"The Archbishop's death wasn't an accident—he was the real target. That Isaac Johnson guy is likely backed by some very powerful people. Senator Dick is probably one of them. He lives in LA. Should we look into him first?" Owen offered his thoughts as he looked at Jack.
But Jack had his head lowered, mumbling as if speaking to someone unseen: "No, I can't kill him. Fuck. Don't hurt them. No—okay. I'll do it. Please don't hurt them…"
His emotions were clearly agitated. Owen grabbed Jack by the shoulders, concerned. "Jack, are you okay?"
The big-nosed man who'd come with Jack took a few steps forward. Owen immediately felt something was off. The guy didn't look friendly, and one of his hands was behind his back—probably holding a weapon. Owen grew tense, alert.
He didn't know who this guy was, but he definitely looked more like a minder than an ally. Maybe someone from the Pentagon?
As these thoughts raced through his head, Jack suddenly looked up at him.
"You sure you're alright?" Owen asked again, sensing something was seriously wrong. Nothing about today felt right—everything was just… off.
"I'm fine. Come with me," Jack said, leading the way.
Owen followed as Jack led him toward the edge of a ravine. There, Jack turned to him, patting his shoulder and oddly straightening his collar and jacket.
"Jack, what are you doing?" Owen asked, confused.
Jack looked at him and said, with an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, Owen."
"Sorry for what—"
Bang! Bang!
Two shots rang out, cutting Owen off mid-sentence. All he felt was a searing pain in his chest, then blackness. He was out cold.
By the ravine, Jack silently holstered the pistol and let Owen's body fall into the ditch.
"That's more like it…" the big-nosed man said with a grin, walking over. He glanced at Jack, then at Owen's body.
He wasn't worried that Jack might've done something shady with the bullets—Jack had used a Glock 17 the man had personally provided, not his own CTU-issued sidearm.
He'd seen it clearly: both shots were to the chest.
Jack looked defeated. He tossed the recorder with the Archbishop confession back to the big-nosed man and got into his car, silent.
The big-nosed man turned to leave but hesitated. He was a cautious type. Even though he'd watched the whole thing, he decided to make absolutely sure.
Pulling out his own pistol, he fired two more rounds into Owen's body lying in the ditch.
The body twitched.
Only then did the man feel reassured. He turned and followed Jack's car as they both drove off down Highway 13 and quickly vanished.
…
Thirty minutes later, Owen stirred. His chest felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. Groaning, he sat up slowly and realized he was at the bottom of the ditch.
What the hell happened?
Then it came rushing back—Jack Bauer had shot him. But why?
The area was eerily quiet. Aside from the occasional car on the highway, there was nothing.
Stumbling, Owen climbed out of the ditch. His car was still parked nearby, completely untouched.
He unbuttoned his shirt and looked at his Kevlar vest. Several golden bullets were embedded in the fabric—two in the chest, two near the abdomen. The chest hits were from Jack. That's what knocked him out.
The whole thing reeked of foul play. Why would Jack shoot him?
He remembered Jack's strange behavior—the muttering, the panicked tone, and that suspicious guy who came with him.
Then it clicked.
Jack had been forced. The phrase "Don't hurt them" echoed in his mind—someone had threatened Jack's loved ones.
And the shoulder pats, the fussing with his collar… Jack was checking if he was wearing a vest.
Owen patted his jacket. In one pocket, he found a crumpled slip of paper.
Scrawled in a hurry were just a few words: "Family… kidnapped…"
That confirmed it. Jack had no choice. He'd tried to warn him, even staged the shooting to knock him out, and left behind a clue.
Jack's family had been taken. But where were they being held? And how could Owen find them?
CTU agents' family details were top secret—he'd need special clearance. Even Becky at the NSA might not be able to access that kind of info.
Then he thought of Chloe—but she was under investigation. Nina?
He paused, hand hovering over his phone.
Nina was a traitor—the one who'd gotten Jack's wife killed. That was one of the few plot points from 24 that Owen remembered clearly. He'd never fully trusted her.
And with CTU's history of moles, Owen couldn't trust anyone inside the agency. If Jack Bauer had been compromised, who else had?
This rescue mission… he'd have to do it himself.
Luckily, God—or maybe Jack—was watching out for him. The note Jack had used was the back of a tax delinquency notice. It listed Jack Bauer as the recipient, and it had his home address.
Whether intentional or not, Jack had left him a lead.
83 Montauk Road, Fleckel Neighborhood.
Owen knew the general area. He jumped into the car and sped off.
Traffic had picked up—he'd hit the morning rush. What should've been a 30-minute drive turned into nearly an hour.
11:50 AM
He finally arrived at Fleckel. Driving slowly, he scanned the house numbers.
60… 71… 80… 83.
Got it.
He casually parked in front of 85, got out, and circled around to the back of 83.
Pistol drawn, Owen moved in quietly. The windows showed no signs of life. He pressed himself against the wall beside the back door and listened. It was silent inside.
After a few seconds, he gently pushed the door—it opened easily. Unlocked.
He inspected the lock. Signs of forced entry.
Now fully on alert, Owen slipped inside. The dining area by the back door was empty. He checked the utility room—nothing. Hallway—empty.
He moved down the hall to the living room. Also empty. But the scene was messy—furniture knocked over, items scattered across the floor. There had clearly been a struggle, though it looked brief—whoever had come in probably subdued them fast.
No doubt now—Jack's family had been taken.
Owen swept upstairs and checked all the rooms—nothing unusual. Back downstairs, he took a good look at the place.
A family photo hung on the wall—Jack, his wife, and a daughter. That saved him time. He memorized their faces and pocketed a copy for reference.
One thing struck him as strange: the intruders came in through the back, but the home's alarm system never triggered.
Jack's house definitely had a security system—how had it not gone off?
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