24 Veto Power (33 page)

“I’m going to take a wild guess,” Kelly replied, “and say that someone set off an EMP device and we got hit. The EMP will have fried every circuit we’ve got. Anything that had computer circuitry, or was linked to an antennae array, you can probably write off, including the system that sent signals to our backup generators. But anything that had its own battery power and was independent of the main system will work. So look for flashlights and battery-powered radios. The generators themselves should be working, but we’ll have to crank them up by hand.”

“What do you know, Jack was right!” Nina Myers yelled.

Yes, he was right, Kelly said. And if his watch had been right, just before everything stopped, Jack had succeeded in doing something ...because Marks and Newhouse had set off their EMP an hour early.

1:19
A
.
M
. PST Century City

Jack slid his hand along the wall as he climbed the stairs, moving with painstaking slowness that last flight until his hand touched a steel wall. He groped around until he felt a door handle. He hesitated. Were they waiting for him on the other side? Had they already bolted down some other stairs?

There was only one way to find out. Jack pulled the door open and dived forward. Gunfire pelted the door, the door frame, and the ground all around him. He rolled across the tarmac-like surface of the rooftop, came up to his knees, and rolled again as more gunshots chopped at the ground around him. Rounds were coming off close, and he realized that compared to the utter darkness of the stairwell, the night darkness of Los Angeles provided Marks with enough illumination to see him.

The rooftop of the North Tower was a small forest of utility sheds, ventilation grills, and antennae. Jack dived behind a ventilation shaft for cover. He caught his breath and ejected the magazine from his SigSauer, smacking another into place.

“You’re the idiot, Brett!” he yelled into the darkness.

“Why’s that, Jack?” Brett Marks asked in amusement. His voice came from somewhere on Jack’s right. Jack moved in that direction as silently as he could.

“This stunt is just going to make the Federal government do more of the things you hate. They’ll crack down more. They’ll take more power for themselves.”

“The people have to remember their power, Jack!” Marks shot back. “Either we’ll set an example for them to follow, or we’ll force the tyrants to become so ruthless the people have to act!”

“The tyrants are elected by the people,” Jack pointed out.

“Elected by corporations. Elected by political parties. Not by people.” Marks’s voice was moving again. Jack had trouble following it through the forest of rooftop structures. “We are the government, Jack.

Me and people like me. We cast the final vote. I intend to make sure the people remember that we have the final veto. We can make this country a real republic, greater than Rome ever was.”

Marks had stopped. Now Jack thought he knew where the militia man was hiding, behind a man-sized vent spout curved at the top. “Rome had tyrants. Dictators. That can’t be a good example for you,” he called out, using his voice to cover his footsteps.

“You really have to get some education, Jack,” Marks sneered. “Before it allowed dictators in, Rome was a republic for five hundred years. Kings were not allowed in the city. Tribunes were allowed to serve only two years in office. It wasn’t so bad.”

Jack caught a glimpse of Marks’s silhouette. He rose to his feet and took aim.

Suddenly an arm clamped around his neck from behind and he felt the muzzle of a gun press against the side of his head. “Hello, Jack Bauer,” hissed Frank Newhouse. “Drop your gun.”

1:28
A
.
M
. PST Air Force One

Air Force One was wheels up, banking left and leaving the city lights behind them. The President had just closed his eyes in his cabin when there was a knock on the door. He grunted, sat up in his bed, and flicked on the light. “Come.”

Avery Taylor stepped into the room. Despite the hour, he looked as crisp and professional as usual. “Mr. President, sorry to disturb you, but I want to keep you informed. There’s been a blackout in Los Angeles. We’re currently assessing the risk, but there is some small chance that we’ll change our flight plan.”

Barnes groaned. “What kind of blackout? Why would it be a danger to us?”

“It shouldn’t be, sir, but it’s our job...”

“I understand, Avery, but unless there’s a direct threat to this airplane from a blackout, I want us to take the most direct path. I need to get to San Diego without complications. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

1:29
A
.
M
. PST Century City

Newhouse’s left arm had closed like a clamp over Bauer’s throat, while his right hand held a gun to his head. Jack dropped his gun as ordered. Newhouse laughed in his ear. “How does it feel to be behind the curve every single time?”

“Like this,” Jack said.

With his right hand, Jack reached back and snatched at Newhouse’s gun, pulling it forward and off his head, pointing the muzzle forward. A round went off right near his head, deafening him. Jack’s left hand clamped the hammer side of the gun. At the same time, Jack punched his hands forward and his hips backward into Newhouse, stretching him. Jack snapped the gun from Newhouse’s hand, then jabbed his right elbow back into Newhouse’s gun, then into his face. He heard Newhouse’s nose collapse with a satisfying crunch.

But Newhouse was no weekend warrior. Even as he dropped from the blow, he kicked Jack’s legs out from under him. Jack hit the deck hard and felt Newhouse on top of him in an instant. Newhouse pounded Jack with a hard punch; a second punch came and Jack slipped it. Newhouse howled as his knuckles pounded the tarmac. Jack bucked his hips and rolled, feeling Newhouse grab for the gun as he did. The weapon slipped from Jack’s hand and Newhouse rolled over, aiming the gun at him with a grin. He pulled the trigger.

The gun was jammed. Jack dropped an elbow into Newhouse’s bloody face. Jack thought that might be the end of him, but Newhouse only grunted. His reached up and dug his fingers into Jack’s face and eyes. Jack winced and pulled Newhouse’s claws away, and before he knew it Newhouse had kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling backward.

Jack rolled with the kick and came up to his feet. For a moment he lost Newhouse among the pipes, but a movement on his left caught his attention. Instead of shying away he attacked, hurling himself at the movement and catching Frank off guard. Newhouse staggered backward. Jack grabbed him by the neck and kneed him twice in the stomach. He tried to deliver another knee, but Newhouse caught his leg and dumped him on his back again. Jack felt his left shoulder give. He stabbed upward with his right hand, feeling his fingers sink into the thick jelly of Newhouse’s eye. Newhouse squealed and pushed away, straightening his arms. Jack grabbed one of his arms and spun on his back, catching the arm and shoulder between his legs. He pulled Newhouse’s arm straight, then arched his back, snapping the arm at the elbow. Newhouse screamed.

Gunfire echoed across the rooftop. Jack rolled away and felt something under his back. He grabbed for it and found his Sig in his hands. He came up firing in the direction of the muzzle flashes. Marks yelped and retreated.

Jack crawled back toward Newhouse, who lay unmoving on the tarmac. In the dark, Jack groped his way to Newhouse’s neck and checked for a pulse. There was none. One of Marks’s bullets had found the wrong target.

In the darkness, Jack heard a door open and close. Marks was running. Jack took off after him.

Marks had run down the southeast stairwell. Jack opened the door but didn’t stand in the frame. There was no gunfire. Jack plunged down into the darkness.

The door swung shut behind him and Jack was in that same pitch black. Now and then he heard shuffling below him, but he didn’t try to find it, nor did he light his flashlight.

As he pursued Marks, he tried to anticipate the militia leader’s next move. He might just try to escape and go to ground, but he’d also planned long and hard on this plot.

Two EMP devices, Jack reminded himself. They’d stolen two from Cal Tech. Did Marks have a backup plan?

It was likely. Marks had demonstrated the ability to plan for almost every contingency. They’d had two vans at Cal Tech in case surveillance picked them up. They’d used the Iranians as decoys. Marks had even had a plan to throw Babak Farrah at them as an Iranian intelligence officer in case he needed to.

That was Jack’s safest bet: Marks had the other EMP

device stowed somewhere, and he’d try to use it now. He would try to get back to the garage and escape. For Jack, that meant descending over forty flights in total darkness. He started down into the pit.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17
18 19 20 21 22 23
2
4

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLAC
E
BETWEEN THE HOURS OF
2 A.M. AND 3 A.M.
PACIFIC STANDARD TIME

2:00
A
.
M
. PST Century City

Jack’s senses had become as attuned to darkness as they could be. But the going was agonizingly slow. At last, somewhere below him, a door opened. As it creaked shut, Jack caught the faintest hint of light— Marks had a flashlight of his own.

Jack risked his own light, and with the flashlight he made better time. He reached P6 and threw the door open, again hesitating in case of gunfire. Then he ran out into the parking area just in time to hear an en
gine rev and headlights go on. Jack angled toward the headlights. He shut off his own flashlight just in time. A car roared by and muzzle flashes accompanied the sound of shots, but Jack had moved off line and Marks’s shots were wild. His car peeled away.

Jack flicked his flashlight on again and ran toward the white van. Near it, he saw that the Chevy Camaro was gone. On a hunch, he ran to the Nova. It was unlocked. He jumped inside. He placed the flashlight on the floor, angled upward, and reached underneath to hotwire the car. The wiring was basic, but the wires themselves were new, and Jack guessed what Marks had planned. The Camaro and the Nova were old cars, with very little wiring that was susceptible to the EMP device. Marks and Newhouse had planned their escape well.

The Nova’s engine roared to life and Jack peeled out, headlights illuminating his way through the darkness.

His tires squealed all the way up the circular ramps that led out of the foundation of the building. He scraped the corners several times but ignored it. He needed to catch up to Marks.

At the top of the parking structure he caught him. Marks barreled through the wooden gate and out onto the street, making a hard right turn. Jack followed a hundred yards behind him, but now he flicked off his headlights, hiding himself from Marks.

The streets were black. Not a streetlight or a traffic signal was working. All the buildings were dark. The only artificial light Jack could see was the glow of Marks’s headlights ahead of him. There wouldn’t have been much traffic at that hour anyway, of course, but now there was none. There were only a few obstacles in the road—cars that had shut down in mid-transit when the EMP went off. Any car that relied on electronics for its functions—onboard computers for ignition, braking, suspension—had shut down. Fortunately for Jack, the streetlights had been, to some degree, replaced by starlight. On any given night in Los Angeles, ambient light wiped out almost all the stars. But tonight the ambient light itself had been wiped out. Jack saw the silhouettes of stalled cars, and sometimes of confounded drivers, as he followed his prey.

Marks turned left onto Little Santa Monica Boulevard and sped west. Jack followed him to the 405 freeway and up the on ramp. The freeway was no different from the surface streets—a few cars stalled here and there. Jack passed one car that seemed to be operational—the driver’s headlights were on and he’d stopped to see if someone else needed assistance—but Jack had no time to explain anything to them as he hurtled past at a hundred miles per hour. Marks had somewhere to get to fast.

If Marks knew he was following, the man gave no sign. The militia leader’s car sped north on the 405 with no twists or turns and no change of speed. Marks practically flew over the interchange to the eastbound 101, and Jack cruised after him.

Jack’s shoulder had begun to throb. It hung lower than his right, and he couldn’t lift the arm, which had begun to swell. He also felt a stinging pain in his side. He moved his left hand, painfully, to touch his side where he thought a bullet had passed through his shirt. He felt blood—apparently, the bullet had passed through his flesh as well.

2:20
A
.
M
. PST Century City

Kelly Sharpton, Nina Myers, Tony Almeida, and a strike team arrived at the Century City Plaza in a Nissan Sentra and a 1972 Chevy station wagon. Every SUV at CTU had been knocked out of commission, but Kelly had managed to commandeer these cars on the street.

They rushed into the darkened lobby, their flashlights probing the ground and finally falling across the face of Darryl the security guard.

“I tried to call,” Darryl said. “Was that your guy that was here before? The blond guy?”

“Probably,” Kelly said. “Where’d he go?”

Darryl raised his hands. “Where’d anybody go? I heard gunshots up on the roof. I heard gunshots down in the parking structure. But I’m blind as a bat here.”

Kelly turned to Nina. “Take half the team and go to the roof. Tony, take the other half and check the parking levels.”

“Will do,” Nina said. “But it sounds like we missed the action.”