24 Declassified: Trinity
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Operating out of a nearly empty space in Los Angeles, the newly created CTU faces its first major crisis. A large amount of plastique explosive has vanished and could be anywhere—with criminals, crazies, outlaw bikers . . . or in the bloodstained hands of Islamic radicals. As powerful representatives of the world's major religions gather for a conference on faith, peace, and coexistence, agents of the newborn elite counterterrorism unit must chase elusive shadows through the underbelly of L.A. A nightmare of assassination and terror is looming, tied to the darkest secrets of the church—an explosive threat that must be exposed and defused within twenty-four hours, or violent repercussions will be felt around the world.
And only one man possesses the necessary passion, ruthless skill, and willingness to operate outside his jurisdiction and beyond the limits of the law: a dangerous rogue CIA operative . . . named Jack Bauer.
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Brought to him. They kicked their bikes into gear and rode north on the steadily rising Interstate 5 for a few miles before arriving at Castaic Lake. Jack had never visited the 200 area, so he could do nothing but follow as Dean took an off-ramp that curved away heading toward a vast dark area to the east of the interstate. The road led to small collection of buildings. There was a gate, and floodlights, but the bikers didn’t seem bothered by them at all. One of the gang hopped off his bike.
Had separated. Michael thought, just for a moment, about bolting. He had an escape plan, of course—a false identity, an open ticket to Venezuela, a small house there. Not really a life, but a place to bivouac. This carefully laid plan was fraying at the seams. But his faith was too strong. Professional though he was, Michael was also a devout Catholic. A true Catholic. And though he despised Yasin for other reasons, the man was right in saying that they shared a common enemy. Michael had.
Replied. “Impressive,” Jack sneered. “Three wannabe terrorists talking on the Internet. You saved the planet.” “Jack,” Henderson soothed. “There’s coffee down that hall. Why don’t you get some.” Jack glared at Chappelle a moment longer, then turned away. Chappelle watched him go. “That’s the guy you want to bring in here?” “Richard Walsh says he’s the best,” Henderson said. “We need him.” “I need him like a hole in the head,” Chappelle replied. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17.
Button. A picture of a jovial, round-faced man appeared. “Okay, thanks.” Jack stood up and made himself as obvious as possible as he walked toward the crowd of black suits that emerged. Instantly, guns were pointed in his direction, and he was ordered to freeze in four or five languages. “Giancarlo,” he said, searching the compact group. “Dio mio,” Giancarlo said, stepping forward. “Bauer? That was very impressive.” He said some 322 thing in Italian, waving the phalanx of security men, with.
Heretic. A traitor to the church.” Mulrooney felt the blood rise into his cheeks. This damned old man had done it to him again, looking so frail but then challenging him so directly. “This really can’t be the best time to discuss this . . .” 332 “What better time?” the old man said. “The world is entering a religious war, my friend. How will we help if we are at war within ourselves?” Mulrooney realized where the Pope’s thoughts were leading him. “I was not there, Your Holiness, but I was.