Thanks to the usual suspects.

Chapter 12

As soon as Starsky closed the door behind him, Hutch pushed away his plate. Fighting to keep the food inside, he took a couple of deep breaths and sat unmoving for a few seconds, not really seeing anything.

A knock on the door startled him out of his stupor. In reflex he reached for his Magnum but it wasn't there. Worse, Starsky had taken the Beretta. Don't act so on edge, Hutchinson. It's probably room service returning for the cart. "Just a moment!" When he'd fallen asleep on the bed, Starsky had removed his footwear, but otherwise had left him fully clothed. He swung his feet over the bedside, put on his socks and shoes and straightened his blue shirt.

Another knock.

"Yeah, Yeah, I'm coming." As he unsteadily hopped over to the door, he grabbed one of the kitchen knifes from the food tray. Can't be too careful these days.

Just as Hutch reached for the handle, someone ruthlessly kicked the door in from the other side. It slammed into his upper chest, the impact knocking all the air out of his lungs and throwing him sideways. He collided with the sofa where his hand broke the fall, causing him to drop the knife. A throbbing pain shot into arm, temporarily immobilizing him. Struggling to breathe he gripped it in agony.

Having regained his senses, Hutch looked up into the muzzle of a gun. His eyes shifted from the arm and chest area -his attacker wore a black business suit- to the man's face; The close cropped black hair and bronzed complexion betrayed the man's Middle Eastern's forefathers. In that regard, the stale blue eyes, which gave the guy a cold and dangerous aura, seemed out of place. The features rang a bell. They fit the description of the guy he and Starsky had set out to find in the first place: Rodney Templeton.

The ice blue eyes suddenly flashed a bright yellow. Hutch blinked, not too sure if he'd seen that right.

"Where is he?" Rodney's voice sounded off key, low and distorted.

Hutch blinked again, uncertain if this man was looking for his partner. Feigning ignorance, he bit back with a question of his own, "Where's… who?"

"Doctor Jackson."

Not Starsky then. Confused, he stated between one painful breath and the next, "Don't know who you're talking about."

The man leaned in, pressing the gun against Hutch's chest. "Don't play games with me. I dropped him and his friend off and then followed him all the way up to this room. His friend left. I've been waiting for this moment. He's here. Alone."

The low voice had an echo to it.

Yep, definitely a larynx problem.

Hutch shifted his position slightly, hoping Rodney wouldn't notice. To distract him, he started to say, "Search the room if you don't believe-." Unexpectedly, he kicked hard with both legs, knocking his attacker off his feet. Hutch's injured ankle screamed in protest as he jumped on top of Rodney to get the gun. He grabbed Templeton's wrist, pinning it and the weapon to the ground. Sitting on top of the man, he looked into his eyes, which unexpectedly flashed bright yellow again; simultaneously a low unnatural growl resonated from Templeton's throat.

An iron grip latched onto his upper arm. Rodney easily lifted him with his free hand and violently threw him off like a rag doll. He crash-landed into the desk near the French doors, several feet away, the furniture breaking apart on impact. Groggily, he lay paralysed between what was left of the wooden desk, astonished at the man's strength.

Templeton squatted in front of the rubble, prodding him with the gun. "You," he spoke way too calmly, "Cannot hope to defeat me."

Hutch moaned, unable to move. He tried to regulate his breathing but had to work hard to get some air inside. Panicking slightly, he concluded that the damn dog-bite was as much to blame for this as the fall he just took.

Rodney's thin lips parted in a cruel smile. "You might as well tell me now where Doctor Jack-"

"I'm right here."

Squinting, Hutch discerned a dark blond man, about his age standing behind his attacker. This new player wasn't joking as he aimed a Beretta at Rodney's head. Doesn't look much like a Doctor to me. Hutch thought wearily.

Templeton looked over his shoulder, then turned back to Hutch and smiled. "You might as well drop the gun, Doctor Jackson. You know what will happen if you shoot me."

Jackson's voice sounded steady. "I know what will happen if I don't."

That doesn't sound too good. Hutch thought, then let out a soft cry as feeling returned to his extremities. He tried to get up and painfully discovered that his right arm stopped working all together. All he managed to do was lift himself slightly off the floor with his left hand.

Rodney's face betrayed his amusement. He lifted a finger and Hutch felt a sharp sting as the man ran a nail down his cheek, drawing blood that dripped down his chin. Templeton suddenly hissed and snapped back his hand. "You bear his mark! You're tainted!

Hutch snarled, "What mark?" He defiantly peered around Templeton to catch Doctor Jackson's eye. "Look, if you could just explain what you two mean by-"

"It means," Rodney interrupted, gripping Hutch's chin and rudely turning his face back in his direction, "The damn hound got to you. Your body is of no use to me as a host. So now I'm forced to kill you." Hutch froze as Templeton put the gun against his temple.

"NO!" Jackson took a step closer.

"Then drop the gun, Doctor."

So that's what this is all about. Rodney wants Jackson here. Sweat trickled down Hutch's forehead, both from pain and exhaustion as he thought, just one major flaw in his big plan though. There's no reason at all why the Doc here should comply. I've never seen the man before in my life! Why should he care whether I live or die?

Jackson's eyes showed no uncertainty as he kept pointing his weapon at Rodney's head and took a step closer.

Whoever he is, he's holding the Beretta in a professional grip. He's done this before.

Templeton took off the safety. "You've got five seconds before I blow his head off. NOW DROP IT!"

Jackson hesitated, shooting Hutch a calculating look as if not sure if he was worth lowering his defenses for or not. Intelligence shone behind blue eyes as the man tried to assess him. All Hutch could do was stare back at him.

"I take it you're Hutch?" Jackson suddenly asked.

Hutch looked at him in surprise.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Jackson. But you can call me Daniel."

Rodney increased the painful pressure on the gun against his temple. "Your decision, Doctor!"

Hutch closed his eyes as Templeton's off key voice added an unreal dimension to his already befuddled mind. God, how he hated this helplessness. If only he could move, but his body refused to co-operate. Then he heard something falling on the ground. He looked up to notice with relief that this 'Daniel' had dropped the gun.

Rodney's face twisted with crude satisfaction. "A wise choice, Doctor. Now…" He suddenly turned on his heels, changing his target from Hutch to the man who just saved his life. Jackson backed off as Rodney slowly stood up. "Tell me…" He took the few steps that separated him from Daniel, who quickly put his hands up in surrender. "Where is the Stargate?"

"The what?" Both Hutch and Daniel replied at the same time.

To Hutch's surprise Rodney casually tucked his gun inside the front of his pants. Before either of them could make a move, he caught Jackson by his throat. As easily as he'd thrown Hutch off earlier, he pushed his victim backward and pinned him against the wall.

Daniel's hands locked onto Rodney's arm, gripping it in a desperate attempt to get air into his lungs.

"The Stargate, Doctor Jackson."

"I… don't … know." Daniel's eyes grew hard, stubborn: a telltale sign of a man who had been through much and managed to come out alive. If Hutch were any judge of character, this guy would rather die than talk.

Years of interrogating suspects, of reading a criminal's mind had taught Hutch the tricks of the trade. He could tell when people were lying, and that Jackson knew very well what his attacker was talking about. Whether or not his motivation to lie was an honorable one remained to be seen. He didn't read any dishonesty in those eyes, though, just a deep faith and a hint of tiredness. So… no criminal then. Maybe he has ties with the government? That made sense. 'The Stargate' could be the name of some sort of project.

"Don't be a fool, Doctor. You don't want to die, do you?" Rodney squeezed a bit harder.

"Been… there. Done… that." Daniel wheezed and started sliding down the wall, held up only by Templeton's iron grip.

From his position on the floor, Hutch saw Jackson gasping for air. Get up, Hutch. GET UP. Fighting the urge to sleep, he scrambled onto his knees, not understanding where this overwhelming exhaustion came from; it felt like his body simply refused to wake up. In a daze of pain, he watched Daniel fighting a losing battle. I wonder who he is? If he has family, friends? Trying to move quickly, Hutch managed to stand up on both his feet.

Even so, he seriously doubted he would be on time.

Starsky hesitated.

Not only because he kept bumping into people who bore an uncanny resemblance to him or Hutch, but also because he just stumbled onto a stall near the elevators that held all kinds of 'Starsky and Hutch' merchandise: from cups, to plates, to perfect replica's of his Torino. Under the watchful eye of the flirtatious saleslady, he picked up one of the cars. It was surprisingly heavy and complete in every detail, down to the wire connecting the mars-light on top to the dashboard. By now subtle slivers of fright had replaced his childlike amazement.

This wasn't funny anymore.

Feeling trapped in one of those Stephen King books he put the car down. Answers, I need some damn answers. Not acknowledging the saleslady presence, he backed away from the stall, turned and headed through the main hall, straight outside.

There he paused.

A soft breeze touched his face. Starsky stood well within the warm, yellow illumination of Sheridan's entrance. Evening had turned on a festival of light in the busy street and he took a moment to let its alien appearance sink in. His attention drifted upward and he took the few steps needed to clear the elaborate portico. He was awarded with a clear view of the hotel, and after a short search, found the window of the room he and Hutch occupied. The light behind it beckoned him to come back.

Disregarding the sudden pull to turn around and head back upstairs, Starsky started to walk. He had a vague idea of where he should go first. In his 'Bay City', the side entrance to the library wasn't far off.Assuming the lay out of the streets were rudimentary the same, he knew just the short cut to get there.

Hidden in the darkness the Hellhound watched the detective go. As swift as a snake he followed, staying close to the walls, merging with the blackness the moonless evening provided. When Starsky turned into a small empty street lined with garbage containers, Cerberus knew the time had come.

Ready to pounce, he crept closer.

Tbc