Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

NSA, Los Angeles Division.

Becky sat at her desk, her fingers dancing over the keyboard, guiding the military satellite from tens of thousands of meters above Earth. Under her control, the massive orbital machine slowly shifted position.

On her screen, the satellite's feed showed a figure exiting the convenience store, then driving away—that had to be Owen. Moments later, another man emerged, glancing around cautiously before getting into a different vehicle and heading off. That had to be Denzel Payton.

Owen had told her earlier: only the store owner and their target were alone in that shop. The second person to leave clearly wasn't an old man—so it had to be Payton.

After confirming Payton's departure, Becky contacted Owen, who then left his hiding spot and began tailing him based on her directions.

She took a sip of coffee. As she set the mug down, a shadow flashed past the glass doors of her office. She quickly toggled her screen to a different interface. Right on cue, the door burst open and a panicked staff member rushed in.

"Supervisor! We've got a problem—someone's hijacked one of our satellites!"

Becky didn't even look up. Her hands continued flying across the keys as she replied casually, "I know."

"You… know?"

The staffer blinked in disbelief.

Becky didn't miss a beat. "Of course I know. Hacker took over 'SkyEye-2'. I've been warning you all for months that our lower-level protocol stack had vulnerabilities. They exploited a hole at the protocol layer."

She sounded so focused and convincing that the staffer completely bought it.

"Luckily, I caught it early. I'm in a tug-of-war with them right now for control. Get those clowns in Engineering to run a full scan on all our comms protocols. Whoever did this has probably left more backdoors."

"I'll let them know right away. Uh—what do I tell PM?"

"Report as normal."

"Understood."

The staffer rushed off. Becky switched screens back to the satellite feed. Two vehicles were visible on the narrow country road, one trailing the other by about three kilometers.

"Next turn, take a right. Owen, you're driving too fast—ease up a bit."

Her voice came through clearly over Owen's earpiece.

"Copy that. Slowing down, turning right," came Owen's reply.

RING RING

Her office phone buzzed. Becky knew exactly who it was—her boss, the PM. Isabella must've escalated the situation. The PM would definitely want a direct briefing from her as the senior security officer.

She picked up. "Becky, what the hell is going on?" asked Harrison, her superior.

"Nothing to worry about," she said calmly. "Someone exploited a vulnerability in the protocol layer and gained temporary access. I've already patched it and am wrestling for control. They didn't have time to do any serious damage."

Harrison wasn't technical—he was pure management—and left all the tech to Becky. She had him wrapped around her finger.

"Knew I could count on you," he said. "How long until it's resolved?"

"Can't say exactly. I'll update you as soon as I've got full control."

She hung up and returned to her "battle" mode. This kind of smoke-and-mirrors performance was nothing new for her. If anything, it might even score her a bonus—though now she'd have to retire this particular 'vulnerability' from her toolbox.

...

6:20 PM, eight hours since Owen learned of Jack's family's abduction.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long golden rays across the land as dusk settled in.

On the road, Owen followed Becky's guidance, tailing Payton from a safe distance. With her satellite coverage, there was no way Payton could detect him.

Payton had lied. He'd said the hideout was just ten kilometers out. But they'd gone thirty kilometers already, and he was still driving.

Swag still hadn't checked in, but Owen wasn't worried. The man was a Marine, trained for this stuff. Two cops wouldn't be a problem.

"Owen," Becky's voice came through, "he's pulled off the main road—right turn into a dirt path. Looks like some sort of old factory. He's entered the building."

Owen's pulse quickened. He'd finally found the hideout.

He parked a little ways off, concealed the car, and set off on foot.

The night sky quickly swallowed the last traces of sunlight—good for stealth. The darkness gave Owen an edge for his approach.

"Owen, I've lost visual. I can't see anything anymore. You're on your own now."

Becky delivered the bad news. The satellite she'd commandeered was a first-generation recon model—easy to hack, sure, but not built with advanced features like night vision.

No choice now. Owen drew his P226, screwing on the suppressor. His previous M9 didn't support a silencer—too risky for what came next.

The factory gate was rusted and sealed. But Owen found a broken section in the fencing and slipped inside.

The darkness was dense, but where there were lights, there were people. He crept through the shadows like a ghost, jacket reversed to hide any white spots that might catch light.

Somewhere up ahead, voices murmured, then went silent.

He crossed a hallway shrouded in black. A door to his right rattled faintly, but before he could investigate, a woman's scream ripped through the air from the rear courtyard.

Owen hesitated—then moved toward the sound.

"Bastard, let her go!"

"You leave her alone! Mommy—help me! sob sob*…"

"Fuck you, you piece of shit! Take it out on me if you've got to!"

"Haha, I've been holding it in all afternoon. You got your turn. Now it's hers…"

Men's laughter. Women's cries. The man was clearly Denzel Payton. The women's voices—had to be Jack Bauer's wife and daughter.

Owen crept up to the courtyard door. It wasn't locked.

Inside, Payton had one of the women pinned, preparing to assault her. Blood pounded in Owen's ears.

He didn't hesitate.

Phut phut!

Two suppressed shots tore through Payton's torso. He slumped over the girl, blood soaking her clothes.

Owen stepped into the room. The women froze at the sudden intrusion, eyes wide with terror and confusion.

"Keep screaming. Don't stop!" he whispered.

They instantly caught on, resuming their cries. Anyone listening would still think the abuse continued.

"CTU," Owen said softly. "I work with Jack. He sent me to get you out."

Both women nodded. Jack's daughter—Kim, if Owen remembered right—was shaken but unharmed. Her clothes were disheveled but intact. He'd arrived just in time.

Owen glanced around. "Are there others?"

Jack's wife answered—calm and composed, even now.

"There's at least one more. He brought us food. I don't know if anyone else is here."

Just then, Becky's voice crackled in his ear again, urgent:

"Owen, one person is heading your way…"

In the NSA office, Becky stared at a black screen. No visuals. No infrared.

All she had was the ghostly glow of moving headlights on a distant dirt path, approaching Owen's location fast…

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