sidearms at the gate.
“I’m sure you’ll like that,” she added.
Jack just grinned.
Five minutes passed before the guard returned. He walked briskly to the driver’s side of the car, said, “Mr. Bass is unavailable at this time. Mr. Noone will be coming down instead. He’s Mr. Bass’s assistant.”
Armstrong said, “Yes, I know him.”
“He’ll escort you to the mansion.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Have a nice day.” The guard said nothing to Jack, not even looking at him. He rejoined the other guards outside the gate.
Anne Armstrong said to Jack, “Larry Noone is Bass’s number two man. He’ll be just as good for facilitating our entry.”
Ten minutes later a golf cart rolled down the hill and halted just inside the gate. The driver was a uniformed guard, the passenger a heavyset, bearish man. The latter hopped out of the cart, went through a swinging door to the right of the gatepost, and hurried over to the car.
He was in his mid-fifties, about six feet, two inches and 220 pounds. He wore a canvas duckbilled cap, navy-blue blazer, green open-neck sport shirt and khaki pants. He was balding with a fringe of short blond hair and pale blond eyebrows. Clean-shaven, with a ruddy complexion.
He went to the driver’s side and reached in to shake hands with Anne Armstrong. His jacket fell open when he leaned forward, and Jack could see that he wore a short-barreled revolver in a shoulder holster under his left arm. He flashed a big toothy grin like he was glad to see her and said, “Hi, Anne.”
She said, “Hello, Larry.”
“Don was in conference with Mr. Wright and couldn’t get away. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem. Larry, this is Jack Bauer. He’s on loan from our Los Angeles division and will be working with us during the conference. Jack, this is Larry Noone.”
Noone came bustling around to the passenger side of the car. He flashed another big grin and thrust out a big right hand. “Pleased to meet you, Agent Bauer.”
Jack shook his hand. Noone’s grip was solid but he didn’t overdo it. “Glad to know you. Call me Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. Call me Larry.”
Noone climbed into the backseat of the car. “Go ahead, Anne, they’ll let you through.”
The main gate was already opening. It was powered by an electric motor that caused the gate to slide sideways. One of the guards waved her through, and the car drove into Sky Mount.
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 8 A.M. AND 9 A.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME
Sky Mount, Colorado
Larry Noone escorted Jack Bauer and Anne Arm-strong into a reception area where they were met by Marion Clary. She was a gatekeeper for Cabot Huntington Wright, the man in charge of running the Sky Mount Round Table, among his many other responsibilities. Wright’s suite of offices was on the ground floor in the southeast corner of the mansion’s east wing.
The reception area, an anteroom to the suite, was itself an imposing space, expansive and high-ceilinged, its wood- paneled walls hung with ornate-framed paintings and tapestries. Jack’s wife, Teri, was a graphic artist and designer with an art history background, and Jack had absorbed enough from her through osmosis to recognize the paintings as being in the style of Italian and Northern Renaissance masterworks of landscape and portraiture. He knew that Sky Mount’s creator, tycoon H. H. Masterman, had been a celebrated collector of the works of the Old Masters and had no doubt that these were not copies but originals worth several million dollars.
Marion Clary occupied a mahogany desk the size of a compact car. She rose and came around it to meet and greet the newcomers.
She was a handsome woman, sixtyish and well-preserved, with carefully coiffed blondish-white hair, fine features, and dark, bright eyes set in a porcelain-colored complexion.
The porcelain was webbed with a network of fine lines when seen close up. She was slim,
“I’m sure you’ll like that,” she added.
Jack just grinned.
Five minutes passed before the guard returned. He walked briskly to the driver’s side of the car, said, “Mr. Bass is unavailable at this time. Mr. Noone will be coming down instead. He’s Mr. Bass’s assistant.”
Armstrong said, “Yes, I know him.”
“He’ll escort you to the mansion.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Have a nice day.” The guard said nothing to Jack, not even looking at him. He rejoined the other guards outside the gate.
Anne Armstrong said to Jack, “Larry Noone is Bass’s number two man. He’ll be just as good for facilitating our entry.”
Ten minutes later a golf cart rolled down the hill and halted just inside the gate. The driver was a uniformed guard, the passenger a heavyset, bearish man. The latter hopped out of the cart, went through a swinging door to the right of the gatepost, and hurried over to the car.
He was in his mid-fifties, about six feet, two inches and 220 pounds. He wore a canvas duckbilled cap, navy-blue blazer, green open-neck sport shirt and khaki pants. He was balding with a fringe of short blond hair and pale blond eyebrows. Clean-shaven, with a ruddy complexion.
He went to the driver’s side and reached in to shake hands with Anne Armstrong. His jacket fell open when he leaned forward, and Jack could see that he wore a short-barreled revolver in a shoulder holster under his left arm. He flashed a big toothy grin like he was glad to see her and said, “Hi, Anne.”
She said, “Hello, Larry.”
“Don was in conference with Mr. Wright and couldn’t get away. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem. Larry, this is Jack Bauer. He’s on loan from our Los Angeles division and will be working with us during the conference. Jack, this is Larry Noone.”
Noone came bustling around to the passenger side of the car. He flashed another big grin and thrust out a big right hand. “Pleased to meet you, Agent Bauer.”
Jack shook his hand. Noone’s grip was solid but he didn’t overdo it. “Glad to know you. Call me Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. Call me Larry.”
Noone climbed into the backseat of the car. “Go ahead, Anne, they’ll let you through.”
The main gate was already opening. It was powered by an electric motor that caused the gate to slide sideways. One of the guards waved her through, and the car drove into Sky Mount.
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 8 A.M. AND 9 A.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME
Sky Mount, Colorado
Larry Noone escorted Jack Bauer and Anne Arm-strong into a reception area where they were met by Marion Clary. She was a gatekeeper for Cabot Huntington Wright, the man in charge of running the Sky Mount Round Table, among his many other responsibilities. Wright’s suite of offices was on the ground floor in the southeast corner of the mansion’s east wing.
The reception area, an anteroom to the suite, was itself an imposing space, expansive and high-ceilinged, its wood- paneled walls hung with ornate-framed paintings and tapestries. Jack’s wife, Teri, was a graphic artist and designer with an art history background, and Jack had absorbed enough from her through osmosis to recognize the paintings as being in the style of Italian and Northern Renaissance masterworks of landscape and portraiture. He knew that Sky Mount’s creator, tycoon H. H. Masterman, had been a celebrated collector of the works of the Old Masters and had no doubt that these were not copies but originals worth several million dollars.
Marion Clary occupied a mahogany desk the size of a compact car. She rose and came around it to meet and greet the newcomers.
She was a handsome woman, sixtyish and well-preserved, with carefully coiffed blondish-white hair, fine features, and dark, bright eyes set in a porcelain-colored complexion.
The porcelain was webbed with a network of fine lines when seen close up. She was slim,
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