However, despite the black-suited agents clearing the way, Jack didn't move. Instead, he turned to the distraught Hotchner and asked in a low voice, "What did that terrorist, the one pretending to be a civilian, say to you?"
"What did he say?" Hotchner shook his dazed head with difficulty and repeated the question instinctively. The combination of severe blood loss and the diminishing effects of adrenaline due to his teammates' timely arrival was hitting him hard. All he wanted now was to collapse and sleep.
"He said… he recognized me as a cop. Um, he saw the gun on my waist and figured out I was law enforcement. Then he told me he had called 911 and stayed by Kate's and my side until you arrived."
"But he didn't call 911." Jack recalled the anonymous phone found on the victim earlier, which contained only one unknown number. "Did he make the call in front of you?"
"Yes." Hotchner's face suddenly paled as he realized what Jack was implying. He couldn't help but glance nervously toward the back of the ambulance.
"Don't be stupid." Jack gave him a shove, then opened the small window connecting to the ambulance's rear compartment. He urgently addressed the bald paramedic inside, "Buddy, this hospital is on lockdown. We need to divert to Knox Hill Hospital. Do you know how to get there?"
Since Jack had left the ambulance siren running, the paramedic inside hadn't caught any of the conversation outside. "Knox Hill Hospital? That's too far. I don't think she'll make it. Aren't you FBI? Don't you have any privileges?"
"OK, I'll call my supervisor right now. Thanks, buddy." Jack had heard enough. He shut the window, turned off the siren, and stepped out of the vehicle. The puzzled Secret Service agents nearby watched as he strode purposefully to the car door.
"Give me your radio. I need to talk to Joey Reacher directly."
"What? I already told you, you can—" The black-suited agent holding the radio stopped mid-sentence when Jack shot him a sharp look. Quickly understanding, he handed over the device and signaled his colleagues to surround the ambulance.
Drawing his SIG Sauer P320-XTen from his holster, Jack pressed the radio's talk button. "Joey, it's me, Jack. Who exactly are you protecting in that hospital?"
"Jack? Is that you? That's classified. I can't—"
"Listen to me. This is important. The person you're guarding might be in danger. I don't have time to explain, but you trust me, don't you?" Jack's tone was steady as he moved to the ambulance's rear doors, gripping the handle.
On the other end of the radio, Joey sounded confused. "Of course, but… fine. This information stays between us. It's the president of Bolivia. He's here for heart surgery and is currently in the operating room."
At that moment, Jack yanked open the ambulance's rear doors.
A chilling, continuous beeping noise—the sound of a heart monitor alarm—emanated from inside. The bald paramedic, hands pressed on Joanna's chest, looked back anxiously. "Buddy, we're losing her! Her heart—"
"Bang! Bang!"
The bald paramedic slumped to the floor beside the stretcher, dead, his eyes wide open in disbelief.
"What the hell is going on?" Several Secret Service agents reflexively pointed their guns at Jack, unable to comprehend the situation.
"Lower your weapons. Lower them!" The black-suited agent who had verified Jack's credentials earlier quickly intervened, pressing down his colleagues' firearms as he began to piece things together.
"I'll explain everything to Joey later. Right now, I need your help." Jack pulled the stretcher out of the ambulance. Hotchner, wobbling unsteadily, made his way to Jack's side, his face full of concern for the still-unconscious Joanna.
"Get these two to the ER. They both need medical attention." Jack removed Joanna's IV and checked her condition. Then he picked up a syringe from the floor and examined it. Damn it—they had laced the saline solution with nitroglycerin, causing her arrhythmia.
Climbing into the ambulance, Jack searched the body of the bald paramedic—who was clearly a terrorist—and found a handgun and an unregistered phone. Tossing the body out of the vehicle, Jack's eyes scanned the interior. Opening the storage compartments one by one, he quickly confirmed his suspicions.
The agents standing outside the ambulance gasped audibly, instinctively stepping back as they peered inside.
Every compartment was packed with bundles of red, brick-like "chocolates." When Jack lifted the lid of a long metal bench that doubled as a storage unit, he uncovered a mass of wiring connected to a cellphone. The implications were clear.
"This is your problem now." Jack jumped down from the ambulance, shut the rear doors, and swiftly climbed into the driver's seat.
"Jack!" Hotchner called out instinctively, gripping the stretcher. His eyes were filled with worry; he knew exactly what Jack intended to do.
"I need to find a safe place," Jack replied nonchalantly. Turning the siren back on, he floored the gas pedal and drove off.
It wasn't about being a hero. The issue was that there was at least a ton of C4 visible—and who knew how much more was hidden throughout the vehicle. No wonder the ambulance had felt sluggish even with the pedal to the floor earlier; he'd assumed it was just in poor condition.
This was Manhattan, where space was scarce and valuable. If this much C4 were detonated beneath a hospital, it would level the entire building. Even on an empty street, the surrounding structures wouldn't survive the blast.
Given the modus operandi of the Durango Cartel, it was unlikely they'd rely solely on manual detonation. A timed device was almost certainly in play.
Although he hadn't spotted any dramatic countdown timers like the ones in movies designed to amp up tension, this wasn't the first time he'd encountered such a threat. Unlike the bomb collar strapped to Alice's neck in the past, this setup didn't need a flashy red display to signal danger.
As Jack drove, searching for a suitable location, Garcia's panicked voice came through his communication channel.
"Jack, something's wrong. The number you had me trace is moving—and it's following your ambulance."
Driving what felt like a rolling death trap, Jack's adrenaline was through the roof. His heart was pounding, but he forced his voice to remain steady. "We're not being followed. The terrorist posing as a paramedic is dead. But there's still one final issue to resolve."
"Garcia, I need you to find me a place where I can safely detonate a ton—or maybe even two tons—of C4. Somewhere wide open, as soon as possible. Damn it, this vehicle won't go above 60."
Silence. Garcia was processing the gravity of the request. "Garcia, are you there? I'm begging you!"
"OK, OK." Garcia sounded as panicked as Jack. The sound of frantic typing filled the channel.
"Head north to Central Park. It's the largest open area in Manhattan. Oh my God, why is it always you? Why do you always end up doing things like this?"
"Maybe because I'm just that handsome." Jack kept his eyes on the road as he opened the unregistered phone he'd taken from the bald terrorist. Unsurprisingly, there was a call log showing a number belonging to the civilian-pretending terrorist.
The phone contained a countdown timer. Jack let out a small sigh of relief—there were still nearly 20 minutes left.
"Garcia, contact NYPD Commissioner Reagan immediately. Tell him they have 15 minutes to evacuate Central Park. The bomb will detonate in 19 minutes and 20 seconds. The blast radius will be massive, and they need to clear a wide area."
Garcia's voice was on the verge of tears. "Already contacting him. Thank God the NYPD maintained traffic lockdowns earlier. There shouldn't be any blockages. You can reach the park in ten minutes."
"Got it. Just in case, I'm activating the signal jammer now. Have the NYPD meet me at the south gate—the one with the subway entrance. Wish me luck!"
"Jack!" Garcia cried out, but the signal abruptly cut off.
(End of Chapter)
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