Below him, Jack likened the ramshackle collection of streets and buildings to a sprawling maze. In some ways, that seemed an apt comparison, given how lost he was just now, while searching for a way out of their current predicament.
“Do we know where he lived?” said Jack into his headset’s microphone. Even with his ears covered, he was still able to make out the steady rhythm of the UH-1N helicopter’s rotor blades.
Across from him in the Huey’s cabin, Agent Kurtz nodded. “It’s east of Futenma, up on a hillside in Ginowan City. He can probably see the air station from his house.”
Something about that comment made Jack point toward the town below them. “He might want to put the bomb somewhere close like that, to do as much damage as possible to the base instead of the surrounding town.”
Sitting next to Kurtz, Jordan Aguilar said, “Maybe, but if he set the bomb to its lowest yield, that doesn’t really track.”
To Jack’s left, Abigail Cohen added, “Someplace close, then? Great. That only narrows things down to the entire town.”
“Start with anything close to the base perimeter,” said Jack. “We can work out from there.”
Shifting in his seat, Jack eyed Dale Connelly. The Marine’s expression remained somber, his gaze fixed on the deck of the helicopter’s passenger compartment.
“If we find this thing,” said Jack, “are you sure you can disarm it?”
Connelly nodded. “Yeah. If there’s enough time, or he hasn’t booby-trapped it.”
These were viable possibilities, but Jack chose not to dwell on them. They would either succeed, or fail.
The Huey’s circuit of Ginowan City and the neighboring air station was being conducted in a clockwise fashion, so that Jack could lean through the open hatch on the helicopter’s right side. At this time of night, huge portions of the town were cast in darkness, with streetlamps and exterior lights affixed to buildings and houses providing the only illumination. Finding Jimura’s cargo truck in this situation was a tall order. The Huey was fitted with a spotlight, which the helicopter’s copilot was aiming at the ground below. Jack noted the increased presence of police vehicles on the streets. They were maneuvering through town without lights or sirens, moving past buildings and parking lots in deliberate fashion.
“Wait,” said Connelly, and Jack felt the Marine’s hand on his arm. “Back to the right. I think I saw something.” It took a moment for the Huey’s pilot to act on the course change, and Jack and the others waited as the helicopter banked back around the way it had come before orienting itself to the area that had aroused Connelly’s interest.
After another minute, the Marine tapped Jack on the arm again, and now he was pointing. “There! See that truck? The one with no mirror on the passenger door?”
Using binoculars, Jack examined the white cargo truck tucked into a small parking area behind a trio of buildings arranged in a horseshoe formation. The truck had been positioned so that its rear door was almost flush against the brick wall of the building behind it, and he noted the damage to the vehicle’s passenger doorframe from where the mount for the sideview mirror had been torn away.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Connelly replied, “I remember it from the warehouse. That has to be the one.”
* * *
They agreed to split up and approach the truck from multiple angles. While Jack didn’t expect Jimura to have enticed anyone to remain with him to carry out this insane act, he fully expected to find the elder Okinawan somewhere nearby. Would Jimura be armed, or might he have accepted the inevitability of his death as a consequence of being apprehended before the bomb could go off? Jack tried to put himself in the mindset of the other man.
If I’d come this far, I’d want to go out with guns blazing.
Followed by Connelly, who was armed with a Beretta M9 pistol given to him by Agent Kurtz, Jack made his way through the narrow alley between two brick buildings. Behind him and to the northwest, across Highway 330, was the perimeter fence of the Futenma air station. Raising the threat level had put the base on full alert. The flight line and neighboring buildings and hangars were lit up, and even from this distance Jack could see people and vehicles moving about the area. The base’s commanding officer had ordered a full sweep of the installation as they continued to search for signs of pending attack.
Jack emerged from the mouth of the alley, sweeping the area in front of him with his Glock. There were no signs of activity in the parking lot, but there also were several areas and corners where shadows concealed far too much. Stepping to his right, Jack turned to see the front of the cargo truck. It was parked in such a manner that it couldn’t be seen from the street, with a pair of trash Dumpsters positioned between it and the alleys leading back to the front of the buildings.
To his left, Connelly stepped from the alley, the Beretta held before him in a two-handed grip. Like Jack, the Marine surveyed the parking lot, starting from his left and panning the pistol to the right until he and Jack eyed one another.
The single shot echoed in the enclosed space.
Connelly cried out in pain, one hand reaching for his midsection as he dropped to one knee. Jack turned to where he had seen a muzzle flash from the corner of his eye, but he was too slow. Another shot rang out across the parking lot and Jack felt something punch him in the left shoulder. The force of the bullet was enough to spin him around and he tripped over a concrete parking stop before tumbling to the worn asphalt. It was an awkward fall, and Jack lost his grip on the Glock as he hit hard on his injured shoulder. The pain was excruciating and he pressed his right hand against the wound, feeling blood seeping between his fingers.
Movement to his right made him turn his head and Jack saw Miroji Jimura emerge from the darkness in the parking lot’s far corner. The aged Okinawan was moving slowly but with purpose, aiming what Jack saw was a Colt .45 pistol of the sort issued to American military personnel for decades. Despite the weapon’s size, which appeared even larger in Jimura’s slight hand, the man’s arm was unwavering as he aimed the pistol at Jack’s head. He said nothing as he moved closer, until he stood just to Jack’s left, looking down at him over the .45’s barrel. Behind Jimura, Connelly was squirming on the ground, holding both hands to a wound in his side. The stain on his camouflage uniform top was already big, and getting bigger.
“One thing you gaijin have always done well,” Jimura said, gesturing with the pistol, “is create ever better ways to kill. If you weren’t so good at that, I might have had to find other work.”
“I know you’re angry,” said Jack, wincing at the pain in his shoulder, “and for all I know, you have every right to be, but this isn’t the way to make things right. Think of the innocent people who will die if you let that bomb go off.”
Jimura replied, “There are no innocents. My people abandoned their identity to serve at the feet of our conquerors. We’ve accepted our fate like some household pet, rather than standing up to fight for what belongs to us. The Japanese gave us that much, at least until they started killing us, too.”
When Connelly released another moan of pain, Jimura looked in his direction. Jack watched the .45 move from him toward the wounded Marine, but before Jimura could pull the trigger, Jack lashed out with his right foot. He caught the elderly man just below the knees, taking his legs out from him. The .45 barked as its muzzle aimed upward, its report echoing off the nearby brick walls. Jimura fell, striking his head on the asphalt.
Rolling to his right, Jack pushed aside the agony in his shoulder and scrambled to retrieve his Glock. Jimura was whimpering now, one hand reaching for the back of his head, but he retained enough of his senses to point his pistol at Jack. Another shot rang out and Jack flinched, sensing the bullet whipping past his left ear. With a single motion he aimed his Glock at Jimura and fired twice. The elder man’s body twisted as the bullets ripped through him. There was a final gasp before Jimura settled onto the asphalt, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.
“Jack?”
Running footsteps made Jack turn to see Kurtz and Aguilar emerging from the alley behind him. Both agents had their weapons drawn and moved with deliberate haste toward Miroji Jimura’s body.
“I’m fine, I think,” replied Jack. Holstering her weapon, Aguilar moved to him and checked his shoulder.
“Looks like it went through,” she said. “We’ve got an ambulance and a couple of corpsmen coming from the base. They’ll patch you up.”
Jack shook his head. “The bomb.”
* * *
Accessing the truck’s rear compartment was as simple as breaking the driver’s side window to unlock the door before putting the vehicle in neutral so a squad of Marines could push it out from the side of the building. With the truck’s cargo door open, Jack got his first look at the B61, still sitting atop its transport cart and strapped down to the inside of the truck.
His face ashen, Dale Connelly stood over the bomb, his hands shaking as he removed the protective cover on the shell’s outer casing to expose the weapon’s innards. Sitting next to the bomb itself was a large, boxlike unit that connected to some of the weapon’s internal components.
“Are you all right?” asked Abigail Cohen, as she and Jack watched the Marine work. The wound Connelly had sustained from Jimura’s pistol was serious, but a Navy corpsman had treated him and said that transport to a hospital could be delayed for a short time. That was enough for Connelly, who had insisted on helping to defuse the bomb.
“I’ll be okay,” Connelly said, still gripping a screwdriver from the tool kit he had brought with him on the helicopter. “Are they getting people away from here?”
“They’re trying,” said Cohen, “but it’s a lot of people, and we’re on an island. There are only so many places for people to go. You’re our best bet, Marine.”
“What can I do?” asked Jack. His own shoulder wound also had been treated and his left arm placed in a sling. The bullet had passed through without hitting any bones, so while he would be sore for a while, there would be no permanent damage.
Lucky me.
Connelly had removed a cover that Jack suspected wasn’t part of the bomb’s original equipment, exposing a digital timer with wires running from it to the green box outside the weapon’s casing. The clock was counting down, showing that more than an hour remained until it reached zero.
“See that number pad on the arming box?” Connelly asked, gesturing with his head to the device connected to the bomb.
“Yeah,” said Jack.
“Punch in zero zero six, then press the pound key.” Connelly used his sleeve to wipe his forehead. “It’s a diagnostic command. Enter that, and the trigger is suspended while the box performs a self-check. Once that starts, I can disconnect it from the bomb itself.”
“That’s it?” asked Cohen.
Nodding, Connelly replied, “That’s it. However, the bomb won’t really be disarmed until we disconnect the box. After that, it can’t detonate unless it’s readied for aerial deployment, or we go through this again.”
Wary, Jack entered the code.
The numbers on the digital clock increased the speed at which they were counting down. Within seconds, the time remaining fell below one hour, and was continuing to dwindle.
“Oh, damn,” said Connelly, his gaze shifting between the bomb’s interior and the box. “This shouldn’t be happening. I did everything according to the instructions!”
Moving closer, Jack eyed the counter. “Son of a bitch. Jimura must have done something after you armed it. Changed the commands, scrambled the codes, whatever.” Jack possessed only basic knowledge about disarming explosives, and nothing about the internal workings of nuclear weapons. Out of his element, he looked first to Connelly, then Cohen for guidance.
“What can we do?” asked Cohen, and Jack heard the tension in her voice.
Using his hands to steady himself against the cart, Connelly closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. “Let me think. Maybe we can interrupt the signal between the box and the bomb’s internal wiring.” He seemed wobbly, as though his knees were weakening, and when he started to fall backward Jack caught him.
“Connelly,” he said, helping the Marine to sit on the floor of the truck. “We need you. Tell us what to do.”
“Interrupt. Signal.” Connelly’s breathing was growing shallow. “Has to be fast.”
“We’re halfway gone, Jack,” said Cohen. “Timer’s under thirty minutes. I think it’s speeding up.”
Looking to Connelly, Jack saw that the wounded man’s eyes were closing. He was out of it. “Damn it!” He lowered Connelly to the floor of the truck before shuffling over to the bomb. Slipping his wounded arm from its sling, he grimaced at the stab of pain in his left shoulder as he grabbed the arming box. He turned it over in his hands, looking for a means of opening it to access its internal parts. On its bottom was a recessed panel, which he was able to open with a screwdriver from Connelly’s tools. Jack peered into the compartment, seeing three sets of dual in-line package switches. Arranged in groups of eight, the switches were set in varying combinations of ON or OFF.
“Any of that make any sense to you?” asked Cohen.
“No.” He looked toward the truck’s open rear door. There was no time to drive the bomb to another, perhaps safer location. Even the ocean, mere minutes away, was out of reach. Evacuating was a useless idea at this point, Jack knew. The bomb would detonate well before they made it to any safe distance.
“What did Connelly mean?” he asked. “Interrupt the signal, but it has to be fast.” From his limited experience defusing other, more conventional bombs, a disruption of the electrical current between the weapon’s timer and trigger usually resulted in detonation. Booby-trapping the trigger mechanism also was a popular hobby for those who specialized in these sorts of things. Even if Connelly hadn’t been coerced into adding such a feature, it was entirely possible that Jimura had done so.
“We’re at fifteen, Jack,” said Cohen. “It’s definitely moving faster, now.”
“To hell with it.” There wasn’t time for anything else. Jack reached for the wires running from the arming box to the bomb.
Cohen stuck out her hand. “Wait! What are you doing?”
Ignoring her, Jack took up the slack in the wires, readying to pull them. He turned to Cohen to say something—exactly what, he had no idea—and saw it.
“Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
He grabbed the stun gun from Cohen’s hip. Without thinking, he jammed it into the arming box until he felt it make contact with the circuit board. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed the stun gun’s power button.
“Jack!”
Blue electricity flashed inside the box and every diode on the timer display flared to life. The box spat out a series of beeps and Jack smelled burning plastic. Smoke rose from the arming box’s open panel before the counter went dark.
“It’s out!” shouted Cohen.
“Now! Pull the wires!” Jack snapped.
Cohen obliged, reaching for the wires connecting the box to the bomb and yanking them free of the smaller and less directly lethal device. She and Jack held each other’s gaze, waiting for the detonation, but it never came. When they both realized that they apparently were going to live, Cohen rolled her eyes and sank to the floor.
“Holy shit, Bauer. Are you insane?”
“No, but I can see where it might come in handy.” Blowing out his breath, Jack dropped the stun gun and all but collapsed against the cart, forgetting for a moment just what it held. He winced at the pain shooting through his shoulder and returned his wounded arm to his sling. “Agent Cohen, this is my official notice that I’ve had enough fun for one day.” He looked to Connelly, who was unconscious. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
“I know.” Cohen pushed herself to her feet and was moving toward the rear of the truck when she stopped and placed a hand on Jack’s uninjured arm. “Damn fine work, Jack.” After a moment, she sighed. “I’d love to put you on the first plane home, but there’s one more thing you need to know about.”
* * *
Even with dawn more than an hour away, Amorah Banovich saw signs of increasing activity in this section of Tomari Fishing Port. Though the larger cargo and passenger vessels in Naha Port to the south were always busy even at this early hour morning, it was here that the real work was being done. At least, that was the way she preferred to think of it. Small ships coming in from the sea would soon be selling their fresh catches, while others would be heading out for days or even weeks of fishing or crab hunting.
At this time of morning, several fishing boats were moored in slips along the port’s immense concrete dock. A wide, pitted and cracked sidewalk separated the dock from a row of small buildings, vehicles, and storage tanks. Most of the buildings were dark, but Banovich saw light coming from a few windows. With luck, they’d be able to conclude their business and be away from here.
“He may not come,” said Rauf Alkaev. He, along with Banovich and Manish Pajari, stood in the darkness between two dilapidated buildings situated across the dock from where a group of five boats were moored side by side. “If what Gadjoyan says is true, he may already be on his way home to the United States.”
Banovich said nothing. Her mind still reeled from the information Tateos Gadjoyan had given her about Stefan.
No. His name is Bauer. Jack Bauer.
It was unthinkable that she had been so taken by the American spy; that he had been so convincing in his undercover role. She had trusted him, and he had saved her life. How deep into the lie had Bauer allowed himself to fall, that he could so easily conceal his true identity?
And you thought the two of you might …
So great was her anger that Banovich didn’t even realize she was clenching her fists until they started to tingle and ache. Blinking several times, she loosened her hands and shook them to restore proper feeling.
“Are you all right?” asked Pajari.
“I’ll be fine once we deal with Stefan.”
Bauer. Stefan is dead. He never existed. Only Bauer remains, for now.
Pushing aside the bitter thoughts, Banovich focused on the boats ahead of them. The one on the far end, to her left, was the vessel that would take them from the island. There was light coming from the windows of the boat’s bridge, and Banovich saw the occasional shadow of someone moving about on deck. She checked her watch, noting that a little more than an hour remained until the boat’s scheduled departure time of 5:00. It was something of a late start for a fishing crew, but she knew that this had been yet another of Grisha Zherdev’s fallback preparations for this assignment.
Indeed, it was Grisha’s fondness for such planning that was giving Banovich second thoughts about Bauer. Gadjoyan’s instructions had been for her to eliminate the American using any means she deemed appropriate. This had surprised her, given her employer’s preference for personally addressing matters of this sort. He took particular relish in exacting revenge for betrayal, but it was likely he also knew of her fondness for the man who had been Stefan Voronov. Perhaps Gadjoyan was allowing her this gift of retribution, and it made sense for Banovich to dispatch Bauer with all due haste before rendezvousing with the Konstantinov and heading home.
Now, however, she had something else in mind.
“We don’t kill him. I want him alive. We’re taking him with us.”
Alkaev said, “But Mister Gadjoyan wants…”
“Gadjoyan left the decision to me,” hissed Banovich. She paused, drawing a deep breath and ensuring her anger was under control. “It’s a long trip home. Plenty of time to make Bauer tell us everything he knows.” If she could extract any useful information from the spy, it might mitigate at least some of the losses Gadjoyan had suffered today. He would want to know if other traitors lurked among his loyal people, after all, and he would be very appreciative of Banovich’s efforts to bring him that information.
As for Bauer? The long journey would also provide her opportunities to wring other means of satisfaction from him. Banovich contemplated the weeks it would take for the Konstantinov to make the transit to Kiev, and how she could inflict ever greater levels of suffering upon Jack Bauer with each passing day.
Her thoughts dissolved as a voice called out from the darkness.
“Amorah.”
* * *
To their credit, Alkaev and Pajari were faster than Banovich. Jack saw their hands reaching for their weapons even as they spun around to face him. Pajari was a touch quicker than Alkaev, the gun in his hand rising to aim in Jack’s direction. Holding his Glock in his right hand while his left arm rested once more in its sling, Jack put two bullets through the man’s chest before turning his pistol on Alkaev. The silenced weapon snapped another pair of rounds and the man dropped to the ground, leaving only Banovich facing him, her own pistol in her hand but aimed uselessly at the ground in front of her.
“Don’t,” warned Jack, aiming his Glock at her chest.
Banovich’s expression was ice. “So, it’s true. You truly are a spy.”
“That’s right, and your boss is an arms dealer brokering weapons to people who want to attack my country.” He gestured with the Glock toward her weapon hand. “Drop the gun, Amorah.” Behind her, Jack now saw Abigail Cohen and the two NCIS agents, Kurtz and Aguilar, weapons drawn and moving into view and toward Banovich. They were advancing to flank her, staying out of Jack’s direct line of fire. Kurtz looked ready to pounce, but Jack shook his head signaling for the agents to halt their advance.
For her part, Banovich ignored the new arrivals. “Yes, I know all about you, Mister Jack Bauer of the Central Intelligence Agency, and your friend, Agent Fields. How long have you been spying on us? Months? I have to say, no one ever suspected a thing. You played your role as one of us very well. Perhaps a little too well, I think.” Her eyes were flat and cold. “I liked you better with the accent.”
She was trying to rattle him. That much was obvious, but Jack wasn’t falling for it. “It was my job, nothing more.”
“Was turning Grisha against us, and making him betray a man who treated him like his own flesh and blood part of your job?”
Grisha? Jack hadn’t even known the agency had turned Grisha Zherdev. He glanced at Cohen, whose expression revealed nothing.
Thanks for nothing, Abby.
“And what of our friendship?” continued Banovich. “You saved my life today. That also was your job?”
“Yes.” Seeing that she hadn’t dropped her pistol, Jack took a step forward. “Don’t make me regret that.” Behind Banovich, Cohen tensed, her own gun aimed at the woman’s head.
“If I am the enemy, then why not kill me?”
Jack was tempted to do that. It would be easy, but Abigail Cohen’s orders still rang in his ears. With Grisha Zherdev and Bill Fields dead, his own cover blown, and his returning to Tateos Gadjoyan now out of the question, Amorah Banovich had become a valuable asset. She represented a dangling thread that might still allow the CIA to unravel the tapestry of Gadjoyan’s organization. The trick, of course, was convincing her to betray the man who had raised her like his own daughter. Could such deep loyalty be overcome? Jack was skeptical, but it was Cohen’s call.
“There’s a chance for you to get away from all of this,” he said. “You don’t have to go back to Kiev. You don’t have to live this kind of life, anymore.”
Banovich expression turned to disbelief. “You can’t be serious. He’d hunt me down if it took him the rest of his life.”
“We can protect you,” said Cohen. Banovich tensed at the sound of the agent’s voice, but did not move. The pistol in her hand remained pointed toward the ground.
“No one hides from Gadjoyan,” said Banovich, her gaze still locked on Jack. “Not forever. Not me, and certainly not you, Mister Bauer. One day, he’ll find you. Do you have a family? A wife or a child? He’ll find them, too. You’ll die, but not before he makes you watch him cut them into pieces. I’m just sorry I won’t be there to see it.”
Her arm jerked. The pistol rose, its muzzle aiming at his face, and Jack fired. Two bullets punched through Amorah Banovich’s chest, followed by a third to the center of her forehead. Her eyes wide in shock, her body collapsed to the ground.
“Jack!”
It was Cohen, moving with Kurtz and Aguilar to cover Banovich’s unmoving form. Aguilar kicked away the pistol which had fallen from the dead woman’s hand. Jack watched it all with his Glock still trained on Banovich. Only when his teeth started to hurt did he realize how hard he had clamped his mouth shut.
“Damn it,” said Cohen, holstering her weapon. “She was our last solid lead to Gadjoyan.”
Lowering his pistol, Jack continued to stare at Banovich, his gaze locking on her lifeless eyes. “She was never going to betray him.”
“Maybe not, but we might still have been able to get something out of her.”
Jack flinched at the momentary stab of pain in his wounded shoulder. “I didn’t feel like getting shot again.” Tearing his attention from Banovich, he glared at Cohen. “You could’ve told me about Zherdev.”
Cohen shrugged. “Need-to-know, Jack. He was a high-value asset, and you were a junior agent. Not so junior, anymore, though, I think.”
“What happens now?” Jack returned the Glock to his holster. “What do we do about Gadjoyan?”
“I’m no expert,” said Aguilar, “but I’m guessing having your cover blown and capping this charming minx puts a crimp in your future plans.”
“That’s one way to put it,” replied Cohen. “The Navy is sending a ship out to intercept the Konstantinov. It’ll be impounded and its cargo seized. It might not be enough for us to take a shot at nabbing Gadjoyan, but Edoga Kanashiro and whoever’s left from Jimura’s organization are about to have some really bad days.”
Kurtz tipped his finger to his forehead in a mock salute. “And we can’t thank you enough for that, Jack. I know you didn’t start out the day with this in mind, but you ended up pushing our cases ahead several months. Kanashiro’s going to be in prison for the rest of his life.”
“What about Connelly?” asked Jack. “What happens to him?”
Kurtz shook his head. “There’s going to be a court-martial. There’s no getting around that. The best we can hope for is mitigating circumstances and the role he played in helping us recover the weapon.” He gestured to Jack. “You’d make a hell of a character witness.”
“Done,” replied Jack. “Just tell me where and when. Anything else?”
Aguilar chuckled. “You brought down two international arms dealers, and maybe a third. You looking for an encore?”
He hadn’t yet had time to process everything that had transpired since his arrival on Okinawa. It was hard to believe that so much had taken place over the course of a single day.
Let’s try not to make this a habit.
Months of undercover work to get to this point, and now it was over. He was exhausted, but already Jack could feel the weight and stresses of this assignment lifting from his shoulders. All he wanted now was to go home to Teri and Kim. It had been far too long since he had last seen them. They didn’t deserve to endure these prolonged separations, even if they understood the reasons.
“I think you’ve earned a vacation,” said Cohen. “A short one, anyway.”
“Short?”
Cohen smiled. “It’s a big world, Jack, with lots of bad guys in it. We’ve still got a lot of work to do.” Her smile faded. “Besides, I’m going to need a new partner.”
Nodding in understanding, Jack couldn’t help thinking of Bill Fields, who had trained him so well and been a true friend. Cohen was right, of course. There were many threats out there; some familiar, and others as yet unknown. Such threats wouldn’t wait for them to mourn brave men like Bill Fields, or for Jack’s own injuries to heal. Jack had sworn an oath to keep his country safe, and in doing so he kept his family safe. Teri and Kim might never know the truth about his job, but he hoped they understood why he did it and would continue to do it. There was never any end to such fighting. There was only the occasional pause.
Jack Bauer would pause, for now. He had earned that much.
Tomorrow was another day.