"Baby, for the next few days you have to watch your diet and get some light exercise… I know you don't feel like moving—pregnancy is like that—but for our child…" Steve Owen fussed over Monica for a long while before hanging up. CTU's work had ground to a halt. Omega, though spun out as independent, was still nominally under CTU's leadership, and there wasn't much to do lately. Steve spent his days on two things: Monica and Jack Bauer.
He'd just gotten off the phone with the law firm. The White House inquiry was nearly over, and there was basically no wriggle room on Jack Bauer's use of violent interrogation—the video was too clear. The only real fight left was about the penalty. On that front, public opinion mattered. There were plenty of arguments for why Jack did what he did—it would come down to whether a jury believed them.
At his home in Washington, Steve looked out at the sunshine. He was about to flip on the TV when a push alert popped up on his phone—nationwide Level Two alert status.
A jolt ran through him. Something big had happened. He started to call Becky to ask, when an incoming call hit.
Steve answered. A formal female voice said, "Mr. Owen, this is the White House liaison office. President Palmer is convening an emergency meeting and requests your attendance."
"Okay. When?"
"Right now. A car is already waiting at your door."
Steve stood, opened the door, and saw a black Chevrolet at the curb. A Secret Service agent in a black suit held the door for him.
He glanced once at the agent, got in, and the car sped toward the White House.
The same scene was playing out all over Washington.
He didn't ask questions on the way; he knew he wouldn't get answers. The car rolled through the White House gates. Steve got out, cleared layer after layer of security, and entered the building.
Inside, it was palpably different. Staffers wore grave expressions and moved at a clipped pace. Even a few guards who usually joked with Steve kept straight faces. You couldn't see the tension—but you could feel it.
Steve followed the corridor toward Conference Room One, as the notice had said. Turning a corner, he ran into a familiar face—Jack Bauer.
Jack saw him too, and they walked together.
"What happened?" Steve glanced around and asked in a low voice.
"I don't know. Ten minutes ago someone told me my position was temporarily reinstated, then they hustled me here."
Jack shrugged, and they moved on.
They pushed through the door into the room. Several had already arrived: Lieutenant General Powell of the Army, General Chandler of the Air Force, Brigadier General Fran Hammer of the Marine Corps, and Vice President Laferson.
As the two took their seats, more came in—NSA Director Hayden and CIA Director Martin Davis. Jack looked around; the lineup was almost the same as during the last White House crisis.
Silence settled over the room. Steve stopped asking and waited. Then the doors swung open again. The current leader of the United States, President David Palmer, strode in, with Agent Carol—now Director Carol—at his back. After the White House crisis, Carol's standout performance had earned her a direct jump from agent to head of the Secret Service, with full responsibility for the President's security.
President Palmer took the head seat, planted both hands on the table, and said in a low voice, "Apologies for calling you in on such short notice, but today's situation is severe. The United States is at the brink of World War III…"
It was a dire opener. All eyes went to him for the rest. Palmer nodded to General Powell.
"Yesterday afternoon, Moscow's Sheremetyevo International Airport—their second largest—suffered a terrorist attack. The perpetrator was Makarov. Casualties are near five hundred, killed and wounded…"
Faces tightened around the table. Steve already knew the headline—Intel had flagged it that morning. What he wondered was how the Army knew Makarov was behind it when even Omega didn't have that attribution yet—and what any of this had to do with the United States.
General Powell answered that next. "Half an hour ago, the Russian government released a statement: they killed one terrorist at the scene. The dead man's identity was confirmed as one of our CIA operatives, Joseph Allen…"
In an instant, everyone looked at Director Martin Davis—including President Palmer. Powell continued, "The Kremlin is demanding an explanation. Failing that, they will regard this attack as an American provocation and promise military retaliation…"
The temperature dropped. No wonder the country had gone to a Level Two alert. No wonder the White House was on a war footing. From the Kremlin's perspective, CIA officers had disguised themselves as terrorists and massacred civilians at their airport—a naked provocation. The Russians were not going to eat that. World War III was a hair-trigger away.
Steve had one thought: this was bad.
Director Martin's expression pinched. Under the stares, he began: "Let me explain how we got here. We had solid intel that Makarov had become the White Masks' 'War Knight' and was preparing a major operation.
"Makarov is an extremely dangerous individual. He plays by no rules and respects no borders. Torture, human trafficking, genocide—he'll do any of it without blinking. He serves no flag and believes in nothing. He trades blood for money. He is more dangerous than Avril ever was.
"To prevent another White House collapse, the CIA paid dearly to plant a mole in Makarov's inner circle—you can't imagine the cost. That mole was Joseph Allen. Unfortunately, it appears he was discovered—and then used to frame the United States…"
The room grasped the arc. CIA thought they were clever; Makarov was a step ahead.
"The immediate problem," President Palmer said, "is that Moscow believes the United States did this. We've presented the truth about Makarov, and they don't believe it. What do we do now?"
It was stark. If the U.S. couldn't convince Russia within the window, the Kremlin—being the Kremlin—would strike back. That would mean frequent small clashes between U.S. and Russian forces. If someone then stirred the pot—say, Makarov hit again—those skirmishes could spiral into a bloc-on-bloc war, then World War III, even nuclear exchange.
The only path out was to persuade the Kremlin—and that made Makarov the key. The U.S. had to capture him alive and hand him over to Russia.
After debate, the White House reached its decisions: on the military side, transition to wartime readiness and prepare for the worst. In parallel, the CIA, NSA, and CTU would bring all resources to bear to apprehend Makarov—at any cost—and defuse the crisis.
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