Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [2]
"Listen, George..."
Mason silenced Bauer with a raised palm. "This should be an easy assignment. You'll show Brice Holman the ropes in New York, help him organize his staff and set up protocols to interact with the other divisions and agencies..."
"Why me?"
"I want you to liaise with the other authorities in the region," Mason purred, ticking them off with his fingers.
"I'm talking about the New York City Police Department, the Office of Emergency Management, the DEA, the local branches of the Secret Service, the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Smooth over any problems and..."
"Smooth over problems?" Jack cut in. "I'm the last person you should be sending for that. The last time I had contact with the New York branch of the FBI, I exposed one of their agents as a traitor and neutralized him."
"Which is why you're the perfect man for this job." Mason tightened the knot on his tie. "It shows the other guys we mean business."
Mason picked up his briefcase and set it on Bauer's desk. "The codes, protocols, and operational drives are here. Agent Holman and his staff are expecting you to arrive first thing Tuesday morning. Enjoy your weekend with Tracy and your son..."
"It's Teri. And I have a daughter."
"Like I care. You're going to New York, Bauer. Your flight leaves Monday."
1
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7:00 A.M. AND 8:00 A.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
7:00:02 A.M. EDT
New York, New York
Jack Bauer glanced at the World Trade Center, rising above the rooftops of Lower Manhattan. The weather was clear this Tuesday morning, the June sunlight gleaming against the two identical skyscrapers of glass and steel.
In the driver's seat to his left, CTU Agent Tony Almeida turned the Dodge minivan onto Hudson's slow parade of traffic. The taxis, buses, SUVs, and luxury sedans were all heading downtown, toward Tribeca, the Financial District, or the Jersey delivery system known as the Holland Tunnel.
As their minivan slowed to a crawl, Jack continued to stare at the twin towers. Back in '93, the bombing of those buildings — by a blind Muslim cleric and his insane flock — had been the impetus for creating CTU.
Ironic, thought Jack. One of the last major urban areas to get its own CTU Operations Center is the very city that was attacked by terrorists. Doubly ironic because no one wants it. Not the FBI, not the DEA, not even the local authorities...
Just one month ago, the senior Senator from New York had argued that the presence of CTU was redundant in a city where even the NYPD had its own overseas operatives countering terror threats.
Sure, at its inception, CTU had been granted special powers by Congress, among them the ability to conduct counterespionage and counterterrorist operations on U.S. soil, against U.S. citizens if necessary — a mandate the CIA had never before been given. But Jack knew it would take months, maybe even years, before CTU's New York operations would be effective. He didn't know what his superiors expected him to accomplish by sending him here...
"Bloody hell!" Morris O'Brian blurted from the backseat.
Tony had slammed on the minivan's brakes, and Morris's steaming hot Starbucks had sloshed over his hand. "Seven o'clock in the bloody morning, and traffic is already snarled. This town is worse than L.A."
Jack peered through his passenger-side window. Workers were already crowding the sidewalks. A young Hispanic bicycle messenger, wearing a red "Tri-State Delivery" Windbreaker, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, pedaled along the curb beside them. The messenger could have sped up, Jack noticed, but he didn't. Just kept pace with them for some reason.
"Look at these people. It's a beautiful, sunny day, and not a convertible in sight," Morris went on. "What's the matter with them? Are they vampires?"
Tony smirked into his rearview. "Maybe