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  “Why do you need air conditioning?” Carlos Boca demanded in a surly tone. He turned then, and openly appraised her from head to toe, until Dr. Reed felt naked in her sweat-stained pink teddy and fl ip-fl ops.

  “You look comfortable enough, doctor. Request denied.” Boca turned away, signaling her time was over.

  The guard led her back to the hostages, but threw her down in a different spot. Because they were not allowed to move around, Megan could only make eye contact with Dani Welles, but could not speak to her.

  “I tried asking for the air conditioning an hour ago,” a young woman in dirty overalls said. The white label on her breast patch had the word CONSUELO penned in bold black letters.

  “Are you from the terminal crew?” Megan whispered.

  The woman nodded. “After the plane landed and the shooting started, I hid in Hangar 18. Some of the soldiers found me and brought me here.”

  “At least they didn’t shoot you,” Megan replied.

  “Give them time. I’ve been listening,” the woman said, her dark eyes staring at the floor. “These guys are Cubans, soldiers or former soldiers, I think. I know they consider us the walking dead. They’re only waiting for orders to pull the trigger and fi nish the job.”

  For the first time since she was captured, Megan was glad she didn’t understand what the men had been saying. It would only have made the ordeal worse.

  She counted her captors. There were three men guarding them, all Spanish-speakers. She watched as the man called Carlos called to one of his men and issued instructions. The man turned his back on his commander and walked to the rear of the hangar, to disappear among the crates and machinery.

  “What did he say? Where is that man going?” Megan asked.

  “He said Manuel has slept long enough, and that it was time for the other man to wake him,” Consuelo replied.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. At least that Carlos guy didn’t order them all to be lined up and shot . . . Not yet, anyway. Searching her memory, Megan recalled that there had been four guards, and that one of them had wandered off and never came back.

  Tony heard the man coming and ducked between two stacks of wooden boxes. He was armed with the Makarov, and a two-foot long, straight cutting blade he’d unscrewed from the industrial strength wire slicer. It looked like a samurai sword, but lacked a pointed tip. Nevertheless, Tony found a use for it.

  The guard passed so close Tony could have tapped him on the shoulder. Instead, he waited until the newcomer approached the dead man in the chair. Then Tony crept up behind the man and slipped the noose over his head.

  When the guard was dead, Tony slipped the AK–47 off his shoulder, fished through his pockets and belt. This time he came up empty. One clip of ammunition

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  for the assault rifle was not enough to do squat, not against upwards of thirty men.

  On top of that, Tony knew this guard was sent to wake the first man he’d killed. Soon the Cubans in charge would be wondering where he went, too.

  Tony would have to strike quickly. He wanted to finish off the last two guards before they could raise the alarm, then secure the hangar. With the help of the hostages, they could probably hold out for an hour or so, even if the commandos attempted a counterattack to retake the position.

  In any case, Tony knew there was a time limit now. Ryan Chappelle had warned him about the bombing. Tony also knew Jack Bauer was coming—they’d established a rendezvous point and a time during their telephone conversation ninety minutes ago. All Tony had to do was hold out until the cavalry arrived, or until the bombs fell.

  Either way, the siege of Area 51 would end in the next couple of hours. . .

  Megan Reed’s stomach rumbled and she shifted uncomfortably. She was hungry, thirsty and she needed to go to the bathroom. They’d had no water since six AM, around the same time they were last allowed to go to the restroom. More than a third of the prisoners were still asleep, and Megan admired those who managed to find peace despite the tension and discomfort.

  They must be shock, or suffering from some type of stress reaction, she deduced, wishing she could

  sidle over to Dr. Toth and ask his professional opinion. Only then did she notice that the physician was sleeping, too.

  Unfortunately her bladder was too full for her to sleep. She had to go, and soon. At fi rst Megan decided to wait for the other guards to return before making the embarrassing request. Then she mentally kicked herself.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Do I have Stockholm Syndrome or something? I’m the victim here. Why make it easy on them?

  Megan raised her hand. “Hey there. You. Hello!”

  Boca and the other guard glanced in her direction. “I don’t know about these other people, but I need to use the ladies’ room pronto.”

  Sneering, Carlos looked away.

  “Hey, buddy,” Megan cried. “I’m talking to you.”

  Face curled into a cruel sneer, Carlos Boca stood up, faced her. He slung his rifl e over his shoulder and slowly approached the woman. Megan could tell he was angry. The closer he got, the more pissed the Cuban looked. The other guard watched from the sidelines, snickering. The prisoners around her grew uncomfortable, upset she was rocking the boat. But Megan didn’t care.

  They’re going to kill me anyway, she thought. At least I’ll die with an empty bladder.

  Tony had been observing the hostages for a few minutes. The guards were so far apart, Tony couldn’t see how he was going to neutralize them without fi ring

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  a shot. But then, thanks to the reliably annoying Dr. Reed, he got his best opening yet.

  While Boca loomed threateningly over the defi ant Dr. Reed, Tony gripped the cutting blade with both hands, raised it over his head and burst from hiding. With a powerful downward thrust, Tony split the snickering guard’s skull from crown to jaw. The dead man dropped without a sound, blood pooling around Tony’s sneakers. Unfortunately, the guard dragged the blade down with him—it had wedged so deeply in the Cuban’s torso, Tony could not yank it free.

  Carlos Boca was still a few feet away. Turning, the Cuban tried to drag the AK–47 off his shoulder to fire. But Megan Reed grabbed the assault rifl e and hung on with both hands like a tenacious pit bull. With the strap tugging at his arm, Boca had no choice but to release the weapon. Still, the Cuban commando was not unarmed. Boca drew a long stiletto out of his high boot and lunged at Tony.

  The man was an experienced knife fi ghter, so fast Tony did not completely sidestep the blow. The razor thin blade raked his ribcage. Tony howled. Shutting out the pain, he locked Boca’s knife arm under his own and stepped around the helpless man. A quick jerk, and Tony felt the bone snap in Boca’s arm. Tony used his elbow to strike the man three times. The fi rst blow smashed Boca’s nose. The second shattered his jaw. The third strike killed him.

  He stepped back and the dead man pitched to the fl oor. Tony reeled as blood streamed down his fl anks. Megan was instantly on her feet to steady him.

  “Antonio? Is that you?” she cried, recognizing him despite the layers of grit and grease. Tony took in the woman’s pink Meow, Meow Kitty teddy and matching panties. “That’s a new look for you, isn’t it Doc?” he grunted.

  “You’ve been wounded!”

  By now, the hostages were starting to rise. “Get down, stay in your places. At least until I close the hangar door.”

  Tony limped to the control panel and hit the switch. It took a minute for the door to come down. When it did, he visibly relaxed but did not slow down.

  Tony tossed Boca’s assault rifle to a young airman with dark hair and Hispanic features.

  “Go stand in that doorway—” Tony pointed to a narrow door adjacent to the blast-proof steel gate. “—pretend you’re a guard. The longer the bad guys think they’ve got us, the longer they’ll leave us alone.”

  Dr. Reed kept her arms wrapped around Tony while he moved across the hangar. She clung so tightly Tony wasn’t sure who was supporting whom. Tony opened the idle generator and reached under the hood. The Glock was right where he left it. With his fist around the familiar weapon, Tony felt complete.

  Dr. Alvin Toth touched his arm. “You’re bleeding, young man.”

  “I don’t have time to bleed,” Tony replied.

  “I saw that movie, too,” Toth replied with a sly

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  smile. “I also have a First Aid kit right here. Let me fi x you up . . .”

  Tony nodded and leaned against the generator. He lifted his arm while Toth smeared a disinfectant on the ragged gash. Tony winced, sucking air.

  “Be careful, Dr. Toth! You’ll hurt him,” Megan cried, arms wrapped around Tony’s broad shoulders.

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

  THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 10 A.M. AND 11 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME

  10:06:22 A.M. PDT Hanger Five, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base

  Yizi drifted through Hangar Five like a shadow. Ignoring the others, she approached Jong Lee. Her master had his back to the open door while he admired the sleek design of the experimental stealth helicopter. A few commandos were with him in the hangar. Many more had been deployed across the base, anticipating a military response from the Americans

  “The jamming ceased approximately one hour ago,” the woman reported in whispered Chinese. “I

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  was able to re-send the emergency message to our base in Mexico. They acknowledged receiving it, but offered no timeline for our extraction.”

  Jong Lee frowned. He’d suspected the truth, but only now did he know for certain that he’d been abandoned by his own government. It was a stinging blow, but not unexpected after their setbacks. If Jong Lee were back in Beijing, he probably would have issued the same command.

  “Very well,” Lee said, his voice grim. “We still possess the only prototype of the Malignant Wave device, and the Blackfoot helicopter to carry it. It is time to retreat with what we have, rather than mourn what we have lost.”

  Lee called Captain Hsu to his side. “I believe an American counterattack is imminent. We will depart within the hour.”

  Pizarro Rojas watched the exchange, Stella Hawk by his side. The Colombian pulled away from the woman and strode over to the Chinese agent.

  “You’re leaving us, then,” Rojas said bitterly.

  Jong Lee did not reply. His face remained impassive.

  “I don’t need to understand Chinese to see what’s going on,” the Colombian continued.

  “I must surrender to expedience,” Lee replied. “Many valuable assets have been lost. There is only one way to achieve victory from this morass.”

  “You’re not going run away without me,” Rojas cried. He yanked the pistol out of his holster and waved it at Jong Lee.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” Stella cried.

  “This pig thinks he’s going to fly away in that damned helicopter and leave us behind,” Rojas cried. He pointed the pistol at Lee’s head. “But if he thinks—”

  His words were cut short. Pizarro Rojas suddenly grunted, and the gun tumbled from his grip. Stella screamed when she saw Yizi’s three-bladed sai sticking out of the Colombian’s throat, the dark, thick blood bubbling out of the wounds.

  She rushed to the man, cradled Pizarro’s head in her arms as he fell. With manicured fingers she tried to stem the tide of blood that flowed from a punctured carotid artery. Pizarro managed to smile up at her before life faded from his eyes.

  “You bitch!” Stella screamed.

  Fingers curled, she clawed at Yizi’s throat, raking the Asian woman’s cheek, drawing blood. Yizi slapped Stella several times, until the woman sank to the ground.

  “Put her with the other hostages,” Jong Lee ordered.

  Two commandos grabbed Stella Hawk under each arm. Wailing loudly, she tried to cling to the dead man even as they hauled her away.

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  10:15:11 A.M. PDT Hangar Six, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base

  When she saw the stranger emerge from the shadows, Dani Welles cried out. Everyone turned. Dr. Bascomb moved quickly to shield the woman while he aimed a captured AK–47 at the intruder.

  “Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” the scientist snarled.

  Untangling himself from the clinging Dr. Reed, Tony jumped to his feet. “Wait, Doc. Don’t shoot. This man is on our side.”

  Dr. Bascomb lowered the assault rifle. Tony stepped between them.

  “Hello, Jack,” he said. “You look like hell.”

  “I made it.”

  Jack Bauer’s clothing was torn and scorched. Most of the hair on the right side of his scalp had been burned away when the helicopter exploded. He walked with a discernable limp, and Tony spotted a bloody bandage torn from his shirt wrapped around Jack’s right calf.

  It took a few minutes for Tony to bring his boss up to speed on recent developments. Bauer didn’t exhibit surprise when he heard the Air Force was willing to blow the base up.

  “It’s a smart move. I’d do the same thing,” Jack declared.

  “Right now, the Chinese think we’re still prisoners. But as soon as someone comes through that door they’re going to fi nd out the truth.”

  Jack nodded. “On the way over here, I noticed a lot of activity in the next hangar.”

  “That’s Hangar Five,” Tony said. “There’s an experimental stealth helicopter in there, designed to elude radar. Once it takes off, the Air Force won’t be able to fi nd it.”

  “It’s a two man craft,” said Jack. “That would mean they’re leaving most of their strike team behind.”

  “There’s an experimental weapon installed in that helicopter, Jack. It called Malignant Wave and it’s a real bitch. If the Chinese escape with the prototype, it would be worth any sacrifi ce.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Then we have to get inside that hangar. Stop that helicopter from taking off.”

  “That’s going to be tough,” sighed Tony. Dr. Reed heard their words and stepped forward. “There’s a back door to that hangar . . .”

  “I tried it, doc,” Tony said. “It’s locked, and it’s made of reinforced steel. If we try to break in, they’re going to hear us.”

  “Beverly Chang gave me a copy of the key,” she replied. “It’s over there, in my locker . . .”

  The airman guarding the door interrupted them. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed. “Two soldiers with a prisoner.”

  “Everyone get down,” Tony cried, racing for the entrance. Jack was already there. They positioned themselves on either side of the open doorway, waiting to pounce the moment the soldiers entered.

  When the commandos reached the narrow door,

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  they shoved Stella through first. Then the fi rst commando stepped over the threshold. Tony seized the man, pummeled him to the ground with the butt of his Glock.

  Stella recognized Jack.

  “Jaycee!” she cried, stepping between Bauer and the commando he was supposed to take down. Jack thrust the woman aside, but it was too late. The soldier turned and raced across the tarmac, screaming a warning. Jack aimed his Glock with both hands and fi red once. The commando’s cries abruptly ceased.

  Jack stepped away from the door. “They know we’re free now,” he shouted. “Everyone who isn’t armed, take cover!”

  Stella Hawk wrapped her arms around Jack Bauer’s neck, tight as a boa constrictor. Mascara ran down her cheeks and her face was swollen and bruised. But her lush lips rained kisses on his lips, his cheek, his neck.

  “I knew you’d rescue me,” she sobbed.

  Jack’s eyes met Tony’s. “Get her off of me,” he snarled.

  Outside, commandos burst from Hangar Five when they heard the warning cry. Tony picked up the dead soldier’s AK–47 and fired on the men as they scurried across the runway. Three commandos dropped, the others turned around and bolted for cover.

  Tony heard shouted commands, saw the soldiers begin to regroup outside of Hangar Five.

  “Here they come,” Tony warned. Legs braced, he stood in the doorway and fi red another burst.

  10:52:56 A.M. PDT The Tank Farm Groom Lake Air Force Base

  Nina rolled the sandrail into a prefabricated storage shed hidden among a sea of aviation fuel tanks. She and Curtis climbed a steel ladder to the top of the tallest tank, to observe the situation at the hangars.

  Before they finished their ascent, they heard the sound of gunfire in the distance. Scrambling to the top of the tank, Nina focused her mini-binoculars on the hangars.

  “It’s a fi refight, not a massacre,” Nina said, squinting through the lens. “It looks like some people are holed up in one hanger. They’re putting up a good fi ght, but the raiders are rallying for another attack—”

  “Another attack?”

  “I count four dead men on the tarmac,” Nina said, handing Curtis the binoculars. “The Chinese have tried to take that hangar at least once before.”

  Curtis frowned. “The commandos just drove a tow tractor out of the hangar with the weird aircraft inside. I think the Chinese are planning to use the tractor for cover in an attack on the other hangar.”

  Nina moved to the ladder. “We’ve got to get down.”

  Curtis followed her to the edge. “What’s your plan?”

  “I haven’t got one,” Nina replied.

  “Look over there,” Curtis said, pointing to a small tanker truck parked about a hundred yards away. “I think I have an idea . . .”

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

  THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 11 A.M. AND 12 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME

  11:00:04 A.M. PDT Hangar Six, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base

  Tony peered around the door, only to jump back when bullets splattered against the doorjamb and peppered the wall behind him.

 

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