18.

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 12:00 A.M. AND 1:00 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME.

12:00:20AM. EDT.

Near 1313 Crampton Street Newark, New Jersey "For a gang-banger's crib, this place seems pretty dead," Tony said.

He and Judith Foy were on the stoop of an abandoned building on the opposite side of the street. Their surveillance had revealed a complete lack of activity at the Thirteen Gang's headquarters.

"Usually these places have a lively nightlife," said Tony.

"Punks coming and going. Women. Parties. The occasional gunplay. This crib's way too quiet."

Tony shook his head. He'd even paced the block twice, looking for any signs of life. But all the doors and windows along this blighted block were boarded up and covered with graffiti - including the ma.s.sive garage door on the empty warehouse at the end of the block. There was not even a crack dealer in sight, and no car had driven down this street in almost thirty minutes.

"You're sure this is the right place?" Foy asked.

Tony shrugged. "Priests tend not to lie. And the one I talked to wasn't afraid of me. He could have just sent me away with no information."

"Still, he could have - wait a minute." Foy gripped Tony's arm and pulled him back, into the shadows.

"That Hummer at the end of the block," she whispered.

"I think I recognize it. From Kurmastan."

Tony saw it, too. The black vehicle had swung onto Crampton Street two blocks away. Now it moved slowly toward the row house with the red door. Judith Foy gripped the digital surveillance camera, hoping to snap pictures of the Hummer's pa.s.sengers.

What happened next surprised them both. Instead of continuing down the block, the Hummer cut a sharp left at Peralta Storage, the supposedly abandoned warehouse on the corner. The garage door that seemed to be boarded up tight began to rise. Bright fluorescent light streamed out of the interior of the warehouse. Tony spotted equipment, holding tanks, men in white lab coats.

Though the angle wasn't good, and they couldn't see very deep into the garage, Foy managed to snap a few pictures. Meanwhile the Hummer rolled into the hidden s.p.a.ce and the door closed behind it, plunging the block into darkness once more.

Crouched in the shadows, Tony and Judith exchanged puzzled glances.

"What's with the lab equipment?" Foy whispered. "Do you think the gang's manufacturing crystal meth?"

Tony shook his head. "I've seen meth labs before and they're not that complex. There's a state-of-the-art research lab inside that supposedly deserted building." He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. "What the h.e.l.l are they doing?"

12:13:12 A.M. EDT.

Eighth Floor, BeresfieId Apartments Central Park West New York, New York Jack Bauer tightened the tourniquet with a yank. The Albino grunted, chewed his lower lip. The crimson flow from the ghastly wound in his leg slowed, but didn't stop. Jack knew Erno Tobias could easily bleed to death if he wasn't careful.

Too bad.

"The generals thought you were an urban myth," Jack said, tugging on the electric cord wrapped around the man's arms. "But the Bosnian refugees I spoke with all swore you existed. They're the ones who named you Ice and Snow."

Bauer had addressed his captive in Serbian. Hearing his native language spoken by an American enemy seemed to throw the former a.s.sa.s.sin off balance, which was exactly what Jack wanted. Bauer also hoped the Albino might slip and say something he might not in his adopted tongue. So far, that hadn't happened.

Time to step up the pressure.

Jack faced the man. "After Victor Drazen was killed..."

The Albino spat on the hardwood floor at Jack's feet. "Murdered, you mean..."

"Neutralized," Jack cut in. "The NATO forces seized his records, and there you were. No name, just a description. Odreeni clan Odreeni clan- the Albino. Another doc.u.ment called you Odreeni clan bled ubica. Odreeni clan bled ubica. The Pale One..." The Pale One..."

Jack saw the hunted look in the man's pink-rimmed, colorless eyes and knew he was wearing the Albino down.

"You were a member of Drazen's Black Dogs," Jack continued, gesturing to the man's tattoo. "We wondered why every moderate politician who worked for peace ended up dead. Then we discovered it was you you who a.s.sa.s.sinated them." who a.s.sa.s.sinated them."

"They were traitors! Corrupt internationalists who allowed violent invaders to flourish inside our borders. You can pretend the refugees were innocent, that they didn't invade our towns, murder Serbs, burn our churches. You can pretend, but I know the truth..."

"And now you're helping those same 'violent foreigners' sow destruction in America."

The Albino smiled though his pain. "I would call that irony."

Jack slapped him hard, then knelt down and spoke softly into his ear. "That's ancient history. Let's talk about your current operation. Why are you helping Noor?"

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." The Albino snorted, licked blood offhis lip. "Now you have them in your backyard. Let's see how you like it..."

Jack fought the urge to strike him again. Instead, he grinned coldly. "You blew it, Tobias - or whatever the h.e.l.l your name really is. Even at the restaurant in Little Italy, I had no idea who you were, where you were from. But when I ran into that Serbian hit team at the World Trade Center, I started to get the picture. The people at Kurmastan are just p.a.w.ns. Someone else is pulling the strings."

Jack grabbed a handful of the man's white hair and yanked his head back. "Who are you working for?" Jack yelled. "Who's pulling the strings and why?"

Jack released the man and the Albino hung his head.

"I hurt," he said softly.

Jack's fists clenched. He thought of the Black Dogs, all the murders, rapes, and carnage they'd committed in Serbia. He thought of Kurmastan and those trucks of death, rolling down America's highways now.

"If you don't tell me what I need to know," Jack promised, "the pain is going to get a whole lot worse."

12:23:47 A.M. EDT.

Security Station One CTU Headquarters, NYC The phone rang. Morris...o...b..ian's eyes never left the monitor as he s.n.a.t.c.hed the phone off its cradle.

"O'Brian."

"It's Tony."

"Ah, the prodigal son."

"Listen, Morris, we found the Thirteen Gang's headquarters. It's located at 1313 Crampton Street, Newark..."

"1313?" Morris interrupted.

"Yeah."

"You're serious?"

"Listen, we found something else, too." we found something else, too."

Morris winced. On the monitor, three Atlantic City police officers had just cut down a terrorist who'd ignored repeated commands to drop his weapon.

"What... what did you find?" Morris asked, turning away from the b.l.o.o.d.y sight on the screen.

"We don't exactly know," Tony replied. "There's some kind of laboratory or drug factory or something inside the Crampton Street warehouse, which is supposed to be abandoned. A garage door opened up and Judith Foy shot a couple of surveillance photos. But we have no way to a.n.a.lyze the images on this end."

"Can you send them along? Or is Deputy Director Foy still worried about leaks?"

Tony sighed. "I've convinced her the leaks have been plugged, but we don't have a PDA. I can send the images to you through my cell phone, but they're bound to lose some resolution."

"I know. Wish our technology was better. Maybe in a few years..."

"Morris! We don't have a few years."

"We can enhance the digital images on this end, Tony, make your pictures as good as new. Just send them along."

O'Brian gave Tony a phone number to use for the data dump. After he hung up, Morris faced Peter Randall. "We've got some intelligence coming in. It will be dumped in cache twenty-two. Digital images. I'm rather swamped here. Can you a.n.a.lyze them?"

"Sure, I'll be glad to, Mr. O'Brian," Randall replied.

"I'll do the work at Security Station Two, if you don't mind. Less distractions..."

"Good lad," Morris murmured, his eyes drifting back to the live feed of the firefight in Atlantic City. But as soon as Peter Randall was gone, Morris reached for the phone.

12:56:18 A.M. EDT.

Eighth Floor, BeresfieId Apartments Central Park West New York, New York "A name," Jack Bauer demanded.

"It will do you... no good..." The Albino's voice was weak. He let out a moan of agony, blood streaking his pale face. "You can't stop... what's about to happen."

"A name." name." Jack coolly dug the kitchen knife deeper into the man's ravaged wound. Jack coolly dug the kitchen knife deeper into the man's ravaged wound.

The Albino cried out, perspiration beading his forehead.

"A name." Jack probed even deeper, hitting bone.

"NOW!".

"Soren Ungar!" the Albino blurted out. "His company, Ungar, Geneva, LLC, is the real owner of Rogan Pharmaceuticals."

"And it was Rogan that provided the drugs that drove the men and women of Kurmastan mad?" Jack hissed, twisting the blade.

"Yes!" the Albino shouted.

Jack yanked the knife back, dropped it on the hardwood floor. "Why?" he asked.

The Albino shook his head.

"Talk!"

The Albino was breathing hard. "Before I tell you," he gasped, "I want a pardon. Signed by your President. Forgiving all my past crimes."

Looming over the man, Jack shook his head.

"You're an international international war criminal. A fugitive from justice. They want you at the Hague. It's out of our government's hands..." war criminal. A fugitive from justice. They want you at the Hague. It's out of our government's hands..."

"You can fix this!" the Albino insisted.

"I can't, and I won't," Jack replied. "No bargains."

To Jack's surprise, the Albino actually shrugged under his bonds.

"As you Americans are fond of saying, you can't fault a man for trying," he said. A strange smile lifted his lips, and then he bit down hard. Jack heard a crunch, and Erno Tobias choked. When he opened his mouth, black blood poured from his throat.

"No!" Jack cried.

His body jerking spasmodically, the Albino's eyes rolled up in his head, then he fell forward, hanging loosely from the chair. Jack felt for a pulse, but found nothing. He yanked back the man's head, reached into his mouth to find the poison capsule. Jack was stunned.

How did I miss it? How? I searched him...

Jack quickly discovered that the toxic chemical had been stored inside a hollow tooth. The second the poison hit the man's system, he was dead.

Jack stumbled back, dropped into a leather chair. He still needed more information, but now at least he had a name.

Soren Ungar.

Jack rose and crossed to Erno Tobias's computer. He'd already forwarded the information stored there to Morris...o...b..ian. Now he began searching the files himself, looking for some clue to what was really happening, something something that would lead him to an endgame... that would lead him to an endgame...

12:59:50 A.M. EDT.

Security Station Two CTU Headquarters, NYC After entering the security code that allowed him access to cache twenty-two, Peter Randall opened the file Tony Almeida had forwarded to CTU. It contained three digital images, which needed little enhancement. Two of the pictures clearly showed Ibrahim Noor's secret bio-weapons laboratory. The black Hummer rolling into the garage obscured much of the scene in the third picture.

Not good, Randall thought. He called up several older files from the CTU database, searching for photos that would make a good match. He selected three pictures of a Cleveland methadone lab busted by the DEA in 1996. The Ohio lab was also housed inside a brick warehouse, the surveillance photos were taken at night, and with a little Photoshop tinkering, Randall even placed the black Hummer into the third image. Randall thought. He called up several older files from the CTU database, searching for photos that would make a good match. He selected three pictures of a Cleveland methadone lab busted by the DEA in 1996. The Ohio lab was also housed inside a brick warehouse, the surveillance photos were taken at night, and with a little Photoshop tinkering, Randall even placed the black Hummer into the third image.

The photos would not stand up to close scrutiny, but Randall gambled they wouldn't have to.

In the mess going on now, no one will pay attention to a simple meth lab, he decided. he decided.