Sunday, 8:30 AM, Barack Obama’s private jet en route to Kansas CityJennifer Rowland, sleep deprived, nursing a deep hangover, and a growing resentment for politics as usual is stretched across two seats waiting for the battery on her laptop to recharge so she can bang out 500 words before the wheels touch tarmac and another day goes to hell. David Pouffe, Obama's impatient campaign manager, is on his second cup of airplane coffee. "The South Carolina speech was inspiring. People are starting to call it life-altering."
Jennifer groans. "It was...I'm never drinking again."
"Bullshit. We're headed to Kansas. It's almost February. How many times can you tweak the same stump speech anyway? Maybe you should get outside more, see if you can see your shadow, I want to know if we've got six more weeks of this madness or if the winter of our nation's discontent is almost over.
"Soon enough, now leave me alone. I could sleep, read the blogs, catch a movie. Lead a normal life."
"Normal was town in Iowa; we're well beyond that."
Monday, 10:00 AM, CTU Headquarters“How’s that new program Nina wrote working out?” Special Agent Tony Almeda asks Michelle Dressler.
“Check this out.” Michelle turns her monitor so Tony can get a look but all he sees are millions of twinkling dots scattered across a map of the U.S.
“Census data?”
“Of sorts. These are the IP addresses of every computer that has received the snarky 'Obama is a Muslim' email.”
“Everyone knows that shit is fake, how dumb are people?”
“Eight years of W?”
“OK. So the email went viral and Americans don't read. I still don’t see a pattern.”
“You wouldn’t at first, but if we go back in time...” Michelle types a few letters and hits the return key.
“OK. Still looks like lot's of dots on a map to me.”
“These are the muslim emails two-times removed, sorta like the grandparents of the thugs. Hard to see, but we’ve narrowed 50 million computers down to half a million. With Nina's improvements, we can go much farther back in time tracing the evolution of the spam. Actually, it's only a few days in time, but many, many, many forwards. A 10 generational family tree of the bogus email reduces the number to 50,000 computers, still too many to search individually. But, then we take..." Michelle hits a few keys and another map pops up with what appears to be a random distribution of dots scattered across the United States.
"Point?"
"Coming. We subtract one map from the other, and...,"
“Wait, wait, wait, what’s that list?"
"The eddresses of everyone who’s ever been to a Clinton rally, donated to her campaign, or received an email from them.”
“Looks like a lot of people.”
“Ten million and growing.”
Michelle hits a few keys, "OK. Back to the map. Subtract Clintonites who have forwarded the email more than 10 times from the Obama viral and we're down to only 1000 IP addresses.”
“We’ve only got 5 days before Super Tuesday, we don't have that many agents of change in the field.”
"How about hiring moveon.org."
“Be serious for a minute will you Tony. Now, here’s where all that CPU time starts to payoff. We hack into 5 of the 1000 machines, plant our own bogus email and spoof it out to another 5 machines. Looks legit to the receiver, the sender never knows about it. Turns out it only takes a few dedicated people to start a movement. This email made the claim that Barack was a foot soldier in the Reagan revolution and wants to make the Bush tax cuts permanent."
“Isn’t that McCain’s line? And why, as a Senator, why doesn’t McCain understand that trickle-down, means piss-on-you or that the Constitution prevents permanent tax cuts.”
“You’re missing the point Tony. We stand back and watch it become viral, propagate through the system. In just 16 hours it went from 5 machines, to 125,000 machines. When we cross-referenced all three of the virals, we discovered that 15 people are responsible for 75 percent of the spam. Ten of those are pre-pubescent males. And of the 5 who are over 18 years of age, two of them are convicted pedophiles who can’t vote, and of the remaining 3, 2 are registered Republicans. That leaves Jefferson Davis Jones of Orlando, Florida."
"Who's he?"
"Runs a Christian Theme Park."
"Disneyworld?"
"The Holy Land Experience."
"What's his problem?"
"Apparently he has several. His version of the New Testament doesn't include people of color, he's pissed that his primary vote won't be counted at the Democratic convention, and he wants to abolish the IRS."
"Sounds like it's time to throw the money-changers out of the temple."
Tuesday, 10:05 AM, Glendale City Jail
Jack Baer has cell mate and former White House intern, Izzy "Altoid Boy" Hernandez, hog-tied with bedding strips. “Ready to talk?," Jack calls from the crapper in the corner of the cell. Izzy shakes his head in terror. Jack looks at Izzy's bare feet, then down at the pair of socks he's holding in his hand, then proceeds to wipe his ass with each sock. He flushes, then takes the socks, rolls them into a ball, and jams them deep in Izzy's mouth.
"How about now?" Jack asks as beads of sweat begin to form on Izzy's forehead and roll down his face but he won't make eye contact with his interrogator. "OK. Suit yourself." Jack pulls a couple of large tablets from his shirt pocket, "Learned this one from the Chinese, they called it plop plop fizz fizz."
Jack pulls Izzy's head back and shoves the tablets deep into his nostrils. "Give it a minute, works wonders on indigestion, and sinus cavities."
Jack moves to the bed and begins leafing through a Daily Variety. "Hey, did you read this? Sean Young got drunk at an awards show and tried to shout down the Man. Hard to do? How's your indigestion?" He looks over and foam is bubbling out Izzy's nostrils and his ear canals. "Feeling better?"
Jack stands and moves toward Izzy, "you are going to tell me what you know about Super Tuesday and you are going to tell me, NOW!"
Jack rips another strip from the sheet and ties it around the man's head. He then pulls his cell phone out, removes the back cover, and using small pieces of chewing gum, attaches some tiny wires to the circuit board on the phone. Jack then inserts the phone inside the headband so that the display is visible to Izzy. Jack takes the other ends of the wires and one he secures against the man's left temple, the other he shoves deep into the his right ear, still bubbling with alka-seltzer and secures it with a wad of gum.
Jack coldly looks at the man, then leans in close so that his bad breath makes the man's eyes water and whispers, "last chance fuckwad. In exactly 2 minutes, my phone’s going to ring. And when it does, a 50,000 volt microwave burst goes into your frontal cortex and out your ear. You won't be able to hear yourself shit your pants and you’ll be lucky if you remember how to wipe your ass.” The man’s eyes open wider but he gives no indication that he’s going to speak. Jack steps down on the man’s foot until there’s an audible crack. The man struggles to keep from throwing up but knows if he does he’ll suffocate on his own vomit.
“One minute.”
Tuesday, 10:09 AM
“Stella, get Jack Bauer on the phone for me.”
“Yes Mr. Vice-President.”
Tuesday, 10:10 AM
There’s an audible pop, Izzy begins to quiver, then the faint smell of burning flesh and a small puff of smoke emanates from his right ear. Izzy's head drops, then he slumps over comatose. Jack loosens his restraints, drags him to the bed, places the pillow beneath his head and tucks in the sheets.
Wednesday, 2:00 PM
Vinnie Carter and Ruth are driving from Florida back to California in Vinnie's Cadillac El Dorado convertible. The top is down, the sun is shining, and George and Tammy are blaring out of the radio.
Vinnie reaches over and turns down the radio. "Fifty number one singles, you know that. George had 50. He made sense to people, but all this driving around to hell-and-high-water and back again makes no sense to me Sugar. Week before it Vegas, then Florida, and now we're headed back to Main Street, but it's the one that runs down the middle of Disneyland. No one lives there except 'toons"
"Hey, don't forget the side trip to the Creationist Museum in Lexington. I knew I wasn't related to a baboon."
"One should only play the ponies in Lexington. Maybe you're not a baboon, but you are my baboo, and when you present that fine ass of your's to me, I get all gorillared up inside."
"Don't be crude Vinnie. It's not becoming."
"So what's next for us? We chased the shepherd's purse around for a couple of weeks and have little to show for it."
"Don't know 'till you try Vinnie. But we'll always have Des Moines. How do you feel about purple?"
"Purples a fine color but what does it mean?"
"It's the color of Lent and it's not blue, and it's not red, it's somewhere in between. Look, see that purple mark on that tree? Where I come from, it's the universal NO TRESPASSING sign. Mark your property with purple paint and anyone who comes on your property without your permission, can be arrested for tresspassing."
"Like Mexicans and anti-war protestors?"
"Doesn't matter who you are. You could be Fred Phelps, you cross into purple, you're in our maze and we hold the solution."
"Glory! Glory! Purple it is."
Thursday, 11:45 PM, Glendale City Jail.
A small crowd has gathered outside the Glendale City Jail awaiting the release of Jack Bauer. TMZ, ET, Access, are there along with a gaggle of 15-year olds lugging cameras looking for the money shot of Bauer looking sheepish peering through the tinted windows. A limo approaches and attempts to turn into the parking garage. A crowd gathers around the limo and impedes its progress. One of the kids stands in front shooting pictures through the front window. The limo driver lays on the horn, then rolls down his window, "get the fuck out the way you scumbag, before I run you over!"
The kid refuses to budge. Quickly a uniformed officer comes over and grabs the boy by the shoulders and moves him out of the drive. "I wouldn't test that guy, he used to drive for Anthony Pellicano. Anyway, aren't you out past your curfew? Do your parents know you're out this late."
"Eat pelican shit copper," the boy says mockingly. "How do you think I pay for tuition at Buckley? The right photo of Bauer will pay a months tutution, so don't heckle me about missing Letterman's top ten list."
The policeman's radio buzzes, "Yo' Herandez, that's us, and leave that kid alone, he's harmless. Let's go pick on someone your own size."
"If I see you on the street past midnight anytime in the next week, I'm taking your IPod."
"That'd be theft." the kid says, taking the cop's picture for good measure, "I'll send this to your seargant. Now go get a donut."
Friday 12:15 AM Steps of the Glendale City Jail
The warden, sensing a growing impatience and frustration in the crowd, moves to the mike and begins speaking:
At 12:01, Pacific Standard Time, Jack Baeur, after serving 48 days in the Glendale City Jail on a DUI charge, was released on his own recognizance. While incarcerated, Mr. Bauer was a model inmate. He was assigned to laundry detail and to the best of my knowledge, had very little contact with staff, visitors, or other inmates. It is my understanding that Jack passed most of his time reading unfinished scripts.
Friday 12:16 AM Hollywood Blvd
"That the one?"
"Yes, sir, looks like our man."
The office makes a quick u-turn in the street, hits the bar lights and trains his spotlight on a rear window of the black Cadillac Escalade slowly cruising the boulevard. The SUV pulls over to the shoulder, but the beats get louder, and the spinners keep turning. The officers approach from each side of the car. The office-in-charge nods toward Sgt. Recruiter, the new bistro on the block, and ask his partner. "You been there?"
"Naw, it's new. Opened just before the New Year's."
"Yeah? heard it was intimate and luscious."
"I'm done with the lush life for awhile."
"Really? I hear that same shite story 5 times a week? You don't know anything but that. And what else would you do?"
"This time I mean it. But I really don't know what I'll do. Got a couple of days before I have to get back to work, then we've only go a few scenes to shoot before we run out of script. After that, we'll have to play it by ear. Maybe folks will come to their senses and cut a deal" Jack says, removing his patrol hat and handing it to the officer. "Maybe I'll get into politics. Wouldn't the first time an actor made the transition from the sound set to the Oval Office," he starts to removes his badge.
"Keep it. As a reminder of the right way," the officer says taking the hat but refusing the badge. "Haven't we had enough of politics? And I've been in the biz for 25 years, cooler heads never prevail. Just stay away from the boredom Jack. That's what gets to folks. The boredom."
"Politics. Boring?"
"Never meant much to me, but then again I'm just a shoe on the street."
"Hey don't sell yourself short. We need folks like you to keep the world safe, protect our families, hold the terrorists at bay."
"I thought you were doing that? saving the world from Al Qaeda, immigrants, and the drug cartels."
"No man, that's a Hollywood myth. Besides Bin Laden is just another out-of-work character actor and the terrorists appear to be out of scripts. Really, deep down, we're just like each other, trying to do a job, raise a family, and sometimes getting lost in the process. If either of us were President we be doing those same things, except lot's of people would be advising us on how to do it the way they think is best."
"Each day a new day?"
"Yeah," Jack says, giving the officer a hug, "something like that." He opens the door of the Escalade.
"Hey, I forgot to ask," the officer calls to him, "who ya' voting for on Tuesday?"
"I have no idea but I'm...people are...", Jack's voice catches, "everyone...everywhere..." he struggles to get the words out. "We're all tired of the headache. All the time, the head hurts, the body aches, nobody feels well. We've GOT to do better. We can, we must, we will. Change."
"Sounds like an endorsement. Take care and God Bless."
-------------------------------------
see also:
m.o.i.: 48 days, week 6
m.o.i.: 48 days, week 5
m.o.i.: 48 days, week 4
m.o.i.: 48 days, week 3
m.o.i.: 48 days, week 2
m.o.i.: Season premiere-48 days, week 1
m.o.i.: Damn it! I just can't do this anymore.
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