Chapter Text
The blonde woman looked outside car the window. According to the GPS on her smartphone, she was about just a kilometer away from her destination.
“Turn to the right,” she told the taxi driver. The man did so without saying a word.
Two minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of a bulletproof kiosk. An outside parking space was behind it and big building was behind the parking space. Inside the kiosk, an armed uniformed man was sitting.
The blonde woman paid the driver, exited the taxi, and approached the kiosk.
“Good morning,” she told him. “My name is Kim Bauer and I have an appointment with Ms. Driscoll.” The guard nodded and checked a list of names on a monitor on his desk, each one with a photograph next to it. There was indeed an appointment with Driscoll in ten minutes, the person who would attend it was indeed Kim Bauer, and the photo next to her name matched with her.
“I would like to see some identification please,” the guard said.
Kim nodded and searched her handbag, producing an old but still valid passport. The guard examined it for a few seconds, nodded, and returned to his kiosk. Opening a drawer, he produced a visitor’s badge and gave it to her.
“You should wear the badge at all times while inside the building,” he said. “It emits an electromagnetic signal and most doors only open when their sensors detect it. Ms. Driscoll’s office is on the top floor. A guard will escort you there the moment you enter the building.”
“Thank you,” she said, and started walking towards the building, when suddenly…
“Ms. Bauer?” the guard said. Kim stopped and turned to face him.
“Do you have any relation with… Jack Bauer?”
Kim had debated with her husband about that question. Should she admit it, or should she deny it? They both reached the conclusion she should tell the truth. After all, a background check would reveal everything anyway. Denying the truth would offer no advantages but would make her lose credibility.
“Yes,” she said. “Jack Bauer is my father.”
Kim was uncertain how the guard would react. Would he dislike her, considering the fact her father was a fugitive, wanted for the deaths of Russia’s Minister of Foreign Affairs and his bodyguards? But to her amazement, the guard’s face brightened.
“It’s an honor meeting you,” he said. “I was a guard in CTU Los Angeles when your father stopped that nuke from blowing the city up and when he dealt with the Cordilla virus.” He gave her a closer look.
“Have I seen you before?” he asked.
“I suppose you have,” Kim said. “I worked in CTU as well during the Cordilla virus crisis. I was a systems analyst there. But I left to get married and start a family.”
“Your father is a legend in CTU,” the guard said. “Most of us consider him a source of inspiration.” Kim smiled.
“Between you and me,” she said, “that’s one of the reasons why I decided to return. To honor his legacy.”
“Best wishes Ms. Bauer,” he said. “We’ll be all happy if you return. And between you and me... your father was right to kill those Russians.”
Kim Bauer walked towards the building, her visitor’s badge around her neck. Just as the guard had explained, the badge opened the entrance for her. After passing through a metal detector, an armed guard stood up and approached her.
“Follow me Ms. Bauer,” he said and reached the elevator.
A few minutes later, the guard knocked on a specific door. Erin Driscoll, head of CTU, opened it, politely dismissed the guard, and gestured for Kim to sit on a chair opposite her.
“Good morning Ms. Bauer,” she said.
To better prepare for her interview, Kim Bauer had learned a lot of details about Erin Driscoll. Years ago, Driscoll had been head of CTU Los Angeles. (Kim had already left CTU at that point so she never met her).
Erin Driscoll had fired Kim's father because he had developed a drug addiction while infiltrating a Mexican drug cartel. However, Jack Bauer had briefly returned for twenty-four hours to stop terrorist Habib Marwan, who had planned massive terrorist attacks against the United States. The attacks had included melting down nuclear plants and shooting down Air Force One. Jack had stopped most of the attacks but Marwan's organization still caused lots of deaths and critically wounded President Keeler.
During that day, Erin had suffered a personal tragedy. Her daughter, who was suffering from serious health problems, had committed suicide. The loss had devastated her and had forced her to resign from CTU and take an unpaid leave of absence for years.
However, things soon improved for Erin. She fell in love with Tom, the therapist helping her overcome her sadness. The feeling had been mutual. Soon, she and Tom were dating. Two years later, they got married and one year later their son was born.
With Tom’s encouragement, Erin Driscoll returned to work. CTU had been disbanded by then but soon the Washington branch was reestablished – the only in the United States to do so – and Driscoll became its head. Under her leadership, CTU established close ties with the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, the Secret Service, and the Washington Police Department.
To better combat terrorism – after all, CTU stood for Counter Terrorism Unit – Erin Driscoll needed skilled analysts. Since Kim Bauer had been a former CTU IT analyst, Erin was more than happy to interview her.
“So, Ms. Bauer,” Erin said after some time. “Apart from your years in CTU, you have significant expertise in the private sector. You have exactly the set of skills we need. Welcome to our organization.”
Attending funerals is one of the saddest duties a President has. You must stand in attention while a parade of sad relatives pass in front of you. You share the despair and sadness these people have, and you must comfort them all, one by one. Sometimes, you even listen to insults from people who consider you personally responsible for their beloved’s loss, like when mothers of dead soldiers blame you for sending their sons to their deaths in foreign lands. As the President, you must be prepared for that as well.
But no matter how much preparation he had, President William Mitchell could not overcome the sadness for the loss of James Heller. After months battling with Alzheimer, James had fallen into a sudden coma, the result of a severe stroke. His stepson had rushed him to the hospital, but it had been too late. Heller had passed away while still inside the ambulance.
It was a huge loss for President Mitchell. James Heller had been his friend, his ally, and his mentor for so many years. The only comforting thought had been that James had gone the way he had always wanted: quickly and without much pain. And today, Mitchell would say goodbye to his friend… for the last time.
Inside Marine One, the helicopter that flew the President to short distances, Mitchell reread the speech he would read at the funeral, a speech he had opted to write himself. He liked his speechwriter’s style, but he always considered having his speeches prepared by someone else a canned response that lacked authenticity. It was an acceptable solution for most occasions – US Presidents are too busy to write all their speeches themselves after all – but when you want to say goodbye to your best friend, you need a more personal involvement.
Besides, he and James Heller had made a deal years ago: if one of them died, the other would attend the funeral and read a speech he had prepared himself, without delegating the task to a speechwriter. William Mitchell would never dishonor himself by forgetting the promise he had made to his old friend.
Chloe locked her workstation, stood up, and picked a notebook from her desk.
“I have a scheduled meeting with Mr. Buchanan,” she told the people in the room. “I’ll return in an hour. John, pick up my calls.”
“Yes, Ms. O’ Brian,” he said.
Chloe exited the room and turned left to a wide corridor. The men in the room discreetly turned to look at her, the moment she turned her back, something she pretended not to notice. The same happened with another man walking on the corridor. She was of course flattered by the attention, but she only had eyes for one man, and she would meet that man in a few seconds.
Chloe entered Patrick’s office, and approached Marcy, his secretary. Marcy called her boss and a few seconds later, Patrick Buchanan appeared on the door. Chloe noticed he was wearing the beautiful suit and tie she had bought him as a gift.
“Hello, Chloe,” he said and checked his watch. “Right on time.”
“Of course, Mr. Buch…” Patrick cut her short.
“It’s Patrick,” he said with a smile. “Ready for our meeting?”
“Yes… Patrick,” she said. “We need to do lots of improvements to our automated SWIFT electronic transaction systems. I have prepared a comprehensive list.”
“Great,” Patrick said. “Marcy, I won’t be available for the next hour. Pick up my calls. Chloe, come in.”
Inside Patrick’s office, he and Chloe did what they always did when they were alone at work: they kissed each other.
“It’s so intoxicating kissing you in the office,” he said. “And my secretary is just a few meters away.”
“Thank god your office is soundproof, and she can’t hear a thing.”
“That is true,” he said. “I still remember last month when we had sex on the couch. I also remember it was your idea,”
"You are the boss and you approved the request," she said. "Don't put the blame on me!"
"I don't. It was a really wonderful suggestion, one I fully endorsed. But I didn't bring you here for that. Sadly, we have work to do both for the company and for our secret project."
Patrick pressed a remote control and the wall TV came to life. It showed President Mitchell at Arlington, attending Heller's funeral.
“James Heller was a great man,” Chloe said. “I own my freedom to him. It was he who signed an official pardon for me and arranged for the Russians and the British to do the same. But apart from that, there are so many things he did for this country."
“I know. That is why I wanted you here. Since we can't be in Arlington, the least we can do is to watch from TV."
Chloe hadn't lied when she had spoken about system upgrades for Patrick's secretary to hear. But she had already made the work herself. Patrick only needed to read the relevant documents, make small adjustments here and there if needed, and put his signature on them. The rest of the meeting would cover other topics.
Ten minutes later, Patrick signed the last document. Afterwards, he and Chloe sat on the couch and watched the funeral, holding each other's hands.
"I have some good news," he said, while President Mitchell was in the podium, reading the speech he had spent the previous night writing and polishing. "Do you remember the list of the Russians you gave me?"
"Yes," she replied. "All of them were bad apples. Gambling, prostitution, using business travels as an excuse to overspend..."
"I made contact with one of them. His name is Victor Volkov."
"Volkov?" she said, trying to remember. "Oh, yes. Early fifties, divorced, lots of gambling debts. He used to be prominent during the Suvarov regime if I remember correctly."
Victor Volkov had been a member of the Russian Embassy staff for at least two decades, specializing in security. He was not the type of man who would commit himself to a particular individual or a particular ideology, unless that individual or ideology suited him.
When Volkov saw Yuri Suvarov becoming more prominent in Russia, he decided to gamble - he was a compulsive gambler after all - and supported him. It was a risky decision, but unlike his decisions in black jack or the roulette, this one paid off. Suvarov became President and Volkov was promoted, earning a generous pay rise. In addition, he used his position to overspend: lots of traveling expenses for supposed important trips (in reality: for gambling trips to Las Vegas) and lots of gifts for himself, such as expensive shoes or smartphones, all paid from the embassy coffers.
Suvarov appeared to be strong and untouchable in Russia, making Volkov comfortable in his new position, perhaps too comfortable. His overspending increased, something his colleagues and his superiors noticed. They did nothing to stop him though, because he was a regime loyalist. Moreover, most of his superiors were also Suvarovites and covered for him.
Things changed the moment Suvarov left office. Within three months, his superiors were replaced with members of the anti-Suvarov faction. His new bosses transferred him to a new and less prominent post, where pay was lower and travel with its overspending opportunities nonexistent. At the same time though, his gambling habits and his gambling losses remained consistent, but without the extra income to cover them, Volkov started accumulating debts.
Patrick Buchanan quickly realized the opportunity Volkov presented. He was an intelligence officer, meaning he had access to the right type of data. He was also a Suvarov loyalist - out of opportunism and not out of ideology - who had fallen into hard times, with crippling debts. Soon, a briefcase with fifty thousand dollars changed hands and Volkov went to work.
Patrick stood up and approached his briefcase. He placed it on its desk, opened it, and took an envelope from it.
"This is a photo Volkov gave me a two days ago," Patrick said, and gave Chloe the envelope. She took it, opened it, and...
"I don't believe it!" she said, her eyes widening.
Four days earlier…
The door on Jack's cell knocked. Jack approached it and took the slides of bread, the coffee, and the spoon to butter on the bread. But unlike the day before, a shaving razor was also there.
Jack picked up the razor and examined it. Once a month, they provided him with one to shave. It was always the simplest and cheapest model they could find. And as always, Jack had to return it. But only ten days had passed since the last time he shaved, not thirty.
A few hours later, the cell door opened and the four masked guards came. As usually, Jack stood up, got in the middle of the room and waited for them. This time however, something was different. One of them was carrying a newspaper and another one a camera. And the most interesting fact: the newspaper was an American one.
The guards tied Jack like they always did. But before putting a hood on his head, one of them held the newspaper in front of Jack while the one with the camera photographed him. Afterwards, they did what they always did: they placed the hood on his head and escorted him outside.
The guards could not see it, but under the hood Jack was smiling. He knew that whoever had told the guards to take the picture was concerned about him. There was still hope.
"I don't believe it," Chloe said, a big smile on her face. "Jack is still alive!" She was so happy.
"Our idea was correct," Patrick said, also smiling. "We needed to find the right people."
"But we still can't free Jack," Chloe said, after some time. "We can't just enter the State Department with the photo. They won't do a thing."
"Volkov said he can arrange for Jack's release," Patrick said. "But it will take lots of time and lots of money."
"Do you believe him?" Chloe said.
"Partly yes," he said, "because he needs the money and because he gave us some evidence."
"I still need to examine the photo for forgery," she said. Patrick nodded and gave it to her.
"On the other hand," Patrick said, "Volkov is low-ranking. Can he really help us? Does he possess the necessary contacts?"
"That's uncertain," she said. "After all, if he really had those contacts why was he demoted?"
"We'll wait and see," Patrick said. "But I am optimistic."
"So am I," she said, and gave him a kiss.
At the seme time, an American General and a Russian ex-President had a meeting in Hilton Hotel in Athens, Greece. Ironically, they were sitting on the same table Patrick and Chloe had sat when they had first met.
"So General Bridges," ex-President Yuri Suvarov said. "Do your people know about your trip abroad?"
"No, Mr. President," the General said. "I am on official leave and I am divorced. Nobody is going to care for me visiting Greece, a NATO ally of the United States."
"The same applies to me... to a degree," Suvarov said. "Petrov keeps an eye on me and they know about my villa outside Athens. But the Russian Embassy here is understaffed. They don't have enough people to watch me. I have more freedom here than in Russia. Besides, I always take precautions."
Bridges looked at the two men sitting on his left, looking like drunk tourists. In reality, both were Suvarov's loyal bodyguards and they were well armed.
"How about the Greeks?"
"The Greeks have nothing against me and I have nothing against them. I can enter and leave the country at my leisure, no questions asked."
"That's how I like it myself. So, Mr. President, are you ready to hear my plan?"
"I am intrigued General," he said and took a sip from his vodka. Bridges nodded took a sip from his whiskey, cleared his throat and started his small speech.
"Mr. President, for years your country and mine were facing each other in a situation the history has recorded as the Cold War. Our bombers, our ballistic missiles, and our navies were facing each other, ready to attack or defend.
"Despite this, the Cold War was a period of prosperity for both countries. The external threat kept political passions in check, gave each country a unified common goal, and forced our best and brightest to innovate for our own good. For instance, the Apollo Space Program was a tremendous catalyst for scientific innovation. But would it have happened without the Cold War and our need to win a war of prestige with your country?"
"These are good points, General," Suvarov said. "I remember the Red Army marching in Moscow when I was a kid. The tanks, the heavy missile batteries, the Marines, the Infantry, the aircraft flying above our heads. It filled my heard with pride."
"That's the idea Mr. President. The Cold War, for all its problems, actually benefited both countries. And look how things are now: high divorce rates, a generation of Americans and Russians more concerned with their smartphones than with their country, a Congress that nearly impeached a President a few years ago... over a blowjob from an intern named Monica!"
The Cold War was the unifying force behind America's glory and it must return."
"Between you and me, General," Suvarov said, "I don't believe your motivation is entirely idealistic."
"It isn't," Bridges admitted. "I am a General. If the Cold War restarts, the Congress will authorize extra spending for the army. That will increase the influence the army has, mine included. And of course, some wealthy weapons manufacturers will become wealthier and will not forget who did that for them."
"Yes," Suvarov said. "You will end up as a board member in one of those companies, earning a huge salary. But there will be obstacles."
"And you," Bridges said, "you will become a President again."
"I never said I am an idealist," Suvarov said with a smile.
"I represent a cabal," Bridges said in a conspirational tone, "of businessmen and people in the army and the intelligence community. They are doing it partly for patriotism and partly for the money. And they are willing to get their hands dirty."
"So, how do you plan to do it?" Suvarov asked.
"For starters, we both know President Mitchell wants to improve relations with Russia. He is an obstacle that must be removed."
"You mean killing him. And what about Vice-President Ford?"
Bridges gave Suvarov an envelope. After a second of hesitation, the former President of Russia opened it. It showed Ford naked in bed with a young woman.
"OK, so? It only proves you don't have a homosexual Vice-President."
"Ford is married. The girl in the photo is not his wife and she is underage. If the photo leaks to the press, he will have to resign in disgrace, face an expensive divorce and perhaps face criminal charges. We have the photo and he knows it. As long as he plays along, the photo remains hidden."
"Let me guess. You have some friends in the FBI who took the photo."
"Exactly. We are everywhere. To continue, the plan is to start terrorist attacks in Washington to create a climate of terror. Then Mitchell is assassinated. Russians will be framed both for the attacks and the assassination and that will escalate the Cold War climate. It will also let Ford to become President and do as we tell him."
"An interesting plan. How big will those acts of terrorism will be?"
"We are not thinking about nuclear weapons and stuff like that. Just small attacks that will kill a handful of people. We understand some people have to die for the cause but we don't want to kill thousands, just a few dozens."
"That makes sense. Why to kill a thousand when killing two will do the same. Do you have the people to do the killing?"
"No. The killers must be Russians to frame your country... and more specifically the current head of the country." Suvarov smiled.
"There is the right group of people, Mr. Bridges. They are currently in Russia but I can have them transfered to USA. They are former Spetsnaz who work as mercenaries for me. I have used them for, how to say it, 'unofficial businesses'. Can you arrange for them to enter your country undetected?"
"My contacts in the NSA, the Department of Homeland Security, and the FBI can do that. We have people almost everywhere and we can control the flow of information to the agencies we don't control."
"Right," Suvarov said. "But when the smoke clears people will still ask questions about how those Russians entered your country undetected."
"We'll have Ford in our pocket, meaning the questions will be few. Besides, we have the ideal scapegoat."
"Jack Bauer," Suvarov said, a devilish smile on his face. "Yes, I had told you my people have captured him in London. He is in a prison somewhere in Siberia as we speak. I had enough influence to covertly capture him, but not enough to kill him without a trace.
"A few weeks ago I learned that Volkov, an opportunist in our Embassy in Washington who supported me in the past to advance his career, was contacted by an unknown group of people about Bauer. Upon learning it, I formed a plan: I let my people give him intel about Bauer and I'll assist them in getting Bauer out of prison and back to the United States. Bauer is released, my people kill him, and your people frame him."
"That's a great idea for three reasons. One, it will be more plausible to frame a former member of the intelligence community who crossed the line. He had the knowledge and the connections or at least we can plausibly frame him for that. Two, he is a fugitive bitter about his country hunting him down. It won't be a stretch to claim he allied with a Russian faction for money."
"And reason number three?"
"Three, it will be a disgrace for CTU, the only intelligence agency in Washington we failed to infiltrate."
"Will CTU be a problem?"
"Not at all," the General said. "In fact, a few weeks ago they moved to a new building. Can you guess what is going to happen to it?"
"Yes," Suvarov said. "Something explosive."
"It will be a high risk operation," Suvarov said after two minutes. "I can have Bauer moved to the States, but Petrov will soon find out. And you might try to kill Mitchell, but if he survives..."
"I know," General Bridges said. "We must succeed. There is no alternative."