The Candlestick Chronicles by Cjay

Chapter Twelve: Hell Hath No Fury

Ben Jefferson shifted gears, easing the unmarked van off the two-lane highway and onto a secondary artery that was little more than an access road, heading for a crumbling Victorian style house. The winding dirt pathway was steep and peppered with potholes; making rapid travel next to impossible. No matter, Wellington could wait.

Trussed up and lying haphazardly in the back of the banged up Chevy van, Sassy O'Connor stifled another groan as the vehicle lurched from side to side, causing the thick duck tape wrapped securely around her fragile wrists to chafe. Blindfolded, with her arms behind her, she was having difficulty controlling her rising trepidation and its accompanying nausea.

Swerving to avoid a particularly large mud filled indentation; Jefferson's keen eyes scanned the building's perimeter, ignoring her muffled moans. He counted at least one man, sniper rifle poised at the ready, stationed behind a leaded glass window high up on the third floor of the once majestic old ruin. And, it was a safe bet that Wellington had at least two or three more hired guns concealed inside the various outbuildings.

From the look of things this had once been a thriving ranch or farm. Besides the main house, he noted what appeared to be a shed, a barn and, Ben thought wryly, a small structure that looked suspiciously like an outhouse.

Despite a carefully preserved appearance of neglect, fresh electrical and phone lines had been carefully strung along several enormous pines, high enough for the average eye to dismiss. Ben wondered what other modern goodies Wellington had installed to facilitate his comfort.

Jefferson made the last turn in the road and the Marquis himself ventured out onto the gray veranda to greet him. Wearing a smile that failed to add any semblance of warmth to his thin face or his deadly eyes, he stood silently awaiting his latest acquisition.

Jefferson exited the still swaying vehicle. Tossing an arrogant grin Damien's way and called sarcastically. "Nice place you got here, Wellington."

"It serves its purpose." Wellington shrugged with indifference. "I understand you've brought a guest."

"Yeah, the old bat's right back here." Flinging open the van's wide rear doors, Ben climbed inside and roughly dragged the bound woman to her feet. Picking Sassy up, he swung her out and onto the uneven ground. Keeping one restraining hand clamped on her shoulder, he gracefully jumped down beside his captive.

"Ouch! Unhand me you brutish lout!" Confident that if she were able to see she'd give his arrogant shins a good kick, Sassy concentrated on regaining her balance.

"Shut your cake hole I've had enough of your carping!" Grabbing her by the arm, Ben hustled the elderly woman up the steps. "I should have gagged you as soon as I had the chance."

"Now Benjamin, is that any way to treat a lady?" Wellington purred. Reaching out, he delicately eased the blindfold away from the woman's face, looking her over with exaggerated concern.

"Lady?" Ben snorted. "Don't let her appearance fool you, she swears like an old salt!"

"Really?" Wellington countered intrigued. "How droll."

Standing erect and unafraid before him was a woman of indeterminable age. Dressed in a rather fussy pale pink pantsuit and loose fitting matching silk blouse, liberally creased and soiled with grim, her once perfectly coiffed snow white hair stood out in tangles and tuffs. Smudges of dirt and a large bruise on her left temple marred the elegant lady's otherwise relatively unlined creamy patrician skin, lending an air of aristocratic dignity and grace to her otherwise unremarkable person. Damien found her arresting. "Welcome to my humble abode, dear Mrs. O'Connor."

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, who are you?" Fluttering her watering eyes against the blinding early morning light, Sassy licked her lips. "Oh dear, I'm afraid I am going to be sick."

With that, she promptly threw up her meager breakfast spattering Wellington's freshly pressed trousers and shiny shoes.

Startled, Ben retrieved a rumpled handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the Marquis with a grin. "Perhaps, we should show the 'lady' to her room?"

"Oh my, I am sorry." Sassy mumbled feigning sincerity, trying to ignore the debris lingering on her chin. "My constitution isn't what it once was."

"Apparently." Disgusted, Damien eyed Jefferson with disdain and stepped away from the small pool of vomit.

"Arturo!" He bellowed.

A short burly man scrambled hastily out onto the porch. Taking in the condition of Wellington's once impeccable attire, he frowned.

"Arturo, please escort... Mrs. O'Connor to her room." Wellington hissed. "And then, clean up this mess."

Sassy swayed, rocking back slightly. "Oh dear, I am feeling decidedly unsteady."

Arturo's beady black eyes skittered over his master's face like a whipped terrier seeking confirmation. Following a curt nod from Wellington, he carefully removed the tape from Sassy's wrists. Allowing her to lean heavily on him, the little man led her inside the front door.

Once they were inside the main hall, a tall badly scarred man fell into step beside the pair.

Producing a small bottle of water and a thick fold of cloth, Arturo pressed them into Sassy's shaking hands. "Here."

Sassy took a long grateful drink. Then moistening the cloth, she scrubbed at her soiled chin. "Thank you, gentlemen."

Arturo took the cloth and near-empty bottle from her without comment.

The scarred man merely scowled. Poking her spine with the barrel of his ugly looking handgun, he herded her toward a shadowy descending rear stairwell.

Balking, Sassy stopped short. "The cellar? You are taking me into the cellar?"

The scarred man grasped her left arm. Firmly twisting it up behind her back, he forced her none too gently down the rickety stairs.

Preceding them, Arturo drew a large key from his pocket and unlocked the heavy cellar door, pushing it open with a loud creak.

Turning, he kindly took Sassy's other arm, taking note of her distressed face. "There is no need to be cruel to the woman, Marcel." He admonished.

"Dilettante." Marcel released his hold with a snort, returning whence he came.

"Barbarian!" Arturo rounded with a sneer.

Lightly prodding Sassy into the dark room, he lit a dirt encrusted hurricane lantern. Then, turning his back with a barely perceptible sigh of regret, he slammed the heavy door, securing it behind him.

Grateful for the weak pool of light, Sassy rubbed her aching shoulder and took in her luxury accommodations.

It was damp and cold. And, judging by the mold on the fieldstone walls, this underground room was less than watertight. The damp air was heavily scented with the pungent smell of decay. A small old iron bedstead rested against one wall, scantily covered by several threadbare blankets and moth eaten gray pillow.

Rotating slowly, still mindful of her restless stomach, Sassy spotted an ancient cracked sink against a second wall, water dripped steadily from its rusted faucet. Next to that, a dented galvanized bucket, filled with rags, was tipped onto one side.

Off in the shadows, almost hidden by an old steamer trunk, she spied what appeared to be a larger pile of rags.

Squinting, Sassy shuffled closer and gasped. The battered and limp body of Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey lay sprawled out on the filthy, dank floor. "Jennifer!"

Anger caused a surge of warming adrenalin to course through Sassy's aged veins.

Kneeling stiffly beside the fallen lieutenant, she ran tender hands over the poor child's chilled flesh. Resting questing fingers against Jennifer's neck, she detected a steady thrill and released a prayer of gratitude. "Thank the good lord."

Grabbing one of the ratty blankets from the bed, the savvy senior rolled Jennifer inside. Placing the pillow under the limp girl's head, she grabbed the questionably sturdy edges of the linen and pulled. Happily, her tactic worked and she was able to drag the inert Hailey across the floor.

Leaning her back against the iron bedstead for support, she hoisted Jennifer into a sitting position. Summoning her rage and praying for strength, Sassy pulled Hailey's petite form into her chest and up onto the bed.

Panting with effort, she wrapped her now sweating bulk around the cooler body of the younger woman, hoping to instill some much needed warmth.

Momentarily drained, the feisty and indomitable Sassy contemplated her next move.

***

Jon O'Neill burrowed his face deeper into the pillow. He'd been floating peacefully along the outer vestiges of tranquility, when something disturbed his state of bliss. Careful to keep his eyes shut, his body restful and his breathing even, he waited.

Creeping along his consciousness, tickling at his sixth sense, was the definite and uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched. It wasn't Kris Martin, their nurse. She'd gone off duty leaving a noisy corpsman in her wake, cautioning him to allow the 'boys' to sleep undisturbed.

Nearby, Danny's regular and faintly wheezing respirations mixed in with the usual beeps and hums associated with an infirmary.

Nothing moved. Yet, something taunted him.

An added whirr, a slight bang and a soft whish followed by a sudden light breeze announced the ventilation system's presence. The stale scent of recycled air, mixed with those peculiar and funky smells any infirmary offered, assailed his nostrils – alcohol, strong soap, clean sheets, a trace of the sickening smell of spilt blood on wet gauze, and something more. What was it?

Tropical pools, a hint of Mimosa and the heady aroma of gardenias; ah, perfume, a woman. Somewhere deep in his belly a burst of pleasure lit a sensual fire of attraction. Oh yeah, definitely a woman, one who enjoyed announcing her femininity and apparently found him fascinating for some reason. Strangely, he found the idea far from unpleasant.

Crap, it had been a good while since his hormones had run amok like this. This primal sensation wasn't a new one. He'd garnered the attentions of more than a few females in his time, but generally this feeling of unleashed animal lust came along after he'd at least been introduced.

'Jeez kid, will you open your peepers and take a look-see, I mean don't you wanna know who it is that has your hormones shifting into overdrive?' Jack's disembodied voice sounded hoarse and irritated. 'This whole being connected thing is damned inconvenient... you aren't the only one whose feeling a tad stimulated here, ya know.'

'Can I help it if that damned Asgard zapped me into an adolescent body?' Jon's mind whispered back mildly discomfited. 'Dang, I thought you were still asleep.'

'A sudden surge of testosterone tends to get me up, if you know what I mean.' Jack snapped back wryly.

'I'd a thought being around Carter so much would've kept you in a perpetual state of, shall we call it, preparation?' Jon volleyed mischievously.

'Generally speaking, ah, no. Regulations work better than a hefty dose of saltpeter on the old libido.' Jack mumbled in kind.

'Weak pun, Jack, very weak.' Jon groaned.

'Hey, it's kinda hard to be witty when my expectations are raised.' Jack retorted caustically. 'Now open your damned eyes, will ya?'

Jon moaned, fluttering his lids. 'Fine, just save me from the punditry!' Pulling his pillow into his arms, he drew one knee up; making sure his involuntary interest was masked, and cracked an eyelid.

Dr. Elizabeth Brightman's zealous and all too intense gaze proved to be more effective in returning his contrary flesh to a more relaxed state than a bucket of ice water. Jack's loud unintentional harrumph of surprise confirmed that her fervor had transmitted to his counterpart and cooled his ardor as well.

Nonplussed, Jon frowned and returned the woman's stare.

"I..." Brightman's small pink tongue darted nervously along her lower lip. Seemingly enraptured, her eyes dilated and widened. "Was it an Angel?"

"What?" Jon rubbed at his eyes sleepily. 'That a boy, kid.' Jack coached proudly. 'Remember, big dumb soldier routine... who, what and where.'

'Yeah, right Jack, that so worked with Draymak and Prost didn't it.' Jon's mind snorted. 'Seems to me, you dealt the need to know card there, didn't ya?'

'Hey, it worked didn't it?' Jack's psyche argued. 'Just stick to the plan... and be yourself. You know... dense, thick, obtuse, dim...'

'You mean, just channel you, right?' Jon lobbed mentality.

'Exactly!' Jack's consciousness chortled with relish.

"I asked if you'd been healed by an Angel, Jon." Brightman repeated.

"What?" Jon answered blankly.

Strange, for a moment there he sounded just like the general! Bewildered, Brightman tried another approach. "Jon, do you remember the last twenty-four hours?"

"I'm not sure... I..." Jon's unlined and beardless face reflected disorientation. "I was at Uncle Jack's funeral and..."

Looking down at the pillow clutched in his hands, he ventured. "I guess I took a nap?"

Hearing her responding gasp of impatience, Jon wrinkled his brow in consternation. "Exactly where am I?"

Disappointment flooded Brightman's cheeks. "You were shot, Jon. A team of medics brought you here for treatment. Jon, we almost lost you..."

"Okay." Jon agreed skeptically. Allowing his gaze to travel over his unscathed body, he arched his brows with disbelief. "And?"

"Some form of celestial being or entity, I prefer the term Angel, appeared and healed you." Elizabeth explained, ignoring his look of incredulity.

"A... celestial being..." Jon repeated doubtfully. "Or Angel?"

"I thought we'd agreed you'd forget all this nonsense about an Angel, Doctor Brightman." Carson demanded harshly, marching forward into the room.

"Dammit, Elizabeth!" Coming to rest beside his errant associate, he hissed with disgust. "When the corpsman informed me you'd relieved him for coffee, I suspected something like this!"

Taking in the lad's baffled expression, he adjusted his tone. "Hello, there Jon, I'm Dr. Carson. I knew your Uncle Jack very well. I'm sorry for your loss."

Jon narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Jack's voice echoed inside his head, filling him in on the new doctor's credentials. "Thanks, Uncle Jack mentioned you once... he called you, Kit."

"That's right." Carson beamed. "He said I reminded him of that crusty old western legend. Called me sagacious... I had to look that one up."

"The general had a singularly canny ability to peg people." Carson eyed Jon pensively. "The man was a whole lot more intelligent then he liked people to believe."

Nodding sadly, Jon dropped his eyes and fiddled with his blankets. "So... ah, according to the doc here, I'm a very lucky Irishman."

"That's right. Recall anything else?" Carson questioned carefully.

Shrugging, Jon looked up. His youthful face crumbled with grief, lower lip trembling slightly as his deep brown eyes filled with tears. "Uncle Jack... died." He whispered mournfully.

"Is that all you remember, Jon?" Elizabeth asked sympathetically. "Nothing else?"

"What else matters, ma'am?" Jon asked brokenly closing his eyes and slumping back against the bed.

Covering his face with his hands, he whispered. "He's gone and I... well, I'm alone."

"I see." Heartbroken and defeated, Elizabeth Brightman surrendered, the boy's grief replacing her fanatic quest for an answer with compassion.

"I... guess I was mistaken." Rising, she pressed a fist to her mouth and rushed from the room.

"I'll just... step out and give you a few minutes." Uncomfortable, Carson patted Jon's arm and trailed after his misguided colleague.

'Sheesh, kid who knew?' Jack's essence quipped admiringly. 'Think you just earned an Oscar, category: best actor in a drama.'

'Don't sell yourself short there O'Neill... when we found you...' Jon's emotions overwhelmed his usual caginess. 'I was... crap Jack, you looked like hell!'

'Yeah... well...' Jack conceded clumsily. 'Back at ya, kid.'

"You're not alone, Jon." Daniel's voice was filled with sorrowful affection. "I know what we did... We should have never just walked away like that."

"Danny..." Jon began uncomfortably.

"No, Jon. I've wanted to say this ever since this whole mess started." Daniel continued urgently. "We were wrong and I'm sorry."

Throwing back the covers, Jon padded barefoot over to Daniel's bed, offering a crooked grin. "No worries there space monkey, we got no problems you and me. You all did what you had to do, just like Jack."

Jon's deep brown eyes conveyed a wisdom and understanding that belied his naïve countenance. "Okay?"

Daniel's troubled visage cleared somewhat, his face mirrored Jon's crooked smile. "Okay."

"Good. The subject is closed." Jon cleared his throat and sat down on the edge of Danny's bed.

Releasing a long breath, his brows rose and fell with acceptance. "I assume you know all about my latest little brush with the grim reaper?"

"Huh?" Daniel was thrown for a moment. "Oh that, I overheard them talking earlier and insisted they fill me in. Brightman's 'Angel theory' took me by surprise. Guess she's more religious than I'd have thought."

"I got that." Jon snorted sarcastically.

Ignoring the typical O'Neill biting wit, Daniel continued, "I assume your, ah, 'phenomenal rejuvenation' was due to some kind of residual talent left over from that Ancient download."

"Let's leave it at that, shall we?" Jon agreed smugly.

Sobering, Daniel went on. "I'm more concerned, and frankly annoyed, with the reason behind your injuries, namely your tactics."

Jon carefully schooled his face, feigning confusion. "Tactics?"

Shifting his injured leg with a grimace of pain, Daniel pondered Jon's deceptively innocent expression. "I've gotta say that Jack would've been damned proud of your underhanded activities. I suppose, given that you are an O'Neill, we should have expected it."

Daniel hesitated poignantly, and then continued with infinite sadness. "Guess I just never really thought we'd ever lose him. I mean how many times has he cheated death? I know he missed the excitement of going off-world, but to be honest, I figured riding a desk would keep him alive..."

'Judas Priest! Put him out of his misery will ya, kid. He's killing me here!' Jack begged gruffly via their connection.

"Ah, Daniel?" Jon interrupted tightly.

Halting mid-sentence, Daniel narrowed his eyes with trepidation. Despite the fact that Jon's voice cracked adolescently, he knew that particular tone all too well. Pursing his lips, he lowered his chin and offered Jon a sidelong look of expectant disquiet. "Yes, Jon?"

Clearing his throat, Jon arched one brow; his eyes skittered back and forth between Daniel's earnest face and his hands, then back again. Plucking a stray medical instrument off the bedside table, he toyed with it absently.

"About, Jack..." He began sheepishly.

***

Jefferson leaned casually against the faded wood of the old home's exterior wall, waiting tolerantly for the fastidious Wellington to change out of the trousers Sassy had so recently, and quite brilliantly, soiled. Yes sir, puking on a man did tend to distract him, and distracting the ominous Marquis was essential.

Squinting against the glare of morning sunlight, he continued his reconnaissance. So far, in addition to the three men stationed here at the house, he'd spied at least two more near the shed. A sudden harsh beam of reflected light drew his attention to the rear of the barn. No doubt about it, another man was on guard duty. Wearing sunglasses against the glare, he crouched amidst a tall stand of trees near the rear of the property.

Soft footsteps announced Wellington's return. Making a great show of superficial serenity, he settled into a large wicker chair and crossed his long spindly legs. "Now then Jefferson, I believe you owe me an explanation."

"You do, eh." Ben responded lazily.

Pushing off the wall, he sauntered over, hooking his thumbs cockily into the waistband of his jeans, offering Wellington a challenging smile. "Given the fact I don't work for you, compounded by your recent mismanagement of the O'Neill matter, that's rather presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

Seemingly unperturbed, Wellington motioned for Ben to take a seat. Then, poured both himself and his quarrelsome guest a tall glass of iced tea. Sitting back, he took a long drink and waited.

Ben accepted the tea and took a hesitant sip of the dark brew finding it excessively sweet. Setting the glass back down on a nearby table, he finally settled into the chair Wellington indicated. "However, given the state of this whole affair, Pendleton seems to think we'd optimize our remaining options more effectively if we worked together."

"Which brings me back to my original query?" Damien drawled.

"Why abduct the old battleaxe?" Ben pursed his lips and leaned forward. "Because, seeing as your men so thoughtlessly killed the general, he chose her as his nephew's legal guardian."

"Of what use is that information to us?" Wellington demanded irritably.

Ben released an exasperated sigh, retorting snidely, "Regrettably, it appears your rather magnificent dual strategy resulted in tragedy."

Resentment gleamed perilously in the detestable Marquis eyes. "Get to the point Jefferson!"

"Patience!" Ben sniped, tilting his head jauntily. "Your men were sloppy to say the least. While tranquilizing Lieutenant Hailey they unwisely mislaid the syringe. Naturally, it was found and traces of its contents analyzed. It was determined, given the strength of the drug it contained; a person of Hailey's small stature would not survive so lethal a dose. The man in charge is a hard case from the Pentagon... Hailey has been written off as a casualty."

So much for making a trade, Wellington silently banked his anger, taking minute pleasure in the knowledge that he'd eliminated the buffoon who'd mismanaged the girl's retrieval.

"Chess is an enticing diversion, don't you agree?" Ben paused.

Shrugging dramatically, he delivered the coup de grace. "However, when one loses his last pawn, it is time to engage in a different sport, one requiring a more simplistic and implicitly heartless approach."

"You surprise me Jefferson. I was informed your unfortunate innate veracity forbade engaging in malicious forms of manipulation." Arching an ironic brow, Damien displayed favorable interest. "Perhaps you'd be good enough to dazzle me further?"

"Gladly, for a price." Ben replied smugly. "I want fifty percent of whatever fee Pendleton offered you... and, a sample of the O'Neill DNA for my own personal pursuits."

Rising, Wellington paced back and forth considering the matter. Once Jefferson revealed his plan and they'd procured the specimen, he could easily dispose of the obnoxious man. Damien doubted Pendleton would complain over the loss. No indeed, more likely he'd be grateful. "Agreed." Ben smirked. Wellington wasn't fooling anyone. He understood all too well that crossing the perfidious Marquis was a death knell. "Good. Now, got anything stronger than tea around here? I could use a belt."

"It's a tad early in the day don't you think?" Wellington sneered.

"Hah! I haven't been to bed yet pal, for me it's the end of one long night." Ben announced loudly, slapping Wellington's back heartily. "What say, you offer me some breakfast along with the booze?"

"Not just yet." Wellington wagged his finger with a frown. "You've yet to explain about the O'Connor woman?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Ben affected astonishment. "The kid's on life support. He's basically brain dead."

"Disheartening, to be sure, but..." Damien began chagrined.

"Ack, think about it!" Ben cajoled. "All we need is the old bat's consent to harvest the kid's organs. We send in your goons disguised as medical types and Viola! DNA heaven!"

"Mrs. O'Connor did not strike me as a woman who is easily coerced." Wellington countered.

"No, she is a tough old bird." Ben agreed lightly. "I'm not some thick desk jockey from the Pentagon, Wellington. I trust poor little Hailey is still breathing?"

"To be sure, for the moment at least." Damien smiled eloquently.

"Well then, time is on our side." Ben clasped his hands together with relish. "Now, about that whiskey?"

"I believe you've earned a drink, Benjamin." Damien purred, unfurling his long body with languid self-satisfaction, he led the way inside.

His demeanor reminded Jefferson eerily of a medieval painting he'd once seen in Italy, entitled: Lucifer's Conceit.

***

Sassy recovered her equilibrium rapidly. Reaching beneath her blouse, she loosened her brassiere. A small tubular metal case plopped onto her lap. Readjusting her foundation, she flipped the small container open, revealing an insulin-type syringe and a rolled up alcohol pad.

Ripping open the pad, she swabbed Jennifer's neck and unerringly injected the syringe's contents into the girl's jugular. She'd been assured that the drug contained within the syringe would rapidly revive the young lieutenant, thereby saving her life; provided the drugs she'd been given during the abduction hadn't already caused her death.

Despite a detectable pulse, Jennifer was barely breathing. Sassy prayed that the antidote she'd just instilled in the girl's veins was correct.

***

Normally the look on Daniel's face would have inspired an awkward attempt at humor, but given the gravity of the situation, Jon decided against it. "I know you're ticked off..."

"Ticked off?" Daniel sputtered, his already pale face blanched, then rapidly altered to a deep shade of crimson.

Whew, maybe humor was the right course after all. "Ticked, pissed, furious, irate, annoyed, angry, apoplectic..." Jon recited hoping to engage Daniel in their usual diffusive banter.

"Shut up!" Incensed, Daniel reached out and grasped the front of Jon's military issue sleepwear. Yanking him forward with surprising strength, he shook him forcefully, glaring into his eyes. "Words cannot describe how very enraged I am right at the moment! Of all the stupid, thick, obtuse, harebrained, asinine, arrogant and downright cruel..."

"I take it you have revealed our deception, Jon O'Neill." Teal'c's deep baritone interrupted Daniel's tirade.

Striding over to Jackson's bedside, he took in Daniel's ruddy countenance and Jon's shock. "Daniel Jackson you must desist, this unleashed passion will only serve to do harm."

"Our deception?" Daniel released Jon abruptly.

"Gah!" Jon gasped rubbing his neck. Jeez! Guess Danny was more than a bit put out!

"Precisely who is involved in this little conspiracy besides you and this insensitive jackass, Teal'c?" Daniel demanded through clenched teeth.

"Your anger is justified, as was our reasoning, Daniel Jackson... " Teal'c began.

"Don't!" Daniel barked raising a staying hand. "Just do me the courtesy of answering the question."

The big Jaffa's brows rose and fell with amazement. Straightening his shoulders, he unconsciously assumed a battle stance. "We enlisted the aid of Captain Martin."

"Why?" Daniel snapped.

"Crap, Daniel will you settle down?" Jon returned in kind. "Jack was in sorry shape. Frankly, we weren't even sure he'd make it..."

"Do you honestly think that little tidbit of information helps your case?" Daniel expounded incredulous.

"Damn it, Daniel!" Losing his temper, Jon jumped up and began to pace. "Tell me just what the hell were we supposed to do? Allow them to bring him here and let another mole finish him?"

"Jon, you endangered his life!" Daniel accused. "He could have died!"

"Do you think that escaped my notice?" Jon responded sadly. "Kris did an excellent job of keeping him alive... he's safe Daniel, trust me."

"Daniel Jackson, do you have faith in my judgment?" Teal'c questioned solemnly. Daniel's nod of affirmation softened his tone. "Then believe that our course of action was both necessary and prudent."

Relenting, Daniel sighed. "You're sure Jack is okay?"

"When last we spoke, the physician caring for O'Neill, a Doctor Prost, assured me that he is fine." Teal'c replied confidently.

'You are fine, aren't you Jack?' Jon queried uneasily via their connection.

Jack's mind had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout Daniel's outburst.

'Yep, fit as a fiddle, in the pink, just peachy, renewed, restored...'Jack rattled on.

Relived, Jon stopped pacing. "He's better than fine, Daniel."

"That is indeed the truth, Jon O'Neill. I spoke with Prost only moments ago." Teal'c began perplexed. "However, as I have only just arrived, I am at a loss as to how you are aware of this information."

"Would you believe I, ah, had a premonition?" Jon ventured.

"I would not." Teal'c frowned.

"Okay, call it a hunch then." Jon sat back on his bed hoping his face conveyed the right amount of innocence.

Teal'c responded with a small bow of acceptance.

"Seems, I wasn't the only O'Neill who experienced divine intervention," Jon muttered with a smirk.

Digesting the implications of Jon's vague admission, Daniel remained mute.

Expecting a myriad of questions once the curious archeologist got his bearings, Jon hoped to redirect the conversation. "So Teal'c, what did I miss?"

Teal'c remained ominously silent for several minutes, his face impassive. A fact, which alerted both Jon and Daniel, that something else was amiss. "When I arrived earlier you were both asleep. Captain Martin insisted that I too needed rest."

Puzzled, Jon quirked a brow. "Okay, so you took a nap... what's got you spooked T?"

"I have been unable to locate Colonel Carter. I had hoped to find her here visiting with you." A small muscle tick in the corner of his jaw betrayed the stoic Jaffa's concern. "Mrs. O'Connor and her security guards are also missing."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Daniel's stomach took a sick tumble. "What about Special Agents Barrett and Drew?"

"They have vanished as well." Was the sepulcher response.

Two very similar, and yet distinct psyches crescendo mutely... 'Oh crap!'

***

"Are you sure about this, Sam?" Malcolm Barrett was having second thoughts about trusting the rather dubious Jefferson's loyalties.

"Am I sure of Jefferson? No, but then the man didn't offer any guaranties did he?" Sam grimaced. Nothing about this whole mess was a given, except uncertainty. "It's too late to back out now, if we don't succeed Hailey's fate is sealed and Mrs. O'Connor will have needlessly placed herself in jeopardy."

'We don't leave our people behind!' Jack's declaration echoed achingly in that secret place inside her heart where she'd hidden her tender feelings away.

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Sam stifled a sob. "I couldn't prevent the general's death, but I'm gonna make dammed sure that Hailey doesn't join him in the hereafter."

"I still say we should have brought more backup." Ned Drew complained quietly. Using a small single spyglass, he scanned the area for unfriendlies; of those in their merry little band he was the most familiar with the agricultural layout of their target, being an ex-farm boy had its uses. "So far I've identified at least four bogies... one in those trees to the rear, and at least two more backing up the Marquis at the house; a stubby bastard and, to paraphrase one of my favorite books, a gangly fellow with an ill-favored look."

Ignoring the all too O'Neill-like attempt at levity, Sam squinted through her own set of binoculars, studying the barn area intently. A subtle movement high up in the loft's opening alerted her. "I've located one in the barn... wait a minute, make that two." A haze of cigarette smoke curled its way lazily upward from the first level entry.

Malcolm's attention remained fixed on the small device in his hands, monitoring a green blip on the liquid crystal screen. "Sassy's GPS signal is stationary. Looks like Jefferson was right, they didn't search her. Let's just hope we can trust him about everything else."

Unbidden, remnants of his early morning wakeup call danced into his mind.oo After learning that Jackson would survive, Barrett and Drew, assuming the colonel was asleep, decided to grab a bit of shuteye themselves. There would be plenty of time to discuss things after each of them had at least a couple of hours of much needed rest. Malcolm's eyes had barely closed when muted tapping on his door roused him.

Stumbling to his feet, glancing resentfully toward Ned blissfully asleep in the adjoining bunk, he wrenched the door open irritably, preparing a curt dressing-down for whomever it was that dared to disturb him. Sam Carter's drawn face arrested his ire.

Moving past him, she nudged Ned awake impatiently. "Get dressed." Realizing he was clothed in his boxers, Barrett jumped into his trousers and tucked in his shirt. "What's going on?"

Tossing him a quelling look, Sam furtively led the way to Mrs. O'Connor's quarters.

Mimicking her caution, Barrett and a hastily clad Drew, followed her into the small suite.

Two security types leaned against one wall, looking impossibly young. A disgustingly alert, Sassy O'Connor sat at a round table nibbling a pastry, next to a man, whose brash manner and tone telegraphed extreme confidence. "Morning boys, I suppose you are wondering why we've called you both here. Have a sweet roll."

Sam perched silently on a nearby desk, her face carefully devoid of emotion.

Unsure what to make of this impromptu summons, Barrett refrained from comment and nonchalantly settled into an empty chair at the table. Inspecting the plate of baked goods, he chose a large cheese Danish from the top of the pile. Plucking an imaginary hair from the center, he refused to take the bait.

Ned had been down this road with Barrett before and knew his role well. Still groggy, he sank gratefully onto Sassy's vacant bed. "Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

Pivoting in his chair, Ben's smoky eyes gleamed with malice. "By way of a few, shall we call them rather nefarious, connections; I've been able to glean some vital information regarding Lieutenant Hailey's whereabouts."

"Impressive." Whistling softly, Ned tucked his hands behind his head. "And, who would you be?"

"Someone who gives a rat's ass what happens to one of my late general's missing officers." The unidentified man replied snidely, eliciting a murmur of approval from the two green airmen.

Reclining, Ned yawned dramatically. Sitting across from him, Colonel Carter appeared wary and Barrett seemed vastly interested in his pastry. "I take it that you are a member of Stargate Command? Why, pray tell, haven't you alerted Major Kearney?"

"The major is a boy scout; he'll insist on going by the book and waste precious time." Ben replied with thinly veiled disgust. "Besides, he won't approve of my methods."

"And Colonel Carter does?" Malcolm questioned benignly. Avoiding Sam's gaze, he took a hefty bite of the Danish, chewing it thoughtfully. Apparently she did, otherwise he wouldn't be here.

Snorting, Ben stood up, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I sincerely doubt she does... however, the colonel's intimate familiarity with more than a few sinister situations has enhanced her ability to be a bit less discriminating."

Sam's eyed her boots briefly. Sighing, she exchanged a look with Jefferson. "We don't have a lot of time to waste in debate gentlemen. Hailey's life may just be hanging by a thread. If we are going to move on Airman Jefferson's intel, we need to move fast."

"I assume you've got a plan?" Ned questioned dryly. He'd been watching Sassy's pensive face, wondering just how the older woman fit into this puzzle, when it dawned on him. Sassy wouldn't be here unless she was a part of whatever crazy scheme the colonel and this Jefferson had cooked up. "And I get the feeling that I, for one, am not going to like it one bit."

Hearing the censure in Ned's tone, Sassy's expression shifted. "The success of the ruse we've devised hinges on both you and Malcolm cooperating, Neddy dear."

The motherly tone transmuted into steel. "I'd hate to think that I was wrong about you both."

"I was wondering when the disarmingly spirited Celtic side of your personality would rear its head, Sassy." Malcolm smirked. "I suppose your mind is set?"

Sassy crossed her arms. "I've lost one of my boys, Malcolm. Two more are lying in the infirmary and that sweet little Jennifer is in the clutches of a madman."

Smiling grimly, she continued, "There's an old adage: 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' Well my lad, there are two women in this room who find the utter contempt this Marquis fellow has for all of us infuriating."

"Don't forget about us, ma'am." Airman Thompson piped up.

"That's right, Hailey is one of ours." Airman Hauser's freckled face reflected his resolve. "General O'Neill would wholeheartedly approve."

"We're going with or without you, Barrett." Sam's chin rose, appreciating their tenacity. "But, I'd much prefer your help."

"All right, I'm willing to listen." Malcolm nodded. "I am curious about one thing, though."

"What's that?" Sam replied shortly.

"Where's Teal'c?" Sam's mulish expression was her only response.

Expelling a grunt of surprise, Malcolm poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea. "Okay then, fill us in."

***

He hated to admit it, but their plan had merit. Oh, it was risky and probably more than a little insane. But then again, given the circumstances and the time constraints involved, their options were few. And so, both he and Ned consented. Following Jefferson's lead they'd stolen out of the SGC.

Now, mere hours later, here they were lying in the mud awaiting their lead operative's signal.

Sam seemed confident Sassy would keep her cool no matter what circumstances she found herself in. And, if she had any misgivings regarding Jefferson she was keeping those close to the vest. As for Malcolm, knowing a bit of the lady's history, he trusted Sassy's innate stubbornness. He would have preferred to leave the two baby faced airmen behind, but relied on O'Neill's exquisite reputation for training to get them through. No, it was the inclusion of Ben Jefferson that gave him pause. He sincerely hoped the two young airmen's trust hadn't been misplaced and Sam's tenuous faith in the man's integrity hadn't been misguided.

On to Chapter Thirteen