Two hours later, the Hercules transport plane touched down safely at Washington Airport. As the group disembarked from the aircraft, they were met by none other than Trigger.
"You bastard, I thought you were—"
Ghost and Can Opener rushed forward, pulling Trigger into a tight embrace. The three clung to one another, overwhelmed with relief.
Trigger was, indeed, damn lucky. By all accounts, he should've died. But a parachute in the equipment bag had saved his life. After the others let go, the rest of the Rapid Response Team stepped up to express their concern.
Nearby, several ambulances had already arrived, and medics began tending to the wounded. While none of the injuries were severe, many had been bruised or cut during the emergency transfer to the Hercules. In the heat of the moment, no one had felt pain—but now, with the danger behind them, the aches were setting in.
It wasn't until their feet were firmly planted on solid ground that the passengers truly exhaled. The day had been harrowing—one twist after another. Everything they'd gone through would be the stuff of stories for the rest of their lives.
Airport staff began escorting the passengers toward the terminal. Owen and his team remained where they stood. The arrival hall was swarming with reporters and cameras. Given the sensitive nature of their work, they needed to avoid the spotlight.
As they passed, several passengers stopped to thank the CTU agents they recognized—grateful for the lives they'd saved. The agents smiled and waved quietly in return.
Once the crowd had dispersed, the team piled into the vehicle Trigger had brought. They took a different exit, leaving the airport unnoticed. Their next stop was CTU headquarters—Jack Bauer and the White House team were waiting for their debrief.
Back at CTU, they barely made it through the front doors before a round of applause erupted. Agents filled the lobby, cheering them like returning knights from battle. The team grinned and waved back.
"Simon, Owen—come up here a minute."
Jack Bauer clapped along with the rest, a rare smile on his face. When the noise finally died down, he motioned the two over.
As the CTU office returned to its usual rhythm, Owen and Simon sat across from Jack's desk. He handed each of them a steaming cup of coffee.
"You two did a hell of a job. The hostages were rescued. The bomb never touched American soil. The White House and Pentagon are very pleased."
Owen and Simon exchanged a smile. It had been their first time working together on an operation—and they made a solid team. Owen appreciated Simon's all-around competence—combat, leadership, decision-making—no real weaknesses. Simon, in turn, found Owen's quick thinking and decisiveness impressive. If he didn't know Owen was the Rapid Response Team leader, he'd have tried to recruit him for Field Ops.
"So… who wants to walk me through the mission?"
Jack looked at them. They glanced at each other. Simon gestured for Owen to take the lead—he didn't like talking more than necessary. Owen didn't hesitate. He began recounting everything in vivid detail—from the midair boarding, the passenger cooperation, the search, the assault, and the ultimate capture of the aircraft.
This was Jack's preferred way to debrief—he liked to hear it straight from his people, not from paper. Of course, the written report still had to be submitted afterward.
While Owen delivered his report in Jack's office, reporters were busy elsewhere—half had swarmed the airport terminal to interview rescued passengers; the rest were stationed in front of the White House, waiting for an official statement.
The White House press secretary stood calmly before a wall of microphones. This wasn't his first media circus. Raising both hands, he gestured for quiet. The crowd fell silent, ready.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I can't answer any of your questions at this time. However, at 7 p.m. tonight, the White House will hold a formal press conference. President Palmer himself will speak. Everything regarding today's incident will be made public at that time."
Boom.
The crowd erupted in chaos. Questions flew. But the press secretary didn't flinch—he simply turned and walked away, leaving a sea of shouting reporters in his wake.
With three hours left until the press conference, rumors exploded online. Whispers circulated that this wasn't an ordinary hijacking—that there was something more. But no one had any solid answers.
Waiting always made time feel slower. Finally, 7 p.m. arrived.
The White House press briefing room was packed. Reporters from every major network were already in position. Outside, satellite news trucks lined the streets. For everyday Americans, this was just an important press event. For media insiders, it was a battleground.
Foreign intelligence agencies had already picked up bits of information. Some of the "reporters" in the room were actually covert operatives, using their media credentials as cover.
An hour before the conference, the Secret Service had swept the room and vetted every person and piece of equipment. Nothing was left to chance—President Palmer's safety was paramount.
At exactly 7:00, the doors opened. The White House press secretary, who'd spoken earlier, stepped onto the stage with quiet confidence. The noise in the room died instantly. Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, he began:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to officially brief the public on the hijacking of Flight 343. At 1:33 p.m. this afternoon, CTU received a phone call from terrorists claiming to have hijacked Flight 343 and its 248 passengers. They demanded the release of a Chechen terrorist, Sarayev, who had recently been apprehended."
He paused briefly. Not a single reporter interrupted—everyone focused on recording every word.
"The caller was identified as Najib Harvey, the number two of the Middle Eastern terrorist group known as the Amir Liberation Party—not a member of any Chechen organization. After reviewing available intelligence, CTU determined that the stated goal of releasing Sarayev was a diversion. The true objective was a chemical attack on American soil."
"WHAA—"
A wave of stunned noise swept through the room. The core of the story had finally surfaced—and it involved chemical weapons.
"Can you tell us what kind of chemical? Was it sarin gas?"
The press secretary had expected that question. He raised a hand calmly.
"No. Not sarin. Something far worse. VX nerve gas."
More gasps. But this time, he didn't allow more interruptions. He continued:
"CTU dispatched an elite team mid-flight. They boarded the aircraft, located the bomb, eliminated the hijackers, and took control of the plane. Unfortunately, the bomb had already been activated and could not be disarmed. Faced with this reality, the White House made the decision to prioritize saving lives. Our Air Force deployed F-15 Eagles and a C-130 Hercules transport to assist. Passengers were safely transferred midair. The contaminated aircraft was then guided into the sea and detonated."
Silence fell again. The press, stunned by the scope and success of the operation, waited for more.
But there was little more to add. CTU had saved over two hundred lives. The VX nerve agent had never reached the United States. And the hijackers had all been neutralized.
In a crisis that could've rivaled 9/11—or worse—America had prevailed.
And the country would not forget who made that possible.
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
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Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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