Tony leveled his gun on the punk, who stumbled backward, tripping on the steps. The kid fell onto the fifth-floor landing.

"Don't move or I'll shoot," Tony said evenly.

On his back, the kid threw up his arms. He couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, and he seemed very frightened. Tony had to remind himself that this fresh-faced kid was old enough to murder a security guard in cold blood, then steal evidence of a possible terrorist plot.

Tony slowly approached him. "Show me your weapon and get up," he commanded.

Eyes twitching, the kid shook his head. "I already dumped the gun. In a garbage can," he said, getting to his feet. The youth had high cheekbones; narrow, catlike eyes; and so many twitches, Tony thought he might be overdosing on cocaine.

"Colombian?" Tony asked, one hand covering him while the other rifled through the pockets of his white smock.

Head shaky, the youth nodded. Tony located Foy's digital camera and cell phone and pocketed both.

"Okay," Tony said. "Now we're going downstairs."

Tony gestured with his Glock. As soon as the barrel wavered, the Colombian bolted. As the teenager raced up the final flight of stairs, Tony drew a bead at his broad back - but didn't pull the trigger.

Better to take him alive. CTU can't interrogate a dead man.

Deep inside, Tony knew the truth. He didn't want to cap someone so young.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Tony reached an emergency exit and burst through the door, expecting to come out on the roof. Instead, he emerged on a narrow, dead-end catwalk six stories above the parking lot.

When the Colombian heard the door open, he whirled to face Tony. The youth was panting, his face shiny with sweat - almost as if he was coming off some kind of drug high. Tony aimed the Glock at the punk's heart.

"Come on, kid, give it up," he called. "This time I will shoot."

The youth wavered. Then he yanked the smock off his shoulders and leaped onto the rail. As the white coat fluttered to the concrete below, the youth threw up his arms.

"No! Wait!" Tony cried.

Stumbling forward, Tony spied a tattoo of the number 13 on the Colombian's forearm. He dropped the Glock and reached out to s.n.a.t.c.h the youth - too late.

Without uttering a sound, the Colombian dived headfirst off the catwalk. A moment later, his body slammed into a Cadillac parked in the physicians-only lot. The impact crumpled the roof and triggered the alarm.

Tony pulled the cell phone out of his pocket to call Agent Delgado, but as soon as he activated it, he discovered an urgent message from Morris...o...b..ian back at CTU Headquarters in New York.

Frowning, he played it back.

2:59:28 P.M. EDT.

Room 424 Newark General Hospital "I understand," Rachel Delgado said into her cell. "I'll take care of everything here. You don't have to worry about it."

Rachel had been lingering outside Deputy Director's Foy's hospital room for almost an hour. Scrupulously following Tony Almeida's last command, she hadn't let anyone in or out of room 424.

Now she'd received new instructions. Agent Delgado closed the phone and tucked it into her purse beside the 9mm handgun. She scanned the area.

The doctors had made their rounds; the nurses had administered the afternoon meds. Most of the staff was gathered around the nurses' station, waiting for the shift change at three-fifteen. With luck, Rachel Delgado would be finished by then. Finished and long gone.

Rachel peeked through the tiny window in the door of the private room. Judith Foy was asleep, her bandaged head lolling on the pillow. Quietly, she slipped through the door and approached the bed.

Rachel dropped her purse in the chair and leaned close, to examine the woman. Foy was definitely asleep. Her breathing was even, and she was snoring a little.

Circling the bed, Rachel looked around for the right tool for the job. She grinned when she fingered the IV tube running from the clear plastic bag into Judith Foy's arm.

Rachel gently disconnected the plastic tube at the flow meter joint. Then she pulled the long tube free from the IV bottle. While the solution trickled onto the faux-hardwood floor, Rachel wrapped the plastic around both hands, to create a garrote.

Rachel paused for a moment while an orderly drifted past the door, heading for the nurses' station. When the man was out of sight, Delgado loomed over Judith Foy.

In one quick motion, Rachel slipped the strangling cord around the sleeping woman's throat and pulled it tight...

9.

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 3:00 P.M. AND 4:00 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME.

3:00:00 P.M. EDT.

CTU Heliport Hudson River In his right hand, Jack Bauer clutched the cell phone to his head. With his left, he covered his ear to shut out the high-pitched whine of the turboshaft engines.

He was standing on a concrete pier at the edge of the water. A Sikorsky S-76 "Spirit" helicopter idled behind him, its wide, composite blades cutting the humid air. A barge streamed up the Hudson, leaving a roiling wake as it pa.s.sed.

"Any word from Tony?" Jack asked Morris back at CTU Headquarters.

"We've got a problem on that score," Morris replied.

"Apparently a man fitting Agent Almeida's description is wanted in connection with the murder of a security guard at Newark General Hospital."

Jack cursed. "That has to be a mistake."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? Except that the Newark Police received an anonymous anonymous tip five minutes ago. And the tipster gave Tony's name. Our boy's been framed, Jack-o." tip five minutes ago. And the tipster gave Tony's name. Our boy's been framed, Jack-o."

Jack's mind raced. Another leak at CTU. But who's the mole? Another leak at CTU. But who's the mole?

"You've got to warn him," he ordered Morris.

"I have, by voice mail," Morris said. "We haven't been able to reach Tony or or Rachel Delgado, the agent who accompanied him to Newark. Frankly, I fear the worst." Rachel Delgado, the agent who accompanied him to Newark. Frankly, I fear the worst."

"Almeida can take care of himself," Jack said, dismissing that problem for now. "I want you to keep monitoring Brice Holman's signal. I'll keep this line open for any updates. I'll need to know his exact location once I reach Milton."

"Better move, Jack. Or Holman might not be there when you arrive."

Jack glanced at the idling helicopter and cursed again. "We're leaving right now," he told Morris. Then he ended the call.

He walked up to Layla Abernathy. She stood on the tarmac, blinking against the dust, her hair twisting in the wind. A heavy duffel bag was slung over her shoulder. As Jack approached, she lowered her own cell phone.

"I'm still trying to get clearance," she explained. "I'm on hold with the Deputy Mayor's office."

Jack reached up, his hand covering her fingers. He closed the phone in her hand. "We've waited twenty minutes. That's already too long..."

"I can't convince the authorities, Agent Bauer!" Layla shouted to be heard over the noise. "If they thought it was a real emergency, we'd get immediate clearance. But..."

"We're going," Jack said. "Now."

He took the bag from her shoulder, tossed it into the cabin. Then he guided Layla through the hatch. The interior of the S-76 Spirit was almost s.p.a.cious - large enough to seat an a.s.sault team of eight, along with their special equipment.

Jack thrust Layla into a seat. "Strap in," he commanded.

Then he moved to the c.o.c.kpit.

The pilot and copilot wore dark blue CTU flight suits, and helmets with visors and interior headsets. The man in the pilot's seat had a CTU Rapid-Strike Team patch on his chest, and a Glock on his belt. His name tag read "Fogarty."

"Take off," Jack said.

"We can't, sir," Captain Fogarry replied. "We've been denied clearance..."

Bauer's eyes flashed angrily. "Take off now. On my authority."

"Sir, I can't. I could lose my job..."

"Listen," Jack rasped. "Director Holman is in danger. There's already been an attempt on Deputy Director Foy's life. She's in a hospital now and I don't know her condition. Unless you want to be responsible for the death of your boss, I suggest you take off immediately."

Fogarty frowned, then shifted his unhappy gaze to the copilot. "Prepare for takeoff," he said.

The whine of the turboshaft increased in volume. With an abrupt lurch, the helicopter lifted off the pier and swooped over the river. The landing gear retracted before the aircraft banked and shifted direction, heading due west at a hundred and fifty miles per hour.

3:02:21 P.M. EDT.

Room 424 Newark General Hospital Lucky break, Tony Almeida mused, seeing the birthday party at the nurses' station. Tony Almeida mused, seeing the birthday party at the nurses' station. First one I've had all day. First one I've had all day.

Two doctors, three nurses, and an orderly were laughing and talking and eating cake. Best of all, they were not paying attention to him.

Tony moved quickly down the hall, toward room 424.

Now that he was a hunted man, Tony knew he had to proceed with caution. When he didn't see Rachel Delgado outside the room, he increased his pace.

Tony knew the enemy who had dispatched the Colombian might have sent another a.s.sa.s.sin to finish off Judith Foy. If Rachel got in the way, they'd kill her, too. Tony's heart pounded.

What if I'm too late?

He reached the room and quietly slipped through the door - then Tony heard a m.u.f.fled cry. He turned and saw Judith Foy on the bed, legs kicking, hands clutching at the tubing embedded deep into the flesh of her throat. Rachel Delgado stood behind the woman, the plastic garrote wrapped around her hand.

She heard Tony's surprised gasp and looked up, just as Tony lunged across the bed.

With no time to finish the woman off, Rachel slammed her elbow against Judith Foy's temple, stunning her. Then she released the plastic strangling cord and deftly avoided Tony's grip.

Stumbling backward, Rachel ripped the top of the IV pole away from its base. Using the heavy stainless steel rod like a club, she swung at Tony's unprotected head. Tony ducked low, the pole slicing the air above his scalp.

Tony could easily shoot Rachel - but the sound of the shot would bring the whole floor running for this room. Trying to explain his actions to the police would be a waste of time - and might prove fatal. There was obviously no one he could trust, not even the local authorities. Tony knew it was possible he'd end up dead for "resisting arrest."

He had only one recourse. He had to finish Rachel off quietly, then get Deputy Director Foy out of the hospital to a safe location.

Clutching the pole in her right hand, Rachel feinted a few times, then swung again. This time Tony was ready. Dropping his left arm and holding it straight against his body, he stepped into the blow, leading with his left shoulder. Tony was suddenly so close to the woman that Rachel couldn't strike him with the pole. Her forearm struck Tony's shoulder instead.

Tony popped his right hand, slamming the woman under her chin.

As he struck, he lifted his left arm, curled it around Rachel's right. He added some pressure and she released the club. The steel pole clanged to the floor. Tony squeezed harder, until he heard the snap of bone. Rachel gasped and her arm went limp.

Tony spun the dazed woman around and encircled her neck with one arm, clapped his other hand over her mouth to m.u.f.fle any cries. Her platform shoes kicking wildly, Rachel was dragged into the tiny bathroom.

Once inside, Tony calmly applied pressure until he snapped Rachel Delgado's neck. Panting, he let her limp body slide to the tile floor. Then he stepped over the corpse and hurried back to the bed.

Judith Foy's gown was disheveled, and Tony threw a sheet over her. Then he helped a dazed Agent Foy untangle the plastic cord from around her neck. The tender flesh was bruised and red and she was gasping, her face flushed.

"Why did she try to kill you?" Tony whispered.

For a moment, Judith Foy ignored the question. Tony thought it was because she didn't have an answer. Finally, she looked up from the bed, and her eyes met his.

"CTU's been compromised," she rasped. "I warned you. And I'll bet she's not the only traitor."

"We've got to get out of here."

"I don't have any clothes," Foy protested.

Tony checked Rachel's corpse, realized the dead woman was two sizes smaller than the Deputy Director. Then he found a blue hospital robe hanging behind the bathroom door. He ripped it off its hangar and tore away the sanitary plastic wrapping.

As he left the bathroom, Tony stopped dead in his tracks. During the struggle, the b.u.t.tons on Rachel Delgado's three-quarter-length sleeves had popped. On the forearm he'd broken, Tony spied a familiar tattoo - a stylized number 13.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"What?" Foy croaked, swinging her naked legs over the side of the bed.

"Never mind." Tony tossed her the robe, then he s.n.a.t.c.hed Rachel Delgado's purse from the chair and tossed it to the woman, too. While she dressed, he went to the door and peered through the window. The way seemed clear. He faced the woman, saw the fear that haunted her eyes.

"Don't worry. I'll get you to a safe place," Tony vowed.

3:48:52 P.M. EDT.