Head Shot (24 Declassified, Book 10)
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In less than twenty-four hours, in a palatial hideaway in the mountains of Colorado, a group of America's most powerful industrialists will be gathering for their annual summit. The bizarre disappearance of all the members of a local crackpot cult—and of two ATF agents assigned to keep an eye on them—may have no connection whatsoever to the impending high-powered conference. But with so many corporate titans grouped together in one location, CTU can't afford to take chances.
Sent to investigate, Jack Bauer is immediately plunged into a maelstrom of treachery, terror, and slaughter as he uncovers clues to a devastating conspiracy that could leave America's most essential institutions in ruins. And now the rogue CTU operative has only hours to prevent the unthinkable—before the relentlessly approaching storm of blood and fire rocks his nation to its foundations.
powered by an electric motor that caused the gate to slide sideways. One of the guards waved her through, and the car drove into Sky Mount. 6 THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 8 A.M. AND 9 A.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME Sky Mount, Colorado Larry Noone escorted Jack Bauer and Anne Armstrong into a reception area where they were met by Marion Clary. She was a gatekeeper for Cabot Huntington Wright, the man in charge of running the Sky Mount Round Table, among his many other
direction. He peeked around the east side of the ore car seeking targets. A shooter on the next ledge down huddled behind a stone wall three feet high, all that remained of a long-gone building. He had a machine pistol in each hand and was streaming lead at Armstrong as she dashed for the timber stack. A regular Two Gun Kid, thought Jack. Two Guns was pretty well covered and Jack’s chances of scoring on him were slim. A rifleman came into view much farther down near the bottom of the slope,
the trunks of small bushes growing on the ridge and used them to pull himself up. He scrabbled at rock outcroppings to haul himself higher. He could see the ridgetop. A gauzy green tendril brushed the back of his hand. He jerked it away, his flesh tingling from the contact. Jack kept moving solely by instinct. The summit was a dozen feet away—but the green cloud was already there. A thin curtain of it shimmered above him. He held his breath and scrambled upward on his hands and knees. Green
trunks and abundant foliage. The pine scent was heady, intoxicating. The edge of the forest was a solid wall but when Jack approached it the trees spread apart in a maze of paths and trails. Not manmade trails but game trails. He entered the woods. They were filled with pools of cool shadow and hot sunlit glades that alternated in a checkerboard pattern if one had the wit to see it. They were never silent but quick with life and motion: birds flitting, pine cones dropping, boughs creaking.
him. Jack spun, ready to cut loose. A figure jumped up and ran outside through the open doorway. He was out before Jack had a shot at him. The fugitive ran into a blast of gunfire. A scream sounded, more gunshots, and then the sound of a body hitting the boardwalk. Jack had no desire to be shot by his allies so he hung back to one side out of the potential line of fire offered by the doorway. “Griff! Rowdy!” Griff called back, “That you, dude?” “Yeah!” “What’s happening?” “It looks clear in