24 Declassified: Head Shot (2009) (29 page)

“He didn’t have much time to pull off a tricky fast one like that.”

“He had time enough to evade us.”

“Yeah, I don’t like that angle myself. It smells of a tipoff.”

A state police car rolled into view driving along the shoulder of the southbound lane. A deputy halted traffic so the newcomer could edge across the lane into the closed northbound section.
It halted and two uniformed officers got out: Lieutenant Bryce Hardin and Sergeant Cole Taggart.

They crossed to a knot of deputies at the side of the road. Sandoval said, “There’s your buddies from the MRT, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “I’d like to have a little chat with them, see what they know about the wreck. They reported it in first, according to the radio chatter.”

“Why don’t I go on ahead and check out the body while you do that? It’ll save us some time.”

Sandoval added, “Besides, it looks like a long hike over rough ground to get to the crash site and there’s no need for both of us to it. You’ve done enough walking for today.”

Jack waved it away. “That’s all right.”

“Why not? I’ll ride down with the backup boys and you can join me later in the Merc.”

Jack thought it over. “Okay.”

Sandoval said, “I’ll see you down below then.” He started toward the SUV, paused, and turned around to face Jack again. He said, “Um, that’s all you’re going to do with Hardin and Taggart, right? Just talk?”

Jack said, “Just talk.”

“Because you still might be sore about last night— I wouldn’t blame you if you were—and Garcia’d raise holy hell if you get physical with the MRT again.”

“Don’t worry about it, we’re all chums now.”

“I bet.” Sandoval’s laughter was a little shaky. “See you later.
”

“
In a bit.” Sandoval crossed to the backup crew clustered

around the SUV. They all got into the vehicle, which started up, made a K-turn, and eased into the closed section of the southbound lane.
Jack absently rubbed his swollen left jaw as he watched a deputy halt the traffic flow so the SUV could exit the scene.

Hardin stood off to the side talking to some deputies. Taggart stood by himself, hands on hips as he gazed into the abyss. Jack went to him.

Taggart looked up at the sound of approaching footfalls, turned, and saw Jack. He grinned tightly, said, “Well, well.” He raised his hands in an I-surrender gesture, said, “Don’t shoot!”

Jack said, “Ha-ha. I’ve already bagged my quota for today.” Taggart’s toothy grin widened. “Just joshing you. No hard feelings?”

“What’s done is done.” Jack kept his expression blandly noncommittal. “Here we are again at another cliffside high dive.”

Taggart said, “It’s only been since this morning and already it seems like old times.
”

“
Same road, different victim.”

“ ’Cept the ATF boys going over was no accident. They were already dead when they were put in their car and shoved over the side.”

“That’s the consensus.” Jack indicated the hole in the guardrail with a tilt of his head. “You think this was an accident?”

Taggart pushed back his hat brim to scratch his head. “Beats me. I didn’t see it.”

“I thought your MRT unit was the first to call it in.”

“That’s right, we did. Sharon Stallings over to Mountain Lake got the call. She’s working dispatcher on the front desk. Some citizen phoned in to report that he’d seen a
cargo
plowing off the cliff and she broadcast the alert.”

Jack said, “That citizen have a name?”

Taggart shook his head. “Anonymous call, I do believe.”

“Was the caller male or female?”

“I don’t know, but Sharon could tell you. You know how these civilians are, they don’t want to get involved. Afraid they’re going to be called in as a witness and lose a lot of unpaid time in court waiting to testify. Can’t say as I blame ’em much. So they phone in the tip and figure they’ve done their civic duty.”

He looked shrewdly at Jack. “Any reason to think it wasn’t an accident?”

Jack said, “Two in one day on the same road seems like more than coincidence.”

“It’s a dangerous road and by all accounts that boy was flying when he hit the rail. Must’ve been doing sixty, seventy miles an hour the way that rail is all torn up. Say, who was it, anyhow?”

“Brad Oliver.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He worked for one of the big shots at Sky Mount.
”

“
Uh-oh. That’ll raise a big stink. Means a whole lot more paperwork for everybody.”

A second state police car entered the scene, approaching from the northbound direction. It halted beside Taggart and Hardin’s car, which was parked a dozen yards north of where Jack and the sergeant were standing.
The new arrival held one trooper behind the wheel and two shaggy- haired figures in the backseat.
Taggart smiled slyly, said, “There’s your buddy Miller Fisk.”

Jack failed to rise to the bait. “Looks like he’s got two prisoners.”

“Looks like.”

Fisk tapped the horn a few times, tooting lightly, causing Hardin to look away from the deputies with whom he was chatting. Hardin crossed to Fisk’s car, approaching it on the passenger side. The passenger side window was rolled down, and Hardin rested his forearms on top of the door as he bent down and leaned forward to speak with Fisk.

Jack peered at the duo in the backseat. They were Griff and Rowdy, the two Hellbenders outlaw bikers who’d appeared earlier at the site of the ATF car wreck. They looked much the worse for wear, like they’d had a pretty hard time of it.

Hardin did more telling than listening and he didn’t do much of either, engaging in a quick exchange with Fisk before straightening up and taking a step back from the car.
Fisk put the car in drive and eased away, creeping up to where a deputy stood directing traffic.

Hardin turned, looking around. He spotted Taggart, scowling when he recognized Jack. He motioned to Taggart, gesturing for him to come over. Taggart said, “Oh well, back to work. See you around.”

Jack said, “So long.”

Taggart crossed to Hardin. They stood talking for a brief exchange, Hardin glancing again at Jack, the same scowl still on his face. He and Taggart turned and went to their vehicle, Hardin getting in on the front passenger side and Taggart on the driver’s side. The car drove away, following in Fisk’s wake. Jack crossed briskly to the Mercedes and got behind the wheel. The keys were in the ignition where Sandoval had left them. Jack started the car and pointed it northbound.

He had his CTU ID ready for use in getting through the tie-up ahead but didn’t need to use it.
The deputy working traffic control duty must have assumed that any vehicle that’d been parked in the closed section had priority and automatically halted the traffic flow to let the Mercedes proceed.

Jack drove on the shoulder to the right of the northbound lane to get clear of the civilian vehicles clustered beyond the restricted area. Gravel crunched under the tires as his car snaked its way along the curved path until breaking through to the open road.

He had solid blacktop under his wheels now and he stepped on the gas, the Mercedes accelerating smoothly with a hum of power. The state police cars were out of sight, but this stretch of Rimrock Road led to the Mountain Lake substation a few miles ahead, and Jack guessed that that was their destination. He’d keep going if it weren’t, in the hope of picking them up later, but he thought he wouldn’t have to.

He reached for the hand mic of the dashboard radio comm set to contact Central to let them know what he was doing but stopped. Earlier events had given him pause. Brad Oliver had known that he was going to be arrested, and that tip could only have come from someone in CTU, someone high up in the command structure here or in L.A.

He didn’t want the MRT members to know he was tailing them, and he feared that if he gave Central the information, the troopers would know. He stopped reaching for the mic and put both hands on the wheel and concentrated on closing the distance between himself and the state police cars.

A straightaway loomed ahead and Jack used it to pass several civilian vehicles poking along in the northbound lane. They were doing the legal limit but it seemed like they were crawling along to Jack, who was in a hurry to close with his quarry.

He zoomed into the opposite lane when it was clear in order to pass a few cars and trucks ahead of him. He cut it pretty close, narrowly avoiding a southbound car by swerving back into the northbound lane. The other car honked loudly in protest at the near-collision, its blaring horn Dopplering away as he speedily left it behind.

A road sign swam up in the headlights indicating a curve ahead. Jack rode the brakes, tires yelping as he cut a curve too closely before getting back on track. The blackness of empty space beyond the guardrail yawned but the car held the road as it rounded the turn.

The road straightened out again. Jack slowed, thinking that Brad Oliver must have been driving somewhat like this when he’d made the fatal plunge.

The route passed a couple of turnoffs on the left, west side of the road that were cuts in the mountainside. The Mercedes entered a lonely stretch of empty road. An oddly shaped rock formation thrusting out above the road looked familiar to Jack, who recognized it from his previous trip to Mountain Lake.

He estimated he was halfway to the substation. A pair of red taillights winked far ahead, swerving left and disappearing as they rounded a curve.

Jack eased up on the accelerator. He didn’t want to show himself if that was an MRT car. He slowed to let the other vehicle gain some distance.

He rounded the curve. A scenic lookout area bordered the road’s eastern shoulder where a knob of rock jutted out from the cliffside, leaving enough space for a gravel parking area and a grassy patch studded by a boulder faced with a metal plaque tourist guide.

A pickup truck sat in the parking area facing north, its lights dark. The Mercedes zipped by it. A pair of headlights flashed their sudden bright, dazzling glare in the rear window.

The pickup truck zoomed out of the parking area and into the northbound lane with its high beams on. It was a big machine and the sound of its engine was loud as it took off after Jack in a hurry.

It ate up the distance between itself and Jack’s car, quickly closing the gap.
It had a high suspension and its headlights were correspondingly raised so that they seemed to shine directly into the Mercedes, flooding its interior with white-hot glare.

The road hit a series of curves, forcing Jack to slow still further. The pickup was only a length or two behind him. The Mercedes handled beautifully but the pickup’s greater weight compensated for its height and Jack couldn’t shake it.

The curves were long, lazy, and looping but the pace was frantic. The pickup truck bumped the back of Jack’s car, jostling it. Jack had to fight to keep from losing control of the wheel as the right side tires slid on the shoulder but managed to whip the Mercedes back on to the pavement.

The pickup’s front was bolstered by a piece of solid steel plate that covered it from bumper to hood. Holes were cut in the plate to allow the headlights to shine through.

The pickup lunged forward, slamming the Mercedes again, delivering a bone- jostling thump to Jack. His belly knotted at the thought that another such blow might trip the car’s air bag safety device, a development that could prove fatal in this lethal game of high-speed bumper cars.

Trouble was that the pickup was doing all of the bumping and the Mercedes all of the catching. Jack could do nothing but thread the curves, riding both lanes and hoping no oncoming vehicle lay around each blind corner.

Another hit destabilized the car, causing it to weave crazily and slide sideways toward the guardrail and the abyss. The Mercedes fishtailed as it took the curve but it took it, tires digging in and biting deep into the pavement.

The pickup nudged the car, snugging its steel
plated front against the vehicle’s rear at a tilted angle. The truck lunged with a snarl of power and shoved the Mercedes sideways.

The car would have been swept off the cliff if the tilt were angled outward. But the tilt was angled inward, causing the car to slide sideways toward the rock wall on its left.

The rocks loomed up in the driver’s side window, their craggy surfaces harshly lit by the intense glare of the pickup’s high beams. The car rushed sideways to meet them. There was the crump of collapsing metal and an explosion of shattered glass as the Mercedes plowed into the mountainside under the pickup truck’s impetus.

A stunning impact followed, setting off a massive fireworks display inside Jack’s head.

Then, blackness.

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 8 P.M. AND 9 P.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME

Mountain Lake, Colorado

Jack Bauer’s awareness flickered, sputtering like a TV set with a loose connection. Bursts of sound and vision alternated with patches of darkness.