Owen and Heartbeat walked out of the piping company warehouse looking thoroughly dejected. They had just inspected the site's chemical storage and confirmed that some TATP components had indeed been stolen—but unfortunately, that was all they had.
The warehouse's surveillance system had been broken for over a month, and the management was in complete disarray. No one knew exactly when the materials had gone missing, let alone who might be responsible.
Owen did spot several partial shoeprints in a hidden corner—size 8s. He snapped some photos with his phone and sent them to the data team for analysis. The match came back quickly: the sole pattern belonged to three older Nike sneaker models. But the information was basically useless—those models had sold thousands of pairs in the Los Angeles area. No way to narrow it down.
He called Tony to give a brief update. The investigation into the source of the explosives had reached a dead end. Meanwhile, Tony had deployed another team to explore the case from a different angle: the bomb-maker.
Since it was likely the second bomb had been sabotaged on purpose, there was a strong chance the bomb-maker wasn't a willing accomplice—possibly even a hostage.
Tony had begun compiling a list of everyone in Los Angeles with the skills necessary to make explosives. It was a massive undertaking, covering engineering firms, private contractors, government tech departments—anyone who had the know-how was under scrutiny.
Then Owen remembered Eddie Murphys—the fat arms dealer who operated in the L.A. underworld.
Official channels had stalled. Maybe it was time to tap into the black market.
He dialed Eddie's number.
"Owen, my man! I wasn't expecting a call from you. And if you're looking for more M2HBs, I'm fresh out."
That greasy, teasing voice was unmistakable. Though Eddie knew Owen now worked for CTU, he still called him "Officer." Owen didn't mind.
Their relationship had evolved after their last deal. Eddie's heavy machine gun had proven critical in a previous operation. The weapon later showed up during a gang war in the city, briefly raising alarms. Eddie had panicked and skipped town for a few months, expecting heat. But no one ever came for him.
That, more than anything, had proven Owen's trustworthiness—he kept his word. Eddie never found out Owen had been away training with the SEALs. This was the first contact they'd had in months.
"Eddie, I need a favor."
"Knew it. You never just call to say hi or grab a drink. Why can't we be friends like normal people?"
"Uh…"
"Yeah, yeah. What do you need?"
"TATP. You know it?"
"'Mother of Satan'?"
"Exactly."
The fact that Eddie knew the nickname so quickly gave Owen a glimmer of hope.
"Check around the black market. See if anyone's been trading in that—or its raw materials."
"I'm not your snitch, you know."
"Consider it a personal favor. I'll owe you one."
"…Tch."
There was silence on the other end, as if Eddie was weighing the risk.
A few seconds later, he spoke again. "This about that premiere bombing?"
"Yeah. Why? Do you know something?"
Eddie didn't answer right away. After a pause, he said, "Fine. But I'm doing this for me, not you. Those lunatics stirred up a shitstorm. Every cop in L.A. is crawling through the underground right now. Our business is taking a serious hit."
"Sounds like you've been losing money."
"No shit. But you're right—helping you helps me. Our interests are aligned."
"I'll wait for your word."
Owen understood what Eddie meant. Things were bad in the underworld.
The bombing had kicked off an all-out sweep from law enforcement. CTU, LAPD, FBI, and even the NSA were all on the hunt. They were technically cooperating, but it was still a competition. They shared some intel—but everyone wanted the glory of solving the case first.
Officially, CTU had full jurisdiction. But that didn't stop the others from investigating. If the case went unsolved, CTU would take the fall. But if another agency cracked it first, they'd bask in the spotlight.
And this wasn't just about bragging rights. Solving a case of this magnitude meant real rewards—funding, influence, promotions.
Take the FBI, for example. If they beat CTU to the punch, the L.A. field office would be vaulted to the top tier of the national agency. Their budget would swell. Benefits for their people would increase. The regional director, Womack, could get promoted. Everyone involved would see their careers fast-tracked.
So, every department was chasing leads like rabid dogs. Informants had been squeezed dry since last night. Arms dealers like Eddie were under immense pressure.
But with Eddie on board, Owen had one last thread to pull. For now, he had already exhausted every official channel he had access to.
Hopefully, Eddie would come through.
Owen still had a long list of places to check—businesses and facilities flagged by the tech team as potentially possessing TATP precursors. He had to confirm if any had suffered theft or unusual activity.
It was painstaking work. To speed things up, he and Heartbeat split up and worked in parallel.
He called Chloe for an update.
"Anything new?"
Chloe let out a long sigh on the other end. "No. All we know for sure is those two suspects are working together. But they're careful. We've reviewed everything—public CCTV, mall surveillance, personal phones, TV news cameras. At most, we've caught one or two blurry side profiles. We can't get an ID. Tony's considering a public bounty."
Sure enough, not long after Owen hung up, the radio announced that CTU was offering a $500,000 reward for information.
Tony must be under tremendous pressure.
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