24 Declassified: 03 - Trojan Horse (31 page)

“Wait a minute,” Lonnie Nobunaga cried. “You said the unknown bomber is in the celebrity seating area?”

“Yes,” Jack replied. “She has to be. That’s what the terrorists’ plans indicate and that’s also where the fifth support beam is located. If they miss just one support beam, the structure may not collapse even after the blasts.”

“And you’re sure it’s a woman?”

“That’s how the Chechens have done things up to now,” Jack replied. “Your point?”

Nobunaga took a deep breath. “Listen. This may have nothing to do with the terrorists—”

“Get to the point. We’re running out of time here.”

“Abigail Heyer rolled into Hollywood for the award’s show very pregnant—”

“No surprise,” said Christina Hong. “Gossip is she and Nikolai Manos are an item.”

Jack blinked. “Did you say Manos?”

Christina nodded. “It’s in all the tabloids, including that low-rent rag Lonnie works for.”

Nobunaga smirked. “I’m wounded.”

Jack fixed his gaze on Lonnie. “So you’re telling me Abigail Heyer is pregnant with Manos’s child?”

Lonnie shook his head. “I’m telling you that she’s been faking her pregnancy the whole time. Wearing a harness, just like she did in the movie
Bangor, Maine
. I have the photo to prove it. Shot it this morning on

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the woman’s estate.” He dangled the thumb drive from his key ring.

One of the snipers spoke up. “That’s crazy. How could Abigail Heyer get a belly full of explosives past auditorium security?”

Even Lonnie knew the answer to that one. “The celebrities walk the red carpet. They don’t pass through security. It would be like wanding the Presi
dent and First Lady. You don’t screen the people you’re supposed to protect.”

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

2:09:03
A
.
M
.PDT Chamberlain Auditorium Sub-Level Three

White House intern Adam Carlisle awoke with a start. He began to stir, but his back was stiff from sleeping on the cold concrete. His movements awoke Megan Gleason, who had been using his thigh for a pillow.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“I heard a noise,” said Adam, rising quickly.

Though the two wives had been dozing in their chairs, they were awake now too, and whispering ner
vously. In the sub-basement’s gloom, Adam spied Craig Auburn close to the crank phone, where he’d

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collapsed. He was lying on the ground now, his right hand still holding his left arm. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

A terrible crash boomed, as loud as a landslide.

“Jesus,” Megan whispered. “What’s that?”

Adam informed her, “From what Special Agent Auburn said before he passed out, that’s the calvary....I hope.”

Megan blanched. “You
hope
?”

At the far end of a long corridor, Adam saw flash
lights stabbing through the darkness. Dark silhouettes appeared a moment later.

Raising the USP Tactical that Special Agent Auburn had given him, Adam walked resolutely toward the flashlights, the weapon leveled at the man on point.

“Who are you?” Adam loudly demanded.

“Special Agent Jack Bauer, Counter Terrorist Unit,” Jack replied.

With an audible exhale, Adam lowered the weapon. A moment later the sub-basement was filling with armed men. One of them approached the two ladies.

“I’m Special Agent Evans, Secret Service,” he told them.

“Thank god,” said the VP’s wife.

More men emerged from the gloom, flanking the two ladies and helping Marina Novartov stand on her injured leg. Adam told Evans about Auburn’s serious condition. A medic and another man were summoned to help.

“We’re walking out of here, right now,” he told the ladies and the interns. “Follow these two agents and stick close. We’re not out of danger yet.”

The group walked the length of the dark basement, until they came to an open steel hatch set in the concrete wall. Adam had found the hatch earlier and tried to open it, but it had been locked from the other side.

Just then, five women in fashionable evening gowns and high-heeled shoes emerged from the hatch. Megan shot Adam a curious look. He shrugged, shook his head.
Don’t ask me
.

Evans stepped up to them. “Let’s go. Through that hatch, to the sewers.”

Megan shuddered. “The sewers?”

Adam smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. “Didn’t I tell you when I first welcomed you to Washington—”

“I know, I know,” she said, “this job has its perks.”

2:13:32
A
.
M
.PDT Chamberlain Auditorium Sub-Level Three

Jack checked the digital map display strapped to his forearm. It glowed green in the dimly lit subbasement. He assembled everyone in front of a large metal grill set into the wall. Using a universal key, Jack picked the lock. The grill swung wide like a door.

Behind the steel mesh grill an aluminum shaft climbed straight up to the Chamberlain’s roof. Steel rungs were embedded in the walls of the shaft, leading upward and out of sight. Jack could see light shining into the shaft from grills on the upper levels—the occupied floors.

“Okay, women first,” Jack whispered. Nina stepped forward, wearing a black spangled dress. The other four women were similarly attired. Jack addressed them all.

“Climb until you pass four more grills, then exit

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through the fifth. You’ll come out in a corridor right next to the women’s rest rooms on the main floor. Presumably the terrorists are allowing people to take bathroom breaks. I want you to mingle with the women returning to the auditorium, then get as close as you can to your respective targets. Understand?”

The women nodded, their faces tense.

“Take them down as soon as you hear the first shot. We’ll fire at exactly 2:45 a.m.—not a second sooner.”

Jack paused. “Remember, the success of the entire mission rests on your actions. Do not hesitate to do what is necessary to save lives. If you fail, hundreds may die.”

Jack and the snipers watched the women enter the shaft. When they climbed out of sight, Jack closed the grill behind them.

“Let’s go,” he said, leading his snipers to the next air shaft, where they would make their own climb.

2:32:27
A
.
M
.PDT Chamberlain Auditorium Mezzanine

Jack peered through the ornate brass grill of the audi
torium’s deserted mezzanine. He’d climbed the air shaft with his team of snipers following behind. Now Jack carefully scanned the darkened area, using night vision goggles to determine that every seat was empty. Listening intently, Jack heard the murmur of the crowd on the main floor below.

Silently he slipped his universal key into the slot on the grill and jiggled it. The rattle of metal sounded like an explosion, but the simple lock mechanism was easily tripped. With the squeak of metal on metal, Jack opened the ornamental grill and squirmed through the opening.

He crawled forward on his belly, moving down the aisle between rows of seats. The glass control booth was behind and above him, but it overhung the mezzanine, and even if the booth was occupied, no one would be able to see him.

As he crawled down a carpeted aisle to the mezzanine’s edge, snipers silently emerged from the shaft behind him. Jack used hand signals to position the shooters at various points until they had a complete field of fire.

Finally, Jack peered over the edge of the balcony. Below him he saw hundreds of people, in seats or sprawled on the floor. Debris was scattered on the carpet, clothing draped over seat backs. Circling the hostages along the perimeter of the auditorium, Jack counted sixteen masked men, another two on the stage. There were still two shooters unaccounted for and Jack hoped they were escorting hostages to the rest rooms. As he watched, the missing pair appeared. They began chatting with the man seated on an ornate, throne-like chair in the middle of the expansive stage.

With hand signals, Jack issued the command for the shooters to assemble their weapons. Then he assembled his own.

Jack opened the soft cloth bags he’d slung over his back during the long climb up the shaft. Carefully he unwrapped the barrel, the magazines, the sniper scope and the two receivers and stuffed the cotton packing cloths back into the bag. Quickly and efficiently, Jack assembled the 7.62mm Mark 11 Mod 0 Type Sniper Rifle System.

The Mark 11 was a highly accurate precision semi

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automatic rifle. Men who used it in the field dubbed it “an M16 on steroids.” Light, versatile and portable, the rifle could be broken down into two main sections, which made it perfect for an operation like this one.

When Jack completed assembly, he shoved a maga
zine in place and flipped the control switch to semiautomatic. He had to hit at least two targets in rapid succession and wanted the fastest rate of fire possible.

Near one of the auditorium’s rest rooms, Nina had just closed the brass grill behind her and smoothed her dress when a masked man appeared at the end of the marble-lined corridor. He spied the knot of women and hurried forward.

“Hey, what for you do?” he bellowed in fractured English. The man slipped the black submachine gun off his shoulder, waved it menacingly.

“Bathroom,” Nina cried, throwing up her hands. “We just went to the bathroom, that’s all.”

The other women followed Nina’s lead, threw up their hands, started to babble.

“Shuddup! Shuddup!” the gunman commanded. “Go back now. Back!”

The masked man gestured them forward, down the long marble lined corridor toward the auditorium.

As they approached the audience, Nina could hear the quiet murmur of the crowd. Another gunman who’d been guarding the doors stepped aside to allow Nina and the other women to enter the vast space. “In, in!” the armed man barked.

“Okay, we’re going,” Nina replied.

Immediately, Nina’s senses were assaulted. The interior of the auditorium reeked—an unsavory combination of stale air, fear sweat, and spilled blood. To move down the aisle, Nina had to walk past a pile of elegantly attired corpses, stacked like cordwood against a wall, rivulets of blood staining the lush carpeting. The muted roar of a thousand people talking, crying, sighing, whispering filled her ears.

Once inside the auditorium, the women quickly dispersed, each subtly maneuvering to move as close to their respective targets as they could get. Nina had the farthest to go—from the back of the auditorium to the front row seats where international film star Abigail Heyer waited to blow herself and a thousand of her closest Hollywood friends to Kingdom Come.

Not only did she have a long way to go, Nina had the toughest job. The other women only had to kill their targets, knocking the detonators from their hands and slitting their throats with hidden knives before the suicide bombers had a chance to set off the explosives. Nina had to stop Abigail Heyer from setting off her bomb without killing her. Nina was tasked with taking the movie star alive.

2:43:16
A
.
M
.PDT Chamberlain Auditorium Main Floor

Carla bit down on the pink satin handbag. Her face was flushed, her skin coated with a thin sheen of perspiration. A whimper escaped her lips, which were pale and white. Dark shadows hollowed her eyes, her gaze seemed far away and lost in jets of agony.

“Oh, Jesus. Oh, God,” Carla wailed.

Teri Bauer kneeled on the floor, both hands grasping Carla’s arms to steady the woman. The contractions had started up again. Now they were less than three minutes apart. The baby was on its way.

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“You! American bitch. Keep her quiet!”

Teri looked up. A masked man watched her from the aisle, just two empty seats away. He clutched a machine gun, the strap draped over his shoulder.

Teri bit her lip. Carla howled again, louder.

“Shut her up!” barked the gunman.

Carla cried out just then, oblivious to the danger.

Angrily, the man stepped forward. “I shut her up,” he grunted.

Teri Bauer jumped to her feet, blocked the assassin’s way. Her knees trembled, but her veins were suddenly filled with burning ice and she refused to back down.

2:44:06
A
.
M
.PDT Chamberlain Auditorium Mezzanine

Peering over the edge of the balcony, Jack had al
ready taken aim at the masked man seated center stage. The way the others deferred to him, and the way the man clutched his Agram 2000 in the crook of his arm—“Palestinian style”—told Jack this was their leader, Bastian Grost. Though the Serbian fugitive might prove to be a valuable prisoner, Jack decided he would not take the man alive. Victor Drazen’s killers had a knack for eluding justice. But Bastian Grost wouldn’t get away with anything. Not this time.

Jack checked the digital clock inside his sniper scope. It was less than a minute before the strike. His grip tightened on the pressed Kevlar handle, his finger rested on the grooved steel trigger. As he prepared to fire, Jack’s attention was drawn to a commotion in the aisles. A gunman was gesturing wildly at a woman.

Even from this distance he recognized his wife. Jack tensed when he realized it was Teri. He swung the Mark 11 away from his target, to level the barrel at this new threat.

Squinting through the scope, he placed the crosshairs over the masked man’s forehead. As the seconds ticked down, Jack steadied his hand and held his breath.

Five seconds—

The gunman stepped into the aisle. Teri jumped to her feet to block him.