Hijacked
A 24 fanfic
Part 1
Rewriting parts of various episodes to include my alter-ego
Part 1: Episode 9 of Season 1
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Trying to find the nearest street sign so that she could check the name, India Henriksen almost ran over the man when he suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. Automatically, she stomped down on the brakes, cursing herself for not paying attention, but anger turned abruptly to fear as the man suddenly raised both his hands, and she realized he was pointing a gun at her.
India wanted to scream, but she didn't, just watched dumbly as the man ran around to the passenger side of the car and pulled the door open. Great. Not only was she lost in Los Angeles, but she was also being hijacked! The man was actually getting into the car! He slid right onto the map she'd spread out on the passenger seat, and she heard the ripping of paper as he shifted.
"Drive," he said, and when she didn't respond, he actually jabbed her in the arm with the gun, making her flinch away. "Drive! Drive the car!"
India put her foot down on the gas, then lightened up so abruptly that the car lurched forwards. Straightening the wheel, she reached automatically for the clutch before remembering that the rental car was an automatic. Sheepishly, she pulled her hand back up to the steering wheel and risked a quick glimpse at the man sitting beside her. He was still holding the gun in both hands, much too close to her ribs, though he was currently looking out the back window. She glanced away again quickly. Concentrate on the road, she told herself firmly. Concentrate on the road. Any sudden movements and that gun could go off just by accident ...
Concentrating under pressure had never been one of her talents.
"Turn left," the man said suddenly. "In this driveway, now."
"Okay," India said, surprising herself with the fact that her voice still worked. She eased the car into the turn lane and waited impatiently for the oncoming traffic to let up. The man glanced backwards again, and India made the turn slowly. They were passing parked cars now, and she could see the entrance to a construction site ahead.
"Make a right at the end of the parking lot," the man ordered. He had a very distinctive voice, she noticed, and her brain tried to escape the current stress by switching over to the task of categorizing that voice. Sort of low and furry, and yet -- not? Husky? Hoarse? Not quite. She was turning now, but there was a dead end ahead, and the man next to her swore. Just the sound of his frustration made India feel cold and clammy all over.
"Back it up, back it up," he urged.
"Okay, okay." For a moment, India tried to move the automatic controls sideways like a stick shift. Then she remembered it was an automatic, and a rental car to boot, and glanced down to make sure she hadn't done it any damage. Eventually, she got the controls into the right position. The car rolled backwards, and she turned the wheel.
"No, the other way, go into the construction site," the man said. India shot him a glance. "Why?"
"Just do it!" he growled, and she turned the wheel the other way. As she maneuvered the car through the gates, the man said suddenly, "Let the truck go by."
She hadn’t noticed the oncoming vehicle until then, and slowed down automatically at the warning. A quick glimpse to her right showed her that the man had lowered the gun somewhat, but was still pointing it in her direction. She turned her head and stared yearningly at the driver of the truck. If only she could get his attention, or the attention of some of the workers sitting in the back, and communicate to them somehow that she was in trouble. Could they read her lips at that distance, if she mouthed the word "Help?"
"See that parking spot? Take it."
Tearing her gaze away from the rearview mirror, India looked ahead. In front of a half-finished building and a scaffolding, there was a trailer on stilts with a row of cars next to it. To the left of the last car, there was just enough space to park hers, if she slid the front end under the wooden stairs that led up to the door of the trailer. Maneuvering the rental car into the gap, she braked, and hoped fervently that the man would simply hop out and disappear forever. Instead, however, he ordered, "Put the car in park."
Sheer terror washed over her, and her hand shook, making her struggle with the controls. The man noticed, and said, "Calm down. I just need to make one phone call and then I'll let you go."
"Okay," India said quickly. "Okay."
To her utter astonishment, the man reached over and pulled the keys out of the ignition. For one single moment, India's indignation took over her terror, and she protested, "Hey! Don't take the car, please, it's a rental, and it's got all my stuff in it --"
"I'm not taking it, now get out," the man told her. When he moved his arms to open his own door, his hands moved in tandem, and, for the first time, India noticed that they were handcuffed together. She couldn't help gaping. Handcuffs! He wasn't just a hijacker, he was a criminal, probably escaped from the police!
"Just get out of the car. Please," the man told her.
India got out slowly, glancing around as she shut the door. All of the construction on the site seemed to be taking place somewhere else; there was no one close enough to help or even witness what was going on. She looked back to the man, who had come around the front of the car. He'd lowered the gun, but was obviously keeping it ready.
"Up the stairs," he ordered, motioning for her to walk ahead of him. Feeling incredibly vulnerable, she walked reluctantly past him to the lowest step. As she put her foot on it, she looked back, wondering if he were following and aiming the gun at her head. He was still there, but the weapon remain close to his body, not pointed at anything. That was a small relief.
The man motioned a little, and she turned back around and went slowly up the stairs. Maybe there was somebody in the office, somebody who could call the police before this man threatened them as well. No, they'd probably end up being taken hostage as well. Defeated, India tried the door, but the knob didn't turn.
Surprised, she said, "It's locked."
"Stand over there," the man told her, pointing to the farthest corner of the landing. Using his left elbow, he shattered the glass in the window of the door, then reached in and unlocked it. The door opened inwards, and the man reached out to India as though to escort her inside. She tried to avoid his touch and sidle by, but wasn't completely successful. Her arm seemed to burn where she'd brushed against him, and she rubbed it in an attempt to erase his touch.
The office had windows in all four walls, no doubt so that the big bosses could oversee everything that was going on all over the construction site. The blinds were horizontal, letting in strips of light. India moved past a sofa and one of two desks, and finally decided to take the chair in front of the other desk, opposite the water dispenser. Stuffing the gun into his jacket pocket, the man hitched a hip up onto the desk nearest him and peered through the blinds, checking to see if they'd been followed or noticed. Obviously satisfied that they hadn't, he turned them to vertical so that nobody could see in, then reached for the phone and dialed.
Thank goodness, India thought. The phone call at last. And after he'd finished, she'd be free to go -- if he kept his word. She couldn't have helped overhearing even if she hadn't been interested in what the man had to say, but she was very interested, and so she listened carefully.
"Thank God you're all right," were the first words that the man said. "They wanted me to kill you. That's why I put the flak jacket on you, I couldn't think of anything else."
Whom had they wanted him to kill? Thank goodness he hadn't managed it, though. The hair on the back of India's neck rose up at the thought that she might be in the same room as a murderer. And who were they?
"Because you started piecing everything together. Nina, I'm so sorry," the man went on.
It sounded like this Nina was a friend, and not exactly a stupid one, either. India would have loved to hear the other side of the conversation, but she wasn't exactly going to ask a man with a gun to turn the receiver so that she could eavesdrop on his private conversation.
"They're being held hostage. They said they would kill them if I didn't help them take out Palmer."
Hostage? Kill? The hair of the back of India's neck was rising again. Who was Palmer? Had this man actually taken him out?
"Secret Service had me in custody but I got away. They tapped into our surveillance, you got to stay out of sight." The man leaned closer to the window again, opening the blinds with his fingers just enough to see out.
Custody? That sounded like he'd at least tried and somebody had grabbed him. Secret Service -- weren't they the ones protecting the president? Wait a minute. Palmer -- David Palmer. India had seen ads for him -- the first African-American running for office. Was he dead now? Had the man succeeded? But the next snippet of conversation gave India no answers. It seemed that the man had moved onto something else.
"That's not possible. Walsh cleared her," he was saying. After a statement from the other side, he swore again, then said, "She had access to everything. Did she say anything about Teri or Kim?"
He'd sounded hopeful while asking. Perhaps those were the names of the hostages.
"What do you mean, she's not cooperating?" the man asked next, standing up. The hope had disappeared from his voice and cold determination had taken its place as he demanded, "Put her on the phone."
The man turned his back on India and took a few steps away, and she leaned forward ever so slightly.
"Jamey," he said. "Look, I know that Nina and Tony don't understand what you're going through right now, but you know me. I don't care about protocol, and I'm true to my word. If you help me bring down Gaines and help me get my wife and daughter back safely, I promise you I will get you out of this."
India held her breath, full of sudden and intense hope that the mysterious Jamey would help.
"Of course I do. Right now only four of us know about this. I can take care of Nina and Tony. I can get this done. Jamey, please." The man had bowed his head and was audibly pleading.
There was a long pause, and whatever the woman on the other side was saying, it wasn't good news. The man raised his head, and when he spoke next, his voice had gone cold and threatening again.
"She has a son named Kyle. Bring him in," he said.
For what? India wanted to scream. How old was that son? What were they going to do to him to make his mother help them?
"I also need a car," the man said. "Put a CTU com unit in it, a box of 9mm ammunition, a locksmith kit, the whole package."
A car. India should have been relieved that he wasn't going to need hers anymore, but she couldn't stop thinking about Kyle, and the Teri and Kim he'd mentioned before. So many people in danger, and all of them probably scared to death, just like her.
"I'm going to try to get myself out of this," the man said. He turned back around to face India, and she glanced away automatically. "I'm going to find Teri and Kim."
There was a pause. India looked back, almost expecting him to hang up then.
"Corner of Temple and Mercer," he said, then added, "Thank you, Nina."
Temple and Mercer, India repeated to herself. That must be where they were. She'd have to remember it and look for it on the map -- assuming it hadn't been ripped too badly. Then, maybe, she could find her way out of the city and get on the road she was supposed to be on. But her thoughts were interrupted by the man hanging up the phone. The conversation was finally at an end.
"Who are you?" India asked as the man walked past her. "What's going on?"
The man went to the window in the narrow wall and looked out, turning those blinds almost completely vertical as well. He didn't speak until he'd turned around and sunk into the chair behind the desk. "A few hours ago, someone kidnapped my wife and daughter."
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