Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

"Becky..."

"Got it!"

Owen didn't even need to finish. Becky was already deep into the system, her fingers dancing across the keys. Within moments, the sender of the suspicious text message was identified. Her voice came back through the earpiece.

"Denzel Payton. From Seattle. Unemployed drifter. Hm... he used to be in the Marine Corps but got dishonorably discharged after assaulting a superior officer.

No real assets. Credit card records show he's traveled to 31 states, with criminal records in 12. Definitely a career criminal—assault, drunken brawls, and even a six-month sentence for attempted rape and assault...

Most recent report was in San Francisco. Cops suspected he was involved in a child kidnapping case. He was arrested at the ransom drop but released due to lack of evidence. The girl was never found...

Three months later, they discovered her body in a cave. Severely decomposed. The case shocked the entire area. No proof, but everyone believes it was him..."

What a piece of human garbage.

That was the mutual, unspoken thought between Owen and Swag as they listened.

And if this monster had Jack Bauer's wife and daughter in his hands, their situation was undoubtedly dire.

"Can we find this guy's current location?"

Owen asked carefully. Becky's answer was a disappointing no.

"Can't pinpoint him. All I can say is he's somewhere near Los Angeles."

Sensing Owen's frustration, Becky elaborated:

"There are two standard ways to track a phone: GPS and cell tower triangulation.

GPS relies on the phone's location module actively reporting data to a server—but this guy's phone doesn't have GPS at all.

The other method uses tower signals and triangulation, but that only works if the phone's engaged in a call for a sustained period."

Becky's explanation reignited Owen's hope. "So, if I call him and keep him on the line long enough, you can trace him?"

"Exactly."

"How long?"

"At least 13 seconds. Longer is better," Becky replied, giving the minimum threshold needed for accurate triangulation.

Owen's mind kicked into overdrive. Getting Denzel to answer the phone was easy. He could pretend to be a telemarketer, wrong number—whatever. But how to keep the guy talking for more than 13 seconds?

And if the longer the call, the more accurate the trace, then they needed to make it a long one. That was the real challenge.

Both Owen and Swag were brainstorming fast as they rushed back to Swag's hidden vehicle.

Time was critical. Once Becky had the coordinates, they'd need to get there fast.

They sped down the road, still without a clear plan, and before long found themselves back in the commercial district of the San Fernando Valley—adult film central. Production studios lined both sides of the street, and the sidewalks were full of scantily clad "actresses."

Seeing them, Owen slapped his own forehead. How could he have forgotten where they were?

"This way!"

Owen pointed to a busty blonde on the curb. Swag pulled over.

"Hey, sweetheart. Want to make some money?"

"Sure, where to?"

The girl moved to get in, but Owen stopped her. "Not you." Her voice wasn't seductive enough.

Next candidate.

"Say something for me?"

"Say what, cutie?"

Bingo.

Owen motioned her in. The car pulled away from the curb, kicking up dust. The first girl was left fuming. What?! That btch? She's not even prettier than me. Voice? I've got the best moans in the Valley!*

But Owen wasn't picking based on looks—he needed a voice.

Something sweet, seductive, irresistible. Someone who could keep a guy like Denzel on the line for at least a minute—longer, if possible.

Swag drove while Owen turned around and addressed the girl in the backseat. "Here's what I need. Call this number. Say whatever you need to say to keep him talking. Every minute you keep him on the line, I'll pay you ten bucks."

The girl's eyes went wide. Was this guy nuts?

She'd been in the game long enough to hear every kink in the book, but this was a new one.

Owen patiently repeated the instructions. After a moment of hesitation, she asked, "So… you're telling me I get ten dollars for every minute I stay on the phone with this guy?"

"Yup."

Owen flashed a small wad of bills. Money they'd taken from the enemy corpses—easy come, easy go. He peeled off a ten-dollar bill and handed it to her as proof.

Once the cash was in hand, the girl's attitude shifted instantly. Who cares how weird the request was—she didn't even have to undress. Just talk? Easy money.

Owen signaled Becky to stand by, and the girl dialed. A few rings, then a gruff voice answered.

"Yeah? Who is this?"

With expert ease, the girl slipped into character, her voice dripping with honey. "Hey there, baby... feeling lonely?"

"Uhhh..."

Both Owen and Swag shivered. One sentence, and Owen knew he'd picked the right girl. Her voice was sinfully smooth, like the best ASMR you've ever heard.

Thirteen seconds was barely a few lines of dialogue. Becky's voice came through the headset, unable to hide her excitement.

"Got it! Northwest L.A., near the San Fernando Valley!"

Owen pumped a fist. Jackpot.

He had been prepared to try multiple times. Instead, she nailed it on the first call.

And the best part? The guy wasn't even far away. They could be there in minutes.

Almost as soon as Becky gave the location, Swag adjusted course and sped northwest.

"Tell her to keep talking. The longer, the better—better signal, tighter location."

Becky's advice was clear. Owen nodded and handed the girl another ten-dollar bill.

Her last bit of doubt vanished. She turned up the seduction level and kept going, her voice soft, sultry, and full of promises.

A few more flirtatious lines, and Becky reported again:

"He's near the skate park—moving northwest."

This update was much more precise than the last. Owen could almost taste the breakthrough. Another ten-dollar bill, another honeyed moan from the girl. She was all in now, having fun and earning cash.

Owen's bills kept flowing, her voice kept rising, and Becky's coordinates became more and more specific.

Until finally, Becky said—

"He's on Laurel Canyon Boulevard, just passed Riverside Drive—west side, small warehouse district!"

They had a target. They had a location.

And Jack Bauer's wife and daughter might still be alive.

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