At the base of the hill, three women in black robes cl.u.s.tered around a figure sprawled on the ground. Jack heard anguished cries and wailing. Then the trio spotted the blond girl. Brandishing pitchforks and kitchen knives, the woman hiked up their robes as they climbed the hill.

The teenager glanced over her shoulder, saw the women, and picked up her pace. In another minute, she would reach his position.

Jack slipped the Glock into its holster and ducked behind the thick foliage. When the girl reached the trees, Jack reached out, snagged her, and pulled her to the ground in one smooth motion.

The girl screamed and fought him.

"I'm a friend," Jack hissed. "I'm here to rescue you."

Still the girl struggled. Part of her wanted to believe him - Jack could see it in her eyes - but she was beaten b.l.o.o.d.y and half mad. Too terrorized to trust anyone.

Jack heard voices, peeked through the leaves and saw the women. They were almost on him. Holding the girl down with one hand, he drew his Glock with the other.

The women reached his position a moment later. They stopped in their tracks when they spied Jack.

"Get down on the ground now!" Jack cried, reluctant to fire.

One of the women surprised him by hurling a kitchen knife. Jack deftly avoided the blade, then shot the woman in the head. As she toppled, the others reared back. Then both women fumbled for their belts. Only then did Jack notice their bulging robes, and the detonation cord dangling from their waists.

Jack aimed - but before he could fire, a volley of shots cut the women down. Layla Abernathy stepped out of hiding, a smoking Glock gripped firmly in both hands.

"I thought I told you to stay put," said Jack, one hand pinning the teenaged girl on the ground.

"I heard the shots," Layla replied. "I thought maybe you were in trouble."

"Check the dead women. I think they're wearing explosive belts. Be careful not to set one off."

Jack looked down, into the teenager's eyes. By now, she'd stopped struggling against him. "Are you calm?"

The girl nodded and Jack released her. She sat up and rubbed the reddening flesh on her bare shoulder.

He examined the girl. One sleeve of her sweatshirt had been torn away; the other hung by a few threads. Dried blood caked her thin arms, covering bruises and gouged flesh. She had a black eye and a swollen nose, and chunks of her hair had been torn out by the roots.

Though she was fairly banged up, Jack concluded the physical wounds were superficial. Her psychological condition was another matter.

"You were right, Agent Bauer," Layla said. "These women are all wearing explosive devices - bricks of C-4, connected to a detonation cord."

She frowned. "Two of them had IDs. Both are... were born in the United States. And none of these three dead women are of Middle Eastern descent." The notion seemed to confound Layla Abernathy, but Jack didn't have time to deal with her existential dilemmas right now.

Jack addressed the teenager. "Who are you? What were you doing inside the compound?"

Danielle Taylor told them her name and where she lived. Then the harrowing story of her captivity came tumbling out of her mouth. She told them about the church group, the torture, and the beheadings. Near the end of her tale, she mentioned a Mr. Holman, the man who helped her escape.

"Holman?" Layla interrupted. "Brice Holman?"

Dani nodded.

Before Jack could silence her, Layla spoke again.

"Holman is an agent for the Counter Terrorist Unit of the CIA," she told Dani. "I'm from CTU, too. Brice is my superior."

Dani instantly paled, and Jack could see the look of fear and panic return to her eyes. He also sensed the girl was hiding something. He knew the only way she would open up was if he somehow earned her trust.

"Forget about that," Jack said gently. "We're here to help. My name is Jack Bauer. I'm..."

Then the ground trembled under their feet. As one, thousands of birds burst out of the trees and took to the sky as the rumbling roar of multiple explosions battered their ears.

Dani cried out. Layla dropped to the ground, clutching her head.

Jack whirled, seeing a dozen blasts and plumes of black smoke rising from the center of Kurmastan. On the opposite end of town, flames lit up the sky above the old paper factory.

More explosions followed. Several clapboard homes blew apart, sending debris leaping into the afternoon sky. Then a mobile home erupted, bursting asunder like a shoe box stuffed with firecrackers.

Trailers went up in smoke and flames, the eruptions continuing for almost thirty seconds before the cacophony finally subsided. As Layla hugged the earth, smoke billowed over their position. It stank of cordite, scorched metal, and burned flesh.

"Inshallah," Layla muttered from the ground. Layla muttered from the ground.

Jack crouched over Agent Abernathy. "Stay here," he told her. "Call Morris and tell him to send backup. We'll need tactical teams and a medical unit." Jack pointed to the teenager. "Take care of the girl, too..."

"What are you going to do?" Layla demanded.

"I'm going down there to find out what the h.e.l.l is happening."

12.

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 6:00 P.M. AND 7:00 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME.

6:05:50 P.M. EDT.

Security Station One CTU Headquarters, NYC Morris...o...b..ian watched flickering, real-time satellite images of the shattered town. Thick smoke crossed his monitor screen like a creeping black smudge. Flames licked the walls and roof of the rambling factory.

He was tempted to alert the local firefighting authorities - though in that isolated region of rural New Jersey, Morris wasn't sure what resources were actually available.

It wasn't his call, anyway, so Morris didn't make it.

Jack Bauer had called for backup and Morris obeyed - dispatching two tactical a.s.sault teams and a medical unit. Estimated time of arrival: twenty-eight minutes and fifty-five seconds, according to his threat clock.

"The last chopper's just lifted off from the heliport," Peter Randall informed him. "No problem with clearance this time."

Morris nodded - then his cell phone beeped. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l? Who's calling me on my personal line? b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l? Who's calling me on my personal line?

But it wasn't a call. His ISP had just alerted him to an urgent e-mail waiting in his cache. Morris looked around for the briefcase computer he had brought with him that morning, found it behind the door where he'd left it when he started work on the troubled security system.

He dumped the briefcase on his desk and opened the lid. He wiped his thumb over the fingerprint sensor, and got clearance to proceed. His ISP protocols and pa.s.swords were programmed into the computer, and Morris had the "urgent message" on screen in seconds.

The e-mail came from Chloe - the kinky bird from the computer department he'd been dating on the sly. Morris read the tagline, and his knees turned to jelly.

"Oh G.o.d," he moaned, dropping into a chair. "She's pregnant?"

6:22:06 P.M. EDT.

Kurmastan, New Jersey As Jack descended into the valley, he entered a pall of smoke. Pa.s.sing the ruins of the mobile homes, he saw everyday signs of human habitation among the ruins - refrigerators turned on their sides, doors wide, spilling their contents, burst mattress smoldering in the sun, a shattered baby crib, torn cereal boxes, broken dishes.

There were no signs of life, but plenty of signs of death. The grisly remains of the citizens of Kurmastan were all around him.

Jack circled one of the intact mobile homes. Sheets of opaque plastic had been hung in place of windows. The door was unlocked, and Jack opened it. Inside he saw three filthy bunks, an aluminum sink filled with dirty Styrofoam plates, plastic utensils, and swarming ants. The tiny bathroom was crammed with empty ammunition boxes, all brand-name sportsman sh.e.l.ls purchased legally, over the counter.

When Jack exited the cramped frailer, a braying goat stumbled into his path. Startled, he watched the frightened creature bolt for the forest, spindly legs kicking up dirt.

Crouching low, leading with the weapon he clutched with both hands, Jack moved along Kurmastan's main street. He saw a small market, blown apart now, fruits and vegetables scattered on the scorched and blackened street. Here the smoke was choking, and Jack had to cover his nose and mouth with a tattered prayer shawl soaked in the streaming flow from a shattered water pipe.

There were many bodies around the blasted Community Center, some of them intact. Jack examined two of the corpses and discovered they'd been shot - probably by Brice Holman in the escape Dani had described.

Jack wondered where Holman was now, if he was dead or alive.

He holstered his Glock, wiped smoky tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his CTU tactical a.s.sault uniform. It was clear that the people of Kurmastan had committed ma.s.s suicide, after savagely attacking the church group and slaughtering almost everyone. But Jack had more questions than answers.

Why were Dani's captors, and the ones who chased her up the hill, all women, children, and the elderly? Where are all the men? Where are all the men?

Cautiously, Jack peered through the door of the smoking Community Center. The stench of death permeated the place, but, mercifully, the roof had collapsed, so he couldn't see much.

He circled the ruined building. In the back, he found two large Dumpsters that had been tipped over in the explosions. The smell of rotting food mingled with charred flesh, adding to the unbearable conditions.

Jack stopped in his tracks when he suddenly heard a human sound - a mad, t.i.ttering laugh.

"h.e.l.lo?" Jack called.

More laughter followed, and Jack trailed the echo until he spied a six-foot pit reinforced with logs - the entrance to an underground bunker. Jack heard the laughter again, and knew it emanated from that earthen pit.

Reluctantly, he descended into the trench and entered the bunker. Inside, he found a long tunnel lined with wooden support beams. He found a light switch and tested it, but the generator was either destroyed or inactive and the naked bulbs remained dark. Jack paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The underground bunker was ten degrees cooler than the temperature outside, and smelled of raw wood and freshly turned earth. There was another odor, too, a kind of chemical smell Jack couldn't identify.

He heard the mad chortling again. In this eerie place, the deranged voice set Jack's flesh crawling. He slipped the emergency light from his utility belt and pinned it to his shoulder holster. Crouching, he proceeded along the dark, low-ceilinged tunnel.

After fifty paces, the tunnel ended with a s.p.a.cious underground chamber. Large chemical barrels lined the walls. Jack played the flashlight beam over the plastic drums. All of them came from Rogan Pharmaceuticals, LLC. According to the labels, the barrels contained one of three substances - Hyperdrine, Androne, and something called Virilobil.

Curious, Jack squinted to read the fine print on one of the barrels. Then he heard the t.i.ttering laugh, this time right behind him. He played the flashlight beam into the shadowy corner and discovered he was not alone in the darkness.

Chains rattled as the other man threw up emaciated arms to ward off the harsh light. He moaned, and Jack saw a long, unkempt beard crawling with lice. The man's hair was long, too, and hung in dull ringlets from a dirty scalp. His fingernails were curved into filthy yellow talons.

The captive's flesh was sallow, and there were chafing sores on his wrists and ankles where he'd been chained. Despite the man's horrible condition, Jack recognized him from the photos in the secret Kurmastan files. This wretch was Imam Ali Rahman al Sallifi, the supposed leader of this community.

The man trembled under the light, in the throes of some type of drug fugue or madness, Jack didn't know which. Only one thing was clear. This man had not been the spiritual leader of these people for a long time.

So who did control Kurmastan? And why did their leader have the compound destroyed, his followers commit ma.s.s suicide?

The bound figure shifted, and a new stench curled Jack's nostrils. The old man was lying in his own offal.

"It's inhuman. Not even an animal should be treated like this," Jack muttered, moving to free the man. But as soon as he approached al Sallifi, the old man howled and lunged at him, raking the air with filthy claws. Jack cursed and stumbled back.

He waited a moment for the man to settle down, then Jack took a cautious step forward. Al Sallifi charged again, snarling as he strained against the rattling chains that bound him to the wall.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Jack quickly fled the bunker, into the smoke-shrouded afternoon.

Outside, he heard the roar of turboshaft engines, the steady beat of helicopter blades cutting the air.

The reinforcements had arrived.

Too impatient to wait for the strike teams, Jack headed back up the hill, through the ruined mobile home park, to the grove where he had left Layla Abernathy and Dani Taylor.

6:49:57 P.M. EDT.

In the woods above Kurmastan Layla Abernathy watched the CTU helicopters circle above the blazing compound, before setting down in a cyclone of smoke and burning embers.

She glanced at her wrist.w.a.tch, wondering why Jack Bauer had not yet returned. Layla fished for the micro-binoculars on her belt, but before she peered through them, she glanced at Dani. The girl was squatting on the soft loam, legs folded under her. Then Layla recognized something shiny on the ground beside the girl, something that had fallen out of the pocket of her pants.

"Is that Brice Holman's cell phone?" Layla asked.

Dani jumped as if startled, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone.

"No, it's mine."

"That phone belongs to Brice," Layla insisted. "That's what CTU was tracking when Jack found you." you."

She stared at the girl, her mind roiling. Holman could very well have the key to all this chaos locked inside that device. Digital recordings. Surveillance logs. Photographic images.

Layla knelt down beside the teenager. "You have to give me that cell phone," she said urgently.

"No!" Dani cried.

"This is a matter of national security." Layla reached for the phone.

Dani screamed, and the two women struggled. Layla was pet.i.te, but better trained. In a few deft moves, she had the girl pinned to the ground.

"Give me that phone," Layla demanded. "I can't let some moody adolescent jeopardize innocent lives."

Suddenly a shadow fell over the women. Layla looked up, just as a foot lashed out and struck her temple.

Without a sound, Layla toppled to the ground and stayed down. Dani slid out from under her, looked up at the newcomer.