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(no subject) [Jul. 10th, 2007|12:22 am]
Non-Player Character
July 17th, 2012
Logan Ranch, Santa Barbara, California

With a quick look around, expecting a Secret Service agent to pop up behind him at any moment, Mike makes his way outside. Only when he's certain he's alone, does he speak again. "All right, play it."

Over the phone, he can hear Jack moving things around, the dim noise of traffic as he races towards Logan's retreat. Then there's air and static and Mike hits the record button on his own phone just in time as the recording starts. The first voice is unrecognizable to him but the second isn't.

"I wouldn't have to call you if things had gone as planned. You said Bauer wouldn't be a problem! I told you to deal with Palmer, to cover it up! I never authorized you to kill him! And the nuclear bomb--"

And while he'd been the first to find out about Logan's plot to get rid of Bauer and he'd known Logan wasn't the malleable fool others thought him to be and that Logan wasn't to be trusted which is why he stayed on despite what he knew, this... This was beyond anything he ever could have imagined.

The recording ends and Jack is back on the phone. "I'm going to need your help."

"Martha, can I have a word with you in private?" Mike asks quietly, brushing past Evelyn without a word. The First Lady gives him a curious glance but waves off her assistant, who walks out the door, almost looking grateful for the few moments alone this might give her.

Once they're alone, Martha gives him an expectant look. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Some new information has surfaced about David Palmer's death," he begins after a moment, "about who was really involved. It went much higher than we expect--"

"I knew it," Martha interjects, her eyes flashing. "I knew it, no one believed but I knew, I knew there was something going on. We have to tell Charles."

"He already knows."


"He knows," Mike repeats, feeling the weight in his chest grow heavier.

She stops pacing around the room, looking at him with confusion and maybe even apprehension. "If he knows then ... then, why are you telling me?"

"The shooter, Johannes Kroeber, AKA Haas, was taking orders from a former CTU agent named Christopher Henderson. And Henderson was working with Charles."

For a moment, she doesn't say anything and Mike wonders if telling her was a mistake. Then, "Charles? My Charles," she gasps, "No, Mike. No, no, it can't be... There must be a mistake. There was no love lost between them but... you don't believe this? Do you?"

"Apparently, Henderson kept recordings of his conversations," then, rather than try to convince her, Mike takes his phone out of his pocket and plays the recording. The sound is tinny for having been copied over the air but Charles Logan's voice was unmistakable. Martha's face fell as she listened to her husband admit his guilt in the deaths of thousands of people and Mike averts his gaze.

"It had better not, or you'll be the one to get the death sentence for treason."

At that last sentence, Mike picks up the phone and shuts it off, slipping it back into his pocket after he does. The silence stretches between them and he wonders if maybe this was a mistake, maybe asking her for her help against her husband would be too much.

Before he can speak, Martha does. Tears running down her face but jaw set and eyes defiant, she asks, "What do you need me to do?"

The plan hit a snag early on. After enlisting the First Lady's help, she went to over to her husband's office, planning to keep him distracted while Mike went to work. It wasn't long before a smiling President Logan opened the door for her as they left his office and made the short trip down the hall to his bedroom. While preferring not to think about what was happening beyond that door, Mike hoped that it would buy them a half-hour or so to get ready.

Unfortunately, it was just several minutes later that the Logans exited the bedroom and Mike realized he had to come up with another plan. Trying to look like he was giving them their privacy while they quietly talked and Logan kissed his wife on the cheek, Mike waited a few moments before walking over. His mind raced as he wondered what he should say.

Evelyn beat him to the punch, however. Walking over to Logan, Mike could hear her say, "Sir? Walt Cummings just called. He asked that you call him back as soon as possible, he didn't say--"

Her words were cut short as a now-flustered Logan, brushed past her with a mumbled apology to his wife. All three watched him walk away.

At her request, Evelyn followed the Martha into her office, neither saying a word to Mike. Too nervous to do much else, Mike stayed in the hall, trying to look calm as he waited outside the President's office. He could only hope now that the call lasted long enough for Bauer's plan to work.

Finally, Secret Service agent Aaron Pierce exited the First Lady's bedroom, giving Mike a slight nod before taking his post across the hall. It was time.

Mike raps his knuckles on the door to the President's office before opening the door and stepping in. It's a good thing he's had lots of practice keeping a perfectly straight face--a lot of practice lying to people, even Presidents--so he can look Logan in the eye and keep his voice even.

Maybe it's because this is the first time when lying to a President actually feels like the right thing to do.

"Mr. President? The First Lady is asking for you. It's urgent," he says with a hint of concern.
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(no subject) [Jul. 2nd, 2007|04:54 pm]
Non-Player Character
July 17th, 2012
11:14 AM

Waiting until Mehmet walks away to patrol, Abbas moves closer to quietly ask, "What about Hamri?"

Ibrahim glances up from the tangle of wires in front of him. There's a small frown at the mention of that name and he focuses his attention on the problem in front of him. "He is not a concern of ours. He is a kafir," he adds, looking again at the younger man, "he has turned his back on his people and his God. And he's paid for that."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Abbas nod and fidget, shifting his gun and looking as if he was wondering whether to inquire further. Ibrahim decides for him. "Go with Mehmet on patrol. It won't be much longer now and we don't need any more problems."

With a nod, Abbas departs and Ibrahim stand up, motioning Fareed over to him. Quietly, so the Americans couldn't hear, "We haven't been able to get online. There is a problem with the satellite connection. Do you think you can fix it?"

"I could try," Fareed answers with a wary glance at the computers behind Ibrahim.

"Good. This broadcast is important and we don't have time to waste," he answer with pat on the shoulder. Walking towards the agents, he pauses to add, "Tell me as soon as you have something."
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(no subject) [Jun. 5th, 2007|02:16 am]
Non-Player Character
July 17th, 2012
11:02 AM

"Sign right here, sir."

Taking the clipboard, he scrawled his name quickly, glancing at the guard's name above his. Surprised, he looked at the nametag the guard wore and that confirmed it.

"Brian Sullivan, huh? Good Irish name," he joked, handing the clipboard back to the guard. Brian gave a polite, yet empty, smile.

"You can drive on through, sir."

Greg gave a muttered "Thanks", putting the car into gear. Maybe it hadn't been politically correct to say but the guy had to get it all the time. It's not like there were many other Asian guys out there named "Sullivan".

Driving through the parking garage, he finds an empty spot close to the entrance. Perfect. The less time he spent in CTU, the better.

Walking up to the door, he spots another man by the building, half-turned away from him. Tall, with a five o'clock shadow and dressed in business casual attire of slacks and a white shirt with beige stripes, Greg figures he works here.

"Hey!" The man turns around, eyebrows raise in surprise. From his body language -- one arm curved around the corner of the building -- and where he was looking, it almost seemed as if he was talking to someone else. Or looking for someone, maybe.

"I'm Greg Shepard, I'm with the FBI. You work here?"

"Yeah," he said, his accent was remarkably bland, like a newscaster. He could have been Midwestern, maybe from Iowa or some other square state that made up the breadbasket. Raising a hand in a quick greeting and giving a friendly smile, he added, "Yossi Mayer. Could you hold on for a minute? I was sent out here to check on our satellite feed."

"Oh, I don't want to bother you." It was good to know why he was out here, however. Hopefully, he wouldn't be there long, he didn't need any complications with this. "I just have to get insi--"

The words died on Greg's lips when he saw the gun, realizing too late that Yossi was lying.

"You should have warned me." Ibrahim followed behind Mehmet, dabbing at a spot of blood on his shirt. The small stain was stark against the white and beige of his shirt.

Mehmet shook his head, sliding the keycard into the slot, opening the door. "I couldn't do anything about the agent. I was off helping the others get in, when I came back he was waiting at the gates. I couldn't shoot him in the street. I had to wave him in."

"We can't afford to be careless now." Already, the Americans had imprisoned thousands of their own people in their 'detainment centers'. All across the Middle East, their military was preparing for war, waiting for the word. Everything was falling into place, they just needed one more final push.

"I know." Before Mehmet could say anything more, a guard rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks. There was a brief look at confusion, mostly focused at the Mehmet - the stranger wearing the familiar red shirt of their uniform.


He didn't finish that question.

Gesturing towards the body with the metallic suitcase in his hand, Ibrahim said, "I'll take care of that. You finish disabling the cameras and make sure the others get inside."

Mehmet holstered his gun and nodded.

Paper tiger.

That was Mehmet's favored term for the Americans and it never seemed more apt than now. Without their guards and their cameras, CTU: LA was easily overtaken. They crumbled with the slightest pressure, raising their arms in surrender as soon as a gun was aimed at them. Zhǐ lǎohǔ. Ibrahim believed that this was a sign of larger things, this battle would foretell the war.

Leveling his gun at the director, he calmly told him, "Turn off the alarm and call it in, say it was an accident. Electrical problem. Tell them that everything is fine.

The cops would show up regardless, he knew that but it would be too late then.

Instead of complying, the older man stared back at him, his mouth sent in a thin line. "I won't."

And Ibrahim knew he was telling the truth, he knew the look of a man willing to die for his beliefs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot a CTU agent, a heavyset man who had inched his way closer to his station. His hand resting just out of view, Ibrahim assumed he was reaching for a gun. Either way, it didn't matter. Turning quickly, he shot the man dead.

Ignoring the horrified gasps of the agents, he turned back towards the director. "Call it in or I will kill every one of your employees in front of you."

Nodding, the man picked up the phone.

"Fahim, Abbas," he said, waving towards the body on the floor. They knew what to do, moving forward to grab the body and drag it out of sight. Though they were enemies, there was no need now to upset them further.

His men closed ranks around the rest of the hostages as Ibrahim moved to face the group, carefully setting his suitcase on a workstation in front of him. "This does not have to be difficult. You have something here that we want. As long as you cooperate with us, you will live."

That was another lie.

*Collapse )
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(no subject) [Jun. 4th, 2007|10:18 pm]
Non-Player Character
July 17th, 2012
7:46 AM

"...is in their custody. They're going to start questioning him now."

"How did this happen?! How did you let this happen?"

Mike paused outside the door, unsure of whether to proceed. While he the President would want information about his wife, he had a feeling that wasn't his top concern right now.

"Sir, how it happened isn't important right now." Walt's voice was calm, almost soothing but still deferential. Mike knew all too well what a delicate balancing act was involved when talking to Logan at times. "What is important is that we fix that."

"How do we do that now? They have him and he's going to talk and then--"

"He's a professional, he won't--"

"Everyone talks! When it comes down to saving their own ass or keeping quiet, they talk!"

Mike was surprised by the outburst. While Logan was usually temperamental, it was rare to see him truly angry. Irritable and sullen, yes but not this. His voice was deeper, his glare fiercer, he paced the office like a caged animal - it was like he was another person entirely. Quickly, Mike checked the hallway before settling in against the wall. He didn't know what the two men were discussing but instinct and a nagging feeling of déjà vu told him it would be prudent to listen, find out what he could.

"I have someone in the FBI, Shepard. He can take of our problem for us", Walt began again, his tone more subdued this time. "He won't talk."

A long silence followed and Mike was almost tempted to move from his hiding spot so he could peek into the room. From where he stood, he couldn't see Walt but he could see Logan, his back turned as he looked out the window.

Without turning around, Logan answered. "Do it."

Another quick glance and Mike slipped back into the hallway, retracing his steps for several feet before walking back towards the room. When Walt passed him on his way out, Mike nodded politely. His nod wasn't returned.

"Sir?" Mike queried, sticking his head in before entering the room.

"Come in, Mike," Logan answered, sitting down at his desk. "How is Martha? Did she talk to you at all?"

David Palmer and Martha Logan had been good friends, after his assassination a week ago, she'd fallen into a depression that had only worsened with recent events. "I did, though she didn't say much. If I may, sir, I think it would be best if you saw her."

"I will, I will. Of course. I've been busy dealing with the nuke and the campaign and everything else," he said, waving to the papers on his desk. Resting his hand on the desk, Logan looked up at Mike. "I shouldn't have asked her to come with me, I know she wanted to but these past few days have been hard on her. They've been hard on all of us but her especially."

Mike nodded silently.

"She mentioned Rachel last night. She told me she'd been watching the news reports, about all those people who died," the President's voice wavered and he looked away for a moment.

"Who were murdered," he finished, bitterness creeping into his voice. "And all she could think about was Rachel and how many parents had lost their children, how many families had been ripped apart. She's never been the same since Rachel died. She was always such a strong woman, she still is but... Losing a child is hard for both parents, but sometimes think it's worse for the mother."

When Logan looked at him for a response, Mike found himself in over his head and at a loss for words. Finally, "I don't know what to say but if there's anything I can do to help..."

Suddenly, as if clarity had come over him, the President seemed calmer, more confident. "I think Martha should go back to Vermont. She can just skip LA entirely, it's too soon for her. They have an excellent facility in Vermont, she'll be taken care of there."

"I'm not sure if that's what the First Lady wants," Mike understated. When they spoke, she'd been emphatic that the hospital in Vermont was the last place she wanted to be.

"She doesn't know what she wants," Logan explained calmly. "I'm not being cruel, that's just the truth of the matter. You heard her go on about the phone call. She worked herself into a frenzy, tore this place apart looking for the tapes from this phantom call from David and all for nothing. She's sick and it's not her fault. But she needs help. She's going to Vermont."

Mike nodded, arguing this further would be pointless. Maybe Martha would have a better chance if she did so herself. "Yes, sir."

"I'll go explain this to Martha myself. Don't worry about that. You talk to Thompson though, see how that speech is coming along. I sent it back so he could rework a few paragraphs. This is an important moment, we need to strike the right note."

"It might help if we pulled out some other famous presidential speeches, for inspiration."

"That is a good idea," Logan answered, eyes lighting up at the suggestion. "Sometimes, I don't know what I'd do without you, Mike."
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(no subject) [May. 27th, 2007|12:07 am]
Non-Player Character
July 17th, 2012
6:00 AM

Henderson glances at his watch; only a few minutes left before the deadline. He's just thinking that Jack and Christine might not make it in time, when he hears the sound of a car approaching outside.

"On your feet," Henderson says, grabbing Caiti's arm and yanking her to her feet. She's glaring at him but he can see the fear behind her eyes. Still, he's not taking any chances.

Pressing the gun at the small of her back, he nudges her toward the office door. "Do what I tell you and you go home with your sister, got it?" Caiti nods, shakily, and he pulls her toward a cherry picker that, with its size and the shadows around it in the dimly-lit hangar, will give them some cover from the door fifty yards away.

Outside, the engine dies and a long minute or two later, there's the slamming of two car doors. His insurance has arrived.
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(no subject) [May. 20th, 2007|01:11 am]
Non-Player Character
July 17, 2012
4:30 AM

Henderson had never expected that CTU wouldn't eventually find him. He knows how it works, knows that other than a few basic steps there's little he can do to evade detection once CTU starts pursuing certain threads. The trick isn't to try not to be found out, it's to get out of whatever trouble you find yourself in when you are. Always have insurance.

The only thing he'd gotten wrong was the timing, but then that wasn't his fault. There wasn't supposed to have been a nuclear bomb detonation, making it impossible for him to get to his insurance; Caiti was supposed to have been his leverage to cover up his involvement. Now he has to prioritize. Better to get the evidence he can use to save his skin and avoid capture by CTU just using his wits; the genie's out of the bottle already anyway, through some means he hadn't expected.

He taps a key on the keyboard, changing the view from the cameras in his and Miriam's house. Not surprising that Jack's shown up in person to search the place for him, though he'd made allowances to his plan just in case. This makes it easier, however. CTU agents scour the house, but he knows they won't find much that's incriminating; he's been too careful to leave many clues, though there are some if they look hard enough.

That's none of his concern now, though. Time to get moving, to put his plan into motion. He has to move if he's going to continue to stay a few steps ahead.

Walking over to Caiti's room, he taps on the door once, before opening it, levelling a gun at her in case she needs the extra encouragement. "I'm going to call your sister soon, and you'll be with her not long from now as long as you and she both do what I say," he says sternly. "Put your hands behind your back, we're going for a little drive."

The private airfield is the perfect location for a meet. The buildings spaced distantly enough to prevent others from hearing anything suspicious, its location near a number of highways, leading to a selection of escape routes. Omicron's ownership of a hangar for the company jet makes it convenient; no worries about creating an alias or lying his way onto the property. Hell, he even has a key for the hangar.

Driving up to the hangar, he pulls Caiti out of the backseat, dragging her inside the hangar and over to a small office. "Sit," he says, pointing to the chair. She obeys without a sound, and he pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, dialling Chris Chappelle's cellphone. For her sister's sake, she'd better have it turned on.
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OOM: Plowshares into Swords [May. 15th, 2007|01:04 am]
Non-Player Character
[Current Music |Oh beautiful for spacious skies / But now those skies are threatening]

July 15th, 2012
4:40 PM

"I can't believe it," he covers his face with his hands, holding them there for a moment, trying to gain his composure. Looking up again, the image on the television screen hadn't changed. "It isn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't... Oh God, Oh God, what am I going to do?"

The goddamn image didn't change, it was that same mushroom cloud growing and spreading. Twelve thousands people were dead and that number was only going to grow as the weeks and years passed.

"Sir, Marine Two has taken the Vice-President to the Operations Center," Novick says, walking back into the room. "Once we arrive at the Northwest Operations Complex, we'll begin a teleconference with him and the Joint Chiefs."

Charles nods, still staring at the screen. "Where's Walt?"

"Walt," Novick repeats, sounding surprised by the question. "He was with Secret Service last time I saw him."

"He's my Chief of Staff!" Finally looking away from the television screen, he turns to face the other man. "He should be here, the Secret Service doesn't need his help!"

As always, Mike was unmoved by this outburst, his only sign of concern being the furrow of his brow. "I could go get him if you wa--"

"That's not necessary," he says, waving off the offer. There'd be time enough to talk to him.

All these weeks, maybe they had all been a test and maybe he'd done the wrong thing. Maybe he'd let himself be led astray. "We're going to war, Mike," Charles says suddenly, the realization hitting him. "Twelve thousand people are dead and this country will never be the same again. This is only the beginning. God help us all."

A silence stretches between them and before Mike can speak, Charles walks over to him, holding out his hand. "Pray with me, Mike."

Surprised by the request, Mike demurs, "Mr. President, with all due respect, I don't--"

"Please, Mike."

Mike took his hand and the two kneeled on the floor together. Closing his eyes, Charles prays, "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us..."
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(no subject) [Apr. 17th, 2007|09:35 pm]
Non-Player Character
Bill watches the door close behind Agent Doyle, his stomach churning. This doesn't feel right; interrogating Jack Bauer's daughter just because she spoke with someone connected with her father--probably Chris Chappelle--doesn't feel right. It's a weak case, they have no proof of her actually helping him.

But Division doesn't care. They know as well as he does that there are a number of people who are loyal to Jack, who will help him. They want an example made out of Kim, to scare the others off. It's only the fact that if he doesn't do it they'll take over and he'll have lost any control over it that is making him give Doyle his orders. Though considering the reputation Doyle has, he's not sure how much control he really has. Unfortunately, when Curtis went undercover and they needed a new Field Ops Director, he wasn't given much choice.

He's interrupted from his worrying by a page over the intercom. "Mr. Buchanan? Wayne Palmer is on line three for you."

"Thanks," he says, straightening in his chair and picking up the phone. "Mr. Palmer, this is Bill Buchanan. Please let me express my condolences to you on the loss of your brother. It's a loss for the entire country."

"Thanks, Mr. Buchanan," Wayne says, perhaps a little dismissively. "I want to know where the investigation stands."

Bill hesitates for a moment, wondering how much he can safely say. But then Wayne Palmer had been David Palmer's right-hand man for years; he could help the investigation, if there's any information he can help with. "We have a suspect in your brother's death."

"Who is it?" Wayne asks, urgently.

Another hesitation before Bill spits it out: "It's Jack Bauer."

There's a long pause on the other end of the phone, and when he finally speaks, Wayne sounds shocked, not surprisingly. "Jack Bauer? Why on earth would you suspect him?"

"We recovered the weapon at the scene; Jack's prints were on it. Witnesses saw a man of Jack's description entering the building just before the shooting." Bill thinks for a minute, leaning back in his chair. "Is there any reason--anything from before Jack faked his death--that you might think Jack would have a grudge against your brother?"

"I don't know. David told me a little about the Chinese embassy, and about what he's done for Jack to get his name back. I guess Jack could be angry at David for asking him to go on that mission, but that doesn't sound like Jack."

Bill looks through the data they've brought up on Jack and Chris as well as Palmer, looking for some connection. "It says here that you have a Caitlin Chappelle on her staff--do you know if she's had any contact with her family recently?"

"Caiti? I'm not sure; we've been pretty busy with campaigning. Why?"

"We believe one of our agents is working with Jack; that agent is Christine Chappelle, Caitlin's sister. Is it possible that Caitlin could have told her sister where Palmer was staying?"

"I guess it's possible, but we only got in late last night; she would have had to call in the middle of the night." There's a pause, and then Palmer asks, his voice shaky, "You said Caiti's sister is working with Jack?"

"Yes," Bill says, something in Palmer's voice raising his suspicions. "Why?"

Palmer doesn't speak for a moment, then, his voice softer, he says, slowly, "There is...one thing. Is this a secure line?"

"Just a minute," Bill says, tapping a few keys on his computer to tap into the phone line and scramble it. "Okay, we're secure, what is it?"

"What do you know about the demands Stephen Saunders made, back in September of 2008?"

Bill blinks, not expecting to hear that name again. "Just that he made a number of demands of your brother."

"Bill, before I tell you anything, I can't stress how classified this is. It appears in no official record, and until this morning only three--well, maybe four--people knew about it. With David gone, that's down to three people. You can't mention this to anyone else, and if it ever comes out I'll swear on my brother's li--I'll swear that it's a lie."

"What is it, Mr. Palmer?" Bill asks, the hairs at the back of his neck prickling at the thought of something this classified; obviously something terrible.

"One of the demands Saunders made was for Ryan Chappelle to be killed, and his body delivered to a trainyard in downtown L.A. We had no idea where Saunders was, or where the couriers with the vials were. David had no choice but to give in, and so he called the one person he trusted to do it."

Bill doesn't say anything, doesn't move, numb with shock. The same person he trusted to get Lee out of the embassy. "He called Jack," he says, finally, his voice sounding distant even to his ears.

Oh God, Jack killed Ryan Chappelle. Does Chris know? If she did it might explain why she was helping Jack; it could be a way of her getting back at the man who'd chosen her father's life over refusing to negotiate with a terrorist. But if she knows then why in the hell are she and Jack living together?

Palmer makes a noise of confirmation. "Between that and the embassy, and maybe even going back to the day of the primaries and losing his wife while saving David..."

"...That might be enough for motive," Bill finishes, though his mind is still on the revelation he's been given.

He manages to finish the phone call, promising that he'll keep Wayne updated, though his mind is elsewhere. Not surprisingly, he can't quite absorb the information that Jack was the one that actually pulled the trigger, not one of Saunders' faceless goons. He hadn't wanted to believe that Jack was capable of this, hadn't been sure that just the embassy raid was enough justification, even when he can't be certain of how his time in China could have changed Jack... Maybe once Jack's resentment toward Palmer for the embassy raid started, it picked up on the other things Palmer had had him do. Separately they might not have been enough to make Jack want revenge, but maybe together...

For a few minutes, he just sits in his office, stunned, trying to process it, before he finally shakes himself. He can't do this right now; there isn't time. He needs to see what's going on with Kim, how the manhunt for Jack and Chris is going.

Pushing himself out of his chair, he quickly strides out into the hallway, heading downstairs and toward the interrogation rooms. Whatever his motive, however surprising it might be, right now the most important thing is finding Jack.
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(no subject) [Apr. 12th, 2007|11:30 pm]
Non-Player Character
July 10, 2012

Walking up to his office, Bill takes a seat behind his desk, looking at the phone for a moment as he drops Bauer's file on his desk. The government file had been out of date, of course, and so he'd had analysts run data-mining on him. He'd been both surprised and not surprised when Jack's name had come up as joint owner of a business along with Michelle Dessler. Considering the way Jack had looked at Tony's funeral, and how he and Michelle hadn't spoken then--at least not that Bill saw--it was surprising to see that they were working together. But then they were good friends, they'd been through a lot over the years. Maybe it made sense that Tony's death--even when it had come saving Jack--hadn't broken that connection.

Glancing at the phone again, he takes a seat. He should call a field team for this, send someone to pick her up; she's Bauer's associate after all. But somehow that seems too impersonal, too...harsh. Particularly for someone he'd once cared about quite a lot. Someone he still cares about, even now, and someone he can't believe would help Jack except out of a belief in his innocence. Bill knows his feelings shouldn't get in the way, though.

Picking up the phone, he dials a number, hoping he's made the right decision on how to handle this.
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(no subject) [Mar. 29th, 2007|11:21 pm]
Non-Player Character
July 10, 2012

None of the CTU agents dispatched to the building across the street from David Palmer's hotel expected to find much evidence in the room where the shot was fired. They definitely didn't expect to find the sniper rifle used lying on the floor of the room, and the last thing in the world they expected to find was what is waiting for them when one of the forensics techs disassembles it.

"I've got prints--two partials," she calls out, carefully tape-lifting the latents. "One of them is pretty big, we should get a hit." In an instant there's another tech at her side, portable scanner and laptop ready.

It takes a few seconds to scan the prints, a few anxious minutes for AFIS to return the results: 75 matches.

The agent in charge of the scene looks over the tech's shoulder. "Can you limit it by physical description and military service?"

"Already on it," she says, fingers flying across the keys. Entering the description they'd received from witnesses, as well as military service and/or sniper training, she sets the program in motion again. Another minute, then a soft beep. One match. The profile comes up, and there's a simultaneous intake of breath.

The tech looks from the agent to the screen and back. She's heard the stories; even without meeting the man in person, there's no way anyone at CTU: L.A. wouldn't recognise the name. "Is that...?"

The agent digs his cellphone from his pocket, punching in the number for CTU with an urgency he hadn't expected. "I need to talk to Buchanan right away. ...Sir? We got a print off the weapon left at the scene." He glances at the screen, as though confirming it before he has to say it out loud, though he knows he hasn't made a mistake.

"Sir, the prints belong to Jack Bauer."
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