24 Declassified: 03 - Trojan Horse (16 page)

“I don’t know anything about Lesser, or what he’s doing. Only that he owes me money, and—”

Ordog gripped the handle with a meaty hand, cranked the ancient generator. After a few turns, sparks exploded across the box springs and electric fire burned through Tony’s entire body. He jerked helplessly as volts crackled through him. Then the fat man ceased cranking. Tony sagged against his bonds.

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“Do not delude yourself, Mr. Navarro, or whatever your name is. You will die in this room. It’s up to you to decide if you’ll perish after prolonged agony, or mercifully quick.”

1:39:54
P
.
M
. PDT La Hacienda Tijuana, Mexico

Milo used his cell phone, connected to the secure and scrambled monitor in Fay Hubley’s computer, to con
tact Nina Myers at CTU Los Angeles. He reported Fay Hubley’s death and Tony’s capture by Chechens working with
Seises Seises
. He also told Nina that he’d located Richard Lesser—who was now fast asleep in the hotel bed—and about the computer virus attack scheduled for midnight—an attack that might or might not have been thwarted by Lesser’s defection.

“You’re sure Lesser has the only copy of the virus?” Nina asked.

“I’m
not
sure,” Milo replied. “But he has a thumb drive with a copy of the virus on it. Working with a sample of the virus, we can find a cure, or work on a way to shield the web servers from its effects.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Lesser is an asshole in so many ways,” said Milo. “But I believe him now. He’s scared of the Chechens, of what they are capable of. He’d rather face charges in the States than let this cyber attack take place.”

Nina contemplated his words. “Then it is imperative that you get Lesser and the data on that thumb drive across the border immediately. I’ll have an extraction team at the border, and a helicopter waiting at Brown Field Municipal Airport to fly you to L.A.”

Milo paused. Nina’s command was sane and rational, and he wanted very much to obey her. “No,” he said at last. “I have to try to rescue Tony first.”

“You’re not a field agent and you’re not even armed.”

“No, but I have someone with me who’s ready to help. Cole Keegan, Richard Lesser’s bodyguard.”

“You can’t do this, Milo. It’s too important we get Lesser back. Tony knew what he was getting himself into—”

“Tony knew, but Fay didn’t. I can’t help Fay, but I refuse to give up on Tony while he’s alive—”

“Listen, Milo—”

“Me and Cole Keegan worked out a plan that we think will work,” said Milo. “It’s a pretty solid plan and if it works I won’t even need a gun. But I will need two hours. I can grab Tony, and we’ll bring out Lesser together. We’ll all cross the border and be at the airport by four o’clock.”

Another pause. Cole, still guarding the door, pretended to ignore the conversation even as he hung on every word.

“Okay,” Nina relented. “Two hours. No more.”

Milo thanked his boss and signed off. Then he faced Cole Keegan. “So, do you have a plan? ’Cause I sure don’t.”

To Milo’s surprise, Cole nodded. “There’s someone who can help us. A woman at Little Fishes, one of the girls. She knows everything that goes on at the brothel and in the old building behind it.”

Cole shot Milo a surprisingly sheepish look. “Her name’s Brandy—at least that’s what she calls herself. I kind of promised her I’d get her out when Lesser and I made our escape, but everything happened so fast I had to leave her behind.”

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“And you think she’ll still help you?”

“Brandy’s pragmatic. She knows the score. If you give her what she wants, she’ll cooperate.”

Milo was skeptical. “So how do I find this Brandy?”

“Meeting a whore ain’t hard in Tijuana. Just go to the brothel and ask to see her.”

“But...But I can’t do that!” sputtered Milo. “Why don’t you go? Brandy knows you.”

“And everyone there knows
me
, but they don’t know you,” Cole replied. “If I walk into that brothel, those Chechens are gonna ask me a whole lot of ques
tions I can’t answer.”

“But I don’t look like the kind of guy who goes to a brothel, do I?”

“What kind of guy is that?” Cole asked.

Milo thought it over. “Good point,” he said.

“Look,” said Cole, “
El Pequeños Pescados
is always crowded at lunchtime—gringo truckers, mostly, coming across the border for a freight pickup and a quickie. Keep your mouth shut and your ears open and they’ll just think you’re another road rat.”

“Come on—”

“When you find Brandy, tell her you know me, and that you’re there to help her get out of Mexico, and I guarantee she’ll help you find your missing agent—if he’s still alive, that is.”

1:47:14
P
.
M
. PDT Palm Drive Beverly Hills

Major Salah’s men bristled. They could not believe the American CTU agent had been given permission to interview Ibn al Farad—and by the boy’s own father! The men, members of the elite Saudi Special Forces Brigade, had just fought—and two of them had just died—to prevent the American authorities from capturing the Saudi citizen. Now Jack Bauer was interrogating Ibn al Farad, subjecting the boy to unknown tortures in the back room of his aunt’s home.

Sensing the unrest in his men, Major Salah divided them to quell a potential mutiny. He left several behind to guard the house, and dispatched two others to the front gate to watch for any sign of the American authorities. After that, he further divided his forces, sending the wounded men to their beds, and placing two armed men outside the study occupied by Jack Bauer and the rest. With his unit spread all over the mansion, the Major headed outside to check on the gate sentries posted in a gazebo on the other side of the wall from Palm Drive. Not surprisingly, Major Salah found the two men locked in a debate.

“You cannot trust the American authorities,” Corporal Hourani was saying. “Their injustices are well known.”

“Known by whom?” Sergeant Raschid replied.

“I learned of America’s treachery as a boy in the madrassas. And from the Hollywood movies that truly depict this country’s evil, its racism. Have you never seen
Mississippi Burning
?”

Sergeant Raschid shook his head. “I only watch James Bond movies. And Jackie Chan.”

“I suggest you both keep your eyes on the road,” Major Salah interrupted. “There is a vehicle approaching the gate.” As the Major stepped into view, his men jerked to attention. “You are supposed to be on sentry duty,” he admonished, “not discussing Hollywood movies.”

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“I beg your forgiveness, Major,” Sergeant Raschid said, eyes forward.

“At ease,” the Major replied with a hint of a smile. “I only meant to alert you that a vehicle is approach
ing, in case you had not noticed.”

Sergeant Raschid hefted his M-16 as the electronic gate swung open, and a white Dodge van swung into the driveway.

“It is probably a routine delivery,” said Major Salah. “But see what they want.”

Sergeant Raschid and Corporal Hourani turned their backs on their commander as the van approached the gazebo. Eyes on the approaching vehicle, the soldiers did not see Major Salah slip two six-inch black stilettos out of hidden sheaths. And their deaths were so quick the two men barely felt the simultaneous thrusts that plunged the cold, hard steel blades deep into their brains.

The van rolled to a halt in front of the gazebo a moment later. The passenger door opened. Major Salah stepped over the dead men and climbed into the cab next to the blond-haired, blue-eyed driver. Behind them, a half dozen armed, masked men huddled inside the van’s cargo bay.

“I have observed the American intelligence agent and learned that CTU knows nothing. Once Ibn is dead, their only connection to Hasan will be severed.”

“So we strike?”

Salah nodded. “The way is open. We will kill the minister, his son, and his sister. And I will take care of Jack Bauer personally.”

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9
10
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18 19 20 21 22 23 24

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLAC
E
BETWEEN THE HOURS OF
2 P.M. AND 3 P.M.
PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME

2:00:56
P
.
M
. PDT Free Trade Pavilion Russia East Europe Trade Alliance Los Angeles

Sweeping in among the very first wave of reporters to enter the Free Trade Pavilion since its opening last month, Christina Hong, KHTV Seattle’s twenty
eight-year-old entertainment reporter, could not help but be impressed. The Pavilion was designed by Saudi-American architect Nawaf Sanjore, and featured a vaulted glass ceiling and three lofty steel and glass ziggurats of various heights, the tallest of which reached eighteen stories into the Los Angeles skyline.

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Christina knew from her extensive research that the Pavilion was just one wing of the Russia East Europe Trade Alliance headquarters on Wilshire Boulevard, a twelve-story office building that housed the interna
tional trade organization. REETA had been established to promote mutually beneficial economic and political associations among the members of the former Soviet Union. The governments of these new republics were often at odds with one another, yet REETA had been instrumental in forging trade pacts that revived, modernized or transformed old industries into profitable new ventures.

The area of most interest to Christina Hong—who enjoyed covering the business side of the entertainment industry and harbored dreams of hosting her own cable news show—was the phenomenal resurrection of the Eastern European film industry in the last five years. Thanks to an infusion of capital from REETA, the movie business was alive and thriving in places like Prague, Budapest, Belgrade.

Yet this sea change in the film industry had gone virtually unnoticed by most media types. Christina Hong would not have known herself, except that two months ago her station manager had sent her to do an up-tempo story on American actors and extras who moved to Montreal from California or New York City for better acting jobs. Instead of finding happy and fulfilled character performers, she interviewed people who were suddenly strapped for work. The reason? Because so many so-called Hollywood productions were being shot in Eastern Europe.

The term
outsourcing
sprang immediately to mind and Christina realized that her producer had sent her to cover the wrong story. From long nights spent doing research on the Internet, or with the Lexis/Nexis search engine, Ms. Hong discovered that the Russia East Europe Trade Alliance was the catalyst for the change. She also learned that the organization itself was the brainchild of a single visionary man— financier and internationalist Nikolai Manos, a sometimes controversial figure who earned great wealth and power through his shrewd dealings on the international currency markets.

Suddenly the crowd surged around her, shaking Christina out of her thoughts. She saw people approach a raised stage at the opposite end of the hall and ordered Ben, her cameraman, to stake out a choice position before the press conference began.

“Let me know if you spot Nikolai Manos in this mob,” she said. “I’d like to corner him with a few questions if I get the chance.”

Ben brushed a tumble of brown bangs away from his face. “What’s your fascination with this guy? I’d rather be over at the Chamberlain taking red carpet footage of the stars than watching a bunch of suits pat one another on the back.”

“Manos is a billionaire.” Christina chuckled. “Every girl is interested in a billionaire.”

“You probably know more about this guy than you know about yourself.”

“Go. Shoo,” Christina commanded.

In her heart-of-hearts, Christina knew Ben was right. She did know an awful lot about Manos—he was born in Prague, the son of a Russian physician and a Greek freight tycoon, and orphaned at an early age. After the death of his parents, Manos inherited the bulk of his father’s modest wealth, and multiplied it several times. Then, five years ago at the age of

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fifty, Nikolai Manos altered his life trajectory, to be
come something of a philanthropist. He established REETA with a large chunk of his personal fortune, in a seemingly altruistic effort to benefit the overall economy of Eastern Europe. Nikolai Manos’s stated goal in creating the organization was peace through prosperity, and Manos was doing his part to bring about a measure of understanding to one of the bitterest political situations in the region—the feud between the Chechen people and Russia, their much resented masters.

All that, Christina knew, could be found in a REETA press release. Digging deeper—much deeper—she had discovered that Nikolai Manos had made enemies in his years of speculation in the money markets.

From the archives of the
Wall Street Journal
, she learned that among his business rivals Nikolai Manos had a ruthless reputation. In an interview with a former high-level employee in Manos’s money market fund, it was revealed that the financier had knowingly pushed legal boundaries in his quest for profit.

Some of Nikolai Manos’s activities even bordered on the criminal—at least in the view of certain foreign governments. In Singapore he was a wanted criminal because of a scheme he allegedly devised to undermine that nation’s currency. Speaking off the record to a government official, Ms. Hong also learned that Manos was the subject of an ongoing Securities and Exchange Commission investigation in the United States.

But today, as she looked around at all the happy faces, the glamorous stars and producers, the media tycoons and business leaders who came out for this event, it was clear to Christina that the tycoon’s checkered past and current woes did not seem to trouble the elite in this town. For them, the celebrity they turned out to see was Marina Katerine Novartov, the attractive and popular wife of Russian President Vladimir Novartov. Russia’s First Lady was in America to attend the Silver Screen Awards, and meet with America’s President and First Lady in Washington later in the week.