Baal on the Rebound by dinkydow

Chapter Five

The speakerphone clicked off as the connection to General Landry at the SGC was broken. The generals in the room deep underground had just given the go-ahead to fire a missile containing a special payload to neutralize Baal's compound, and exterminate the head snake himself - they hoped.

Jack O'Neill removed the paperclip from the file in front of him and then looked around the table at the military brass, their Class A uniforms at odd contrast with his own BDU's. He sighed and made a mental note to thank his secretary, and Girl Friday, Ida Grayson, for dimming the overhead florescent lights. If she hadn't he would've been forced to don sunglasses to block the reflection from all the polished stars and medals that bedecked the uniforms of his companions - not that his personal collection of fruit salad wouldn't beat those of his colleagues' - no contest there, he thought smugly.

At least his former CO, General Hammond had toned the group down a bit when he came to the meeting dressed in civvies. He was certain that he saw the ghost of a smirk cross the Texan's face whenever one of the others complained of it being too hot, or surreptitiously loosened a tie from around their necks. At least he'd known better than to wear those things unless forced.

Not that he'd had a choice in the matter given that he was more of an 'invited guest', courtesy of the Big Guy himself, he added as he mentally hooked quotes around the invited part. Studiously, he steered his mind away from that direction. He wanted to savor the opportunity to rid the universe in general and his home planet if particular of a particularly meddlesome, not to mention a pain in the mik'ta snakehead - Baal.

With an eye toward being the perfect host and helping out the poor guys who were strangling on their own neckties, he'd sent Ida with orders to turn up the air conditioning in the room. Truth be told, he felt smothered, as if the air were too heavy to draw into his lungs and briefly considered the effect if he removed his BDU jacket and finished the meeting in his sweat-stained black t-shirt.

On one hand, this cross between a safe house and a bunker was his home, at least for the time being. The least 'the powers that be' could grant him was a little creature comfort, for crying out loud. On the other hand, he had promised George and Sam to behave himself. And it wouldn't suit to have the generals housed with him to get their knickers in a wad - would it?

Yeah sure yabetcha! He grinned to himself as he reached down and methodically unbuttoned his shirt - almost daring one of them to object.

"Crap, it's hot in here," he muttered. "You'd think we were back on Netu."

A combination of raised eyebrows and frowns of censure greeted his action. One of the generals broke the silence. "You think it's necessary to send this missile to destroy Baal's compound?"

"Absolutely," Jack ground out. He said nothing more - out loud - but he thought plenty.

He almost hated the man for the reminder of why they were meeting underground - why he lived like a mole, hunkered deep inside this gigantic man-made foxhole with orders to keep his head down. Orders he'd promised to obey - despite the feeling of distaste that soured his stomach. He'd had no choice; they came direct from the top - from Sam. Well, from the President too, he amended, but the fact that he hadn't tried to break out of his prison was due solely to a promise he'd made to her. Otherwise, he would've blown this Popsicle stand a long time ago - orders or no orders. There wasn't a prison made yet that could hold him.

"That was a great idea, by the way," added General Jumper. "Didn't it come from the SGC?"

"Ya think?" Jack sighed with exasperation and then relented. "Believe me when I say this, sir. We, of all people, know just how high the stakes are. Baal, who is one mean son of a snake, has a foothold on this planet. And there is no way that I believe for one second that he wants to live in peace. Live in pieces, maybe."

"You really believe he's that dangerous?" That came from one of the Marines. Go figure.

"Yes." His dark eyes hooded and glinted black as his lips thinned. He swallowed and tapped his pen on the table for emphasis. "He is."

"I agree totally, gentlemen. Baal cannot be trusted and the only reason he's here is to make trouble for us. Now I agree that it makes no sense of shut the barn door once the horse has ran off, but in this case, we have to strike back - hard. We won't be given a second chance." George's blue eyes turned to steel.

"So, we wait for the fireworks to start," Jack sighed as he ran long fingers through his hair. "The sooner we wipe this SOB and his snaky pals off the map, the sooner I and the rest of the world can get a life."

When had it gotten so hot - And what was taking Grayson so long? She should've been back by now.

He pushed away from the table and stood. "I don't know about you, but I could use a break. Coffee is hard on the kidneys."

As he stood his knees creaked, "Damn, I'm getting too old for this," he grumbled.

As the door swung partially open, he turned. "It's about time, Grayson."

His eyes widened when a shiny globe rolled into the room.

"Grenade!" Instinct kicked in as he yelled and launched his body toward it - though he knew he'd be too late. There was an incandescent flash of light that seared his eyeballs in their sockets - then everything went dark.

***

At the SGC, Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter pounded her thigh with closed fists. She had a hunch something was wrong and that bothered her because she was not in the habit of reaching a conclusion without consulting her data, and if she were honest with herself, there was no evidence to support her supposition - just a gut feeling - the kind that Jack . . . no, General O'Neill had.

She stopped her pacing mid-stride and eyed the seated figure of General Landry through the window of his office. She hadn't been in on the teleconference because she'd had her hands full with the nacquadah building bomb, but once the Prometheus had beamed it out into space, she'd been able to get back to the SGC, courtesy of another instantaneous beam over.

Once back at the SGC, she'd been brought up to speed by General Landry. Daniel was with the clean-up team, and had confirmed that the missile had hit its target. So far there had been no sign of Baal, alive or otherwise. Other than that, everything had proceeded like clockwork. So why was she so worried?

She knew she belonged in her lab. That had been her original plan. The data from Baal's compound would need to be analyzed as only she could do it. Something had stopped her though - and her illogical thoughts were driving her crazy. Yet, every time she started toward the door, something stopped her from leaving the Briefing Room - a little voice that said she was needed here - not in her lab.

The fact that the voice reminded her of Jack did nothing to alleviate her worries; an added factor was the look on Landry's face. He didn't look happy and when the General ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

Her Dad had given strict instructions that she'd never forget that tidbit of data the day she enlisted into the Air Force. She'd never figured out if he was serious; though she was too intimidated by the stars to do anything but take it seriously all those years ago.

When Landry met her gaze through the window and beckoned her into his office, she was almost relieved. Maybe now she'd discover that her problem was that she suffered from an overactive imagination - and that Jack was okay.

Her fist continued to hit her thigh as she stood in front of the General's desk. He hung up the phone and gestured, "Have a seat, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir," she answered as she sat in the chair, ramrod stiff with worry.

Landry didn't beat around the bush. "Five minutes ago we lost all communication with the Joint Chiefs."

When Sam leaned forward and opened her mouth to interrupt, he waved her silent.

"Before you ask, yes, that means General O'Neill too. They had met in an underground bunker to coordinate the attack against Baal, but soon after we launched our missile, all contact ceased. Ordinarily, we would just send some local teams to investigate, but Commander Pendergast of the Prometheus reported that an unknown Al-kesh was spotted in orbit around Earth. They were cloaked, but just before we lost contact with our people, the ship used a transporter to beam something to that location."

Her eyes widened, and Sam squirmed in her seat but stayed silent.

Landry nodded as if she'd passed a test. "The President has authorized me to send two of our teams to investigate. We have to assume the worst - that the bunker was compromised and enemy forces are in control. Since you have experience in dealing with the Goa'uld, I'm asking for your assessment."

Sam took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. She had to concentrate, make her report as succinct as possible. No emotion could get in the way of her report; that could be deadly.

"I'm sure you've realized that Baal has a deep hatred of us, sir. But that's not all of it." She nibbled her lip before continuing. "He especially hates General O'Neill."

Her voice held steady, something she took pride in. "Several years ago, the General was held prisoner by Baal off world. During that time he was tortured and killed - we're not really sure how many times - and revived in a sarcophagus."

She studied her hands, unsure how to continue. "It was only by luck that we figured out where he was. The Tok'ra wanted to give him up for dead, but he managed to escape. Baal never forgot that and took it as a personal insult." She looked into Landry's eyes. "If he has Ja - General O'Neill . . . well, it would be bad, sir."

"I agree, Colonel, and plan to send Reynolds' and Dixon's teams to check out the situation."

Sam all but leaped out of the chair and snapped to attention. "Permission to join the reconnaissance teams, sir."

"Denied." Landry held up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "Your skills are needed here, Colonel."

"But . . ."

"No buts, Carter. You're not thinking clearly, and if you were, you'd agree with me. You're too emotionally involved to be anything but a liability."

"Yes, sir," Sam answered softly as she studied the nails on one hand.

Landry sighed. "What would Jack say?"

Sam looked up, her eyes full of worry and swallowed hard. "He'd agree with you . . . sir. But that doesn't mean I have to like, it."

Landry shrugged then seemed to think better of his harsh assessment.

"I want your input at the briefing. If Baal does have Jack, we'll need all the help we can get."

He picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. "Walter? Get SG Teams 2 and 13 up here for an emergency meeting. I want them five minutes ago."

As Landry followed her into the Briefing Room, Sam couldn't help but wonder how successful he'd be in fighting off everyone who'd volunteer for this particular mission once word got out.

At least Teal'c wasn't here; she knew for certain that he wouldn't take no for an answer - not from Landry - or anyone else. Not when Jack was involved. Still, it didn't seem right that SG-1 wouldn't come to his rescue. Not after all the times he'd pulled their fat out of the fire. Orders were orders though, so she might as well settle back and watch the fireworks.

***

Ida saw crimson flashing lights through her closed eyelids and wondered where they'd come from. After all, her radio clock only played country music to awaken her; no lights were included in the deal. The light aggravated her already aching head and harmonized with the bass drum that pounded inside her skull.

The next sense to awaken was her hearing; she became aware of a blaring noise, like a siren. Well, she could definitely cross her alarm clock off the list - no self-respecting country singer would be caught dead with that kind of shrieking in their song.

Though, if her son had been messing around with her stuff again, he might have switched the station to something he considered music - to her it was just noise though - and if she caught him, his butt would be so sore he wouldn't be sitting down for a week. And as for his earlier threat of calling social services on her, she'd called him on that one only once. That was all it took for him to realize that the one who made the money and paid the bills made the rules - at least in her house.

All that didn't explain why she her head hurt some damned much, or where she was though. Briefly, she considered opening her eyes, but that thought made her head pound harder, so she went to plan B.

Plan B consisted of lying as still as possible - wherever the heck that might be - while she racked her throbbing brain for the answers to the what, where, and why of her situation.

Flashes of memory brought back her day, the move to the underground bunker where she'd set up shop. The meeting with Hammond and O'Neill followed close behind with the video starring the used car salesman in the fancy suit. She watched as disjointed pieces of the puzzle began to form a picture until she arrived at the solution.

She'd been on her return trip to the meeting room. General O'Neill had sent her on an errand to . . . what? Oh yeah, now she could remember. It was too hot in the Briefing Room and she'd gone to find someone to turn on the air conditioning.

Something hadn't been right though. The halls had been strangely empty, and her gut instinct had screamed that something was wrong. Since she was supposed to look after her boss, she'd been on her way back there to do just that - right up until she'd been bushwhacked and hit on the side of her face by a stick-like weapon.

From the descriptions she'd read in O'Neill's reports, it'd been a staff weapon. Too bad she'd gotten a personal demonstration on how effective it was.

Harsh guttural voices ricocheted off the walls; faint at first, then grew louder as they seemed to come closer. With an effort, she remained limp. Her breaths evened out until her chest barely moved. The footsteps came closer until she wondered if they'd step on or around her.

Now she was thankful she'd resisted her first thoughts to move and open her eyes. Whoever had knocked her out in all probability were still be around and belonged to whoever approached her position, and she figured she'd learn more if she played possum - for now - or at least until she was up to kicking some serious ass. Much as it grieved her to admit, she just wasn't up to that at the moment. She wanted to hurt somebody - hurt them bad - but her head and body just weren't up to it yet.

When the unknowns stopped, she almost jumped. Someone or something kicked her in the ribs and she rolled with it.

"Leave her, she is of no consequence," a deep voice commanded. When she realized she recognized the voice, she almost gave herself away with a gasp.

"Yes, my lord Baal," another answered. "And the other Tau'ri?"

"Bring only O'Neill. The others would bore me with their pitiful whining."

"As you wish, my lord."

Luckily, the kick had rolled her body so it had ended up facing her foes and, true to her training; Ida took full advantage of it. She watched through slit eyes, her mind racing. Their very arrogance could be used against them. It appeared there were three soldiers gathered around her; two of them had O'Neill's arms draped awkwardly around their necks. The one with his hands free spoke to a man dressed in long black brocade jacket - Baal.

O'Neill appeared to be unconscious as his head lolled forward and his feet dragged on the floor. They shrugged under his weight and he moaned.

Seeing him like that made her blood boil - a man such as General Jack O'Neill should not be treated like a piece of meat. From what she had heard from Hammond and O'Neill during the previous briefing, there was a lot of bad blood between her boss and Baal. She figured O'Neill must have really pissed off that alien for him to risk such an invasion to capture him. Whatever her boss had done, it must have been terrific and she silently applauded his efforts.

But that didn't help any of them at the moment. And from the sounds of it, if nothing were done, things were able to go south in a big way. That was not going to happen though. Not if she had any say about it.

With every moment that passed, her strength returned. She only waited for the right opportunity to move. Not now though, the odds were against her. She must wait until they had passed, then she would make her move. A flex of her calf muscles told her the knife strapped to her ankle and hidden by her pants was still there. She only had to bide her time until she could use it to its best advantage.

When the lead soldier drew his hand back to cuff O'Neill into silence, Baal spoke, low and dangerous, "Harm O'Neill and you shall live to feel my wrath."

The forward motion of his hand stopped and then dropped to the Jaffa's side, as he dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, my lord, Baal."

Shouts and rifle fire interrupted the scene in front of Ida, but due to her position on the floor, she could not see what was happening in the corridor behind her. Though, from the sound of it, she could make a guess - the cavalry was on the way.

When Baal shimmered for a moment and then stabilized she was so surprised that she gave herself away. Without thinking, she gasped as her eyes widened. Too late, she realized what she'd done and froze.

Unfortunately, the head of the kneeling Jaffa swiveled like human radar until his eyes homed in on her. Baal smiled, and it reminded her of the expression that her cat, Spotty, had on her face just before the skull of her Aunt Minnie's pet canary was crushed between sharp fangs.

Only trouble was, Ida was the canary - and Baal and his gaggle of goons were the hunters from outer space. How come there was never a good pest control expert around when you needed one? Spotty had been one of the best . . . the mouse population around the farm had rapidly diminished once that cat had taken up residence.

'Go ahead and think I'm a helpless female. I'll get you, you son of a bitch - or my name isn't Ida Grayson!' she thought as she tensed her body to spring.

Predictably, none of them acted until Baal gave the order. Ever the consummate soldier, she mentally filed it for future use. That weakness could and would be exploited. Cut off the head of the monster, and the body would die.

"Bring her," Baal waved a hand in her direction. "Perhaps her repeated demise will cause some torment to O'Neill."

Ida played the role of defenseless female to the hilt and put a quaver of fear in her voice. "Please," she whimpered. "No."

As she scrambled to her knees, her hand brushed against her ankle and she palmed the knife hidden there. As she rose to her feet, she flicked it toward Baal in one fluid gesture as she rose to her feet. Her aim was true - but it passed ineffectually through her target to clatter to the floor behind him.

Baal chuckled. "Ah, she has teeth." He showed his teeth in a humorless grin. "I love a challenge. Bring her."

Without waiting for them, she leaped forward. Her foray ended when she was engulfed in blue lightning that issued from a weapon. She gritted her teeth as her body fell convulsing to the floor. When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking into O'Neill's face.

Since his eyes were open, she made the effort to speak, but it came out more as a stutter. "Sssir?"

His eyes closed and then opened again with no hint that he could see her. "Grayson?"

She nodded.

"Ida? You there?"

His eyes continued to stare blankly ahead.

"Yes, sir." She gasped as her body convulsed again. "It's me." She bit her lip to focus her mind. "And Baal."

"Brings a whole new meaning to 'Take me out to the Baal game', huh?" Jack smirked.

Ida nodded and then remembered to add, "Uh huh."

He tapped the side of his head. "It's only temporary. Shock grenade." He shrugged. "Should be getting my sight back any time now." He paused and squinted. "Yep, anytime."

Weapon's fire rang out again, but the captives were in no position to check it out and were forced to remain on the floor.

"Kree, bring O'Neill and the female," ordered Baal, whose image wavered once again.

"The Tau'ri are attacking, my Lord. Soon our number will be too small for success." He gestured down the hall. "They recovered more quickly than we believed possible."

"Due to the pathetic efforts of the Tau'ri vermin who attacked my vessel, I am unable to use the transporter device. Once they have been destroyed, I shall return for you," the Goa'uld directed. "But know this, my faithful. O'Neill must remain alive and unharmed. Fail to deliver him and you shall provide the night's entertainment in my torture pit."

The three aliens bowed their heads, but not before Ida saw fear in their eyes. Then Baal's image flickered out.

She grunted as she was flung unceremoniously over the shoulder of one soldier and noted how her boss was subjected to the same treatment. The tactics of this were revealed when the three were able to use their staff weapons against their rescuers. However, though she remained unable to control her limbs, O'Neill didn't have this handicap.

Swinging his arms and legs, Jack repeatedly struck the arms, head, and body of his captor which caused the blasts from his staff weapon to hit the floor. O'Neill followed suit.

"For crying out loud, careful with the merchandise," Jack whined.

The Jaffa cursed, "Ha'shak!"

"And don't call me a hassock," he retorted.

"Kree, retreat. The Tau'ri will break through our rear guard soon enough." Then Baal's Jaffa knelt in front of Jack and grabbed his chin in his fist. "I shall not hesitate to harm the female if you persist in this foolishness."

Jack glared back at the Jaffa as an answer.

"Don't give in, sir," Ida pleaded.

She saw the Jaffa nod, and then her arm was grabbed and snapped in one efficient movement - so fast she only had time to gasp and then whimper when her broken arm flopped against the body of her captor, as broken bones ground together.

"All right, I get your point," Jack protested.

Through pain-filled eyes, Ida watched the Jaffa pull her boss to his knees. She managed a smile of triumph as she watched him shrug off the meaty hand and slowly straightened his back with a groan.

"I still can't see, ya know."

"Walk, we shall direct your steps."

"Hey, what do you know, I see a big blur now instead of nothing," he grunted. "You'd think I'd never been hit with a shock grenade before," he commented. "Did I mention how much I hate those things?"

Their captors said nothing, only shoved Jack forward. As for Ida, she was merely along for the ride; she stifled painful grunts as her arm repeatedly jarred against the hard body armor of the Jaffa who carried her. It was a relief when she lost consciousness.

***

Baal sat in front of the spherical communicator and ground his teeth. Things were not going as he'd planned. The Tau'ri proved to be tougher than he'd thought. Perhaps they were only reacting with a last futile struggle before succumbing to his vast resources. Of course that had to be it. Soon enough they would see the error of their ways and worship him as became a true god.

He turned back to the communicator and eyed the image of his clone aboard his Al-kesh in orbit above the Tau'ri home world. "Destroy the pitiful Tau'ri vessel as quickly as possible. I have awaited the humiliation and death of O'Neill for too long to be robbed of it now."

"Yes, my lord, but the Tau'ri vessel has unexpected resources," his double replied.

Baal's voice turned silky with menace. "You are willing to pay the price for failure?"

The clone's face froze. "No, my lord. This is only a temporary setback. My Jaffa shall not fail us."

"See that they don't. For if they fail, you too shall pay the price when your host's body melts around you for want of an antidote." He stroked his beard. "One that only I can supply."

***

Jack thought furiously as he was prodded along the hallway. The sound of gunfire receded as they turned a corner, if they wanted rescue they were going the wrong way. Ida didn't make a sound and was probably still recovering from the zat blast and whatever else they'd done to her. Though he hadn't been able to see her get hit, he'd been around enough zats to know what had happened to her.

He was more worried about her mental state - plus the certainty that they'd broken her bones to persuade him to cooperate. Once you've heard the sound of breaking bone, it kind of stayed with you - and he'd heard more than his share.

Sure, he'd given into their demands - for now, but he was by no means broken. He'd bide his time until the time was ripe - then he'd kick ass.

Luckily, he'd landed on her knife when he'd been dumped on the floor, and had hidden the weapon in his boot. He just hoped he'd get the chance to use the blade before Baal came back for them.

When he'd heard the plans that Hair-Baal had for her, he'd been filled with cold fury and felt sick to his stomach. There was no way that he'd allow anyone else experience the living death that he had. He'd kill her - and himself before he let that happen.

A pesky thought intruded. 'But if he has a sarcophagus, he'll just revive you both - over and over again.' With brutal efficiency that suggested years of practice, he shoved the thought away. He'd figure something out, he HAD to.

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