24 Declassified 03 - Trojan Horse by Marc Cerasini

Author:Marc Cerasini [Cerasini, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-02-22T10:37:08+00:00

* * *

“Any word?” Nikolai Manos asked, one eye still focused on the persistent reporter from Seattle.

The bodyguard nodded. “Major Salah reports that CTU is flailing. They know nothing. In any case, the hit team has infiltrated the grounds. The men will strike momentarily.”

“Make sure no one is left alive. And kill the CTU agent. I don’t care what Major Salah believes. CTU is getting too close, too quickly.”

* * *

2:02:11 P.M. PDT

Palm Drive

Beverly Hills

Forty minutes into the interrogation, Jack Bauer had obtained no useful information. At the start of the session, he’d placed Ibn al Farad in an upright chair in the middle of the study, the youth’s back to the glass wall, the sun streaming through curtains that were shrouded in white. As Jack began his gentle questioning, Omar al Farad and his sister Nareesa hovered in the background; Omar fretting, Nareesa in tears.

Soon it was apparent Jack’s questions would not be answered. Part of the problem was that his methods of extraction were limited. There was no time for truth serums to be administered, for sleep deprivation techniques or long periods standing in a position of maximum discomfort. And with Ibn al Farad’s father and aunt looking on, more radical physical intimidation was out of the question, though Jack doubted it would work in any case. The youth he interrogated was still in the insidious throes of the amphetamine Karma, and rational replies to hard questions were rare.

Jack didn’t know how long the effects of the drug would last, or even how much Ibn had absorbed before he’d been captured. Thus far, Ibn had alternated between chanting Muslim prayers and spewing raw, hateful venom at his father. His rational speech came between fits of sobbing, hallucinations, or episodes of trance-like inattention.

Jack began to wonder if shock therapy of some kind would work — either a physical shock, like an electric current or even a dousing in a tub of ice, or perhaps a psychological blow of some kind, one powerful enough to snap the youth back to some semblance of reality. Unfortunately, Jack didn’t know Ibn well enough to know his fears or weaknesses, and his options were running out.

As Ibn lapsed into one of his silent trances, a knock came at the door — an odd knock, Jack noted. Three taps, followed by two, then four more. The Deputy Minister did not react to the strange knock, though he seemed troubled by the interruption. His son Ibn, however, lifted his head and grinned when he heard the staccato knocking, a reaction that concerned Jack.

“What is it?” Omar al Farad demanded, crossing the study to the locked door. “I asked not to be disturbed.”

“It is Major Salah, Deputy Minister,” called Salah through the door. “You have an urgent phone call.”

“Hasan comes,” Ibn muttered, his dazed expression transforming into naked glee.

Jack heard the young man’s words and cried out, “Don’t open the door!”

But Omar al Farad had released the lock already. The door burst open, knocking the small man backward, into the wall.

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