24 Declassified 08 - Collateral Damage by Marc Cerasini

Author:Marc Cerasini [Cerasini, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061431180
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2008-02-07T05:00:00+00:00

12

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 6:00 P.M. AND 7:00 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

6:05:50 P.M. EDT

Security Station One

CTU Headquarters, NYC

Morris O'Brian watched flickering, real-time satellite images of the shattered town. Thick smoke crossed his monitor screen like a creeping black smudge. Flames licked the walls and roof of the rambling factory.

He was tempted to alert the local firefighting authorities — though in that isolated region of rural New Jersey, Morris wasn't sure what resources were actually available.

It wasn't his call, anyway, so Morris didn't make it.

Jack Bauer had called for backup and Morris obeyed — dispatching two tactical assault teams and a medical unit. Estimated time of arrival: twenty-eight minutes and fifty-five seconds, according to his threat clock.

"The last chopper's just lifted off from the heliport," Peter Randall informed him. "No problem with clearance this time."

Morris nodded — then his cell phone beeped. Bloody hell? Who's calling me on my personal line?

But it wasn't a call. His ISP had just alerted him to an urgent e-mail waiting in his cache. Morris looked around for the briefcase computer he had brought with him that morning, found it behind the door where he'd left it when he started work on the troubled security system.

He dumped the briefcase on his desk and opened the lid. He wiped his thumb over the fingerprint sensor, and got clearance to proceed. His ISP protocols and passwords were programmed into the computer, and Morris had the "urgent message" on screen in seconds.

The e-mail came from Chloe — the kinky bird from the computer department he'd been dating on the sly. Morris read the tagline, and his knees turned to jelly.

"Oh god," he moaned, dropping into a chair. "She's pregnant?"

* * *

6:22:06 P.M. EDT

Kurmastan, New Jersey

As Jack descended into the valley, he entered a pall of smoke. Passing the ruins of the mobile homes, he saw everyday signs of human habitation among the ruins — refrigerators turned on their sides, doors wide, spilling their contents, burst mattress smoldering in the sun, a shattered baby crib, torn cereal boxes, broken dishes.

There were no signs of life, but plenty of signs of death. The grisly remains of the citizens of Kurmastan were all around him.

Jack circled one of the intact mobile homes. Sheets of opaque plastic had been hung in place of windows. The door was unlocked, and Jack opened it. Inside he saw three filthy bunks, an aluminum sink filled with dirty Styrofoam plates, plastic utensils, and swarming ants. The tiny bathroom was crammed with empty ammunition boxes, all brand-name sportsman shells purchased legally, over the counter.

When Jack exited the cramped frailer, a braying goat stumbled into his path. Startled, he watched the frightened creature bolt for the forest, spindly legs kicking up dirt.

Crouching low, leading with the weapon he clutched with both hands, Jack moved along Kurmastan's main street. He saw a small market, blown apart now, fruits and vegetables scattered on the scorched and blackened street. Here the smoke was choking, and Jack had to

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