The Candlestick Chronicles by Cjay

Chapter Seven: Arachnoids Eat Their Young

Jennifer Hailey cast one last look of farewell toward the solitary casket. The past hour had been interminable. Clutching Jon's cold hand, she pulled him gently up the gravel path away from General O'Neill's open grave.

A sudden icy blast of wind caught Jon O'Neill full in the face, crystallizing his unshed tears. Frozen shards of derisive insight ran up his ramrod spine as he allowed the petite woman to drag him along. Consumed by guilt and a burning need for revenge, he glanced back toward the macabre site of Jack's 'final resting place.' He wondered if anyone else realized the irony of his position. By participating in this ritual, he was essentially burying himself.

Abrupt interaction between Teal'c and Sam Carter distracted Jack's clone from his turbulent thoughts. Curious, he stopped short, his eyes following Carter as she climbed into a strange sedan.

Jennifer Hailey, suddenly yanked to a halt, turned and gave him a quizzical look. "What... ?"

Teal'c, noting young O'Neill's intense scrutiny, moved swiftly to join the pair directing his attention to the young officer hovering protectively at Jon's side.

"Lieutenant Hailey, I fear Daniel Jackson is overcome, perhaps you would be good enough to drive both he and Mrs. O'Connor back to O'Neill's." Teal'c commanded softly, his expression grave. "Jon O'Neill and I shall be along directly."

Jon silently released Jennifer's hand and without a backward glance joined the big warrior beside the general's truck. It was time to don the mantle of war.

Effectively dismissed, Hailey reluctantly complied. "Understood, sir." Squaring her slender shoulders, she marched over to the distraught archeologist and elderly lady, ushering the pair into an awaiting car.

Once the vehicles sped off, Teal'c and Jon climbed into the big green Ford and left the cemetery.

Jon ran a hand through his damp hair. His rough dismissal of Hailey tugged at his conscience, but it wouldn't do either of them any good to get too attached. Ignoring the twinge of remorse, he shifted restlessly in his seat. "So then, T, about that sedan, exactly who...?"

"Special Agent Malcolm Barrett." Teal'c answered succinctly.

"Barrett, eh." Whistling, Jon closed his eyes and shook his head. "Peachy, now not only will we have to dodge our own people, but the NID as well."

Jon's very subsistence relied on deception. During the almost two years since his unexpected 'birth' he'd braced himself for the day when the secret of his true identity might be exposed. The events of the past several days were a herald to that discovery. Yet strangely, he was more concerned with Jack's ordeal. Keeping Jack safe now became his primary mission. He was prepared to gamble everything, his life, his identity, even his soul if that is what it took to find the scum-sucking bastards who'd gone after the O'Neill boys. And, since Jack was a master in the shadowy world of covert ops, it followed that his duplicate would be equally as talented and just as deadly.

His existence now had a singular focus - vengeance.

"It's time we made a detour and stopped off at my apartment, Teal'c." Jon added, his light tone belying the gravity of the situation. "There are a few necessities I'm gonna need."

"That may not be wise..." Teal'c began.

"I'd hardly label the enterprise we are embarking on as wise, Teal'c." Jon replied flatly.

Arching a brow, Teal'c inclined his head thoughtfully and turned the truck toward young O'Neill's abode.

The Air Force, in keeping with Jon's role as an emancipated minor, had set him up in a cozy one bedroom in a quiet part of town. His cover as a military orphan afforded him both a tidy sum in the bank and a weekly government stipend.

They arrived to find the immediate area deserted.

Teal'c moved ahead of Jon and opened the door. "Initially, O'Neill assigned a security team to monitor the perimeter, but dismissed them once you were safely in protective custody."

At first glance, the Spartan apartment appeared neat and undisturbed. Jon ran a thoughtful hand over his desk, sensing someone had searched the place. "Check it out Teal'c, the place is a bit too clean."

Employing his keen eyesight, the seasoned warrior spied a scrap of paper in the semi-full trash receptacle, a crumpled cigarette wrapper. O'Neill did not smoke. Using a zip-lock bag from the kitchen, Teal'c pocketed the wrapper for later examination.

While Teal'c continued a security sweep of the rooms, Jon changed into more comfortable attire, soft jeans, Nike's, a thick sweater and buttery leather bomber jacket.

Climbing up on a stool, he eased his slender frame onto the top shelf of his walk-in closet. The area was invisible from below. Using his thumbs, Jon pressed lightly on a small portion of the wall above. Paint and plaster rained down on his upturned face as a hidden opening was revealed.

Reaching inside, he extracted a leather case about the size of a laptop and handed it down to Teal'c. A canvas wrapped object, approximately the span of a fishing pole followed.

Jumping lightly to the floor, Jon took the case from the quiet Jaffa and unzipped it. Inside was an assortment of ammunition, a handgun and a six-inch hunting knife. A leather leg sheath was nestled beside the deadly dagger. Jon slid the razor sharp blade into its protective holster and strapped it securely to his right calf. Loading the pistol expertly, he tucked the gun into his waistband.

Catching Teal'c's placid expression, Jon pocketed several extra clips with a feral smile. "There was always the possibility of a security leak, besides you know how naked I feel without proper coverage."

Nodding his head toward the wrapped length Teal'c held, he instructed, "Strip her down T; it's time for further revelations."

Teal'c bowed slightly in salute and tore the covering off a sniper rifle complete with scope, fully assembled and ready for action. "You remain as cautious as ever O'Neill."

Patting Teal'c on the back, Jon smirked. "Old habits, T, old habits."

Closing the small case, he hefted it easily and held out a hand to indicate that the Jaffa should precede him. "Age before beauty, Teal'c."

Raising his brows, Teal'c gathered his dignity and moved into the hallway. "Indeed."

Jon pondered the wisdom of going to Jack's house. Sassy O'Connor's intense perusal at the cemetery made him uneasy. "Ya know T, it's hard enough lying to the others, but Sassy..."

"Daniel Jackson has no doubt informed Mrs. O'Connor that you are O'Neill's kin. She is blessed with a most loving disposition and will wish to offer you comfort." Teal'c answered confidently.

"Yep, that's the point Teal'c." Jon muttered. "Slipping away unnoticed just got more complicated."

"I often seek solitude when my heart is heavy. I believe 'slipping away' will cause less interest than you fear, Jon O'Neill." Blinking in understanding, Teal'c tilted his head. "However, I concur. It will be more advantageous to forego the wake."

"They'll be hell to pay when the others catch up to us." Jon muttered uncomfortably.

Teal'c pursed his lips in agreement. "It is the repercussions once this matter is resolved, which concerns me most."

"Ah, what a tangled web we weave!" Jon's quipped grimly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed the back of his neck, drawing in a deep breath. "Daniel is gonna kill me."

"Daniel Jackson will be angry, yes. However, I believe he will understand, Jon O'Neill." Teal'c replied sagely. "It is Colonel Carter's wrath which gives me pause."

Leaning his head back against the car seat, Jon pictured Sam's response. Wrath was an understatement. "Crap." He sighed jadedly. "Hell hath no fury..."

"Indeed." Teal'c concurred.

***

Sam Carter eyed the young man beside her in the back seat of the sedan. "So, Ned, is it?"

Ned Drew smiled shyly. The colonel was a very beautiful woman. "Yes ma'am."

Sam was all business. "What do you have to tell me?"

"I think it is probably easier to show you, Colonel." Ned replied.

Pulling a case from the floor, he opened it to reveal a laptop computer and proceeded to boot it up. "Back on the farm we had this old dilapidated shed. I loved to spend lazy hours lying in there just dreaming in the hay."

Ignoring her incredulous stare, he continued, "Well one summer this big ugly spider made herself an enormous web in one corner and set up house. The web looked beautiful at first, light beamed through an old knothole and that web shimmered like gossamer. I was intrigued."

Long years of Daniel's lengthy explanations had taught Sam to listen patiently; rushing someone usually resulted in missing some facet of information that would later prove to be vital.

The main screen popped up and Ned inserted a mini cruzer into the USB port. "I learned a great deal about spiders that summer. This one was a busy little thing, she would trap her prey in that deceptively handsome and oh, so intricate web of hers. And then, she'd play with them as they struggled, sometimes for several days; until finally, the hairy little devil ate them alive. I learned to respect and despise spiders, Colonel Carter."

A list of files appeared on the laptop's screen. Choosing one, Ned opened it and shifted the computer closer to the silent woman. "Did you know many species of arachnoids often eat their own young?"

Brows raised in anticipation, Sam shot the young computer geek a look. "I take it you are trying to prepare me for something."

Shifting her gaze to the information displayed on the screen, Sam quickly read it through. Ignoring the sway of the vehicle as Barrett maneuvered through traffic, she pulled the portable computer onto her lap and selected file after file. Each revelation caused bile to rise to the back of her throat. Jon was in far more danger than any one of them had guessed.

Malcolm Barrett cast repeated glances into the rearview mirror. Ned's simile was more than apt; in point of fact, it was perversely poetic.

He'd been keeping track of the vehicle their 'spider,' Wellington, a.k.a. the Marquis, was driving for the better part of an hour; a task which proved to be easy enough.

The difficulty lay in preventing Wellington from seeing the sedan trailing him. That took skill. A skill the special agent possessed. Once Ned handed the files over to Sam Carter, she'd been silently absorbed in their scrutiny.

What was going on in that lovely and brilliant brain of hers? Malcolm wondered if she'd thank him or damn him for his part in uncovering the person responsible for O'Neill's death.

The decrepit truck pulled into a large shopping mall. Wellington and his sidekick exited, languidly making their way inside.

Barrett slammed the sedan to a halt. Forward momentum jolted Sam from her intense perusal. She looked up, her troubled eyes meeting those of the deceptively unconcerned special agent in the rearview mirror. "I'm unarmed Malcolm."

"I hadn't figured on the bastard stopping off, Sam." Malcolm told her pointedly. "You stay here with Drew and keep an eye out. It's a sure bet our mark will recognize you. I'll head inside the mall and see if I can pick up his trail."

If even one tenth of the information contained in the files she'd just read were accurate, Wellington was directly to blame for Jack O'Neill's death.

Rage coursed through her veins like molten lava. "Negative." Sam snapped. "I'm not going to just sit here on my hands while..."

Barrett read the hate and blood lust in her white-hot gaze. His tone was designed to rein in the warrior woman reflected in the mirror.

"Sam, Ned is not a field agent. I need you to stay here and keep an eye peeled just in case those two backtrack." Malcolm commanded flatly.

He noted the return of self-control in her sky blue eyes and softened his delivery. "If you see anything, use the cell phone and I'll come running."

With that, Barrett was out of the car moving swiftly after his prey.

Breathing hard, Sam shifted her gaze to the young man sitting rigidly beside her. "Are you armed, Ned?"

Ned Drew might be a computer geek of the first order, but once upon a time he'd been known to pick a crow off the fence at fifty yards. Offering her a thin smile, he pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster. "My Daddy was in Viet Nam ma'am. I don't think he ever really was what one might call 'civilized.'"

Sam's nostrils flared, her eyes gleamed with recognition. This farm boy was more, much more, than he seemed. She couldn't help thinking that the general would've liked this kid. Yep, he'd have liked him a lot. "Excellent."

Barrett searched the crowd. Spinning slowly in a circle, he scanned the upper level of the mall. A red speck caught his attention – Wellington's bandanna. Taking the stairs two at a time, he moved determinedly upward and spied the back of a set of muddy coveralls entering a pub.

***

While his boss used the men's room, Charles Duff ordered them each a scotch whiskey.

Taking the drinks to a table in the back, he eased out of his coveralls and took a long drink. Damn that graveyard had been cold.

The liquor burned its way down his throat warming him from the inside as his boss exited the restroom.

Wellington had discarded his muddy attire leaving it in the trash and washed up. Sliding smoothly into the chair opposite Duff, he made short work of his own glass of booze. "Ah, smooth."

Tossing back the final dregs in his own glass, Charles nodded. "Nothing like a bit of the scotch, shall I get us another?"

"I'm surprised Charles, we have work to do." Wellington cast his gaze nonchalantly over the pub's occupants. "It would appear we remain undetected."

Rising, he led the other man to the door and took a careful look beyond. Faces in the crowd remained unfamiliar. "Come my dear fellow, our beloved Clare is waiting."

The two left the large building by another entrance and made their way to a dark coupe.

"What if the O'Neill brat stands her up?" Charles whispered hoarsely.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Wellington considered the possibility. "Then, we amend the plan as we've discussed."

Licking his lips, Charles relished the thought. "Umm, yes alternate strategy can be so very entertaining."

"Poor little Clare." Damien hissed with satisfaction, guiding the car slowly out of the parking lot. "She is such a delicate rose."

Malcolm trailed behind them quietly. Snapping his cell phone open, he hit the speed dial. "Ned? Hustle over to the south entrance, they're getting away!"

***

The mouth of the rustic back road she planned to take loomed ahead as Kris Martin sped along the two-lane highway. Checking her gas gauge, she pulled into the last service station before her turn. The serpentine route she'd used to make her way to the clandestine rendezvous with Brightman had eaten up most of the motorcycle's gas.

Feigning disinterest, she eyed several other patrons performing similar tasks and filled the small tank.

Other than a scruffy looking fellow biker straddling a big black Harley, Kris was ignored.

The biker smiled suggestively and winked. Kris capped the gas tank and hurried inside hoping he would lose interest. Grabbing a bottle of water, she stood in line directly behind a burly man. At the head of the line, a woman in a business suit argued with the cashier over her purchases. Rolling her eyes, Kris picked up a newspaper and glanced over the headlines tapping her foot impatiently.

The Harley roared off and the watcher pulled his Jeep directly behind the red motorcycle. Jumping out hurriedly, he made sure Captain Martin remained inside the building and ran a hand over the back of her cycle. Attaching a small device under the fender, he returned to his vehicle and drove it behind the station to wait.

Tucking the newsprint under one arm, Kris exited the building casting sidelong looks around. The biker was gone. No one else gave her a second glance. Pulling her helmet on, she revved the red cycle up. Taking one more cautious look around, she roared back out onto the highway heading back to her patient.

***

Daniel paced impatiently. He'd been waiting, along with Sassy and Jennifer Hailey, at Jack's place for over forty minutes.

Sassy readily accepted Daniel's explanation as to the identity of the young Jon O'Neill. In fact, she was anxious to get acquainted with Jack's only living relative. Both she and Hailey had taken an instant shine to one another. The two women sat side by side fondly discussing Jack's many quirks. Hailey had done her part to distract the older woman from her grief, regaling her with a colorful description of Jon's baking prowess.

As the minutes ticked by, Daniel was becoming more and more convinced that the others weren't planning on joining them anytime soon. Something was very wrong. If he were honest with himself, Daniel had suspected all along that Jon would deviate from the plan they'd all agreed to. It was his nature.

Excusing himself, the anxious archeologist strode out onto the deck and dialed Sam's cell phone. A terse Sam Carter answered. "Carter."

"Sam, it's Daniel." He knew that tone of voice; Sam was in full military mode. "Where are you?"

"What's wrong Daniel, as I told Teal'c I'm with Special Agent Barrett...?" Alarm bells began to ring in Sam's head. "Daniel, please tell me that Jon and Teal'c are there with you."

"Ah, no." Daniel's voice was deceptively unconcerned. "I get the feeling we've been duped."

***

Captain Brightman calmly returned to the SGC to resume her duties. However, as she entered her office, she spied a pair of boots propped up on her desk. Leaning back in her chair, Major Kearney eyed the new doctor with suspicion. Dropping his feet to the floor, he stood up and moved forward to tower over her. "Shut the door, doctor."

Gulping, Brightman complied arranging her features in what she hoped were an innocent expression. "What can I do for you, Major Kearney?"

Staring into her blank face for several intimidating minutes, Kearney got right to the point. "Well for starters Captain Brightman, you can explain why you left your post in the middle of a shift."

"I had an errand to run." Easing around his muscular bulk, she seated herself in her chair and returned his stare.

Leaning in as she passed him, the vigilant security officer sniffed, detecting the scent of mint. And, if he was not mistaken, underlying hints of an all too familiar aroma - fine Irish. Kearney's lips thinned. "An errand?" He echoed coldly. "I see."

Taking the seat opposite hers, he leaned back contemplating the clearly uncomfortable physician's body language. "I happened to be scanning the security video of the exits earlier; your rather hasty departure disturbed me. It seemed to be a tad early in the day to leave your post and the pockets of your raincoat seemed incredibly bulky." Pausing for effect, he ran perceptive eyes over her visibly damp uniform.

"I was wondering just where that raincoat is?" Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on her desk, his blue eyes boring into hers.

Brightman's smooth cheeks tinged pink. Her breathing increased.

Kearney rose to hover over her smaller frame. "Captain, we buried our commander today. I greatly admired General O'Neill. His death has been a quite a shock and I am feeling surly. I should warn you, I don't do surly well."

Noting her look of panic, he lowered his voice to a snarl. "Now, suppose you tell me what the hell you've been up to."

***

Clare ducked under the small shelter beneath the trees and spread a blanket over the picnic bench. Setting a basket filled with take-out from Wong's Chinese on top, she sat down gingerly.

Last night's session with her dear 'daddy' had left her weary and bruised. Not one inch of her back had been spared this time and her wrists, underneath her blue jacket, were chafed from the leather straps he'd used to tie her down. No matter how many times she suffered at his hands, Clare still fought. It was her nature to resist.

For the millionth time she cursed the day thirteen years ago when Wellington sauntered into the orphanage in Berlin and chose her to be his 'own dear little girl.' Dear little whipping boy was more like it. She was convinced Father Braun had known very well just what kind of hell he'd sold the tiny five year old into, but the coffers were empty after all. Clare damned the aging cleric to the fires of hell and beyond.

Once upon a time, she'd been a happy child filled with light. Damien's perversions had long ago destroyed that child. Now all that remained was a beautiful shell harboring a lost soul walking the very edges of sanity.

It had been years since Clare felt any emotions save hatred and fear. For over a decade she'd wandered through the darkness of Damien Wellington's world, her delicate heart wrapped securely inside a frozen shroud, until yesterday when Jon O'Neill's grief somehow penetrated that frigid pall.

What was it about the teen that touched her so? He wasn't her first casualty. No, he was just another victim.

Maybe it was those remarkably mischievous brown eyes of his. The ancient wisdom that glimmered in their sable depths was strangely incongruous amidst his unlined and boyish features. Looking into those sage pools she'd sensed that he too knew a level of self-preservation and carefully hidden despair similar to her own.

From the first, Clare was attracted to him like a moth to flame. Knowing all the while the flame would soon be snuffed out.

Stifling a sob, Clare pulled her thin jacket closer fighting the chill in the damp air.

Whatever the attraction, she'd come here to the park much earlier than planned, hoping to find a way to warn him before Wellington and his thugs followed.

***

Sam thrust her cell phone into her pocket. 'Damn that stubborn Irishman and his overdeveloped sense of independence and intrigue! He'd done it again!' Patting the place where Jack's discarded and frayed SGC patch rested over her heart, Sam pondered her next move.

'Think, Carter, think! You've been O'Neill's, second in command for over eight years now; surely you should have an inkling of how that deceptively obtuse mind of his works.' Resting her hand over the hidden patch once more, she wistfully remembered Jack's many attempts to shield his intellect. 'Okay, so Jon's year away must have changed him somewhat, but he is still basically the same man you've known and secretly loved. His reactions and moves should be analogous.'

And yet, Sam wasn't so sure. Jack had always been an enigma.

Following a brief separation at the shopping mall, Barrett resumed his position in the driver's seat. Currently they were still tracking the infamous Marquis's vehicle through heavy traffic.

Malcolm watched the visibly anxious woman in his back seat by way of the handy rearview mirror. He could almost see the gears in her brain working. "What's up Sam?" He asked pointedly.

Looking up, Sam returned his stare. "Evidently our young O'Neill is as stubbornly independent as his uncle. Both Jon and Teal'c are MIA."

Ned, swaying in the backseat alongside the colonel, caught on quickly. "You think the kid and this officer Teal'c are off chasing the perps on their own?"

"Chasing? Well, that is one way of putting it." Sam muttered sarcastically, arching her brow. It was a sure bet that the two 'warrior brothers' were planning on doing much more than merely engaging in a pursuit.

Barrett wrinkled his brow in consternation. Why would the seasoned Jaffa throw in with a kid? "Let me get this straight. You think the... err... Teal'c... is leading the general's nephew into some kind of..."

Sam hung her head in frustration. "Now that the general is... gone, Teal'c most likely sees himself as Jon's protector. And as such, he'll stick to the kid's side like glue."

"How in God's name would anyone think that leading that kid into a possible trap constitutes protection?" Malcolm barked with amazement. He knew the Jaffa's customs often countered those of earth, but couldn't fathom how endangering a child fit into this whole scenario. Obviously, there was more to this puzzle.

Sam raised her head. Catching the special agent's incredulous stare in the mirror once more, she ran her hand over her aching neck. "I doubt Teal'c is leading."

Malcolm returned her stare. He understood the veiled message in her cobalt eyes. Reading through Jon O'Neill's dossier he'd found it in perfect order - too perfect, he realized.

Sam watched the emotions flicker in Malcolm's reflection noting the dawn of understanding blaze in his eyes. Cocking her head to one side, she nodded.

Barrett, his suspicions confirmed, returned his full concentration to following the bastard in the coupe. Sticking close to their prey remained imperative.

The stakes in this complex game had doubled.

***

Kris kicked off the red motorcycle, grabbed the overcoat from the saddlebag and hurried inside the clinic.

Jeff, leaning over the fever wracked O'Neill, heard her pound up the steps and slam through the door. Muttering a quick prayer of thanks, he turned to meet her questing gaze. "His fever has climbed steadily over the past hour, did you get the medication?"

Tossing the coat to the worried physician, Kris rushed to Jack's side. Placing her cool palm on his hot brow, she bit her lip. He was burning up! "How high..."

"106." Jeff bit off brusquely. Pulling intravenous bags from the coat pockets, he immediately checked both the contents and dosage. Finding them satisfactory, Jeff inserted tubing into the port provided on the first of the bags. Attaching a needle, he swabbed a similar port on the saline solution already running into his patient's left forearm. "I moved him to a cooling blanket right after you left, but he's febrile as hell."

Shifting the saline bag to a lower position, he allowed the antibiotics to rapidly pump into O'Neill's intravenous site. "I've given him several doses of Acetaminophen and pushed fluids... now we wait for the antibiotics to kick in."

Shifting his stance, Jeff looked his friend and co-conspirator over. "Did you run into any trouble?"

Gently adjusting Jack's thin coverings, Kris answered absently. "I thought I was being pursued briefly by a gray Jeep, but lost him in the traffic. Still, just in case I took the long way around."

Shaking her head, Kris's shoulders slumped with fatigue. "Crap, I was hoping debridement of the wound would make more of a difference."

"Actually, I repeated the procedure not twenty minutes ago and drained a significant amount of pus." Jeff told her tiredly.

"I also took a culture. It's too early to be sure, but it appears my hunch was correct. Thanks to your daring and tenacity we now have the right medication to fight this kind of virulent organism." Jeff wrapped an arm around Kris resting his head against hers. "Come on; let's get a quick bite of something to eat."

Noting the dedicated nurse's hesitation, the equally committed physician ran a loving hand over the little sheltie still nestled beside the general's bed. "I've got the intercom on and Mischief is firmly entrenched at the general's side. If he wakes up, she'll alert us, won't you girl?"

Mischief's ears perked up. Raising her head, the little dog's expressive mouth seemed to smile at the concerned pair.

"You love him already don't you, Mischief?" Kris murmured. Hunching over, she stroked the mini-collie gratefully. "Well, he is easy to love."

Hearing Kris's hushed words, Jeff's heart shifted. Just as he'd suspected, the general was more than just her commanding officer. Taking her hand, he cast a final look at the intravenous fluids and then gently pulled Kris from the room.

Mischief scooted up onto the bed and snuggled in closer to her charge. She liked this man's scent and instinctively understood he needed her protection. Nuzzling his hand, she finagled her moist nose into his limp palm and sighed.

***

Jack burned. Crap! Where the hell was he? He was trapped in the murky shadows of some kind of fiery torment. The last time he'd felt this miserable had been... when had it been exactly? His skin was on fire! Everything hurt.

Something cold and wet pushed its way into his sizzling palm. Oh God, that felt so good. Overcome, Jack surrendered to the blackness once more.

***

The watcher considered his options as the blip on his tracking display stopped moving southwest and remained stationary.

Easing his Jeep off the road, he stashed it inside a stand of thick brush. He was about a mile from the blip's position.

Pulling a beat-up cap from the back, he shrugged out of his coat, consulted his compass and continued furtively on foot.

***

Teal'c slipped another cartridge into the chamber of the sniper rifle and eased into a prone position. Placing the scope to his right eye, he watched as young O'Neill approached Clare Wellington.

Falling into their usual unspoken form of communication they'd separated just minutes before the young female's arrival. The Jaffa found an ideal place in which to conceal himself in a small dense copse of trees on the school's grounds. Here, he had a clear view of the park and its surrounding terrain.

Jon parked the Ford out of sight and checked his hidden arsenal. Slipping on the familiar mantle of covert intrigue, he hunkered down behind a conveniently placed picket fence and waited for his 'date.' She was over forty minutes early.

Allowing her to get comfortable, O'Neill scanned the perimeter. Oddly, it was clear. Signaling Teal'c, he slowly made his way up the block giving the impression he'd come on foot.

Clare huddled on the bench, her attention fixed on her clenched hands. Jon wondered sardonically if her defensive posture was a result of the damp air or the frozen wasteland of her soul.

Clare sensed his silent approach, raised her chin and jumped up to intercept him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him close and sobbed. "I'm so very sorry."

Startled by her vehemence, Jon returned her trembling embrace. "I'll miss him..."

Pushing away awkwardly, Clare scanned his face. "Oh, I... yes... I am sorry about your uncle too."

Jon's eyebrows met his hairline. "Okay, why do I get the feeling we are not talking about my uncle's death?"

Gulping audibly, the tremulous blond grasped the tall youth's hands tightly. "I'm not a high school girl, Jon. I was sent to lure you into a trap and if we don't act very quickly, we are both going to be sharing the general's fate."

Pulling his hands away, Jon stepped back. Avoiding her intense gaze, he looked around. "What kind of sick game you are playing?"

Clare latched onto him once more. Using her adrenalin enhanced strength she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes. "This is no game. Listen up Jon; I am risking a hell of a lot more than my life here... "

"Risking your life?" Jon snorted. Anger bubbled up inside him. His expressive brown eyes became diamond hard slits of undisguised rage. Capturing her wrists, he snarled, "What about my Uncle Jack's life? I suppose he was expendable!"

His ironclad grip on her tender wrists caused Clare to bite her lip and gasp with pain.

Her sudden distress penetrated his barely controlled fury. Releasing his grip, Jon exposed her right wrist; her delicate skin was abraded and raw. "What the hell...?"

Clare ignored his reaction and rushed on. "I know I've no right to demand this, but if we are going to escape you'll have to trust me."

Jon contemplated her abused flesh. Clearly, her role was more than that of a duplicitous co-conspirator in this dark game of intrigue.

"Please Jon; I don't want to lose you." Clare whispered brokenly clutching his arm. Her tone drew his searching gaze back to her own. "I'm not sure how I know this, but I know you are the only one who can help me."

Jon knew that look. It was the same look a certain Jaffa had worn some eight years before. Nodding slowly, he employed a hand gesture to alert the man who'd also once been his enemy and was now his closest ally.

Teal'c loped out of the brush, startling the small woman still hanging on to Jon. Ignoring her, he scowled. "What has transpired?"

"According to the 'lady' here, I've been set up." Jon answered lightly, his mask of unconcern firmly back in place.

"Indeed." Inclining his head, Teal'c cradled the rifle calmly. "Then perhaps we should adjourn to a more congenial location and discuss the matter."

Tossing Teal'c the keys to the truck, Jon agreed. "Sounds good, Teal'c the truck's around the corner."

Teal'c moved off quickly to secure the vehicle.

Sniffing the contents of the picnic basket, Jon smirked. "Ah Chinese, I'm famished." Scooping up the basket and blanket, he wrapped his arm around Clare's shoulders and led her to the waiting conveyance.

Pushing the treacherous woman gently into the back seat of the big green Ford, Jon settled in beside her. Snagging an egg roll, he took a massive bite, chewing contently. "So, now then Clare... exactly who is it we are running from and why?"

Clare was impressed. Evidently, Jon O'Neill's ancient eyes hadn't lied.

On to Chapter Eight