Lieutenant
Colonel Samantha Carter maneuvered her red Mustang into her parking
space in the lot reserved for the personnel of Stargate Command and
marveled how she'd missed this place. She'd spent so much time and
energy at this base the past nine years; it seemed more like home than
her house in Colorado Springs.
According to
those who knew her best, that was because she spent an inordinate amount
of time at work in her lab. People like Cassie - and Jack. Yes, she
could finally call him by his first name, and it gave her a thrill every
time she did.
Jack - the name
had a certain ring to it, and was one of the better choices she'd made
recently, it just felt right. Her mind that analyzed everything now
shied away from dissecting and examining her emotions from every
angle.
Jack had grinned
when she'd admitted that to him and had made a comment that this marked
a milestone in her life - and that he'd make a domestic diva out of her
yet. That comment had earned him a punch on the arm.
The incident
hadn't turned out bad. The punch got followed by a tickling match -
they'd both ended up on the floor in each other's arms, laughing and
happy - happier than she'd been in far too long.
Her hand
automatically locked her car door and she turned to make her way through
security at the entrance of Cheyenne Mountain Complex. She'd done this
so many times that her body performed the actions mechanically, which
left her mind to mull over the latest puzzle.
Jack hadn't
called her last night, and hadn't answered his phone at work or at home.
It didn't make sense. Had she missed something? Had he changed his mind
about her - about them?
He seemed happy
with their relationship; at least that's what he told her through his
actions and words. True, she didn't exactly have a stellar track record
when it came to choosing men to have a relationship with, they either
died or turned into monsters bent on controlling her every move and
thought. Nevertheless, he seemed sincere in his love for her - didn't
he?
So where was he?
Something was wrong and not knowing drove her crazy. With her body on
autopilot, she performed the familiar duties involved with getting to
her lab. Her fingers clutched her key card and swiped it through the
slot, then stepped into the elevator after a perfunctory nod of greeting
to the guard.
Every problem had
a solution, her mind argued; one just needed all the pieces of the
puzzle. Sam sighed with sudden weariness and chewed her lower
lip.
Cassie had known
something was up last night and had badgered her until she'd given in
and confessed her worries about Jack's whereabouts. The sharing should
have helped, but it didn't - it left behind a guilt that she'd added to
the burden the younger and more vulnerable Cassie already bore. After
all, the young woman knew the dangers of their jobs -
intimately.
She glanced at
her watch and did some rapid calculations in her head. Although there
had been no answer at Jack's Pentagon office earlier, she would try
again. With luck he would be there, or at the very least she could worm
some intel out of his secretary.
That decided she
relaxed and reviewed her work schedule for the day; the morning briefing
with General Landry would keep her mind occupied. Yes, that was what she
needed - to keep busy if and until she heard from Jack. No, not
if—when.
By the time Sam
reached her lab, she was smiling again. A short chat with Daniel later,
she had learned that a dead Jaffa had been found in Maryland. Another
piece was added to the puzzle. Did it involve Jack?
She reached for
her phone, dialed his office number from memory and listened anxiously
to the rings and nibbled on her lip.
"Good morning,
General O'Neill's Office, this line is not secured. May I help you sir
or ma'am?"
Sam felt for her
chair and sat down. "Mrs. Grayson? This is Colonel Carter. May I speak
to the General?"
There was a
pause, Sam's heart pounded in her ears. "I'm sorry, but the General is
unavailable right now. Can I take a message?"
Sam slumped in
her chair. "Can you tell me when he'll be back?"
"I can pass along
a message when I see him, ma'am."
Damn, the
secretary was proving more of an obstacle than she'd thought. "I - I
tried to call him last night after he didn't call me." Her voice broke.
"I was worried . . ."
Grayson's voice
softened. "I'll let him know that, ma'am. I will be seeing him later; I
just don't know how long this meeting will last."
Sam took a deep
breath, had to maintain control of her emotions. After all, he was safe
- he just had to be.
"Ma'am? Are you
still there?"
Sam nodded. "Um .
. . yeah, but I'm gonna have to go. Just make sure he gets my message,
okay?" She blew out a breath. "And tell him Cassie sends her
love."
"I'll do that,
ma'am."
Carter set down
the phone with a click. Why was she not reassured?
Now she was
forced to face the fact that she'd done everything she could, short of
going AWOL and driving cross-country to find him herself. Sam admitted
the idea had occurred to her, but she hadn't gotten to that point -
yet.
In the meantime,
she had a meeting to attend.
To borrow a phrase . . . crap.
***
General George
Hammond, retired, was escorted into the Oval Office by a staffer and
stifled an inner groan when he saw who else was present. All the Joint
Chiefs were there, seated in a circle that faced their
Commander-in-Chief.
President Hayes
smiled and stood, his hand reached out to shake George's. "I'm glad you
came, George."
As if I had a
choice, he thought. "Of course, Mr. President."
He'd always been
a master of sizing up the personnel around him; the room reeked of
anxiety and fear, which was in itself unusual. What was up
now?
George donned his
best smile and sat next to his former boss, General Jumper. "Aren't you
ever gonna let me retire, Mr. President?"
Hayes had the
good grace to look uncomfortable and the others present found something
else to occupy their attention.
Hayes was the
first to recover. "I've got another job for you, George."
Hammond narrowed
his eyes. Why didn't he like the sound of this?
"It's one that,
quite frankly, leaves a bad taste in my mouth." He paused, and then
pushed on. "But one that you are uniquely qualified for."
George pursed his
lips, but kept silent.
"We received
information from an unimpeachable source that Baal has taken refuge on
Earth," General Jumper continued.
"You're certain
of this?" Hammond's eyes widened.
Hayes
interrupted. "Thor himself dropped by to tell me, so yes, we're sure. He
was worried about a mutual friend - Jack O'Neill."
"Does Jack know
this?" George blew out a breath.
"No, but he was
placed in Protective Custody last night on my order."
Eyebrows climbed
to meet a hairline that had vanished many years ago. "That's a bronco
that won't be rode."
Hayes leaned
forward, his hands clasped in front of him. "You think we don't know
that, George? But let's face it; his brainpower coupled with his Ancient
DNA makes him a resource that we can't afford to lose." He gestured with
one hand to make his point. "You of all people should know
that."
George's
shoulders slumped and he sat silent, with the sudden knowledge he would
be the Judas designated to betray his friend.
"We need you to
explain our position to him, make him realize that this is for his own
good, George," Jumper continued. "Not just his own, but for the good of
our world." He paused, and then jutted his chin for emphasis. "You
should know that we detained several men near his office last night. We
believe they were sent to bring in O'Neill."
Hammond shifted
his eyes on Jumper's face. "Have they told you anything?"
"Not yet, but we
believe they are a remnant of The Trust and work for Baal now. I doubt
we'll get anything useful out of them. This just proves that the threat
is very real and needs to be dealt with - as quickly and expeditiously
as possible"
George's turned
away a look of sadness and resignation on his face. "I agree with you on
one thing, Mr. President. This leaves a bad taste in my mouth." He
licked his lips. "Are you ordering me to do this?"
Hayes kept his
eyes riveted to George's. "I could." He paused and saw his friend
stiffen. "But I won't. Jack is your friend - I understand that. If you
don't, I won't hold it against you. But someone has to."
"I'll think it
over."
"You have an
hour. Someone needs to tell Jack something - it wouldn't be right to
just leave him hanging in the wind. We owe him that much."
"You're damned
right - when can I see him?"
***
He ran, pursued
by a monster that would engulf him if he were caught. A quick glance
over his shoulder told him it was gaining on him, so he called on hidden
reserves and sprinted around a corner.
The maze of
hallways stretched out in two directions as he scouted his immediate
area. The walls of the maze were painted military grays and tans, which
should have reassured him, but all sense of safety had disappeared
during the hunt - the hunt in which he had become the prey.
A whisper of
sound whipped his head around - they'd flanked him somehow. His brief
respite had been his undoing, had given the enemy time to surround him
and he was left with nowhere to run.
His breath rasped
in his ears as he pivoted, desperate to find a weak spot in the ranks of
the enemy. There were none. Sweat popped out on his forehead and stung
his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision as the image of the enemy
wavered in front of him. Who?
Dressed in black,
they had the look of special ops. But that couldn't be right - could it?
They couldn't be the enemy; they would know one of their own. So why was
he pursued as a cat would hunt a mouse to its den before it was
dispatched?
He shook his head
to clear it - so dizzy. One of the men stepped forward, the movement
familiar. Against his will, he took a step to meet him. A trick of the
light revealed the face of the enemy - General George Hammond.
A training
exercise? That would explain it. Yeah, that had to be it - no problem
there.
Without warning,
the eyes flashed white as the enemy spoke. "Bow before your
god."
Jack screamed and
sat bolt upright on his bed, then quieted as he took in his
surroundings. The cement block walls meant he was not in his bedroom. He
knuckled the fuzziness from his eyes and winced when his shoulder
twinged in pain. An ordinary looking Band-Aid concealed the
cause.
That in itself
was reassuring though because the last time he'd checked, neither the
System Lords nor the Asgard shopped for medical supplies at a local
supermarket.
Plus, no
self-centered, fashion-crazed, egomaniacal snakehead would be caught
dead with such plain furnishings, not even in their prison cells. Since
there wasn't a bit of gold in sight, he could rule them out.
So - where was
he? That was the sixty million dollar question, he decided. He'd already
been able to rule out his home and a Goa'uld prison cell along with as
Asgard vessel. What did that leave? Who else would want him badly enough
to shanghai his sorry ass right out of the Pentagon? For that, he has no
answers so resolved he might as well take stock of what he had right
now.
He was lying on a
standard issue military bunk clad in his boxers and a t-shirt. Across a
nearby chair hung the rest of his uniform and his boots and socks were
on the floor beside them. Gingerly, he put his feet on the cold cement
floor and stood, then almost fell back onto the bed as another wave of
vertigo hit him.
He eased himself
back to the side of the bunk and cradled his head in both hands as he
searched his most recent memories for clues as to his whereabouts.
Gradually, he teased loose the vision of leaving his office, then being
surrounded by unknown men wearing the black of special ops.
He rubbed the
Band-Aid as he remembered the dart that had knocked him out. His
suspicions and anger increased as he surveyed the walls and ceiling of
his room. There was only one exit - a closed steel door with a small
window. Through it he could see the back of a uniformed guard. In an
upper corner was a camera and he scowled to let the watchers know he
knew they were there.
Whatever drug
they'd administered had worn off, and with it the fuzziness departed
that allowed him to think clearly. He needed more intel - with that he
could formulate a plan to escape his prison. Until then he would bide
his time. Based on his extensive experience with prison cells, his
captors would reveal themselves. Then he could use their arrogance
against them; needle and disarm them with his smart-ass remarks until
they told him what he needed.
In the meantime,
there was no harm getting dressed. His uniform and the stars on the
collar would give him the illusion of authority and control over his
life. An added plus was that when he kept himself busy, time passed
faster. Iraq had taught him that, and it was a lesson he'd never
forgotten.
Once clothed, he
walked up to peer into the camera. "I have just one thing to say to you,
whoever the hell you are." He pointed a finger at the camera; never mind
which one. "Get me the hell outta here!"
His opinion
expressed, he turned and settled back onto the bunk to conserve this
strength and energy for the coming confrontation with his
captors.
His momentary
thoughts of Sam and how worried she must be were quashed with ruthless
efficiency. Until he found a way out of here, it was a moot point -
besides, he had to stay focused if he were to survive. He'd explain it
all to her when he escaped.
***
Baal stroked his
goatee and narrowed his eyes as he watched his subordinate squirm. It
stank of fear. "Where is the Tau'ri O'Neill?"
The man before
him knelt in respect before his god and master and had his eyes on the
floor as was proper, but his voice quavered. "O'Neill did not leave the
Pentagon last night, my Lord. Those I dispatched to bring him to you
have not returned."
Baal's eyes
flashed in anger. He hated to be disappointed especially when the Tau'ri
who had been like a thorn in his side had been all but his.
"Fool! You let him escape?"
His minion was a
leftover from The Trust, but like all those of his race, was weak-minded
- and expendable. The former System Lord's hand device rose, commanding
the attention of all in the room; including the man on his knees before
him.
For a moment,
their eyes met. As a gold shaft of energy shot from his palm to the
forehead of his victim, Baal smiled.
"Observe what comes of failing your god."
The hum from the
hand device increased until the victim screamed, as crimson blood
streamed from his nose and ears. When the beam stopped, the lifeless
body slumped to the floor.
Baal flicked his
hand negligently. "Dispose of this offal at once."
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