At the critical moment, Owen managed to leap from the vehicle. Although the seatbelt and locked doors caused some delay, he still succeeded in jumping out.
"Boom~~~~"
The car slammed head-on into the speeding train—with a result that was all too predictable.
It was like a child trying to take on a heavyweight boxing champion. The car's meager weight was nothing against the sheer momentum and mass of a freight train barreling down the tracks. At the moment of impact, the vehicle was obliterated.
Although Owen escaped in the final second, he was still thrown hard and took a beating. It took him a while to climb to his feet.
The scene ahead was a horrific mess. The train had been derailed and was slowly coming to a stop. The car's front end had been completely annihilated. Curly was still in the driver's seat, but his face was covered in blood, and half a steering wheel had been driven into his torso—no way he survived that.
People from both sides of the railroad crossing started getting out of their cars and running toward the scene. Some had already taken out their phones to call emergency services.
Owen hadn't expected Curly to be so fanatical—willing to die with him rather than lead him to the hostages. And now, the hard-earned lead he'd found was gone.
Owen stood motionless. Apparently, no one had noticed him jump from the vehicle. More drivers kept arriving, curious about the accident.
A car horn sounded behind him. Owen turned around and saw it was Swag—his face also looked grim.
Frustrated, Owen kicked the tire of the car, then climbed in. The vehicle made a U-turn and sped off.
…
Somewhere in Los Angeles
Colonel Isaac Johnson, whom Swag had once met, was starting to get anxious after waiting so long without hearing back from his men.
Multiple failed attempts to capture Swag had shattered the confidence he once had. What was supposed to be a flawless scapegoating plan had gone awry when Swag escaped. Even in Salt Lake City, despite setting a perfect trap, Swag not only showed up but ended up wiping out his elite 24-man team.
It was as if Swag had divine protection—always escaping at the last second.
After bribing Nina at CTU, Johnson finally learned that an agent named Owen had been helping Swag. The recent capture of Owen had been the only good news in weeks. They were supposed to extract Swag's whereabouts from him soon.
The colonel was feeling the pressure. The repeated failures had already earned him Senator Dick's dissatisfaction. He desperately needed some success to restore his standing.
But now, he couldn't get in touch with his men again.
He dialed Curly and the others one by one—none of their phones connected. The colonel immediately knew something had gone wrong—again.
At the same time, Nina at CTU was also feeling uneasy.
Nina realized she had to run. Whether or not Owen had been killed, she could no longer stay at CTU. Just then, the colonel called.
She stepped into an empty meeting room. "This is Nina."
"Something's gone wrong. I can't reach any of my men~~~~"
"Fuck~~"
Nina couldn't help cursing. Not only had the colonel's men failed, but they had also exposed her. How could they screw up even in that kind of controlled situation? Where had he found such a group of morons?
"I need to get out of here immediately. Owen knows I betrayed him—he won't let me go…"
Nina was already thinking about her next steps. She'd prepared a fake Moroccan identity. That country was still out of reach of U.S. jurisdiction—for now. She planned to lay low there for a while before making her way to Europe.
But abandoning her comfortable life in the U.S. and running to some impoverished African country? She hated the idea.
"No. I have a plan. Call Owen and stall him. I don't care how you do it—just lure him to the place where we met that day…"
"Fine, I'll lure him there. But don't forget my money—I want it in cash…"
Nina cursed in her heart. She had completely given up hope on this bunch of idiots. But she still had to agree—she needed that money.
These people were loaded. They had spent $300,000 just to frame Chloe to blackmail Jack Bauer. The money they promised her had to be much more than that.
So far, she had only received part of it. The rest was supposed to come once the job was done. Now that she had to flee, she needed the full amount.
The colonel agreed without hesitation. "No problem. You'll get it all at once. And don't forget to bring some of his personal items. We need enough to convince people that he killed himself out of guilt."
After hanging up, Nina began crafting her message. She needed the right excuse to lure Owen in.
Meanwhile, Owen was on the phone with Becky.
"Becky, help me identify a tattoo—two rattlesnakes entwined together. Find out which unit uses that symbol…"
Tattoos were common in the U.S. military. Many units—even squads—had their own distinct tattoos. Rangers and Delta Force both had long traditions of unit ink.
Unfortunately, everything had happened so fast earlier that he hadn't been able to snap a picture. That would've made it much easier to track down.
Just as he finished briefing Becky, Nina's call came through.
Owen wasn't worried about being traced. Ever since the female assassin had once tracked him through his phone, he'd changed to a new device. Becky had installed a secure filter—now, only Becky could track him.
He answered. Nina's voice came through, completely devoid of emotion.
"Owen. One hour from now, go 30 kilometers south of San Fernando Valley, to a place called 'Mertick.' I'll tell you the whole truth there. I'll wait twenty minutes. If you don't show, I'll leave, and you'll never find me again."
She hung up immediately—didn't even give Owen a chance to respond. He frowned. He didn't believe she had some tragic excuse. But whether it was a trap or not, he had to go.
Nina was the only lead left. If she disappeared too, there'd be no chance of finding Jack's family.
"Pull over…"
Swag eased the car to the roadside and Owen got out.
"Nina wants to meet in a place called 'Mertick,' 30 kilometers south of San Fernando Valley. It's probably a trap. Go scout ahead—I'm going to get us some hardware…"
Owen mimed a gun. Swag nodded. Owen tapped the car roof, and the vehicle drove off with Swag behind the wheel.
As a sniper, Swag was best suited to get there first and set up. With eyes in the distance, Owen would be more confident walking into the lion's den.
With Swag gone, Owen stood by the roadside, thinking about which of his contacts dealt in illegal weapons and operated nearby.
If it was going to be a trap, it would definitely turn into a full-blown firefight. He needed some proper gear.
The San Fernando Valley was an urbanized basin in Southern California, about 30 kilometers northwest of Los Angeles, covering an area of 895 square kilometers.
It was often called "the Hollywood of porn," home to over 300 adult film production companies.
It was also a favorite haunt of rich playboys—not everyone was into polished starlets. Some guys just had different tastes.
Owen stood at the roadside, hoping to hitch a ride. But car after car that passed was a luxury model—Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Porsches, Lotuses. These rich kids weren't interested in giving a ride to a random guy like him. They ignored his raised thumb like it didn't exist.
Then came another engine roar. A red Ferrari appeared in the distance.
This time, Owen wasn't letting it go. He didn't have time to waste—Nina had only given him one hour and twenty minutes.
He stepped right into the middle of the road. With only two lanes, the Ferrari had no choice but to stop.
"Fuck, are you trying to get yourself killed?!"
The driver, a young guy with Italian features, rolled down his window and shouted angrily.
Owen glanced at the passenger seat. A pretty young woman was sitting there.
"Sorry—can I get a ride? I—"
"Fuck you, you broke piece of shit! Get the hell away from my Ferrari! Don't even think about touching it!"
The guy cut him off rudely before he could finish.
Owen stood silently, letting him finish his rant. Originally, he just wanted a lift. But now, he'd changed his mind.
"You two. Out. I've changed my mind. This is CTU business. I'm commandeering your vehicle."
Before the guy could react, Owen dragged him out of the driver's seat. The woman was smart enough to get out on her own without being told.
"I'm going to file a complaint!"
"Be my guest~~~"
The Ferrari roared away in a cloud of exhaust. Only then did the guy realize—he hadn't even seen Owen's badge. What was he going to use to file a complaint?
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