Chapter 229: Creating an Accident

"Owen?"

"Heartbeat, I need a favor…"

"Dude, you do realize you're a wanted man, right? The news says you killed Nina…"

"That's a lie. Nina was a traitor. She helped kidnap Jack's family. I've got proof."

"You have proof?"

"Of course. Jack's family is with me right now. Is Jack there?"

"Nope. Haven't seen him all day…"

"Nina was just a pawn. The real mastermind is using Jack's family to force him into doing something—but I haven't figured out what yet. Wait, who's in charge at CTU right now?"

"The Deputy Director—the one the Pentagon sent."

"Forget him. Get Tony on the line."

After a brief hold, the line transferred. Owen quickly explained everything to Tony. Even if Tony wasn't entirely convinced of Owen's innocence, protecting Jack's family was clearly the right call. They arranged to meet at an office building to make the handoff.

Owen arrived early at the meeting point, dropped off Jack's wife and daughter, then hid nearby. Only when he saw Tony arrive with a team and safely escort them away did Owen get back into his car and drive off.

During the ride, Owen had already explained everything in detail to Jack's wife—the full context of what had happened. Once they got back to CTU, they'd be interrogated, and he hoped her testimony could help clear his name. How effective it would be, though, was another matter.

Just then, Owen's phone buzzed with a call from Becky.

"Owen, I've got something. You asked me to find Jack Bauer—well, I found a lead."

Since no one had been able to track Jack down, Owen had asked Becky to help. She hadn't found anything initially, but stumbled upon a clue by accident.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know his exact location, but I found something else. Tonight at 8:30 PM, David Palmer has a private reception at the Hilton Hotel. Jack Bauer is listed among the security personnel."

That caught Owen off guard—but then it clicked: David Palmer had to be Jack's target.

A private reception for Palmer meant the Secret Service (USSS) would handle security. Just like during the assassination of the Ethiopian Archbishop—USSS had primary control, with other agencies like FBI and CTU merely supporting.

For a closed-door event like this, it would likely be held in a banquet hall inside the hotel. USSS could easily handle it without outside assistance.

If Jack was on the security list, that could only mean one thing: he volunteered. There was no other way to explain it.

Jack knew his family had been kidnapped—he wouldn't be volunteering for anything unless it was part of his mission. There was only one explanation: Palmer was his target.

"8:30? What time is it now?"

"8:10."

"F***—Becky, get me the fastest route, no traffic."

"On it."

Becky, clearly enjoying herself, rubbed her hands together. With one of her backdoor programs, she easily hacked into the traffic control system.

Owen's car once again flew through a perfect wave of green lights.

…

Ten minutes earlier

Hilton Hotel

Since the event had been scheduled a week in advance, the USSS agents had already conducted a thorough sweep of the venue. After the Ethiopian Archbishop's assassination, scrutiny on them had increased. They'd since elevated David Palmer's protection level.

Normally, they'd recommend the candidate avoid public appearances altogether, but with just a month left before the presidential election, every appearance mattered.

18th floor, Grand Ballroom.

David Palmer's campaign manager beamed at the perfectly decorated venue. His candidate's poll numbers were rising fast, and there was a real chance Palmer could defeat the incumbent and become the first minority president in U.S. history.

It was thrilling just to think about.

Tonight's reception was critical. Several CEOs of major corporations were attending to show support. If the meeting went smoothly, it would give Palmer's campaign a major boost.

He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes to go.

Everything had to be flawless—appetizers, desserts, welcome flowers, red carpet—he went over the checklist again and again.

…

Meanwhile, in a different room of the hotel, a female hacker glanced at her watch. As the second hand hit twelve, she hit "Enter" on her laptop.

Immediately, fire alarms blared in the grand ballroom. Water sprayed from the ceiling's fire-suppression system, drenching the entire setup.

…

At the same time, crawling silently through the ventilation shaft on the 10th floor, Jenny moved with practiced grace.

She had easily obtained Palmer's schedule and had meticulously planned this assassination.

Originally, the event was supposed to be held in the 18th-floor grand ballroom. But Jenny knew that kind of venue would be heavily guarded. Not only would her chance to strike be slim, but even if she succeeded, escaping would be a nightmare.

So she caused an "accident"—triggering the fire alarms and sprinkler system before the event. It would force them to relocate, probably to the smaller 10th-floor ballroom, where security would be rushed and sloppy.

…

18th floor – chaos.

Sprinklers still going. Alarms still blaring.

"What the hell is going on?" the campaign manager shouted, soaked head to toe.

Staff had already fled the ballroom. Alone among overturned chairs and dripping decorations, the campaign manager stood shouting into the void.

Finally, the sprinklers and alarm shut off. The hotel manager came rushing in.

"Sorry, sir! We checked—there was no fire, it was a false alarm…"

"No s*** it was a false alarm! The only thing on fire here is me! I'm about to explode!"

If he had a gun, he'd have shot the hotel manager on the spot. But he couldn't—he was a campaign manager. His priority had to be damage control.

"I apologize…"

"Don't apologize—fix it! The event starts in ten minutes! Or wait—make that nine now! I swear, if the next President of the United States ends up looking like a drowned rat because of your incompetence—"

"There's another ballroom on the 10th floor," the manager stammered. "It's smaller, but we can move the event there..."

"Then why the hell are you still standing here? You've got nine minutes. No—make that eight!"

As the manager ran off, the campaign manager wiped his face and started giving orders.

"Cindy, tell David the event's been moved to the 10th-floor ballroom. Andy, go down to the lobby and redirect our guests and media. Make sure no one gets confused. Also, keep an eye on the hotel staff—make sure they get the new place set up ASAP."

…

In the ventilation shaft, Jenny watched the flurry of hotel staff and Secret Service agents rushing to prepare the new venue.

She smiled. Just as she predicted, the switch was too last-minute for a thorough security sweep.

The staff rushed to lay out the red carpet, long tables, trays of food and drinks.

The agents did a cursory inspection of the area, but Jenny had been right: they barely scratched the surface before being called away by their supervisor.

In the shadows, Jenny checked her watch. The screen glowed faintly: 8:20 PM.

Ten minutes until showtime.

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