The SWAT team didn't take Alex Montel directly to the FBI. Zealot was still unconscious, several officers had died, and most of the prisoners in the transport bus had been killed in the firefight. The team accompanied the police back to the West Hollywood Precinct to give their statements.
Meanwhile, the footage from the shootout had already been broadcasted. Those fearless enough to film it had handed their recordings over to major TV networks, and the scene was now all over the news.
By the time SWAT arrived at the precinct, the media had already interrupted regular programming to cover the Hollywood-style shootout—especially the moment when Owen had set up Alex for execution.
The story had everything: a captured drug lord, a daring prison break attempt, an intense gunfight with SWAT—it was textbook Hollywood action, except it was real. The public was enthralled.
Journalists quickly uncovered Alex Montel's criminal background, and soon, the public had pieced together the story:
A notorious drug lord, wanted by multiple countries, was caught by sheer coincidence in a minor traffic accident. His men staged an armed breakout in broad daylight, only to be crushed by SWAT.
The reality was even more dramatic than fiction.
By the time SWAT reached the precinct, the entrance was completely swarmed with reporters. Police had to set up barricades to keep them from storming the building.
Since the officers hadn't yet arrived, reporters were left to speculate, broadcasting endless commentary on Montel's criminal empire:
"...a fugitive wanted in over a dozen countries..."
"...the Montel family has been on Interpol's radar for years..."
"...charged with arms smuggling, drug trafficking, extortion, kidnapping, and murder. He's been a high-priority target for the FBI and DEA..."
As soon as the SWAT vehicles appeared, camera flashes erupted, and a tidal wave of reporters surged forward, pressing their microphones and cameras against the barricades.
Flanked by SWAT officers, Alex Montel, clad in his bright orange jumpsuit, was unmistakable in the crowd. Cameras focused on him.
Seizing the moment, he suddenly grabbed the chain-link fence, shouting at the top of his lungs:
"ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS! ANYONE WHO GETS ME OUT OF HERE WILL GET ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS! I SWEAR ON THE NAME OF THE MONTEL FAMILY!"
The officers immediately yanked him away, forcing him inside, but his voice echoed even as the precinct doors shut behind him:
"ONE… HUNDRED… MILLLLLION… DOLLARS!!!"
That scene was broadcast live on every major news channel.
The public was stunned. Arrogant as hell—but the sheer amount of money was even more shocking.
A hundred million dollars for his freedom.
This wasn't just a reckless boast. If Montel had sworn on his family's name, then they were obligated to pay. Otherwise, the Montel family would lose all credibility in the underworld—an even bigger disaster than losing Alex himself.
The criminal underworld exploded.
Mexican cartels, Russian mobs, Black gangs, Asian triads, even mercenary groups that took on dirty contracts—all of them suddenly had their sights on Alex Montel.
Even ordinary people—the desperate, the foolish, the thrill-seekers—were already daydreaming about some impossible plan to break Montel out and become filthy rich overnight.
With a single sentence, Alex Montel had turned the entire United States into a powder keg.
Bogotá, Colombia
In his villa, Blanco Montel watched the live broadcast. The old man's grip tightened around his wine glass until it shattered in his hand.
After a long silence, he coldly commanded his men, "Catur failed to keep his promise. Send his family to join him."
His subordinates obeyed without question.
Fifteen minutes later, the cries of a woman and children echoed through the villa's courtyard—followed by the staccato bursts of automatic gunfire. Then, silence.
Blanco Montel turned back to the setting sun.
This was Colombia. His domain. Even if gunshots rang out near his home, the police wouldn't dare approach.
Now, his only son was in U.S. custody. It was time to show his fangs.
His voice rang out again.
"Tell our moles in the U.S. that I want Alex returned to me—alive and unharmed. If they fail… they'll be the next to die."
His men turned to leave, but Montel stopped them.
"Wait. I won't rely only on those rats. Find some real professionals. One hundred million dollars—I think that should be enough to get things moving."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the underworld stirred.
West Hollywood Precinct
Chief Javier had just finished a press conference.
The shootout had left three officers dead, another critically wounded, over a dozen prisoners killed, and an FBI agent dead. That was a major incident anywhere in the U.S.
And now, with Montel publicly offering a $100 million bounty, the situation had escalated into a national crisis.
This wasn't just Los Angeles or California's problem anymore. The entire country was watching.
Javier felt overwhelmed. One wrong move and he'd be burned at the stake.
Back during the Zhongchen Tower hostage crisis, he at least had CTU to take over and absorb the political fallout.
But this time? The FBI had yet to make a move.
Meanwhile, ASH received a call from Womack, the head of the FBI's Los Angeles Division.
"ASH, what the hell is going on?"
The FBI didn't trust media reports. They wanted the truth from their people.
ASH gave him a full debrief.
After a long silence, Womack said, "This situation is out of control. Every crook in the country is now thinking about that money. Stay inside the precinct. Since Brad was killed, I'm sending T.J. Farrell to take over. Wait for my orders."
ASH knew T.J.—he was Womack's second-in-command, an experienced FBI agent specializing in organized crime.
She hung up.
At the same time, Owen's phone rang.
Jack Bauer.
"Owen, I saw the whole thing on TV. How are you holding up?"
"For now… I'm fine. But one of the officers who died was a friend of mine…"
Owen's voice was heavy. Seeing his colleagues at the precinct only deepened his guilt—he should've been able to save Stewart and George.
Jack knew what was going through his mind.
He hesitated before saying, "Owen, I want you to leave SWAT. I'll talk to the FBI—you're done with training. It's time to come back to CTU. I have a different assignment for you."
"Why?"
Owen didn't understand. Why now? Leaving now felt like running away.
Jack hesitated, then admitted, "You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment. What you did today—you crossed the line."
"No, Jack." Owen's voice hardened. "I need to see Alex locked up with my own eyes. I won't let my friends' deaths be for nothing. If you won't let me do this, then fire me. I'll do it myself."
For the first time, Owen refused Jack's orders outright.
This wasn't just a mission anymore.
This was personal.
Jack was silent for a moment.
Then he sighed.
"Damn it, Owen… I knew you'd say that."
"Fine. Stay with SWAT for now. But you will not act alone. I'm sending Heartbeat to assist you. You follow his lead. I'll figure out the rest."
Then he hung up.
Owen wasn't sure why Jack was helping him.
But one thing was certain.
He owed Jack Bauer.
_________________________
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