The Road To Jack's Hell
by cha-cha mia

Jack gave Salazar a look that should have vaporized him. You son-of-a-bitch, he thought. You don't even begin to realize how much more I'd rather blow your sorry ass straight to hell than set you free again. But, to my eternal regret, you're probably right. In the eyes of everybody except Palmer, I will be a pariah. Nothing that I did before will make up for this, good intentions or no. What is it they say about the road to hell?

He laughed out loud, bitter as bile, and saw Salazar's head jerk in his direction. Did he imagine it or was there panic in the other man's eyes? He's probably wondering if I'm bed-bug crazy enough to do something stupid up here. That made him laugh, again. This time there was no doubt about the panic coursing through Salazar's entire body. My God, it's coming off him in waves. I can smell it. Bet he'd almost rather be back in that cell. The satisfaction he felt then was nearly enough to make up for everything. Now, if I could just find some way to push him out of this chopper and explain it all away to Hector and CTU, I could almost get my life back. But no, it's gone too far. Too much depends on me making this thing work. And there's still the problem of the heroin.

So much has gone wrong already. I might as well have pulled the trigger on that guard in the laundry room back there. How many others were injured or killed during the riot? The riot I set into motion when Chase screwed it all up.

Damn, but the kid's solid. I could see in his eyes he'd have liked nothing better than to have blasted me right there, but he didn't. He's going to be a good one. I'm almost sure he's figured out what I'm doing, but I couldn't bring him in on it. That would put him under suspicion, too. I can make this work; he tried to convince himself as he smoothly operated the controls of the bird. God, I haven't flown one of these things in years. The tech journals were worth the time.

He glanced to his right. Fucking Salazar, sitting there plastered against the door, as far away from me as he can get. Like that, or anything else, would save him if I could come up with any way at all to kill the son-of-a-bitch and not have to worry about the virus.

A screen flickered on the panel in front of him. He found the control and made it give him what he needed. Now something was coursing through his body. It wasn't exactly fear, nor was it that horribly familiar need as his very cells called for the loved/hated drug. No, this was older than that. This was adrenalin, pumping hard. Harder than it had for him in years.

There were choppers behind them. And they weren't just following to see where he was going. These were armed to the teeth and coming up fast.

"We've got company," he said, his cock stiffening. This is better than a drug.

He's going to piss himself, he thought, barely stifling yet another laugh.


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