"Six weeks ago the infirmary changed the way they process the field kits." Rodney said over his shoulder, madly typing on his tablet. "The returning supplies were in such a state of disarray, there was no way of knowing who was using what, and what needed to be replaced."
"Each team is now required to restock everything after each mission." John explained quickly to Richard Woolsey, who'd come to join the trio in McKay's lab. After learning Major Lorne had also gone missing, John had organized several search teams, who were following random life sign clusters through various parts of the city. Any location with two or more people that was out of the way, or in a distant or unusual location.
So far, they'd found no sign of Evan or Jennifer.
John was getting very, very, angry. It was taking every ounce of self control he possessed not to grab Ronon and just go. Be moving. Looking, searching, doing something. Anything! Anything other than standing around chit-chatting.
Having an enemy to shoot – a target to track – was one thing. Finding out that target was inside your own ranks, someone in your home, a traitor, now that was something altogether different. That was something he could and would, never, ever, tolerate.
Rodney continued his explanation without looking up from his keyboard. "And now, everything is documented, catalogued, numbered, and restocked with each arrival of the Daedalus."
"So what's this have to do with our missing people?" Woolsey asked, removing his glasses to give them a quick wipe before returning them to his face.
"Everything." Rodney nodded. "Someone's been stealing medical supplies."
"Bedpans?" Woolsey raised an eyebrow.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Enough with the bedpans, already! Ignore the bedpans! No one is stealing bedpans!"
"Okay, Rodney. We get it." John placed his hand on Rodney's shoulder and gave him a knowing squeeze. He removed his hand and stepped back, watching Rodney's shoulders drop a fraction. Few people would recognize the signs, but John could. He knew the scientist was just as worried about his friends as the rest.
"The infirmary may not look like much, but I assure you it's fully stocked." Rodney continued, taking a deep breath. "Tranquilizers, amphetamines, benzodiazepines, barbiturates, steroids. You name it, they have it. Up until six weeks ago, there was a question being raised of what was or wasn't being used legitimately."
"We're wasting time!" Ronon momentarily stopped his pacing, but not the angry twirls of the handle grip of his gun.
John gave him a warning glance, but couldn't really fault him for felling what was probably the same level of helplessness. "Faster, McKay." He urged.
"Faster McKay, Faster. Run Forrest, Run." Rodney muttered. Then with an exaggerated tap on the enter key, leaned back and crossed his arms.
"Seventeen."
"Seventeen?" John and Woolsey echoed.
"Before she… disappeared… Jen asked me to compile a list of anyone who was on, or with, an off-world team who she'd previously flagged as questionable, then compare them to whoever was here for the past three days, and cross reference them with the volume of missing supplies and delivery dates from the Daedalus. The result…" he pointed to the screen. "Seventeen possible suspects."
John, Woolsey and Ronon all leaned over his shoulder to view the list.
John didn't bother consulting Woolsey. He'd take a reprimand over further delays without a second thought. The more time they wasted, the more time there was for something to be going horribly wrong. With his hand on his ear he called his extra teams, assigning each one a name. He ordered them to split up and report in once they'd found all seventeen people.
Names one and two he personally chose for himself and Ronon.
Better moving than idle.
Especially with Ronon twirling that damn gun like he was about to participate in a wild-west shoot out.
Staring at the ripples in the water, silently willing Corporal Merrill to reappear… alive… Jen shuddered. Her mind knew he was gone, and she had to force herself to look away.
Jonathon stood in the doorway, the barrel of the gun now trained on Evan.
"Jonathon, please." She whispered, shaking her head slowly. "You don't have to do this."
He gave her an exaggerated frown. "Jennifer. Jennifer. Jennifer. Don't worry my dear. I'm not going to shoot you. One gunshot I might get away with… three… well that could be pushing my luck."
Jen didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until he spoke and she exhaled.
"I have something much more exciting in mind for you both." Continuing to keep the gun pointed directly at Evan, Jonathon stepped out through the hatchway, and picked something up. He straightened, and held up a grey square which appeared to be taped to a small black box.
"What is that?" Jen shook her head, a feeling of please-god-don't-let-that-be-what-I-think-it-is washing over her.
"C4." Evan answered. "Our friendly neighborhood drug addict is holding a bomb."
"Now, now, Major." Jonathon grinned. "I prefer pharmaceutical supplier. Has a much nicer ring to it. Merrill however, was an addict. Poor boy. Guess he never realized drugs could kill."
Continuing to keep his gun trained on Evan, he wedged the bomb against something just behind the door frame.
"The way I see it, you have three choices." He straightened and smiled – a cold, calculating grimace. "You can either A, slowly die of hypothermia since it is absolutely freezing in here. B. Should you not immediately succumb to the cold, the lack of food and water should get you. Or C. You get desperate and open the door, at which point my little friend here will go off and blow you both to pieces."
Jen gasped as he laughed. "You wouldn't… You can't…"
"Oh I have. And I will. If anything comes up, it will be missing Merrill's name that shows up next to any missing supplies. No one can tie me to anything. Most importantly, you, Major. Although I do have to apologize. I realize now you didn't recognize me in the supply room. Unfortunately for you, it's too late." He looked at his watch. "Well, better not be tardy for my well wishers. It's been nice working with you both. Feel free to look me up next time you're back on Earth."
He gave them a jaunty wave and swung the door closed with a deafening clang. A few scratches against the other side of the metal door told Jen he was making good on his threat to attach the bomb to the outside of the hatchway.
The sounds died out leaving them sitting in silence.
Jen turned towards Evan, who was eyeing the door with a look that said if given the chance, Major Lorne would see to it Jonathon Liddell didn't make it to his party in one piece.
Jen felt the quiet of the room closing in around her. She shivered again, this time violently, as the chill settled into her bones. Jonathon was right. If they didn't get out of here soon, they'd both be hypothermic and completely unable to help themselves.
This was not good.
Not good at all.
"Evan?"
He turned towards her, his eyes shifting back into the present.
"Please tell me you have a plan?"
Evan twisted around, his eyes scanning the walls of the room, a movement he'd made a hundred times since he'd been shoved through the doorway and trussed up like a turkey. He'd been two seconds from showing Merrill just why the idiot was still a Corporal when Liddell showed up with Jennifer's unconscious form slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The brief thought that she could be dead staggered him, and he'd missed his opening.
A costly mistake.
Now they were locked so far beneath the city they were beyond sensors, and their only options were apparently death, death, or death.
Not very high on his scale of situations he liked to be in.
He saw the fear she was trying to hide and wondered just what he could say to make it go away, knowing anything would probably come out sounding ridiculous. She inhaled sharply and stiffened, her body squirming as she leaned against the wall, bending and wiggling her legs in an attempt to spin herself around.
"Doc?" For a brief second, he worried she was starting to panic, but her eyes were narrow, as though she were deep in thought.
"Duck." She said suddenly.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Duck." She said again, this time more forcefully. "Bend over."
He did as she requested, bending at the waist, the pull on his shoulders and the double rounds of stitches making him wince. He kept his face turned towards her, noting with surprise when she swung her legs over his head.
Now she was sitting beside him, but facing the opposite direction.
"There's a switchblade in my right boot."
He blinked. Had she just said what he thought she'd said?
"There's a switchblade in your boot." He repeated, brow furrowed.
She nodded furiously. "My right boot."
"A switchblade. As in… knife?"
She nodded again.
"In your boot?"
More nodding. "Is that… good?"
As he inched himself back towards her feet, Evan couldn't help but smile.
"Oh yeah, Doc. That's very, very good."
