geeky_agent | (no subject)

(no subject)

July 10, 2012
9:12 AM

After driving around, Chris and Jack found a drugstore nearby that was open. Armed with a short list of supplies, she went in while Jack stayed behind with their attacker.

The store itself was brightly lit and nearly empty, only a few employees inside. It didn't take long for Chris to find everything they needed, the large bottle of extra-strength aspirin being the most important item in their makeshift first-aid kit. Hurrying up to the front of the store, she was anxious to get out of here. It's not until she reached the front of the aisle that she notices the cop standing at the checkout desk, chatting with the clerk.

At least, Chris hopes it's just idle chatter. Ducking back into the aisle, she pretends to be checking out the various kinds of snack bars, even throwing a few into her basket. When she hears the doors of the store open, she peeks around again and watches the cop leave.

It's not until he's completely out of the store that she moves forward, walking up to the check-out desk and unloading her basket. Remembering that she might have a large bruise on her forehead, Chris is careful to keep her head down, pretending to be interested in the magazines nearby.

Once she's out of the store, Chris lets out a sigh of relief and hurries towards the van.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yeah," he says, though he doesn't believe it even as he says it. Reaching over the seat he grabs the aspirin bottle holding it up in front of their attacker's face.

"Listen very carefully. We are going to the meeting with your contact, and if he's not standing in the middle of the refinery, you're going to get this guy to come out of whatever hiding spot he might be in. Say anything suspicious and I'll kill you. Do anything to put either of us in danger, and I'll kill you. Do what you're told and maybe I won't decide to get creative when asking you a few more questions," he says, using a tone that clearly says he isn't exaggerating about the killing him part.

Slowly the attacker nods, and Jack gives him two aspirin tablets before climbing back into the front of the van. He's still not sure how exactly they're going to do this, particularly without knowing the layout of the refinery or exactly who they're dealing with. There's as good a chance that the contact will blow the van up on sight as that he'll be intending to make good on the offer to pay the goons. Suddenly, Jack's filled with the feeling that he's out of his depth, and the worry that if he fucks this up it's not just his life at stake.

"We'd better head for the meet," he says, turning the engine on again. "When we get there, I want you to take the phone and two of the guns and get out before we reach the spot. Work your way over to the spot on foot, and stay behind cover."

"And what are you going to do?" She's not too keen on hiding in the bushes while he goes to face these people alone.

"I'm going to try and draw whoever hired these guys out into the open, using him as bait," Jack says, jerking his head in the direction of the back of the van. "I'll need you to provide cover in case things get dangerous."

There was so much that could go wrong with this scenario and so many ways they could both end up dead. After a moment, Chris asks, "How are you so sure they'll care about him?"

Jack's quiet for a moment, looking at the road, at the mirrors, but not at her. He can't be sure; that's the part that's got his stomach knotted and his shoulders rigid with tension. There are no guarantees, and he's flying blind, here. Worst of all, it's not just his life that he's risking, but somehow he has a feeling that if he pulled over right now and asked her--or ordered her--to get out and call CTU to come pick her up, she'd refuse. Not to mention that he needs the backup, as much as he doesn't want to put her in danger, like so many other people he's cared about.

"At the very least, this guy will want to tie up the loose ends. He'll have to be there to do that," Jack says, quietly.

It's clear from the way Jack's not looking at her that he's about as thrilled with this idea as she was. Unless they came up with another plan, arguing wasn't going to change their options.

Chris touches his shoulder, a small gesture of comfort. "Let's do this."

He nods, driving as fast as he can without drawing attention to them. He circles the abandoned refinery, checking out all the approaches as well as the layout of the site.

"The meeting is in that open area near the tanks; I'll drop you off behind the control building on the north side, and I need you to make your way south toward the meeting point from there. I'll drive in from the east entrance. You've got two of the guns and extra clips?" he asks, scanning the area before pulling over near a hole in the chain-link fence around the property.

Chris looks out the window as he talks, trying to map out in her mind what Jack's telling her. Nodding, she just murmurs "Yeah."

This was it.

Her hand is on the handle and she keeps it there, not moving to open the door just yet. Suddenly, Chris turns towards him and her hand curls behind his neck to pull him close. She kisses Jack, her lips dry and her movements more frantic than passionate.

He's a little surprised, but he kisses her back with equal urgency, wanting to hold onto her instead of taking this risk. If they don't, however, they'll have to start running, and they'll never be able to stop. Their only way out of this nightmare is to find some way to prove he didn't have anything to do with Palmer's death, and at the moment this seems to be their only option.

He forces himself to pull away from her; they don't have time for this right now. "Go," he says, his voice hoarse. "I love you."

"Love you too," she whispers, relunctantly pulling away from him. She opens the door and, with one more look to him over her shoulder, steps outside.

Moving towards the hole in the fence, Chris crawls through, wishing again that she hadn't worn a skirt as her bare knee scrapes against the gravel. At least she'd been able to pick up sensible (if very cheap) tennis shoes at the drugstore.

He waits just long enough to see her get through the fence, before he turns to the attacker in the back. "Showtime. I'm going to drive us to the gate and then you're going to take it the rest of the way; I can handle the gas pedal, and I'll uncuff you when we get to the meeting point. Remember what I said--anything funny and I won't hesitate to shoot you. Got it?"

At the man's slow nod, Jack climbed out of the driver's seat and helped him into the passenger seat, then drove around to the gate. Crouching down on the floor he helps his attacker move into the driver's seat, reaching with his own foot to press down on the gas as he slumps down in the passenger seat, just peeking above the dashboard. The car starts to roll, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.
There's no going back now.

Forcing her self not to look back, Chris makes her way to the tanks. She's careful to stay out of open sight, keeping close to the buildings and moving slowly. She's tempted to run, it seems counterintuitive not to, but all her training forces her to keep a steady pace. Looking around her, the place seems deserted and when she's not expecting someone to jump out and shoot her, Chris wonders if this is the right place at all.

Eventually, she makes it over to the tanks and hunches down behind one of them.

The van pulls into the open area near the tanks, empty and quiet for the moment. Jack peers over the dashboard, trying not to be seen, his heart hammering in his chest. Somehow he needs to keep whoever is meeting them from leaving, though he's not sure how he's going to do that when he can't be sure that he'll even show up, that he hasn't rigged the place to explode or have a sniper somewhere. At least it doesn't seem like the latter, as his attacker turns the van so it faces back the way they'd come, then turns off the van's engine and silence descends on the area. He can't see Chris anywhere, but then that was kind of the point. Hopefully she could stay out of sight, at least unless he needs her cover fire.

"I'm climbing into the back," Jack says, "And I'm going to have this gun on you the entire time, so don't even think about trying anything." The man nods, dully, and Jack squeezes between the seats to the back of the van. Moving to the rear doors, he unlatches one, pushing it open just a little. If he needs to make a quick exit to fire at the employer, it'll save a few valuable seconds.

There's a rumbling noise, and Jack cranes his neck over the back of the seat to glance out; a similar black van is driving up, and he can't see much through the tint of the windshield. The van pulls up about thirty feet from them, the driver leaving the van idling as he steps out. Jack nudges his attacker, who thankfully doesn't look down at him.

"Come on, man, I gotta get out of here," the attacker says, leaning out the window, "You got the money?"

"What's the rush?" the man with the money asks, suspicion in his voice.

"I gotta get rid of this van; there were cameras at the target's place and as soon as someone notices they're missing, the cops are going to be looking for it."

"Where are your friends?"

"Safe. Now come on, gimme the money."

There's a pause before Jack hears footsteps crunching on the gravel, approaching the van. Crouching down in the shadows at the back of the van, he can see a silver metal case being passed through the window, his attacker placing it on the seat next to him.

"We're done, then," the employer says, turning on his heel and starting to head back to his car. Quietly, Jack slips out the back of the van, something nagging at him. Something about this seems too easy.

His answer comes when he sees the employer pull a cellphone from his pocket, pushing a couple buttons, and there's a sudden whine from inside the van, the pitch raising, like something charging up. His legs are moving even before he consciously realizes what the sound means, and he hits the dirt at the same time as the deafening explosion shakes the ground under him and he feels a sudden jab of pain in his shoulder.

Chris feels the explosion before she understands what has even happened. It's in the dull ring of her ears, the pounding of her heart and the tremble in her hands. Moving from behind the tanks, she watches the burning wreckage, listening to the flames crackle and not a sound beyond that. No sight of Jack even as she looks, hoping for something, anything because she can't believe they got this far for it to end like this.

Unsure of what to do next, she slumps against the tank, praying against hope that he wasn't in that van.

It's not until she spots the man who they were supposed to meet, now idly walking away, that Chris remembers she has a gun in her hands. Too eager to wait for a clear shot, she raises her gun and fires, missing him by a few inches. She fires a few more shots as she runs from one tank to the other but he's already taking cover and firing back. They're both too far from each other to do too much damage but it won't stay that way for long.

Jack hears the gunfire even through the ringing in his ears, coughing from the thick, oily smoke that seemed to stick in his nose and throat. He needs to get out of the cloud, see what's going on, and more importantly, where Chris is. He runs toward where he remembers there being a shed, and soon enough he's behind it, raising his weapon, peeking around the corner. He can't see Chris, but he can see their target crouching behind the hood of his car and firing at a position at roughly a ninety-degree angle from the shed, somewhere out of Jack's line of sight, and hear returning fire coming from that position.

The employer is edging toward the door, but trying to keep from exposing himself through the windows; first things first, Jack needs to keep him from getting away. It's the work of a few seconds to shoot out the front tires of the SUV, though he has to duck behind the protection of the shed as the man realizes he has two shooters aiming at him.

"CTU--drop your weapon and put your hands up!" Jack yells, though he's not entirely expecting it to work. Still, it's worth a shot.

Even though she wants the returning fire to be from Jack, Chris doesn't let herself believe that until she hears his voice.

The joy she feels at knowing he's alive doesn't last long, they had to get out of this situation before that could change. When Jack's ploy flails and the hostile starts firing in his direction, Chris realizes this might be the best shot she has. Squinting, one eye almost shut to get a better aim, she shoots hoping to get his arm if not his shoulder.

There's a squirt of blood and a scream as the hostile falls.

Jack ducks behind the shed as the hostile returns fire, bullets ricocheting off the metal not far from his ear. There's another burst of fire from behind the tanks and then a loud yelp of pain. Quickly, Jack peeks around the corner of the shed, his heart in his throat as he prays that Chris hasn't been hit.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots only the hostile on the ground, stepping back out into the open. "Chris?"

"Jack," she sighs. Relieved to see him, Chris runs up to him and hugs him tightly. "You're all right?"

He hugs her back, briefly but tightly. "Yeah, I'm okay," he says, though truth be told, everything still sounds somewhat muffled, a high-pitched whine still ringing in his ears, and his shoulder's hurting. It'll go away, though, and there's no time to get into details.

Pulling back, he quickly looks her over to make sure she's all right before turning toward the hostile. He's groaning, clutching at his abdomen; whatever questions they have they're going to have to ask them and get him to a hospital.

Kneeling next to him, Jack roots through the hostile's pockets until he finds his car keys, then tosses them to Chris. "Check his car? There's got to be something inside--under the seats, in the trunk, somewhere."

She accepts the keys with a nod, walking over to the car with a glance back towards Jack. Unlocking the driver's door first, she looks inside, rummaging under the seats and the glove compartment. In the latter, there's a few papers that might be of interest and an envelope. Inside the envelope are photos of what looks to be a hotel room, Chris assumes it might be Palmer's.

Taking the envelope with her she exits the front seat and heads for the trunk. After finding the right key, she opens it and finds one solitary metal briefcase.
"Found something."

While Chris searches the car, Jack pulls off his smoky-smelling cotton shirt, the t-shirt underneath glued to his skin with perspiraton. He leans over the hostile, pressing the shirt against his bullet wounds, trying to stem the bloodflow as well as making sure his face was right above the hostile's.

"With the amount of blood you're losing, you're going to die unless you get to a hospital. If you want to get to a hospital, you have to answer my questions, got it?"

The hostile nods, slowly. From the look of desperation in his eyes, he's definitely not someone on a mission; not a true believer for whatever cause. Maybe there's a chance he'd get some information out of him then.

"Why did someone want me to take the fall for Palmer's death?" Jack asks.

"He said he wanted you out of the way. Said you couldn't get involved," the hostile replies, puncutating the statement with a wheezy cough.

"Why? Why kill Palmer? What made them think I'd get involved?"

"I dunno, he didn't say why, an' I didn't ask. I was just hired for this."

Jack's about to ask what he was hired for, exactly, when Chris approaches. Jack glances back, spotting the briefcase. "Is it a key lock or combination?"

"Key," Chris says, laying the case down on the hood of the car and looking at the keys on the key ring. There are two that could be it and she tries the first - it doesn't. Expecting the same of the second she's surprise when it fits and she hears the lock open with a click.

Jack watches her for a second, then turns back to the hostile, glancing back and forth as he speaks. "He didn't tell you anything about why I couldn't get involved, why Palmer needed to be taken out?" He applies a little more pressure to the wounds; he can still tell himself that he's doing it to try and stop the bleeding, but the hostile yelps in pain.

"No--I was just hired for the hits."

Something about the phrasing makes him pause, and before he find his voice to ask for specifics, he hears the click of the briefcase opening, turning to look at it.

There's not much inside the case but it might be just what they needed. Aside from the foam, complete with cut-outs to nestle parts of a gun, there was a side pocket with something bulky in it.

A silver case. One that opens easily and contains small, thin, skin-like fingerprints. It reminded Chris of when she was a child and poured glue on her hands, then peeled it off.

She didn't have to wonder whose fingerprints they would be.

"Jack, you should look at this."

Jack looks between the small pads of fake skin and the cutouts in the foam, large enough to hold a rifle and sight.

Surprisingly, for a moment he feels nothing; not anger or shock, just...nothing as the knowledge seeps in.

"...You killed David Palmer," he says, softly, rocking back on his heels, staring at the man in front of him.