24: Deadline (24 Series) (34 page)

“Yeah,” he agreed.

20

Out beyond the Deadline town limits, the railroad came off a wide, long curve into the beginning of a straightaway that fell like an arrow across the countryside. It vanished into the western horizon, lost in the low clouds and the sheeting rain that was now coming down hard and constant.

The rails dropped through a cutting, slicing their way through a low rise. A skinny metal bridge made of dull iron, big enough to carry a cluster of power cables over the line but little else, glittered wetly in the night as the van’s headlights caught it.

Mandy brought the vehicle to a skidding halt on the dirt track road that paralleled the rails and turned to look over her shoulder. Bauer lay there in the back of the van, his face pale and lifeless, his shirt a wet, blood-sodden mess.

How many people wanted this man dead?
The question played on her mind. Some said you could measure the caliber of a person by the number of enemies they had, and if that was true, then Jack Bauer’s worth had to be high indeed. The Serbians, the Chinese, the Russians, the cartels in South America, who knew how many different radical extremist groups both here in the West and in the Middle East … They all prayed for his ending, for revenge on him. And now, she could give them exactly what they wanted.

Mandy pulled back the cuff of her glove and looked down at her wristwatch, seeing the glowing green numerals there. Miles distant but coming closer, the distant moan of a train horn sounded. She scrambled out of the van and recovered a large waterproof kit bag she had secreted earlier at the foot of the cable bridge’s main support. The trail bike Mandy had used to get here was still where she had left it, hidden under a few loose branches.

She took the bag back to the van, hauled open the cargo door, and dumped it on the deck. Mandy fished a TerreStar satellite smartphone from among the gear inside and set about taking photographs of Bauer. She got shots of his face, his chest. The white blaze of the phone’s camera flash lit up the darkness.

Selecting the best images, she tapped a number into the device and hit the “send” key. The phone gave a melodic chime, and with that, it was done. Mandy looked at her watch again. Ten minutes, give or take, and her fee would materialize in the Cayman Islands trust account.

She took a small black plastic case from the bag and opened the lid. Puffs of dry-ice vapor billowed out. Inside, a preloaded jet syringe sat on a cooler cradle, and she picked up the device, feeling the chill of it through her leather gloves. Mandy weighed the injector in her hand, considering the import of what it represented.

It would be easy to
wait
. Time had almost run out. She could just stand here and do nothing.

The reduced-velocity bullet Mandy shot into Bauer’s chest had penetrated the upper layers of his flesh, but did not enter his body cavity or do any serious organ damage. The tiny measure of synthetic tetrodotoxin that had been contained in the bullet head was just enough to simulate the appearance of death. Cultured from puffer fish venom, the TTX neurotoxin analogue could kill instantly with a large enough dose … but even a small amount would be fatal if it was left to work unchecked. The compound in the injector was capable of neutralizing the compound. If she
wanted
it to.

For the second time that night, Mandy held Jack Bauer’s life in her hands. She liked the feel of it.

But then she smiled to herself, and pressed the syringe to his carotid artery. It hissed like a snake, discharging its drug load into his bloodstream.

For long seconds, Bauer didn’t move, and Mandy wondered if her timing had been off, but then he was suddenly twitching, coughing, his arms and legs curling inward as pain wracked his body. He rolled over and vomited up thin, watery bile, gasping for air.

“Welcome back, Jack.” Mandy replaced the injector back in the case and started gathering up her gear.

“Where…?” he managed.

“Outside Deadline,” she explained. “Exactly where you wanted.”

“Good.” Color began to return to his face, and Mandy watched him systematically check himself over. He came upon the shallow wound in his chest where the frangible bullet had struck and shot her a look.

Mandy handed him a small first-aid kit. “You said there would be two of you. What happened to the other man?”

Jack looked away, wincing as he cleaned the wound and patched the fresh injury. “Chase … He didn’t make it.”

She picked up her rifle and strapped it to side of the gear bag. “The fee remains the same.”

“You’ll get your money,” he grated.

“I know I will.” Mandy smiled. “Because you’re a man of your word, Jack. That’s why I’m here.” She hefted the bag and stepped away. “I’ve got to say, though … you’re the last person I ever thought would hire me for a job.”

Bauer gave a weary nod. “I’m low on friends right now. You were the smart choice.” He drew his gun and checked it. “But don’t think that makes us allies. You’re an assassin, a mercenary, and if I had my way, you’d be behind bars paying for your crimes.”

She cocked her head. “You wouldn’t have gotten to Habib Marwan if it wasn’t for me. You haven’t forgotten that, have you, Jack? I helped CTU stop a dozen nuclear meltdowns all across this country.” Mandy smirked. “The president pardoned me. I guess it’s too much to expect that you could forgive me as well.”

“You’d have let Marwan’s plan go ahead if we hadn’t caught you, if it was to your advantage. Don’t pretend you gave him up out of any kind of conscience.” Unsteadily, Jack got to his feet and climbed out of the van.

“True enough.” She shrugged. “As much fun as it is to talk about old times, this is still a business transaction.” Mandy offered him the smartphone. “I did what you asked. I killed you in front of a handful of witnesses, agents of the FBI, even. You’re a dead man again, Jack, as requested. Now pay up.”

He made no move. “The Russians gave you the same job, didn’t they? When did the SVR contact you? Was it before or after I called you from the diner?”

Her smile returned. “Still as sharp as ever, aren’t you?” Mandy nodded. “You’re right. They knew I was on the East Coast. They knew you and I had history. I took the assignment. Their money is as good as yours…” She eyed him. “Although I’m guessing that whatever secret bug-out fund you’re using doesn’t go as deep as Moscow’s cash reserves do. After all, you’re just one guy.”

“Is that your play?” He still had his pistol in his hand. “I pay you to pull me out from under, then you kill me anyway and take the bounty from the Russians as well.”

When Mandy turned back she had her Walther drawn. “Jack.” She said his name in a chiding tone. “I’ve
already
claimed the price they put on your head.” She held up the phone, showing the photos of his “corpse.” “So let’s behave like professionals here. I already killed you once tonight. You want me to make it twice?”

Jack’s gun didn’t waver. “Why were you on the East Coast?”

The question caught her off guard. “What?”

He pulled back the hammer on the pistol. “Were you in New York?”

She saw where his reasoning was going and shook her head. “If you’re asking if I had anything to do with the plot against Omar Hassan, the answer is
no
.” She shook her head. “I turned down that particular job. Too many variables.”

The train horn hooted again, much closer now.

At length, Jack lowered his weapon. “Our ride’s here.”

“
Our
ride?” she echoed.

He nodded, moving to a service ladder that ran up the side of the cable bridge. “You want your money? You’ll get it when I’m on that train and not before.”

*   *   *

The Union Pacific Blue Arrow high-speed freight run out of Chicago, bound for the Port of Los Angeles, had lost a little time. Forced to drop below its normal cruising pace as it entered the great turn that bisected the map of the county like an iron bow, the procession of cargo wagons, flatbeds and double-stacked car carriers was almost half a mile long from the dual engines at the head to the pair of pusher power units at the rear.

As the Blue Arrow’s lead locomotive finally cleared the outer edge of the turn and settled onto the start of the long straightaway before it, automated systems began to apply more power to the bogies to make up the time. A slow, inexorable climb up to full speed began, and from here the train would be racing the sunrise at its back all the way to the West Coast.

The crewmen in the cab were paying attention to the computer-controlled dashboard, as the lead engine rumbled under the cable bridge that was all that marked the passage past the township of Deadline. They didn’t see the two figures hunched low on the middle of the open-framed metal arch.

Blocky box cars full of freight streamed past beneath the bridge, followed by flatbeds where the massive iron drums of huge electrical motors had been lashed down. Beyond them, there were container wagons, more flatbeds but these were filled by the familiar steel bricks of rectangular cargo units. With their long, flat upper surfaces, they were the best place to board the moving train. Waiting too long would bring the automobile carriers at the rear under the bridge, and attempting to drop onto their irregularly shaped gantries would be too risky.

*   *   *

Jack took a last look over his shoulder to be certain of where he would land, then he leapt forward, off the cable bridge, throwing himself in the same direction as the moving train. He was still dizzy and nauseous from the effects of the tetrodotoxin dose in his system, but there was no time to wait for that to wear off.

He felt the air rushing around him, the thin rain against his face, and the drop seemed to take forever. The gap from the cable bridge to the top of the moving wagon was less than three feet, but it could have been a mile for all the time it took to cross it.

Then his feet hit the roof of the metal container and he stumbled forward, buffeted by wind, throwing out his hands. Jack went down and let it happen, spreading his weight so he wouldn’t trip and roll over the side. If he fell, he would be dashed to the ground racing past below, or worse, dragged under the bogies and crushed.

He heard a pair of clattering impacts behind him; first, as Mandy tossed her gear bag in his wake, and then as she followed it down. The mercenary made it look easy, dropping into a cat-fall without ever losing her balance.

Jack rose into a crouch and looked forward along the length of the train. In the distance, he could see the lights of the twin locomotives, but there was no sign that anyone up there had detected the arrival of the stowaways. He waited a moment to be sure, then started back down along the car. The rocking motion of the train took some getting used to, and Jack advanced in a zigzag pattern, letting the roll and shift of the container beneath his feet govern the speed of his advance.

Mandy pulled her gear bag to her as he approached, keeping her head down. “What now?” she shouted, fighting to be heard over the howl of the wind.

He pointed forward, indicating the nearest of the automobile carriers. “That way.”

Slow and sure-footed, they advanced along the moving train until they came to the end of the container car, and one by one Jack and Mandy dropped to the floor of the flatbed. The thin rain and the wind noise lessened in the lee of the container, and Jack paused to take a breath. He looked out across the landscape flashing past beside them. It was a featureless blur that seemed to go on into infinity.
Dark territory,
he thought to himself.

The vehicles on the lower deck of the closest car carrier were all well-appointed Volkswagen MPV minivans, and Mandy made short work of the lock on the nearest one, hauling open the sliding side door to gain entry. Jack followed her inside and closed it behind him.

“Not exactly a private cabin, but close enough,” she muttered. The gear bag dropped to the floor between the seats and she worked at her windblown hair, pushing it into some semblance of order. “Level with me, Jack,” Mandy asked, leaning back. “Do you actually have a plan of action, or are you just going to keep on running until you hit a brick wall?”

“It’s not your concern,” he retorted.

“I beg to differ. When there are people like you out in the world, I like to know where they’re at. So I can be somewhere else. Did you really believe anyone would think you’re heading to Hong Kong?”

“When I called you, why did you answer?” He held her gaze. “Why not just give me up, then and there? It would have been an easy payday.”

“Call it nostalgia. I’m not all about the money,” she demurred. Then that cunning smile came back. “Actually, that’s a lie.” Mandy drew out her smartphone and worked at the keypad. “And speaking of which … I need the code to get the balance of your payment from escrow. So let’s finish this, yes?”

He gave a nod. “I got a password:
lifesucks,
one word.”

Her smile grew into a grin as she entered the text string. “That’s so
you
.” After a few moments, the phone gave off a chime and Mandy nodded. “Transfer complete. A pleasure doing business with you.”

“Can’t say the same,” Jack replied, helping himself to a bottle of water from her bag. He guzzled it down in one long pull, and then took a shuddering breath. When he looked up, he saw that Mandy’s sly expression had hardened into something else: annoyance. She stabbed at the phone’s tiny keypad, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“The money,” Mandy said quietly. “It’s not here.”

Jack’s hand dropped to his gun. “I paid you. We’re done.”

“Not
you,
” she hissed. “The Russians. They canceled the transfer to my offshore accounts. They reneged on the deal…”

He found it hard to summon up any sympathy for the woman. She was a murderer-for-hire, after all. “I guess they don’t trust you either—”

Out of nowhere, the satellite phone rang, and the abrupt rattle of the digital tone set them both to silence. Mandy reached to tap the “accept call” button, but Jack caught her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” she said, shaking him off, “I’ll put it on speaker.” She pressed the tab and the line connected. “Arkady. I was just thinking about you. Where’s my payment?”