Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [53]
Curious, Jack squinted to read the fine print on one of the barrels. Then he heard the tittering 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 mass 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 wristwatch, 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 snatched up the phone.
"No, it's mine."
"That phone belongs to Brice," Layla insisted. "That's what CTU was tracking when Jack found 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 petite, 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.
"Mr. Holman!" she cried. "You're alive."
Brice Holman stumbled, then slumped to the ground.
"Barely," he grunted, clutching his belly. Dani saw black blood seeping through his shirt.
Dani threw her arms around Holman. He