The Candlestick Chronicles by Cjay

Chapter Thirteen: Windows of the Soul

Jack gently nudged the little sheltie off his lap. Rolling his still athletic body out of the hammock, taking a moment to stretch out a few kinks, he ignored the popping Rice Crispy-like crackle of his stiff joints. Alerted by way of his psychic connection to Jon, that Carter, along with Sassy, two NID agents and at least two airmen had taken a powder from the SGC, he contemplated the reprimand he'd inflict on the errant colonel once he found her.

That she'd gone off on some kind of rescue mission seemed crystal clear to a man who wouldn't hesitate to do the same. What irked him was the added little codicil that she'd done so without at least enlisting Teal'c. Not only was that a damned stupid maneuver, well, it rankled.

Such a blatant disregard of her customary prudence led him to the unwelcome conclusion that she wasn't in her right mind. Yep, she'd gone wacko. Why else would she take off like that? And with a civilian, a senior citizen, in tow no less? Okay, he admitted, Sassy was better backup than a whole platoon of Marines, especially when she shifted into her motherly protective mode, but crap, what the hell had possessed Carter?

To be honest, a part of him found her shirking of the rules, her downright defiant rebellion, endearing. Quite obviously she was more upset about his 'death' then he would have guessed she'd be. A small spark of satisfaction warmed the frozen citadel were Jack O'Neill, cynical hard-ass, safeguarded his much abused heart.

On the other hand, maybe Danny's injury and Hailey's kidnapping; coupled with Jon and the T-man's deceit, was the catalyst that finally persuaded, the usually levelheaded, Carter to chuck caution to the winds and venture into the shadowy realm of the covert.

Brooding was getting him nowhere fast; it was time to formulate his own plans.

The invigorating scent of bacon and eggs caused his mouth to water, interrupting his muse. Damn he was hungry! "Well O'Neill, you might as well satisfy your empty belly. Face it pal, what you've really got a yen for is cake. Nothing stimulates your crafty side quite like cake. The fellow who invented chocolate cake was a veritable mastermind. Hmm... yes, I wonder if Prost has any devil's food on hand." Sighing longingly, he let his nose lead him to temporary nirvana.

***

Kris burst into Jeff's kitchen. Breathless, she took in the trio of men having a companionable breakfast at the table.

They say that the eyes are the windows of the soul, if that were true then her utter joy must be shining in her deep green orbs now! Letting out a whoop, Kris threw her arms around her general. "I knew it!" Rearing her head back, she greedily looked him over. "Yes, just as I suspected!"

Secretly touched by her enthusiasm, Jack flushed, squirming with embarrassment. "Jeez, get a grip and let go of me, will ya?"

Ignoring his protest, Kris laughingly hugged him tighter. "Hey I'm entitled; you scared the heck out of me, Jack."

"That's General O'Neill, Captain Martin," shrugging her off, he quirked his brows inquiringly. "What is it you suspected exactly?"

Grinning broadly, Kris backed up slightly, wiping a tear from her eye. His bluster didn't fool her, for just a second there he'd warmly returned her hug. "I suspected I'd find you fully recovered, sir, just like Jon."

Yep, there he stood, his body fully restored, wearing a carefully inane expression that was so uniquely Jack. "Sweet!" Kris chortled, throwing her arms around his neck; she squeezed him with renewed vigor.

Effectively imprisoned, Jack tugged futilely at her arms, tossing a helpless look Prost's way. "Can I get a little help here, please?" He croaked.

Three avid heads, one canine and two human, observed this interchange with stunned surprise.

"Gah!" Jack groused. "Whatever happened to military protocol and respect?"

"Oh, deal with it. I thought I was gonna lose you this time!" Kris chastised him lightly. "Besides, when it comes to your health, I outrank you."

"Gad!" Shaking his head with defeat, Jack rolled his eyes and stopped struggling. "Fine, you've got two minutes. Go on ahead and get it out of your system."

Hearing the petulant fondness in his tone, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and released him at last. "Thanks, I needed that."

Suppressing a grin, Jack eyed their silent audience. Mischief's furry little face seemed to smile with delight. Prost, his hand suspended in midair, clutching a forkful of egg, appeared bemused. Draymak wore a guarded expression, but his eyes twinkled with mirth. Offering them a stern general-like stare, he ordered, "Not a word to anyone about this, understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir." The duo responded crisply; the dog ruffed softly.

Accepting their consent, Jack returned his attention to Kris. "Now then, Captain Martin..."

"Sorry to interrupt General, but I've got urgent news." Kris began formally. "Perhaps, we should adjourn to a more secure area?"

"Judging by your behavior; couldn't be that urgent." Jack sniped. Waving a permissive hand, he yielded the floor. "Fine, fill us in."

"But sir..." Kris hesitated, staring coldly at Draymak.

"Spill it, Captain... Colonel Draymak is one of ours." Jack supplied, noting her sidelong gaze.

Taking in Jeff's nod of confirmation, Kris bit her lip. "Err, everything, sir?" She questioned carefully.

Sighing, Jack realized she was worried about the whole miraculous healing thing. "Short and sweet please, Martin... You know how I hate unnecessary details."

"Yes, General." Kris grinned fondly.

Hearing the caution behind his artificial complaint, Kris accepted the chair he pulled out for her. Sobering, she took a moment to gather her thoughts.

Jack handed her a cup of rich black coffee. Once she'd dutifully taken a sip, he cocked his head expectantly.

"Okay, well... a corpsman relieved me about 0530. I was on my way to my quarters... I was going to search the computer for some information..." Eyeing Draymak, she adjusted direction. "I rounded a corner and spotted Colonel Carter accompanied by the two NID agents sneaking up the corridor."

"Sneaking?" Draymak echoed, leaning forward with interest.

"Definitely. One thing I know how to do is read people... their body language was unmistakable." Kris confirmed grudgingly. Just who was this guy?

Amused, Jack smiled crookedly, admiring her pluck. "Go on... what were they up to?"

"That's what I wanted to know. I followed discreetly... they made their way to the VIP room assigned to Mrs. O'Connor." Kris narrowed her eyes. "The closed door was too thick... the only words I could make out were Hailey and mission." Coughing slightly, she paused to take another sip of coffee.

"Who is Hailey?" Jeff asked, refilling her cup.

"Lieutenant Hailey is a valuable member of my command." Jack interjected, concerned.

"While we were busy here last night... someone called Wellington broke into the general's house; kidnapped Hailey and shot Dr. Jackson... who's recovering nicely, sir." Kris assured.

"Good to know, thank you Captain." Jack responded with a grateful sigh.

"Given the events of the past few days and knowing SG-1's history for ah, 'creative solutions'... I figured it was a sure bet they'd mount a rescue..." Kris licked her lips awkwardly.

Jack's brows rose and fell with ironic resignation. "Ah yes, nothing like a reputation." He muttered.

"Exactly." Kris drawled. Shrugging appreciatively, she continued, "I considered what you'd do if you were in my situation, sir. And decided to head 'em off at the pass..."

"Please, Captain." Jack groaned. "Save the cliches."

"Yes, sir." Frowning, Kris swallowed another light quip. "I camouflaged my Jeep in some bushes not far from the exit gate and waited. About thirty minutes later, I caught sight of Colonel Carter driving a black sedan... once security waved her through, I followed, discreetly of course. Approximately twenty miles out, a Chevy van intercepted the sedan, forming a mini-convoy... not long after, the vehicles turned off the main highway onto an old access road, where they split up. The Chevy proceeded to a relatively secluded farm."

"And?" Karl prodded. If this was the short version, he hated to contemplate the longer one.

Shooting him an annoyed look, Kris set her cup on the wooden table. "The colonel, the NID agents and two airmen hid the sedan in some thick trees. Then, they slinked into the woods, armed to the teeth."

"Any sign of Mrs. O'Connor?" Jack wondered yet again how Sassy fit into all this. Thanks to his telepathic information, he knew she'd absconded with Carter, so where the hell was she?

Sensing the general's apprehension, Mischief sidled up to him, resting her head comfortingly on his thigh. Centering on Kris, Jack absently stroked the sheltie's head.

Returning her attention to the general, Kris's brow creased with worry. "No, sir. I didn't see her, but she could have been in the back of that van... In order to prevent discovery, I kept my distance."

Impressed with the Captain's maneuverings, despite his initial irritation, Draymak's voice was cordial. "Did you notify anyone back at the base as to the whereabouts of this... farm?"

Reaching into her pocket Kris drew out her cell phone, tossing it scornfully onto the table. "I was going to call our friend 'Murray' with the location, but the damned phone's batteries went dead, so I high-tailed it here. Believe it or not, it's just about five miles north."

"Prost, how many shotguns have you got?" Jack pulled the handgun out of his waistband and checked the clip. "I'm gonna need more ammunition."

"Right, I've got at least three extra clips, the shotgun and one box of ammo." Jeff informed him grimly. "Then there's Draymak's weapon, sir."

"Got two additional clips in my car, and a few other goodies we can use, General." Karl growled with a feral smile. Ah, the sweet smell of combat!

Jeff, hearing the familiar thrill of battle in the other man's voice exchanged a knowing look with Kris. "Look sir, good as we are, we need more firepower."

"Ya think?" Jack rubbed a hand over his stubble-covered chin. 'Got that kid?' He added silently, smoothly connecting with his telepathic counterpart.

'Way ahead of you there Jack, but just for appearances maybe you'd better give Teal'c a call... Wouldn't do for us to tip our psychic hand.' Jon responded swiftly.

'Duh!' Jack volleyed sarcastically. Rising, he shifted smoothly into command mode. "Martin, use the doc's phone, get hold of 'Murray' and fill him in on the situation... use his personal line. Draymak, go get your arsenal. I assume you've got a map stashed in that vehicle of yours?"

"Yes, sir, General, never leave home without them. I've got both topographical and generic." Karl tossed over his shoulder crisply, halfway out the door.

"Sweet." Tucking the handgun back into his waistband, Jack pulled contemptuously at his attire. "Prost, I'm gonna need something besides this... hospital garb to wear."

"Understood, General... got an old pair of khakis and hunting shirt that should do... might be a bit baggy though." Pushing back from the table, Jeff looked inquiringly at the general's feet. "As for shoes..."

Rolling his eyes, Jack huffed. "This isn't a fashion show, Prost!"

"No, sir!" Jeff agreed. "But your feet... meaning no disrespect, sir, but they are quite large."

Having successfully contacted Teal'c, Kris offered the general the handset. "Our friend would like a word with you, sir."

"Just find any old pair of tennis shoes, Prost. I should be able to squeeze my clodhoppers into them." Mildly insulted, Jack grabbed the phone. "Hey there T, Martin fill you in?"

"Indeed, O'Neill, it is good to hear your voice once again." Teal'c sounded genuinely pleased. "Estimate, will achieve rendezvous coordinates in forty minutes."

"Roger that. Listen T, bring along a pair of my boots, an Omega vest, my sidearm and my trusty P-90, will ya?" Jack smiled wolfishly. "I'm feeling downright implacable today."

Miles away, the big Jaffa's smile was equally chilling.

***

Major Paul Davis sluggishly washed a dose of aspirin down with some of Walter's vile black coffee. Two hours of sleep and a crack of dawn phone conference with the Pentagon had done little to lighten his mood, or relieve his pounding headache.

General Jumper's contacts in Washington corroborated Airman Stokes' story, confirming that he'd been acting under orders. Jumper's thinly veiled contempt for the CIA, coupled with his outrage over their interference, proved to be satisfying, but futile.

Apparently the President misguidedly sanctioned Stokes' involvement. Hence, Jumper reluctantly ordered Davis to release the man and reinstate him under Kearney's command. An order the major intended to ignore, at least until this little escapade was resolved.

Normally, Davis was a by the book type, but relaying that particular order to the beleaguered members of Stargate Command would be far more detrimental to his well being than any reprimand the Pentagon doled out.

Breathless, his earnest face harried, Sergeant Walter Davis rushed into the office without knocking. "Pardon the intrusion, Major..."

"No problem, Walter. What's up?" Paul straightened up in his chair.

"On my way here, I ran into Teal'c exiting the armory, sir. He was in full battle regalia... and when I asked him what was going on he gave me a rather cryptic answer." Gulping air, Walter hesitated. "He said that O'Neill required his assistance."

"O'Neill required assistance?" Paul questioned. Last he'd heard the kid was still recovering from anesthesia. "I thought Jon O'Neill was safely ensconced in the infirmary..."

"Ah, not anymore, sir, you were on the phone with Washington and so not wanting to interrupt, I checked personally. According to the corpsman on duty, both he and Dr. Jackson... they left, sir." Walter replied his voice carefully neutral.

"I don't understand... are you telling me two men, who just last night lay fighting for their very lives, just up and..." The major began.

"Left. Yes, sir, they did." Walter confirmed his tone mystified. "Corpsman Swan reported that approximately twenty-five minutes ago, Teal'c, who was visiting the pair, received an urgent call from Captain Martin and rushed off. When Jon made to follow, Jackson latched on to him and refused to be left behind. They argued briefly and..."

"Then what, Sergeant?" The major prodded impatiently.

"Jon placed his hands on Jackson's wounded leg and leaned over blocking the corpsman view. After a minute or so, Jackson's body seemed to convulse upward slightly. Concerned, the corpsman rushed forward, but Jon commanded him to stay back." Walter's voice lowered conspiratorially. "He said it was eerie, sir. He said if he didn't know better he'd sworn it was the general's voice barking at him, so he stopped."

The sergeant paused dramatically, noting the trepidation mirrored in the major's expression. "Not long after that, grinning like a madman, Dr. Jackson just hopped up out of the bed, said he was feeling much better, instructed the corpsman not to worry and pulled out his IV line."

"What the hell?" Paul sputtered.

"Swan says Jon yelled 'Yes!' and punched the air triumphantly with his fists." Walter smiled wistfully. "Smirking, he put a finger to his lips and instructed the stunned medic to 'keep a lid on it' - and the pair left."

"Son of a ... Does anyone around here understand the notion of chain of command?" Major Davis barked chagrined. "Precisely when was Corpsman Swan going to get around to reporting all this?"

"Well, sir... ah, he was in the process of updating Dr. Carson when I arrived." Walter responded tentatively.

"I thought it best to gather a bit more intel before bringing it to your attention, Major Davis." Dr. Carson's confident baritone broke in. Striding arrogantly through the office portal, Kit tossed a handwritten missive onto the major's desk. "Jackson should have been a physician, his scrawl is almost as inscrutable as mine... according to his note, Colonel Carter took off early this morning on some half-cocked rescue mission... naturally the remainder of SG-1 determined she needed back-up."

"Naturally, why do I ask these things?" Major Davis muttered with disgust.

"I alerted security, but they'd already left the base, sir. Major Kearney's pretty peeved, he asked me to inform you that he and his contingent are attempting to catch up with them." Walter interjected. "He said the general would've comprehended the urgency of the situation and authorized immediate action."

Outraged, the major jumped up from his chair, glaring imperiously at the little sergeant. "Are you telling me that General O'Neill would have approved of his officers blatantly disregarding regulations?"

Walter gaped back owl-eyed. "I..."

"No sir, I don't believe he would, sir. But, he would have understood." Carson sanctioned gently.

"Would he?" Rubbing the back of his neck, Major Paul Davis, straight arrow and Pentagon liaison, took a calming breath, contemplating the truth in Carson's statement. O'Neill would have been proud of his command's efforts, misguided though they were. He had to admit they're unorthodox methods rarely failed. It was one of the things he most admired about O'Neill in the first place. His ability to nurture and appreciate innovation earned him, an irreverent smart-ass and maverick, the rank of brigadier; as well as the unwavering loyalty of a very select group of elite highly skilled, and strangely brilliant, members of the military.

"General O'Neill trusted us, sir." Walter surmised with quiet dignity.

"I'll give you that gentleman." Curious, the major wondered just what the late general would have made of this whole insane situation and smirked. "So then, tell me, precisely what would General O'Neill do?"

***

Jennifer Hailey's pale flesh finally felt warm. Whether that was due to the antidote instilled into her veins, or Sassy's own considerable body heat, wasn't clear. Anxious for even the most infinitesimal sign of consciousness, the savvy senior monitored the younger woman carefully, all the while taking note of the prison in which she now found herself.

Using the dim kerosene lamp, she peered into every nook and cranny, reluctant to physically leave Jennifer's side until she was confident, the girl would recover. The light proved to be invaluable; lamentably one corner of the dank subterranean room remained shrouded in impenetrable shadow. However, once Jennifer came around Sassy was going to make it her business to discover just what lay hidden there.

The outcome of this adventure lay heavily upon Sassy's innate ability to remain flexible and unshaken. Samantha's instructions played over in her mind like an old phonograph record. "Look for a window or exit of some kind... openings are structurally less sound and require a smaller explosive charge."

For the hundredth time, Sassy blessed her life-long tendency to suffer from motion sickness. Regurgitating all over Wellington's shoes, not only prevented a search; it exacted a small measure of revenge on the insufferable demon. Yes, throwing up had never been such bliss.

Slight movement drew her avid attention to the young woman by her side. Jennifer moaned softly, her eyelids fluttered and then opened narrowly. Sassy smiled, stroking the girl's brow lovingly. "Hello, sleepyhead."

Jennifer found it difficult to focus, her head felt wooly and her limbs heavy. "Sassy? What...?"

Sassy gently pressed a staying hand against the younger woman's shoulders. "Don't try to sit up just yet, honey. The drug they gave you was mighty powerful and it's gonna take a bit before you'll feel more yourself. Do you remember anything?"

Centering blearily on Sassy's astutely reassuring eyes, memories flooded Jennifer's foggy brain. "I... went out on the deck for air, and something struck me in the neck... two masked men jumped me... I yelled, I think... I heard a muted snap and then, Daniel gasped and I fell into blackness... . That snapping sound... I think it was a silencer... was Daniel?"

"Never fear Danny is tougher than people credit. He's recovering nicely." Sassy patted her cheek affectionately. "Right now you're my concern."

A loud creak and the solid thunk of footsteps above her head drew Jennifer's attention upward. The musty ceiling confirmed her fear; they were not in the infirmary. Casting a worried look around, she licked at her dry lips. "Exactly, where are we, Sass?"

"Lengthy explanations will have to wait; we may not have much time. Trust me, okay." Noting Jennifer's cracked and parched lips, Sassy leaned back.

Eyeing the door, she reached under her blouse, retrieving two small bundles. "I've always said that nothing in this world can replace the youth enhancing benefits of a firm and properly fitting foundation."

"However, on occasion adding to ones natural curves can be just as uplifting." She added with a twinkle in her eye. Grinning broadly, she displayed a small packet of C-4, along with a miniaturized detonator and two flexible 250cc intravenous bags.

Setting her mini-arsenal aside, she slipped a folded blanket and the shabby pillow beneath Jennifer's still weakened shoulders.

Reaching into the pocket of her once fashionable blazer, Sassy removed a small Swiss army knife. "MacGyver was such an enlightening bit of entertainment. You know, I've got half a dozen rolls of duck tape at home." Using the blade, she cut one of the ports on an intravenous bag and eased it between Jennifer's battered lips. "Here drink this, its 50 dextrose and it'll replenish your fluids and energy. And then, once you feel more yourself, we're busting out of here."

Stunned, Jennifer gratefully sucked at the small straw-like port, swallowing the excessively sweet fluid greedily. It struck her that General O'Neill's trust in this lady, God rest him, hadn't been misguided. Sassy O'Connor was full of surprises.

***

Ben Jefferson tossed back another shot of whiskey, appreciating its fiery effects. He had to hand it to Wellington; the man set a fine table. He'd consumed half a dozen eggs and several helpings of crispy hickory smoked bacon with his liquid libation.

Happily, Ben's appetite for food was quite satisfied. However, his other less obvious desires had yet to be attended to.

Wellington for his part had eaten lightly, presenting a polite façade of patience for his new compatriot's needs. "Now that you're sated, perhaps we should enlighten Mrs. O'Connor regarding her role in our plan."

Making a great show of stretching his long frame, Ben slyly noted the time displayed on an ornate old mantle clock nearby. Almost 0843, if Hailey's condition was indeed salvageable, and according to the Marquis it was, Sassy would have no doubt roused her by now.

Casting a bored glace Wellington's way, he noted a flicker of impatience in the man's cold eyes. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I took a wee nap before we deal with the O'Connor woman?"

Wellington's eyes narrowed, a muscle in his left cheek twitched with annoyance. "Really Jefferson, the sooner we make an impression on the lady, the sooner this matter will be resolved."

Sighing, Ben rubbed his hands over his face and yawned dramatically. "Fine, but at the very least allow me the courtesy of a rejuvenating shower and a shave. I don't really enjoy, ah, how did you phrase it? Oh yes, 'engaging in malicious forms of manipulation' feeling less than fresh."

Gritting his teeth, Damien smiled thinly, feigning nonchalance. "Never let it be said that I was a less than genial host, Jefferson. I'll have Arturo show you to my guest suite. I have several matters that require my attention. Will an hour be sufficient?"

It was well past time he checked in with their mutual employer.

Smirking lazily, Ben rose from his chair and deliberately staggered. "Whoa, guess I should have gone easy on the hooch, eh Wellington? I really think I should take a few and sleep it off."

Wellington's thin face took on a pinched look. "Nonsense my dear fellow, a cold shower and some black coffee will right things quickly enough."

The irritated Marquis stood abruptly and strode into the hall. "Arturo!"

The little man rounded the corner promptly, his plain face questioning.

Maintaining his pretense, Ben slurred. "Oh, there you are Arty. How's about you show me to the john? I gotta pee like a race horse!" Reeling, he toppled back into his chair, relishing Wellington's hiss of disgust.

Jefferson so enjoyed taunting adversaries; a year spent under the impertinent Jack O'Neill's excellent tutelage added new dimension to his capacity.

Casting a look of forbearance toward Wellington, Arturo grasped one of the inebriated man's arms, helping him to rise, and laid it over his shoulder. As they moved into the hall another taller man, his face and neck badly scarred by childhood acne, joined them.

Intoxicated by Wellington's aggravation, Ben decided to enhance his performance, drunkenly breaking into song. Crooning a bawdy off-key ditty, he allowed the two men to support and guide him up the long staircase to the second floor.

Wellington watched their progress with distaste, his budding need to be rid of the uncouth Jefferson blooming into an obsession.

***

Feeling much restored, Jennifer Hailey greedily attacked the second quarter liter of dextrose solution Sassy had secreted inside her underwear. The sooner she replenished her fluids, the sooner she could lend her valiant rescuer a hand.

Hailey's would-be liberator examined her damsel-in-distress with a critical eye. Jennifer's gaze was steady and her cheeks appeared rosy enough. Satisfied, Sassy took up the lantern and moved cautiously into the unlit corner's dark gloom. Eyes widening, due to the weak light, she noted an ascending staircase leading up to a vertical set of storm doors.

Taking the crumbling stairs with caution, she pushed against the closed portal with limited success. Stepping up so that her shoulders could engage the steel, she pushed with renewed effort, parting the doors a fraction.

Dust and debris rained down on her head, clogging her nostrils. Bright morning light flooded through the slender crack her efforts created, assaulting her dilated pupils. Setting the lantern down on the stair next to her feet, Sassy exhaled forcefully clearing her nose, wiped her watering eyes on her sleeve and tried again.

This time the doors parted about an inch, allowing her a clear visual of the thick lock and chain securing them. "Perfect!" This was their way out.

A loud thunk and staggering footsteps above her head startled Jennifer. Rising quickly, she fought a bout of vertigo, clinging to the rough iron of the bedstead. Closing her eyes, she stood perfectly still allowing the sensation to pass.

The footsteps seemed to move away and fade. Taking up the cake of C-4 and the micro-detonator, she slowly made her way to Sassy's side. "I assume the Calvary is somewhere nearby?"

"Naturally," Sassy chuckled lightly, "This isn't my first tea party, ya know. When all this is over, remind me to tell you about the time Jonathan, Danny and I, eliminated several undesirables. I think you might find it entertaining."

Memories of Jonathan's soulful eyes gleaming with respect flooded her mind, causing her aged eyes to water once more. Denying her sudden feeling of loss, Sassy added. "Now, suppose you make use of that handy little lump of modeling clay you've got there?"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am." Jennifer snorted with quiet admiration.

While the older woman continued to apply pressure to the vertical exit, the petite lieutenant slipped her small hands through the slim opening created, wrapping one end of the flexible explosive around the chain. "That's got it, go ahead and let it fall back into place."

Once the doors returned to their original position, Jennifer folded the remainder of the C-4 against the crevice. Then, pressed the detonator into the dough-like material. "Hold that lantern up, will you please, ma'am? I need to set the arming mechanism."

Checking her watch, Sassy noted it was 0850 and said a silent prayer. "We need to allow our support another ten minutes to get into position, Jennifer."

Resisting the urge to demand more information, Jennifer complied, and set the small digital timer. "That should do it. Now I suggest we use that moth-eaten mattress and anything else we can find to construct a bunker for ourselves."

Turning the bed on its side, they braced the old steamer trunk against it and hunkered down behind the mattress.

Stuffing the ratty pillow beneath her touchy knees, Sassy inquired uncertainly. "Just how loud will this explosion be, Jennifer?"

"In terms of decibels? I'd say about equal to a rock concert courtesy of Aerosmith, Sass." Plucking one of the threadbare blankets from the floor, Jennifer smiled grimly and shredded a portion of it into several strips. "Better stuff some of this into your ears."

"Gad!" Sassy's lips puckered into a moue of distinct displeasure.

***

"Coffee isn't gonna sober this oaf up fast enough." Marcel released Jefferson's arm with a sneer. "His condition demands something more immediate; say a quick invigorating plunge into an icy bath." Leaving Arturo to tend the drunkard, he hastened into the bathroom and leaned over the old-fashioned claw foot tub, adjusting the tap to cold.

Casting a resentful glance toward his ill-tempered comrade, Arturo dutifully steadied Ben's unstable bulk against the wall in the adjoining room and bent to unlace the man's boots.

Moving with lightening fast efficiency, Ben snapped the little man's neck, killing him instantly. "Oops, guess I am... bammed... err... bombed... hell, lets face it Arty, I'm sh... sh... it... faced!" Easing the dead man to the floor, he reached for the military issue knife hidden in his boot.

Soundlessly slithering into the bath, he hovered behind the irascible Marcel. Snaking an arm around the taller man's throat, Jefferson neatly sliced through his carotid artery and trachea with expert grace.

The scarred man slid soundlessly into the tub, his eyes staring sightlessly into oblivion.

Wiping the crimson liquid staining his blade on the corpse's water spattered shirt, Ben watched the blood pour from the downed man's neck for a fascinating moment. Unabashed exhilaration coursed through him. His mouth curved into a sardonic, arctic smile.

Retrieving Arturo's body from the other room, he coldly discarded the carcass in the bath alongside his deceased friend, careful not to block the drain. Satisfied the tub wouldn't run over, he adjusted the water temperature. Hoping the water was hot enough to generate a cloud of steam and discourage scrutiny.

Contemplating the ease with which he'd just killed the pair; Jefferson shook off an ominous fission of disquiet.

Realizing time was running short; he checked his watch and began his clandestine descent to intercept the Marquis.

***

Sprawled out in the dirt on his belly, Rowan Thompson shuddered. Colonel Carter's plan called for a dual approach. His orders were to recon and flank the barn. Once the signal was given, Rowan and his partner were to move in and secure the building. So far, other than the two men the colonel spotted earlier, the area appeared to be deserted. Still, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention. Targeting his buddy Phil Hauser's rump, he tossed a pebble, scoring a direct hit.

Something small bounced sharply off his butt. Glancing around, Hauser threw Thompson an irritated frown. Rowan edgily mouthed the words 'come here.'

Dragging himself crab-like over the short rocky expanse between them, Hauser poked Thompson gruffly in the ribs. "What was that for?"

Licking at the light sheen of sweat on his upper lip, Rowan narrowed his eyes, nervously searching the topography behind them. "Someone is watching us."

Flipping onto his back, Hauser used his rifle sight to conduct his own probe of the hilly terrain.

They were positioned on the upper lip of a gully, overlooking the dilapidated barn of the rundown farm where Jefferson insisted Hailey was being held. Bisected by a slow running creek, the gully was deep; its steep sides brush covered and uneven.

Other than a few birds and something furry scampering through the underbrush, nothing moved. Still, on more than one occasion during training General O'Neill indicated approval of Rowan's uncanny ability to perceive a threat. "Thompson, I don't see..."

"I'm telling you, I can feel it!" Rowan insisted his hackles rising. Fingering his radio, he clicked thrice. A responding double click gave him the go ahead to speak.

Opening the channel, eyes darting worriedly over the perimeter, he whispered. "Colonel Carter... unable to make a visual at this time, but my gut is telling me someone or something is on our six."

***

Teal'c bowed with dignity and handed his leader an Omega vest, P-90 and boots. "It is good to see you well again, O'Neill."

"Thanks, T-man." Bending his arm at the elbow, Jack used his thumb to point toward the two men standing slightly behind him. "This is Colonel Draymak and Doc Prost. Captain Martin is securing our vehicle up the road a piece."

Indicating the small dog sitting at attention near his feet, he smirked. "And, this is Mischief the wonder dog."

Enjoying the humor, Jon squatted down, extending his hand for the mini-collie to sniff. So, this was Jack's erstwhile protector.

"Ah, I'd be careful..." Draymak began mindful of his own first encounter with the deceptively docile pup.

Sniffing Jon's hand, Mischief's animated face seemed to grin. Prancing forward, she slathered Jon's face with joyful wet canine kisses. Chuckling lightly, Jon stroked her furry flanks. "Hey there girl, we're gonna be great friends aren't we?"

Jack slipped into his vest. Checking his weapons, he bit the corner of his lip, eyeing Daniel cagily. "Daniel, you okay?"

Daniel tucked his eyeglasses into the pocket of his Omega vest with a wry smile. Same old Jack. Removing the safety on his weapon, he spared Jon a jaunty glance. "Never better, Jack. Thanks to the kid here."

Jack turned a critical eye his clone's way. Had he really once looked so impossibly young? Fitted out in full camouflage and battle gear the kid's jaded brown eyes seemed out of place, set amidst his baby smooth half-grown features. "You all set, kid?"

"Yep." Jon responded shortly, unfolding his lanky form and standing erect. Taking in the two men backing the general up, he rocked back on his heels, offering each of them a nod of salute. Hands resting confidently on his weapon, he returned Jack's appraisal with a wicked smile. "Fact is, Uncle Jack, I'm looking forward to it." Clare's demise and Hailey's abduction, not to mention Danny's injury and Jack's brush with death, fueled his grim determination.

Sharing his thoughts, Jack nodded his understanding. Hunkering down on a nearby rock, he silently blessed the trusty Jaffa and removed the worn sneakers he'd been wearing, gratefully shoving his feet into his favorite boots. "Lay it out, Draymak."

"Sir!" Karl snapped his voice low. "We spotted Colonel Cater and her contingent just beyond that small rise approximately a hundred yards due north."

"Contingent?" Daniel queried quietly. Just how many men had Sam brought?

"Yes, sir, I counted four armed men, besides the colonel." Draymak confirmed solemnly.

"They've split into two groups essentially establishing two fronts." Jeff added, snapping his fingers, he drew the small dog to his side. "I was thinking General, we could attach a message to Mischief's collar and send her in to intercept..."

"Negative, Prost." Jack shook his head, tying off the lace on his left boot with a flourish. "One of those trigger happy kids just might put a bullet in her..."

A loud explosion interrupted his next thought.

Jack straightened swiftly. The mask of leadership sobering his features. Using curt hand signals, he fingered his P-90 and led the way toward Carter's last known location.

On to Chapter Fourteen