Hijacked
A 24 fanfic
Part 2
"What?"
"Somebody went bad inside the Secret Service, and kidnapped all of you? You got away, but they've still got your wife and daughter? Is that why you're running away from them?"
"No, Secret Service hasn't got anything to do with this. It was somebody else. Look, uh -- what's your name?"
"India," she said. "Like the country." Many years ago, she'd found it was easier to mention the land of curry than it was to bring Gone With the Wind into the conversation.
"India," he repeated. "I'm Jack. I work for a special branch of the government."
"Which branch?" India asked.
Jack looked surprised, but answered, "CTU -- Counter Terrorist Unit. We're under the Department of Defense."
"I've never heard of that," India admitted, then thought of something. "Can I see some I.D.?"
A little awkwardly, Jack reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a wallet, holding it open so that she could see what appeared to be an official seal and the name Jack Bauer. India noted the name, but realized with a little chagrin that she had no idea whether the I.D. was genuine or not. Still, she couldn't think of a reason why he'd be carrying a fake one, so she simply nodded. While Jack was working to get the wallet back into the pocket, she said, "So, these people that kidnapped your wife and daughter, did you ... uh ... help them ...?"
"Take out Palmer?" Jack succeeded with the wallet, then rubbed his face with both hands. "No. I managed to create a distraction, and that's when Secret Service grabbed me."
India hadn't realized how tense she'd been until the admission made her relax. "But your family -- they're still alive?"
"I hope so," Jack whispered. For one single moment, he looked positively tormented, and then he turned to the window again.
"I wish I could help," India said quietly, knowing what she'd want if she were in that situation.
Peering out through the tiny slits between the blinds, Jack didn't answer. India sighed and stood up. "But I guess I can't, so maybe it's best if I just get out of your way."
Jack turned around to face her. "What do you mean?"
"You said that you'd let me go after you made one phone call," India explained in lieu of admitting that she didn't have any kidnapper-fighting skills and would probably end up a hindrance instead of a help. "That was one phone call. Nobody knows you're here and you've got a car coming to pick you up. You don't need me anymore. So, may I have my keys back, please?"
She started to put out her hand, but stopped when Jack shook his head.
"I still need you," he said. "I can't afford to be taken back into custody. If they get close enough, they have to believe that I'll do something really crazy."
"What do you mean, crazy?" India repeated. Then realization crept over her, and she felt suddenly cold. "Like shooting me?"
"I'm not going to shoot you," Jack said.
"I saw this movie once where the good guys shot the hostage in the leg to slow the bad guys down," India heard herself babble.
"That was a movie," Jack said. "Shooting you would be the last thing the police or anybody else would do. Relax, this will be over in five --"
He stopped suddenly, looking as though he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. Equally alarmed and curious, India watched to see what he would do next, and was relieved when he smiled a sheepish little smile.
"Just relax," he corrected himself. "And please sit down."
Be careful what you wish for, India told herself as she took her seat again, and snorted mentally.
"What?" Jack asked, and India glanced up in embarrassment. She hadn't realized she'd been talking -- or perhaps snorting -- out loud.
"Be careful what you wish for, you might get it," she said. When his face remained blank, she explained, "I was just wishing that I could do something to help you, but being a hostage wasn't what I had in mind."
"You'll be fine," Jack told her.
They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Jack stood up again and went back to the phone. As soon as he'd finished punching in the correct number, he began checking the windows again. If he hadn't started talking just then, India thought she would have offered to help keep an eye out for police or anybody else. She could do that much, at least.
Jack had turned his back on her and was talking to somebody named Tony this time. India listened curiously. At first, there wasn't much to keep her attention, mostly just questions to which India could not hear the answers, but then Jack said, "Tony, Secret Service said you were the one who called them to take me out of play."
Uh oh, India thought, but then Jack went on. "Given the information you had, I think you made the right choice."
India would have loved to have heard Tony's reply to that, and leaned closer.
"I appreciate that," Jack said. "Look, I wish I knew earlier that I could trust you. I'm just glad you were there when Nina came back to CTU. I'll call you when I get the car."
He hung up. India glanced down to the floor, trying not to appear as though she'd been eavesdropping in case he should look her way. After several moments of silence, she looked up again. Jack had rested both hands on the desk and was leaning on them, staring out through the blinds again. Hoping that he was unaware of her staring, India observed him for the first time as a person, not as a threat. He had dark blond hair, lighter than her own, and he was handsome, but not devastatingly so. Some people were so beautiful that they seemed unnatural, unapproachable, but Jack was just good-looking enough not to make her feel like chopped liver. The light was shining in horizontal bars on his face, and one of the bars showed her that he hadn't shaved that morning.
"India, come here to the window," he said. Startled from her reverie, India got up and walked over to where he was standing. He'd bent down one of the blinds and gestured through the resulting hole. "See that tool down there? The one that looks like a hedge clipper?"
India looked down. "No."
"Those two wooden handles sticking up in the back of that truck?"
India tried again, and finally spotted what he meant. "Yeah."
"Could you get them for me, please?"
"Sure," she said. "But what do you need hedge clippers for?"
"They're bolt cutters," he told her, lifting his hands and shaking them just enough that the handcuffs rattled.
"Oh." India felt like whacking herself in the head. "Uh, can I get you anything else while I'm out?"
It was Jack's turn to give her a funny look. "Like what?"
"I've got some snacks and things in the back seat of the car." She tried to speak casually, but the sudden, intense need for those snacks was making her inwardly chant, oh please oh please oh please.
"Coffee?" Jack sounded hopeful.
"Sorry, no, I don't drink it. But I've got some juice boxes and sandwiches and ... stuff." Please please please please ...
Jack hesitated visibly, then relented. "Okay, but get back here as fast as you can. Try not to attract attention."
He looked twice in each direction before opening the door. Indicating the gun, he said, "I'll be watching you."
Feeling slightly miffed at his lack of trust, India went down the steps as fast as she could without tripping. She grabbed the bolt cutters from the truck, trying to act as though it were something she did every day, then strode over to her car and pulled the tiny cooler from the back seat. Salvation at last! Slightly slower, she went back up the wooden steps, and Jack opened the door as she approached.
As India put the cooler down, Jack retreated to the first desk and crouched down, gripping the corner with both hands so that the chain was just above the surface.
"You're going to have to do it with a burst," he said. "Give it everything you've got."
"I hope I've got enough," India murmured. "I'm a writer, not a bodybuilder."
She applied the bolt cutters to the chain, gritted her teeth, and tried her hardest to squeeze the handles together. For one terrible moment, she thought it was hopeless, and then the metal parted and the blades snapped together. India felt herself lurch forwards once the pressure was released, and pulled back abruptly so that she didn't stab Jack by accident.
"Good!" Jack exclaimed, straightening up with a smile. India smiled, too, watching him stretch and get the kinks out of his shoulders. Under his jacket, he looked thin, almost scrawny, so that India felt downright chubby in comparison. Turning away from the view and shutting her mind to her physical imperfections, she laid the bolt cutters on the floor and nudged them under the desk with her foot, then reached for the cooler.
"What would you like?" she asked, laying out the sandwiches and snacks in a row, and arranging the juice boxes behind them.
Jack grabbed a sandwich and a drink, then sat down in the chair that India had previously occupied. Taking a package of chocolate Zingers, she found a place on the couch, ripped open the plastic, and sank her teeth into both of them at once. Ah, the food of the gods! She was feeling better already. No situation was ever so bad, or conversely, ever so good, that it couldn't be radically improved by liberal application of chocolate. Now she was sure she could face whatever was ahead.
"You said you were a writer?" Jack prompted when his sandwich had been reduced to half its original size.
"Mm," India said around a mouthful of cake. She swallowed, and elaborated, "Yes. I just got my first book published this month. I flew into L.A. yesterday to start a book signing tour."
"Congratulations," Jack said.
"Don't worry, I won't force a copy on you," she said, hoping to see him smile again. She was disappointed.
"Why not?" he asked.
Because I'm sure you don't want to be bothered by an anonymous author trying to promote a book that you'd probably laugh at, India thought. "I haven't got any with me. They're all at the bookstore."
Jack smiled at that, but it was too quick to be satisfactory. "Are you married?"
India glanced down at her hands, wondering if something about them had given it away. She'd stopped wearing her ring when her fingers had swollen during pregnancy, and afterwards, she'd never bothered to put it back on. Later, she hadn't wanted to put it back on. But that wasn't the sort of thing she discussed with strangers, so she fell back to the simple truth. "Yeah, I've got a husband and a daughter and two sons, but they all had to stay home. We couldn't afford the tickets for all five of us to come to America, even if we could get the kids out of school for a month."
"Where do you live?"
"Denmark," she said. "Can you believe we met in Germany, though? We were both doing a semester abroad to learn German, but we ended up speaking English to each other all the time. I don't think either of us remember any German at all now."
It was better to remember the good old days. It made her sound cheerful.
Jack nodded acknowledgement and smothered a yawn. Cursing herself for boring him, India fell silent, and tried frantically to think of something to ask him instead. He stood up, however, before she could say anything, and she watched as he went straight to the dispenser and splashed some water on his face. Obviously, other people used the dispenser for similar purposes, because there was a towel hanging next to it. Drying his hands and face, Jack sat down again.
"I'm sorry I had to get you involved in this," he said.
"No problem," India said with a shrug. "Actually, it's a good experience. Once I recover, I'll probably use it in my next book."
"Don't." Jack spoke without moving.
"I wasn't going to write it down word for word and use your real name," India explained. "I was thinking more of feelings, like being scared."
Jack accepted that by leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. India had just decided that he didn't want to talk anymore when he surprised her by mumbling, "I used to be in the military. Did field work for the CIA. I've been to some horrible places. I've seen some horrible things. I don't think I've ever been this scared in my entire life."
He didn't look scared. He looked like he was falling asleep. India watched in fascination as he opened his eyes once or twice before letting them stay shut, then relaxed more and more until his head drooped to one side. How could he be scared and yet doze off at the same time? She was tired, too, what with jet lag, a late night, and an early morning, but was she able to take a nap? No, adrenaline was keeping her wide awake.
India felt her gut clench as she imagined herself in a similar situation. If anybody dared lay a hand on one of her kids, she'd want to move heaven and earth to get them back again. Then she thought back to the conversation she'd overheard, and drew her own conclusions. "The Secret Service?"