.

With his ear pressed to the door, he could hear the scrape of boots on the landing floor, the faint whispers of the armed men as they arranged themselves before making a dynamic entry. Jack retreated slowly toward the kitchen, activating a cook cycle on the microwave oven before moving on to the bedroom area.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured what the six-man team was doing. They would be lining up along the wall outside the apartment, weapons at the ready and safeties off. A point man armed with one of the big Remington 870 shotguns the bureau favored would take aim at the lock mechanism and on a three-count, blow a hole as big as a child’s head in the thick wooden door.

He counted with them, and there was a deafening boom as the shotgun discharged. A single 12-gauge breaching round blasted a projectile made of powdered steel and wax into the front door’s dead bolt mechanism, instantly obliterating it. A second agent kicked open the ruined door and tossed an M84 stun grenade into the apartment; the flash bang released a shock of light and sound that made the windows shake in the confined space.

*   *   *

The assault proper began. In pairs, the FBI agents streamed through the doorway with their weapons pulled tight to their armored vests. With the exception of the shotgunner, the other five men carried Heckler & Koch MP5/10 submachine guns, and they had been cleared to use them if they saw fit. Hadley’s standing orders had been given the green light by District. Bauer was to be considered armed and extremely dangerous.

To the left, the apartment was open plan, the living area stretching all the way to the far wall, the space broken up by low tables, bookshelves and other furniture. Three of the six agents fanned out in that direction, the man with the Remington the last to enter, pumping the slide to chamber a fresh round as he did so. To the right was a kitchen area and a door leading to a narrow balcony, and beyond that a short hall down to the bedroom and the bathroom. One man moved into the kitchen, the other two proceeded down the hallway.

The bedroom door was already open. “Jack Bauer!” shouted the agent who entered first. “Show yourself, now!” He stepped aside as his teammate came up with him, and moved into the bathroom. The second man spun in the other direction, finding a large walk-in closet in the corner of the room.

With the MP5/10 aimed chest-high, the second agent reached to pull open the louvered door of the closet. His gloved fingers were on the brass handle when the doors splintered. Jack burst through the thin wooden slats and struck the FBI agent in the face with the flat of a cast-iron skillet he’d snatched from the kitchen.

The agent’s head snapped back, the unexpected impact bouncing his skull off the inside of his helmet. His nose shattered and blood streamed from his nostrils. Dazed, the agent sagged to the floor and struggled to remain conscious.

Jack didn’t stop to make sure the first man was out of action. If he didn’t act with speed, it wouldn’t matter one way or another. Dropping the skillet, he bolted across the room and met the other agent as the first man was coming back out of the bathroom, calling, “Clear!”

“Not exactly,” Jack retorted, and landed a crippling punch in the agent’s throat. The man’s cry for help was choked off and Jack shoved him back into the bathroom, using one hand to push aside the MP5/10. He had the momentum and he used it to slam the agent’s head down against the toilet cistern, then kicked at his opponent’s legs to rob him of what little balance he still had. Clad in body armor, a helmet rig and tactical vest, the FBI agent moved slower than Jack, and in the confined space of the apartment’s bathroom that small edge was all that Bauer needed.

He tripped the man into a fall that sent his head ringing off the rim of the sink and the agent fell limp, collapsing into a heap.

In the same second, the small can of deodorant Jack had stuck inside the kitchen’s microwave oven reached a point of critical combustion, and with a flat concussive chug, the oven door blew off its hinges. A ball of orange fire puffed out, immediately setting off the smoke alarm.

The agent in the kitchen reeled, catching the heat of the improvised explosive across his back. He swore, falling against the balcony door, and scrambled to bring his submachine gun around to bear.

One after another, a half-dozen small black cylinders came flying out of the bedroom, clattering off the walls and the wooden flooring. Jack tossed flash bangs and smoke grenades he had pulled from the belts of the other agents, and then threw himself aside as they went off in a staccato ripple of thunder.

A dense white fog filled the apartment, taking visibility down to almost nothing. Jack heard the other agents calling out, cursing and shouting for help.

Pulling a discarded T-shirt across his face as a makeshift mask, Jack surged forward, and the man in the kitchen stumbled into him as he tried to feel his way back into the room. Along with the grenades, Bauer had snatched a pistol-shaped X2 Taser from the agents he had neutralized, and he used it to quietly put the other man down.

In the smoke, the other three agents were calling out to one another. “What the hell?” said one voice, high and tight with tension. “You see anything?”

“We need to fall back,” said another.

A pair of green targeting lasers snapped on, threading through the haze. “Stay focused. Find this guy!”

Jack kept low, and out of the smoke came a figure clad in blue and black, sweeping the muzzle of his weapon back and forth. The stolen X2 still had another charge in it, so Jack pivoted and jammed it into the ribs of the agent.

The stun gun buzzed like a hornet in a tin can, and the agent screamed. His hand twitched and he unwittingly fired off a burst from his weapon, a cluster of 10mm rounds ripping into the plaster of the ceiling. Jack let him fall and moved toward one of the other voices.

He heard a crash as the agent carrying the shotgun collided with a freestanding lamp, glass crunching underfoot. Jack repeated the same attack he had used on the man in the bathroom and came in low, aiming a lethal kick down at the point where he guessed his knee would be.

His aim was good. Bone cracked and the shotgunner folded, howling in agony. Jack silenced him with a second and then a third blow, before sweeping up the Remington and moving after the last man.

The final member of the tactical team was retreating back toward the vague outline of the ruined doorway when the muzzle of the shotgun was suddenly pressing into his throat. He froze.

“Put your weapon down,” said Jack. “Drop the gun belt too. Do it now.”

The agent did as he was told. “Easy, Bauer…” he began. “What do you think you’re doing, man? You gonna kill me? You’re just making this worse.”

“No one here is dead,” Jack shot back, and then with a savage jerk he cracked the agent across the face with the butt of the Remington, knocking him out.

He spun the gun around and fired toward the windows of the apartment, blowing out the blinds and the glass with each shot. Immediately, the smoke began to vent into the evening air. He dropped into a crouch and ran a professional eye over the unconscious FBI agent’s gear.

A tinny voice issued out of the radio clipped to the agent’s shoulder. “
This is Kilner, tac team report! Report! Does anyone copy this message, over?
”

Jack snatched up the radio handset and stuffed it in a jacket pocket, and then with quick, spare motions, he stripped the downed agents of all the gear he was going to need and stuffed it into his gym bag.

04

Agent Kilner stared at the radio handset, his throat dry. “I repeat, does anyone copy my transmission?”

Only static answered him. The two NYPD cops had emerged from their car after the sounds of the grenade detonations, and now they stood, guns drawn, staring up at the streamers of white smoke billowing out of the shattered apartment windows. Kilner heard one of them calling it in, and the other shot him a look. “We’re gonna check the entrance, you stay put!”

Both men sprinted across Twenty-Third Street, veering around stalled cabs and other traffic that had slowed to take a look at the unfolding confusion. Kilner discarded the tactical radio and pulled his cell phone, hitting the redial key. “Agent Hadley, where are you?”

Hadley’s voice had the echoing timbre of someone on a speakerphone. “
I’m three blocks away, damn traffic is a pain in the ass in this city. What’s wrong?
”

“I’ve lost contact with the SWAT team! The unit commander insisted on going in straightaway, he didn’t want to wait for you to get here.”

Kilner could hear sirens in the background of the call, and seconds later the same sound reached him. Hadley swore under his breath. “
I warned them not to underestimate Bauer.
”

Without warning, the Ford rocked as someone wrenched open one of the rear doors and dropped into the seat behind him.

“Good advice,” said a voice that was all gravel and hard edges. An FBI-issue Springfield M1911A1 semiautomatic pressed into the back of Kilner’s neck and a hand snaked forward to snatch the phone from him, cutting off the call.

The agent tried to turn and the pistol dug hard into his skin. “Wait, no…”

“Kilner, right? From DC?” said Jack. “I remember you.” He gave him another prod with the gun. “Drive.”

“Did you kill those men up there?”

Jack snorted quietly. “They’ll survive. Now get this thing moving. I’m not gonna ask you again.”

“Okay…” Kilner put the Ford into gear and pulled out into traffic.

“Step on it,” Jack insisted. “Don’t stop for anything.”

Kilner moved the car into the middle lane and started heading west, in the direction of the Hudson River. “Where are we going?”

“Just drive.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kilner saw the other man lever off the back of the cell phone he had taken and pull the SIM card and battery, temporarily rendering the built-in tracking device useless.

“Bauer …
Jack
.” Kilner swallowed and tried to keep his voice even. “There’s still time to end this. Give me the weapon, let me take you in. We can work this all out.”

“You think so?” Jack shifted a bag on the backseat and leaned closer. “I go in, I’m going to disappear. I know how this works. Either my own side drops me down a deep, dark hole or the SVR gets to me first.”

“SVR?” Kilner repeated. “The Russians can’t move on you…” He caught up with his own words. “At least, not legally.”

“Now you’re catching on…” Jack’s tone shifted as Kilner took his foot off the gas. They were coming up to the crossing with Eighth Avenue and the traffic signals were against them. “I said don’t stop!”

Kilner was about to answer, but a flash of headlights in his side mirror caught his eyes. A glossy black Ford Expedition SUV was coming up fast behind them, and he glimpsed a familiar face behind the wheel—Markinson. In the passenger seat was Hadley, a pistol in his hand and a phone at his ear.

Suddenly, hidden strobes flashed blue and red from behind the Expedition’s grille and the SUV crowded in on the smaller sedan.

Jack pushed forward and grabbed Kilner’s knee with his free hand, clamping it like a vise. He forced Kilner’s leg down on the accelerator and the Fusion’s engine snarled as it leapt forward.

The agent gripped the steering wheel tightly and snaked the car through the lines of traffic crossing the junction, a storm of blaring horns and shouted curses following them as they hurtled across and down the next block. The speedometer ticked up and up as Jack continued to force him to accelerate.

Hadley’s SUV was still coming, the larger vehicle losing precious seconds as it slewed to avoid a bus.

Jack pointed the Springfield back toward the Fusion’s rear window and fired off two rounds. The first turned the clear glass into an opaque, frosted mess; the second blew out the window and gave him a clear line of sight toward the pursuing Expedition. He aimed carefully and loosed off another shot, this one blinding one of the SUV’s glaring headlights.