Carter awoke with her arms cuffed behind her back, a dark, musty hood over her head, and a splitting headache from the chloroform those goons had gassed her with. She sat quietly, feeling the thrumming all around her. The floors and walls vibrated with the deep, familiar sound. She was on an airplane in flight, of that she was certain.
Over the noise from the engines, she heard voices, men chatting and laughing about inconsequential trivia—the big game last Sunday, an arm-wrestling contest, a kick-ass bar fight.
Bastards.
She had been kidnapped. But who would want to kidnap her? The image of a face floated through her mind.
Olmstead.
More correctly, Lieutenant James Olmstead, USAF, formerly of the NID. He had been part of the NID's illegal off-world acquisitions team, brought back to Earth by Colonel O'Neill with the assistance of the Asgard, and supposedly shipped off to a nice, quiet jail cell.
Apparently not.
She had never paid much attention to what had happened to the NID's people after Colonel O'Neill's sting was complete. Like everyone else, she had just assumed they had been dealt with through the appropriate channels. Some of them, she knew, had ended up in prison, although now she wondered if that hadn't just been a smoke screen. Certainly it looked like the NID had intervened and reclaimed at least one of its own.
That still didn't explain why they wanted to kidnap her. She could swear that Olmstead had been as surprised and displeased to see her as she was to see him. Yet the chloroform they had used on her indicated that kidnapping had been on their agenda, with the brawl started to provide both a distraction and cover for the operation. Olmstead and his cohorts had been after someone.
She wondered who.
Her ears clogged up. She popped them automatically, registering the fact that the plane must be descending. A short while later, it bounced a few times as it landed, then taxied down the runway.
Hard hands gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, doll, let's go," a coarse voice ordered.
She was taken off the plane. The air was cool, wherever she was. She could feel the chill through her light blouse and jeans. Her captors walked her forward, then her head was pushed down and she was shoved onto a cushioned surface. A body shifted in next to her, and a car door slammed.
Okay, now she was in a car. A few seconds later it became a moving car.
She wished her kidnappers would take off the hood. She could breathe, but the air was stuffy and unpleasant. Of course, no one did any such thing. They drove for at least half an hour before coming to a stop.
Her captors pulled her from the car and marched her forward. The outdoor sounds of insects chirping ceased with another slamming door. The floor beneath her feet felt like linoleum, but she couldn't be sure. Then she was stopped again, heard a humming and felt her stomach lurch. An elevator, going down.
The elevator doors opened with their characteristic sliding sound, and again she was pushed forward. Another door was opened. She was shoved through. Hands grabbed her as she stumbled, kept her upright. They remained on her arms, holding her in place.
"What the hell is this?" an angry male voice snapped. Yup, that clinched it. She hadn't been the intended target.
The hood was yanked off. Carter stared up defiantly. The man who faced her was fiftyish and elegantly dressed, with iron gray hair and the coldest eyes she had ever seen. "Who are you people?" she demanded. "Why have you kidnapped me?"
The man looked furious. Carter felt her spirit quail a little at his murderous expression. His wrath was palpable, radiating off him in crimson waves of pure intimidation. She took a deep breath and wrestled her fear down.
"Look," she said, putting as much force into her voice as possible, "I don't know what's going on or why I'm here, but if you know what's good for you, you'll release me immediately."
The man ignored her. "You idiots!" he shouted at Olmstead and the other thugs. "I told you I wanted one of his old teammates. And you bring me Carter, of all people?"
Carter caught her breath. This man knew exactly who she was. Her suspicions were confirmed; it had to be the NID. But what the hell were they after? It was clear that she hadn't been the original target of this botched kidnapping. The leader had mentioned someone's "old teammates." Whose? Someone from the SGC? It sounded like it. She thought hard, trying to remember who was gone at present. Castleman and his team were all on leave, so no one would notice for a while if any of them went missing. "Joe's" was a common hangout for SGC personnel. Maybe the kidnappers had expected to find them there?
The man continued to rant, "What the hell did you think you were doing?"
"We couldn't get one of the other guys," Olmstead said, a defensive whine creeping into his tone. "I figured this was the next best thing. Besides, she recognized me. We couldn't let her—"
"Moron! Cretin!"
"What's the problem, Hartley?" a large and ugly goon piped up. "You wanted someone he worked with. Well, she was on one of his teams for a little while."
She was? Carter cast her mind back. Okay, it was someone she'd worked with before, apparently on a temporary basis. That left a lot of territory to cover. Like Daniel, she occasionally provided expertise to other SG teams. She also often collaborated with the on-base science and engineering teams. Maybe that was it. Now, who was missing from the base scientific staff?
Hartley gaped at the goon with comical disbelief. He shook his head disgustedly. "Of all the stupid— They never could stand each other! How the fu—"
"Sir? We tried our best, sir," Olmstead said, attempting to placate his angry superior. "It just didn't work out."
"We did warn you it might be a problem," a more confident thug spoke out. This one had the hardened look of a mercenary about him. "Besides, you shouldn't have sent that jerk along," he aimed his thumb at Olmstead, who glared at him, "if there was even the slightest chance that he'd be recognized. Looks like there's more than enough blame to go around."
Hartley looked like he wanted to spit. Instead, he visibly reined in his temper. After a few tense moments, he relaxed and stroked his chin as though considering his options. "I suppose she might do well enough," he said slowly. "At least he knows her. A lot of men get knee-jerk reactions about chivalry and crap when a woman is involved. It's part of our cultural baggage." He sneered. "Go ahead and put her in with him. We'll let 'em get reacquainted, and then we'll see."
Now Carter was really confused. Who were they talking about? Someone she disliked, obviously, who also wasn't too crazy about her. She couldn't remember anyone like that. There were a few people she didn't rub along with, but they'd always managed to maintain a professional attitude about their work.
The mercenary and the big, ugly goon grabbed her arms. She attempted to shake them off, but their grips were like iron. "Look, you're making a mistake! I demand—"
Hartley slapped her across the face. "You're in no position to be making demands, Carter. Now, just shut up and behave, and you might live a few more days."
Carter felt blood trickle from her mouth. She glared at her tormentor, speechless at the threat. A few more days? That implied...
The goons hustled her out the door.
