As Owen stared at the mess inside the house, his mind raced with questions. The alarm system's indicator light wasn't on—it had been disabled. And once that happened, of course, it wouldn't trigger any alerts. He glanced at the security camera in the corner. Would it still be recording even after the system was shut down?
For a question like that, he needed an expert. He didn't call the security company—instead, he dialed Becky. When it came to domestic surveillance, no one had more authority than the NSA.
"Becky, Becky, don't hang up—listen, I need your help. We're friends, right? This is important…"
As soon as she picked up, Owen launched into a string of pleas. After some coaxing, Becky finally relented.
"Fine, what do you want me to look into?"
"83 Fleckel Drive, Montauk Road. Help me find out why the security system was disabled, and also, if there's any camera footage."
He laid it all out at once.
"Hold on."
From the other end came the rapid clack of keys. Owen had seen Becky work before. She was lightning-fast and rarely used a mouse—everything was done on the keyboard.
The sound of typing continued for a while before Becky finally said, "All I can tell is that the alarm system was shut off remotely. But there's no log of who did it. Also, once the system was turned off, the cameras stopped recording. So the footage only goes up to 10:30 PM last night. Probably not what you're hoping for."
It wasn't good news. Owen's heart sank. If the alarm was disabled remotely, that meant either someone on the inside at the security company… or someone very familiar with the household.
And the camera only had footage before 10:30. That had to be when it all went down.
"Wait a second…"
Still on the phone, Owen stepped outside and scanned the street. As he suspected, there was a public surveillance camera about 30 meters down the road. Middle-class neighborhoods almost always had them.
"Becky, can you check the public cameras nearby?"
"Okay."
More furious typing. Then Becky's voice turned grave. "Owen… this isn't good."
"What is it?"
"All the footage from this neighborhood—between 10:30 PM and 1:00 AM—is gone. Deleted."
"What?" Owen's stomach turned.
This was no ordinary kidnapping. Whoever did this had full knowledge of the area's security layout—and major access privileges.
Deleting public surveillance footage and disabling a private home alarm system… This was either the work of a master hacker, or someone with serious internal access.
"Hold on, I'll dig a little deeper."
Typing resumed. There were a few surprised noises from Becky, and after a long pause, she spoke again. "Something's weird."
"Weird how?"
"I traced the command used to delete the footage. It came from a CTU account. Owen, what's going on? You work for CTU. Why would your own agency delete footage like this?"
Her question sent a chill down Owen's spine.
There was a mole inside CTU. And this mole had helped someone kidnap Jack Bauer's family. They'd shut down the alarm system, wiped the surveillance—it had to be an inside job. But who?
Only the tech support division would have that kind of access and ability. Field agents wouldn't even get close to the necessary system privileges.
Names and faces flashed through Owen's mind, narrowing down to one: Nina.
There wasn't hard evidence—but Owen had never trusted her, and his instincts were screaming now.
"Owen? You there?"
"Uh—yeah, sorry. So here's what happened…"
He quickly gave Becky the rundown of everything that had happened since Jack shot him.
Becky was silent for a moment, then said, "Give me the exact location where you were shot. I'll see if I can get a plate number from any nearby traffic cameras."
Owen slapped his forehead. Of course. Highway 13 had surveillance cameras. If they'd picked up Jack and the other guy's cars, he could backtrack and find where they came from—maybe even find where the hostages were taken.
"Highway 13, eastbound, about 30 kilometers out—right near a warehouse."
Becky got to work. But just a few minutes later, she returned with more bad news.
"All the cameras along Highway 13 have been wiped too. Not just the highway—everything nearby. They weren't just trying to hide their tracks. They anticipated you might do this exact search and covered their bases."
The trail was cold again. Owen had nothing to go on.
"Thanks, Becky. I'm going to try something else. I might need your help again later."
"Anytime. Just call."
Owen ended the call and took a deep breath.
He'd been right. There was a mole in CTU. And his only lead was inside that building.
Time to call Nina.
She was his prime suspect—not just because of what Becky found, but because Owen never trusted her. Ever.
He called her, and after a few rings, she picked up.
"Owen?"
Owen groaned and forced a shaky, weak tone into his voice. "Uh… cough… Nina… I'm hurt. You've got to help me. Jack… Jack's the mole. He tried to kill me…"
He let the silence drag just enough. Then, Nina's voice came through, calm and low—too controlled.
"What happened, Owen? Why would Jack try to kill you?"
"I have something he wants. The truth about the Archbishop shooting… cough…"
"Where are you? I'll send Tony."
"No. Don't tell anyone. Not even Tony. He's Jack's guy. I can't trust him."
He was lying, of course—but it was necessary. The fewer people involved, the easier it would be to track who leaked it, if someone did.
"Alright. I'll send someone from the second tier. Where are you?"
"Highway 13… eastbound, 30 kilometers out, near a warehouse."
"Stay hidden. I'll have someone there soon."
…
The team Nina sent arrived fast. Owen had made a few more calls in the meantime. Two cars pulled up to the warehouse. Several men got out—none of them familiar faces.
They didn't approach. One of them called out from a distance:
"Steve Owen! We're from CTU San Francisco. HQ sent us to pick you up!"
They called a second time. That's when Owen limped out from the shadows, looking injured.
"Hope we're not too late. Are you hurt bad?" asked a curly-haired guy who seemed to be in charge.
"Not too bad. Just surface wounds," Owen replied.
He wasn't lying—his injuries looked legit enough.
"How'd you survive?"
Owen lifted his shirt, showing the Kevlar vest. The men all grinned. One of them chuckled, "Damn lucky bastard."
"Come on, let's get you out of here."
The curly-haired guy gestured toward the car, opening the door for Owen. As they moved, Owen subtly crossed his index and middle fingers—an internal CTU hand signal used to identify friendly agents.
No response.
Not from the leader. Not from any of the others.
That was all the confirmation Owen needed.
These guys weren't from CTU.
They were fakes.
And Nina was officially compromised.
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