~HOUR OF DESPAIR~
A dark figure crept silently along a dimly lit corridor, his athletic shape keeping close to the side. In his hand gleamed a light USP Tactical, loaded and ready. Like a rat, the man scraped along the side of the wall, anticipating an attack of some sort. He blinked, his eyes straining from the amount of awareness he demanded from them. A dark, ragged sweater could be seen, the hood drooping down his back. Dark-blue jeans covered his legs, accompanied by a pair of black shoes. The shoes were exhausted from their years of effort, bringing this man to his various destinations.
An electronic ring emerged from the solemn-looking man's droopy sweater pocket. With haste, he used his free hand to withdraw a cell phone, flipping it open.
The man kept his voice low and husky, his attention still drawn to the environment around him.
"Yeah, what?"
"Jack? It's Chloe. I think I may have found a match."
"What's his name?"
"Harry Trenton. He has a history of some minor terrorist involvement, but nothing too big."
"I see. What’s his appearance? "
"I’m sending it to your cell now."
”Alright.”
The rogue agent pried the phone from his ear and watched as information was displayed across the small LCD screen. A young man with short, black curly hair was shown. He had brown eyes and a puckered mouth. Good enough for Jack. Speedily bringing the phone back to his ear, he kept his voice low.
“Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Jack," his close friend complained, “are you sure about this?”
"Yes, Chloe, I'm sure."
The experienced man's patience played with him. His memory went back to the previous day. He had come in late for work, just missing an interrogation. Apparently, a man was caught dealing a package in public, but what he dealt was thought not to be drugs. Police nearby stopped this man, who had started to run. The Counter-Terrorists Unit soon heard about the case and brought the man in to be questioned. Bill Clinton had leaded the interrogation, receiving no results. To Jack's horror, they let the man go home. Fists clenched and temper high, Jack stormed at Bill Clinton, who strongly objected to a second interrogation. Jack knew something was up, and he was going to find out what.
Now at the apartment of Harry Trenton, Jack lowered his weapon and brought his head to the wall as his friend cut back at him.
"Jack, he was brought in yesterday; he knew nothing."
"That's because Bill wouldn't press him," Jack raised his voice, somewhat angrily. "If I were there, I would have squeezed information out of him like the juice from an orange."
Silence.
Only the wind pouring through an open window could be heard. Ready to hang up, Jack concluded his conversation.
"I will bring this man to justice. Can I trust you to keep this private, Chloe?"
A sigh could be heard on the other end of the line. Then, Chloe breathed out an acknowledgment.
"Yes, Jack-- you know me. I'll keep this on the low-down for however long you want me to. Just be quick, OK?"
"Alright," Jack breathed content with Chloe's decision to stay by him. "I'll let you know when I catch him."
And with that, Jack Bauer closed his cell and popped it into his sweater pocket. Eyes ahead of him, he raised his USP and continued down the creaky boards of the corridor.
Room #13 was his destination.
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The following takes place between season's four and five of 24, between the hours of 10 PM, to 11 PM.
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“Ha ha,” chuckled a boney man, a beer held tightly in his hand. He was slouched onto a worn-out couch, TV on and popcorn at his side. Beside him sat another man, who was rather large in stature. A big cauldron for a belly stuck out of him, jiggling every time the man would laugh. His bristly beard extended down into his neck, and sags drooped under his eyes, showing signs of late-night parties. He was bald, his head gleaming in the bright light above them. The two men were glued to the TV, not aware of anything outside of it. Like robots, they took turns grabbing handfuls of popcorn from the bowl, each turn spilling more and more popcorn onto the already dirty floor.
The skinny man spoke up, almost abruptly. “Well, whadda’ ya’ say, Bob? Good show, huh?”
The large man beside him took a swig before replying. “Haven’t seen anything better in years.”
Satisfied, the curly-haired man stood up, stretching his rested arms. “’Nother beer?”
His friend, still watching the television, nodded. “You betcha’.”
Nodding drunkenly to himself, the skinny man wobbled across the small apartment, almost bumping into a wooden desk. Tumbling over some tools and DVD’s, he managed to make himself to the kitchen, which was comprised of domino plates as a floor. A small refrigerator was erected in the kitchen, as well as a small stove for cooking. Various utensils hung from homemade hooks.
The man opened the refrigerator. Its cool interior washed his sweaty face. Before he could reach in to grab two beer bottles, the doorbell rang. He raised his head suspiciously.
“Now who comes here at this time?” He wondered, dazzled.
Reluctantly, he shut the door of the fridge and trudged over to his apartment door.
“Who’s der’?” His friend shouted over the noise of the television.
“Don’t know yet,” he replied, his nerves rising uncontrollably. Fumbling with the door lock, he peered through eyehole. To his surprise, no one was present. Still nervous, he finished unlocking the door and placed his hand on the handle, wondering whether he should turn it or not.
Slowly, he turned the handle until a little clicking sound could be heard. He opened the door a crack, his eyes flying around suspiciously.
“Who’s there?” He demanded.
A husky voice arose from around the corner. “Harry Trenton?”
Gulping down the rising bile in his throat, Harry managed to peep out a few words.
“That’s me…”
Suddenly, a man whipped in front of him, raising a gun to his head. Harry winced as the icy weapon touched his wet forehead.
“You’re going to let me in,” the man whispered bluntly, pushing the weapon deeper into Harry’s head, for greater impact. “We need to talk.”
Submissively, Harry acknowledged the man’s order with a quick nod. He turned around and walked back into his apartment.
His friend, still seated on the couch, laughed, his deep voice booming. “So, who is it? The cops?”
“Worse than that,” Jack Bauer thought, edging his way into the room, gun held to the enemy’s head.
10:11 PM
Jack shoved Harry onto a kitchen chair, keeping an eye out for any signs of movement. With quick, experienced movements, the CTU rogue withdrew a rope and tied Harry’s hands around the chair, to prevent him from escaping. Jack took a moment to relieve the sweat on his forehead. Standing back up and instinctively raising his weapon, he headed toward the television, where Harry’s friend had been sitting. He slithered silently and carefully across the cluttered floor, getting ready to meet the man’s figure with a warning call of his own. Jack was almost around the corner when suddenly, a voice screamed.
“Trenton, get out—get out! There’s a thief here!”
“Damn it,” Jack muttered, pressing himself to the wall. Immediately the sound of the television was muted. Jack could hear Harry’s friend breathing nervously.
“H-Harry.. . are you alright?” He called, his voice cracking.
“Well of course I’m alright—I’m only tied up you big oaf! He has a gun and he’s coming for you! Quick, grab your cell-“
That was it. Jack couldn’t allow anyone contacting the police. He zipped from his hiding spot and revealed himself to the large man. Trenton was busy flipping out his cellphone.
“Drop it!” Jack shouted, aiming straight at Trenton’s cell. The man looked up at Jack, completely horrified.
“Call the cops, Trenton, before it’s too late!” called a voice from the kitchen.
Shaking his head, Trenton stood still, his hand shaking.
“If you don’t drop that cell phone now, I will shoot.” Jack warned the man. Trenton continued to stare dreadfully at Jack. Getting impatient, Jack roared. “Drop it!” Obviously unable to handle the tension, Trenton let his cell phone plop to the floor, the buttons 9 and 1 still flashing on the screen.
“Now sit down and be quiet.” Ordered Jack, his weapon still pointed at Trenton as he drew in closer. The large man’s belly jiggled as he toppled onto the couch. He had a sickly expression on his face, his wide eyes staring deep into Jack’s.
Leaning close to Trenton’s worried face, Jack muttered, “If you so much as stand up, I will shoot your friend.”
Satisfied that he had gotten his message across, Jack withdrew and started towards Harry, leaving Trenton alone to bask further in his pool of fear.
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That's all for now, folks. I'm posting this to get some more practice. I know I have two fictions currently going, but I've been in a bit of a hiatus and need to come out of that. Writing this will help me do so. Any comments or criticism would be appreciated.
