Read 24 Declassified: 03 - Trojan Horse for Free Online

ask you if you missed the excitement of the old days, Jack, but I can see your life is still full of thrills. What was going on back there on Andrita Street?”
    “My agency was working with the DEA on a drug bust. It will be all over the evening news, apparently.”
    “Still kicking down doors.”
    Jack stared at the road ahead, rubbed his temple. “When I have to.”
    “I always got the impression the LAPD was holding you back,” Castalano said. “Too many drills, too many training sessions, not enough real-time action. The rest of us were humping to keep up with the training, the missions—shortchanging our families and burning our candles at both ends. Meanwhile you were bored.”
    “I was younger then.”
    The traffic stopped moving suddenly. Castalano braked and the Lexus rolled to a halt. The detective turned to face Jack.
    “Nat Greer told me you were always a thrill seeker. Says you were a biker, a surfer, back in high school. before the military. He said you got into some secret shit, too. Special ops stuff.”
    “Nat talks too much.”
    Castalano swerved onto the Sunset Boulevard ramp. Traffic was lighter off the highway, and moving pretty steadily along Sunset. The sun beat through the tinted windows. Jack’s head began to throb and he was tired of banalities. “Where are we going?” he asked.
    Castalano answered Jack’s question with one of his own. “Do you ever work freelance these days, Jack? Private detective or consulting work, maybe? Special work for some corporation?”
    “No. That’s impossible with the job I do now.”
    “I knew you guys do spooky stuff at CTU. I didn’t figure there’d be much opportunity for moonlighting.”
    Jack was unable to mask his impatience any longer. “Look, Frank, what the hell is this about?”
    Castalano’s face was grim, eyes straight ahead. They were climbing the hills now, on a winding road. “I can tell you what this is about, Jack. But it’s better if I show you. And I can do that in another minute or two. We’re almost there.”
    Near the crest of a hill, Frank made a sharp right turn. The Lexus pulled into a narrow driveway fairly well masked by the trees around it. Despite the drought, the lawns, the trees were greener, more lush up here.
    “We’re in Beverly Hills,” said Jack.
    Though the driveway continued on, Frank rolled up to circular-stone structure not much larger than a freestanding garage. The Lexus stopped under an arch, where a small wall fountain trickled. In the cool shade, Frank cut the engine while Jack studied his surroundings.
    The building had a large glass door behind a cast iron gate. The gate was wide open, the door ajar. Farther along the driveway, Jack spied several other vehicles huddled together under a copse of spreading eucalyptus trees—two unmarked police cars, two ambulances, and a black crime scene van. Jack also noticed a tan Rolls-Royce convertible with the top down. Except for a plainclothes detective loitering around and trying to look nonchalant, no one else was in sight. All of the vehicles were deep enough inside the grounds to be invisible from the road, and Jack thought that was intentional. The authorities were deliberately trying to hide something.
    “Have you ever heard of Hugh Vetri?” Frank asked.
    The name jogged something in Jack’s memory. “Maybe. Should I know him?”
    “Let’s go,” said Frank. “I’ll introduce you.”
    As they climbed out of the car, a member of the LAPD Crime Scene Unit came through the glass door. The man saw Frank with a stranger and frowned. He approached, handed them both latex gloves.
    “We’re finished in the bedroom and the study. We’re working on the nanny’s room now,” the forensics man told Castalano. “But I still don’t want anyone going in there who doesn’t have to.”
    “We’ll make it quick,” Castalano replied. The other man had more questions so he and the detective huddled for a few minutes. Not wishing to eavesdrop, Jack moved