Owen used Bernie's phone to call Tony and quickly relayed the ambush. But by the time CTU agents were in position at the base of the gondola line, the car that had taken so much gunfire was… empty. No one could figure out how the shooter had escaped.
The meeting with Bernie had yielded only one solid lead: a terrorist attack on a train station was set for tomorrow. Another on a shopping mall was also in the works, though the date was still unclear.
With this intel, CTU launched an immediate investigation. All train stations in Los Angeles and its surrounding areas were flagged for inspection. Police and undercover officers were dispatched in force, and K9 units were stationed on-site. Still, nobody was sure if these bomb-sniffing dogs could detect the new explosives.
Back at the base of the mountain, an agent brought Owen to a van where he changed back into his CTU gear.
…
Meanwhile, in a secluded villa in Los Angeles, the female hostage in the attic was carefully fiddling with the broken landline.
As a graduate of electrical engineering, she'd long thought of this as a way out—but she hadn't been able to try it because of the constant surveillance by the terrorist known as "Hammer." Ever since Avril had taught Hammer a lesson, no one guarded the attic anymore.
Still, guards remained downstairs. The single window was boarded up, and the stairs were the only exit—there was no way to escape.
After a few minutes of desperate tinkering, the phone buzzed to life. Somehow, miraculously, she got a line.
Her heart raced. Holding the exposed wires as a makeshift receiver and transmitter, she prayed someone—anyone—would answer.
Ring… ring…
Each dial tone felt like an eternity.
Finally, someone picked up. It was a man, and it sounded noisy in the background.
"Who's this?"
"Please—sir—help me! I've been kidnapped! Please, I—"
"Prank call. Bye." Click.
The call ended. Her heart plunged into despair. She fought back tears and tried again.
This time, she barely got three words out before the line went dead.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. But she refused to give up. Again, she twisted the wires, trying to make a connection.
Ring… ring…
"Sir, please—don't hang up!" she pleaded, sobbing.
The man on the other end hesitated. "Who is this? I don't do prank calls."
"No, please, it's not a prank! Help me! My name is Jessica Martin. I live at 15 Larrick Street. I've been kidnapped. They're forcing my husband to make bombs. They were behind last night's explosion!"
"What? Explosion? Wait—are you talking about the movie premiere bombing? The one with the $500,000 bounty?"
The man was skeptical at first—Los Angeles had plenty of prank shows—but something about the desperation in her voice told him this might be real. And half a million dollars? It was worth a shot.
"Please, I swear everything I'm saying is true! They smashed the phone with a bat. I'm calling you using broken wires. Please… call the police… anyone!"
The man—Mike Chen—sat frozen in his car. The call was strange as hell, but what if it was legit? Half a million dollars could finally help him open his dream chain of martial arts gyms.
Just then—
Woooop-woooop! "Ford with license ending in 37XCG, pull over immediately."
Mike hadn't even noticed a squad car behind him.
He slowed and pulled over, startled.
The officer stepped out, approaching with practiced authority. "Sir, you were driving while on your phone. That's reckless—now keep your hands on the wheel so I can—Mike Chen?"
The cop blinked in recognition. It was Karl.
Mike had been hired recently by the West Hollywood precinct as a self-defense instructor. LAPD often brought in specialists—snipers, psychologists, weapons trainers—and Mike was the current hand-to-hand expert. Karl, a close friend of Captain Haviland, had helped get him the gig.
In fact, Haviland had once borrowed elite sniper Bob Lee Swagger from the Marines to train SWAT snipers. Despite being labeled a terrorist, Swagger had taken a headshot from 1,500 meters—one of the best in the country.
Impressed, Haviland had asked the Marines for a close-combat recommendation. That led to Mike.
But Karl didn't even get a word out before Mike shoved his phone at him.
"A woman just called me. Said she was kidnapped. Her husband was forced to build the bomb from the premiere!"
Mike didn't recognize Karl—but that didn't matter. He was a cop. He could help.
Karl stiffened. He took the phone and heard Jessica's trembling voice. Within seconds, he knew this was no prank.
You don't joke with cops about terrorism.
After a few seconds of thought, Karl knew this was bigger than LAPD. CTU had to know.
He didn't call any official number.
He called his old buddy: Owen.
…
Inside a black SUV speeding through the city.
Owen and Heartbeat were in the front seats, talking through the case when the phone rang. Owen held up a hand. "One sec."
"Karl?"
"Steve—it's urgent. I got a call from a woman. She says she's been kidnapped. The people who took her are the same ones behind the premiere bombing. They're using her to force her husband to build bombs."
Owen jolted upright. "Where are you?"
"Fountain Street, just past Norfolk, heading west—about a kilometer out."
"Stay there. I'm coming."
Owen dropped the call and grabbed the radio. "All units, priority update—new lead. Head to Fountain Street and Norfolk, westbound one klick."
Seconds later, the entire CTU convoy veered off and sped toward the location.
On-site, the blacked-out SUVs pulled to the curb. Ahead, Karl stood next to a stocky, athletic Asian man.
Owen jumped out of the lead car and jogged over. "What do we have?"
Karl stepped forward, handed over the phone, and gestured at Mike. "She called his number. They're still on the line."
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [www.p@treon.com/Mutter]
[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]