Chapter 24
George Hammond's vacation residence
Washington D.C.
13 October 1995
It was with more than a tinge of regret that they closed up the cabin and took to the road the next morning as the first weak rays of sunshine lit the damp grass, feeling reality's all-too-familiar intrusion.
But it was hard to shake that niggling habit that had always insisted on duty and country above self, even when duty had screwed them over big time.
A day later, they sat in Hammond's large study in his vacation home, flanked by his security detail. Personally, Jack thought that all of them looked they had something shoved up their –
Hammond spoke, interrupting his wayward thoughts, thumbing his way through Sean O'Neill's truncated diary entries.
"Are you telling me, Colonel, that you've found all these documents up north?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good. It's way beyond what we expected. Where Sean O'Neill couldn't go further, I can, and will," Hammond determined, his posture expectant. "Good work, both of you."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Thank you, Sir," Carter echoed, causing Hammond to shake his head slightly at her adoption of the same tone that O'Neill had employed.
He regarded them speculatively.
They worked well together, Hammond thought in grim satisfaction, having survived where most people wouldn't, going further when others would have flagged early on. They probably even influenced each other without even knowing they did and communicated on some level that he wasn't privy to.
"Would that be all, Sir?" O'Neill asked bluntly, his fingers restlessly tapping the table.
Hammond grunted wryly, starting to realise that a few minutes in Jack O'Neill's presence could sorely test his nerves. It took a very different kind of commanding officer to look beneath that part-roughness, part-insubordinate veneer glossed over by a commonplace, swaggering military bravado. Something that he'd seen all too often in his decades of service. O'Neill's hardness was no different, but along with it came a certain sharpness, or an astuteness and an intuitive sense of working that had probably accounted for his quick rise through the ranks.
He couldn't quite decide yet whether he disapproved.
But where O'Neill was fascinating enough as a study of human behaviour, the young Captain by his side was equally intriguing. Her extraordinary achievements were revered in scientific circles, naturally bringing her academic brilliance to the forefront of public scrutiny. Now Hammond realised that it tended to overshadow a toughness that imbued her person. Apart from the scholarly knowledge that she obviously carried, Samantha Carter exhibited graceful strength and perception that seemed to be gentler counterparts to O'Neill's forceful traits.
"As a matter of fact, we're just getting started," he told them, then turned to Carter. "Captain, I will be setting up a separate, non-military but secure facility where you can determine the Aegis's concern of a potential invasion. To the best of my ability, you will be provided with clones of the scientific equipment employed by the research and development team in Area 51 to aid you in your work."
Jack caught the spark of excitement returning to her eyes, the prospect of returning to her scientific work too good to turn down.
"In Washington?" She asked carefully.
"Silicon Valley. Dr. Rodney McKay had consented to set it up for you."
Sam didn't think her jaw could drop any further. "Mckay? Rodney McKay? The arrogant, self-righteous, pompous…I mean, he's actually involved in this?"
A small quirk at the corner of Hammond's lips appeared at the unexpected outburst.
"Captain, I need the help of the most brilliant and brightest in the country to counter an organisation such as the Aegis. Dr. McKay counts as one of them, and has proven himself very valuable in our investigations. In fact, I was the one who asked him to leak the story of the alien invasion just to see whether I could ruffle some feathers. What he found wasn't too far from the truth, but I think I will leave Dr. McKay to give you the detailed scientific explanations when you meet him."
He met their shocked faces and speechlessness with a steady gaze. "Dr. McKay has been busy working on what the Aegis's R&D is doing: discovering the true source of the electromagnetic radiation that has been causing massive electric power interruptions. As a matter of fact, I'm convinced that he will appreciate your input on this."
She snorted in reply, "McKay needs help being humble."
Hammond smiled patiently. "You will leave tonight, Captain. As presumptuous as this might seem, the necessary arrangements have already been made to ensure your smooth journey there."
Her excitement was palpable. "Of course. Thank you, Sir."
Jack raised his brows quizzically and guessed, "And I'm to be her bodyguard while she plays with her doohickeys?"
"As for you, Colonel," Hammond continued, "I'd like you to continue on the path that you took when you accepted your assignment in September. You found out about the Aegis. Now it's time to take them down."
Sam was rearranging the last of her belongings when his voice rang through the quiet of the house.
"Don't you just hate flying commercial?"
Jack stood at the threshold of the door to the guest room that Hammond had provided for them in the intervening hours until her flight, his hands fully jammed into his pockets.
She drew the zip of the duffel closed. "I do, but I suspect you hate it more than me."
He seemed reluctant to step into the room, as though fully cognizant of the fact that they were no longer in a space that was their own.
Straightening, she stood up and faced him. The tension was evident in his eyes, despite the casual pose he made.
She looked...different, harsher planes and lines in the soft yellow light that washed out the deeper, subtler shades. There was something altered about her appearance that he couldn't quite yet place.
Jack shrugged it off and answered nonchalantly. "Yeah, I think I do. Those god-awful cramped spaces, kids kicking the back of your seat the whole way…what's to like?"
Her smile turned wistful. Funny how she seemed to understand exactly what he felt without him needing to say it aloud.
In two hours, Stacy Hawkins would board a flight for San Jose International Airport, where she would meet a representative of M.R.M Corporation, who would then arrange yet another transport to a secure research complex in Silicon Valley.
Jack was going to stay in Washington to help Hammond do the fieldwork of rooting out the Aegis, while she would be stuck on the other side of the country working with McKay's technology.
Already she felt bereft, although he still stood in front of her, having been the person she had relied on and trusted with her life in the short span of a month.
It was nearly impossible to believe that he had once been a threat.
And now, having spent everyday with him for that brief, intense period, it was beyond hard to leave.
The indecision must have shown on her face, because in the next moment her hand was in his, his other arm encircling her waist tightly. Her arms automatically snaked around him in response.
Jack was the first to break the bittersweet silence. "Hammond's a good man. It won't be forever, Sam," he told her softly, his nose in her hair.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but muffled in his thick shirt. "I know."
He shifted slightly. "Hate to break this moment, Sam, but is it just me or did your hair just turn a different colour and grow longer?"
She laughed and ran a self-conscious hand through it. Cutting her hair military-regulation short all those years ago when she became a commissioned officer had been a small but significant symbol of the life and the career she had painstakingly built for herself in the USAF. By the time she and Jack had started fleeing the Aegis, it wasn't lingering vanity that had prevented her from changing her appearance to go incognito, but rather, reluctance and fear of relinquishing the only identity that she'd known for so long.
It had taken all the lessons of the previous month to teach her that she could be much more.
Much more than just a woman who stood in a military uniform. Much more than a scientist.
A weight she hadn't known existed suddenly lifted.
She matched his light-hearted tone, swallowing visibly. "A man who notices slight changes in a woman's appearance is a keeper," she joked, "I had it changed a bit so that it'll fit my new ID."
He pulled back to examine her more closely. That was when he saw it under the dim lights. "I like it. Punk-ish, nice red tips," he declared. "And did I tell you that I like green eyes as much as blue?"
Two could play the game.
"Did I tell you that I like dark-haired men with deep, brown eyes?" She smiled and asked in retaliation, watching with satisfaction as he flushed slightly at the backhanded compliment.
"Never knew that, Carter."
A downward glance at her watch told her it was time to leave. Her indulgent smile faded as she thought of the things that still needed to be done. "I'll see you soon, Jack."
Location undisclosed
Washington D.C.
15 October 1995
Jack's temporary living quarters were no better than the motels that he had been staying in when he'd started his original mission, but comfort had never been on his priority list.
Restless, he paced the floor of the tiny room. The unfamiliar emotion, that rising tightness coiled tight as a spring in his chest made him edgy.
Feeling that same sense of numbing loss that he hadn't gotten and probably would never get used to since Charlie.
The simple truth was, he missed Carter. Missed her watching his back, missed her touch that burned across his skin, missed the way her quirky sense of humour complemented his own. Just missed her. Period.
But the major difference in this whole thing was that she was alive and well, so that had to count for something bright in his life.
It also made it easier not to think about ghosts of the past that skimmed the edges of his consciousness.
He heard the rap of knuckles on the wooden door, then stood up and turned to see Hammond enter in his dress blues, carrying a nondescript white folder bearing no official stamp in one hand and a bottle of Guinness in his other hand.
He promptly handed the bottle to Jack.
He took it in grateful surprise, toasted the General and quipped as his opening greeting, "You sure know how to make a man happy, Sir."
"It appears that Sean O'Neill had unknowingly uncovered the money trail of the Aegis in the search for his friend Luke Cowan," Hammond said succinctly, without the superficial niceties that tended to overshadow the numerous meetings among the top-brass.
"Are we talking about funding sources?"
"My intel says that Tullus, Inc. was a shell company registered under the directorship of Mr. Gordon Gray, Dr. Donald Menzel, and Dr. Lloyd V. Berkner in 1952. Do those names sound familiar to you, Colonel?"
Jack set the beer down on the bedside table. He took the folder, glanced over the report, then snapped the folder shut again. "Familiar names. The original members of the Majestic-12 group?"
"You got that right, son," Hammond confirmed. "The company's profits originated from sources that appear to have their origins in the drug cartels of Colombia and Mexico. The profits were later channelled to a top-secret project in the military for the use of strengthening national security."
Jack whistled his surprise softly, the lifted the bottle to his lips. "Son-of-a-bitch. Never thought they had it in them."
"That's not all, Colonel. From the '80s until today, the sources of funding have expanded to include the cash dividends from several investments portfolios that were diversified across several governmental bonds, rare earth metal mining companies and illegal radioactive material smuggling networks. It explains their near-unlimited resources and financial support. Tullus. Inc may be a ghost company, but several, real accounts lie behind it. Lying in the folder that you're holding are copies of investment and technology-transfer contracts. In there you'll also find bank statements confirming the cash transactions from key members' accounts to other off-shore accounts corresponding to the location of the trafficking sites."
Hammond's revelation shook him deep.
"Then that's sufficiently incriminating evidence, Sir." Jack said, slipping into the old, habitual role of addressing a commanding officer, barely noticing the form of address he'd used.
Hammond nodded. "I've officially turned the information over to the FBI, the CIA and the Secret Service for their evaluation. But it adds a whole other level of red tape."
Jack wandered over to the small window, looking out at the hushed drizzle that streaked down the pane, suddenly impatient for a life away from the trappings of the politics that lay in Washington.
"I'm assuming you've seen the President about this?"
"In fact, I have. The President will be ordering the formation of a joint-operations task force to cripple the Aegis, beginning with its key members any day now. But this joint effort includes the co-operation and the involvement of the FBI and the CIA."
Jack nodded his approval. "Cut off the head, leave the body rudderless. That's going to take a long time, seeing how deep the Aegis has infiltrated the ranks of every US Intelligence and Security Agencies."
Hammond grimaced briefly at Jack's deliberate mix of metaphors.
"It will. The first stages of the operation are the most crucial of all. The leader of this task force will be given all the back-up support that is necessary arrest the key members of the Aegis."
Jack snorted. "Pity the guy who's heading this one."
The silence from Hammond's end made him uneasy.
"George?" It was the first time Jack had deigned to use the General's given name, and its significance wasn't lost on the both of them.
It brought a chuckle out of Hammond, a twist of his lips that looked out of place on his round face.
"When the task force is formed, I'd like for you to lead their first few missions, son."
Silicon Valley
San Francisco, Northern California
18 October 1995
Five days since she had arrived in the mild Mediterranean weather that California boasted – so different from the coolness of Northern Minnesota – and since she'd been escorted into a secure complex housing the latest technology that would have ordinarily made her happily lose sleep over it.
But it was also five days since she'd seen Jack, after saying goodbye to him in the room Hammond had assigned to them in his vacation home.
Goodbyes were never easy. Especially if they'd been permanent ones and god knows she has had too many of those of late.
A slight touch on her shoulder tore her out of her reminiscence and made her react without thinking. Her soldier's instincts kicked in, honed to a knife's edge during the time she spent with Jack, causing her to whip around blindly and to swing her hands upwards until they found purchase around the throat of her would-be assailant.
The rising redness in his face made her slacken her hold immediately.
"Sorry," she gasped in wild-eyed panic, watching him choke air back into his lungs. "I'm sorry!"
She tried reaching out to him again, then pulled back when he glared daggers at her.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," McKay complained loudly as he readjusted his shirt, brushing off her raised palm of apology as he would a buzzing insect. "No need to kill a man who just wanted to ask if you're free for dinner in the communal dining hall."
"Sorry, Rodney," Sam mumbled again, trying to look as sincere as she could, knowing he would count this as yet another incident in which she owed him one. "Thought you were…you know…never mind."
"Hmm," he grunted, seemingly appeased by her explanation. He came around her lab table and peered at the readouts on her computer screen, pulling back only when she gave him an annoyed look.
"What?" He retorted in bewilderment.
Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. "Nothing."
The private research facilities Silicon Valley had been astounding. If anything, the level of space surveillance technology that Rodney Mckay's company had developed was well on par with, if not, better than military surveillance systems.
As Hammond had promised, she was given a lab with all that she needed to set up a closer scrutiny of the impact of solar flares and coronal mass emissions on Earth's magnetic shield. Her personal quarters held all the facilities of a VIP suite that had way more going for it than what she had expected. McKay had even volunteered his personal research files and read-outs, going as far as to offer her access to the restricted areas of his company's workrooms and equipment.
That had been the biggest surprise of all.
Briefly she wondered if he had developed a personality disorder, only to be told that Hammond had practically ordered him to surrender all resources so she could work uninterrupted.
On her second night in the facility, McKay had grudgingly brought her to dinner in a setting that was thankfully, more casual than romantic, stammering his confession that he was seeing someone, despite the unrequited lust that he felt hung over the both of them.
She hadn't known whether to laugh or sock him in the face, settling instead for an awkward note of congratulations before changing the subject to astrophysics, feeling almost relieved to see the self-importance arrogance return to McKay.
That dinner had achieved two things.
He promised never to call her a dumb blonde again; in turn, she stopped carrying a lemon around to wave in front of his face. The uneasy truce settled into a sort-of friendship, founded on science as common ground, which often meant they were constantly engaged in debates in cosmic calculations, error estimations and stellar distances.
As the days had gone by, she finally admitted to herself that McKay was absolutely essential in this task that Hammond had set up for her. His string of degrees would make any John Doe blush, and he exhibited his brilliance through a combination of vulnerability and pomposity that still annoyed her to no end.
But when it came to breaking new ground with top-of-the-line machines, McKay had done the impossible.
They'd divided the work; she had taken up the task of figuring out the source of the excess electromagnetic radiation and the atmospheric matter in the atmosphere that seemed responsible for the massive power outages around the world. McKay studied Earth's satellites and short-range sensors, dabbling in radio and signal frequency interference when he could.
It was working, thus far. They met at the end of the day to compare and discuss their findings, or at least tried to. He came into her lab to pick a theoretical-physics fight when he felt like it and she pestered him into letting her get onto some of the work that he was doing.
Bedtime was unregulated, and lonely. Still, Samantha Carter wouldn't be Samantha Carter if mornings, afternoons and evenings weren't spent working tirelessly in a lab. Jack hadn't said anything remotely like a reminder for her to keep regular hours, whether out of a lack of concern or out of respect for her own life and ways. For that, she was nevertheless thankful.
Now McKay was talking rapidly to her with an expectant, overly-excited air. It usually meant that he'd discovered something.
He held up under her scrutiny – barely noticing it in fact – and in his excitement, had swept some of her files to the concrete floor in his frenzied gesticulating.
Sam sighed and stood. "I think we should go for dinner."
"Great!"
His response was quick and enthusiastic, already leading the way to the dining hall with a hop in his step, which made her sigh again.
Dinner was either going to be interesting, or irritating.
Offsite Officers' Quarters
Area 51, Nevada
18 October 1995
It was an evening like any other, the arid air of the surrounding desert not doing anything to brighten his mood.
Major General Peter Vandenburg shrugged off his jacket, yanked at his tie and took a slow walk to his quarters, exhausted after a full day of overseeing the test of the latest craft design.
The work wasn't done yet. His executive officer had just left him some files to look through before leaving the base.
Stuck between having Curtis on his ass to re-negotiate several nuclear arms deals and the daily duties of an Air Forces General, he'd had it up to his ears. All he wanted was a bath and a hearty dinner which he'd asked to be delivered to his room.
The machine beeped green when he flashed his access card, and the blast door to the floor housing his quarters slid slowly open, letting out a rush of cold air-conditioned air which he breathed in appreciatively.
The long corridor was deserted, the other high-ranking officers having chosen to take a 737-military hop to a place that offered brighter entertainment and dining prospects at the end of the day. He wondered fleetingly if he should have caught the last hop with them, instead of choosing to be sequestered in a place in the middle of nowhere.
Vandenburg crossed the six metres separating him and the door, flashing his access card once again.
The door's electronic lock slid back and clicked open. He walked in, ready to toss his jacket and tie to the bed until what he saw made him stop short.
Jack O'Neill leant back in his black leather study chair, twirling his prized fountain pen in his fingers.
"O'Neill," Vandenburg breathed, automatically reaching for his service weapon, realising belatedly that he'd locked it away at the base.
"Sir," O'Neill greeted mildly and stood up, his features nonchalantly schooled into impassiveness. "Good to see you again."
"I know better than to ask how the hell you got in, O'Neill. But before I throw you out, maybe you would be so kind as to tell me what the hell you want?"
O'Neill's attention was completely focused on the pen. "You know why I'm here," he gestured lightly then placed the pen down carefully. "Wouldn't want to spoil your very expensive pen, General."
"Humour me, Jack. Tell me what you're doing in my room, in a secure, top-secret facility."
A brief but unpleasant smile stretched O'Neill's lips, though his face remained stoically neutral. "You made a mistake sending me after Carter, General, when you know you have more to hide than the both of us combined."
Vandenburg stood his ground and said lightly, "I don't know what you're talking about, Jack. Perhaps you shouldn't have refused the psychiatric help offered when it looked as though you couldn't shoulder the grief from the loss of your son. Now if you don't mind, get out of my quarters before I call security to storm the place for you."
Not a twitch on the other man's face.
"I'm going ask once more, Sir. Just this second time," O'Neill warned softly, walking over slowly. "Why do you think I'm here?"
"You're asking for it, O'Neill," Vandenburg growled forcefully and reached for the silent alarm switch built into the four walls.
A hand shot out and gripped his, forcefully turning it back.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," O'Neill replied steadily, his death grip on his arm not lessening. "Come now, Sir, let me give you a hint. A search of a decommissioned facility in Connecticut Yankee yielded twenty kilograms of weapons-grade plutonium-239, tested to be of Russian origin. My intel also reports that local authorities in Beaver Valley have just seized ten kilograms of uranium powder and tablets purchased from a Kazakhstan plant with no authorisation. All of which can be traced back to your name and Major General Thomas Baker. Shall I go on?"
Vandenburg staggered a bit, having found his arm suddenly free. He swung around to face his former subordinate.
"You don't know what the hell's going on, O'Neill," Vandenburg growled, "actually, you don't know shit–"
"Oh, trust me, General," Jack snapped, interrupting the beginnings of Vandenburg's tirade. "I know exactly what's going on. You think getting rid of Carter is going to solve the problem of national security. And that the trading of illegal nuclear warheads and raw materials is going to bolster Earth's pathetic defensive resources. How much more fucking misguided can you get?"
"Don't you understand that the c–?"
"Ahh – I don't want to hear it," O'Neill waved his hands theatrically, just as the door burst open with armed guards swiftly pouring into the room. "Save it for those who have the power to decide the length of time of your stay in the brig. Major General Peter Vandenburg, I'm happy to say you're under military arrest for breaching the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons and for operating above military and civilian jurisdiction."
As Vandenburg was being cuffed, he said darkly, "O'Neill, you bastard. Frank Cromwell warned me of it after you got your ass stuck behind Saddam's torture chamber. I should have known you could never follow orders."
The memory stung, even now as Vandenburg's words plunged him back briefly to that Iraqi dump of a prison where he lay bleeding, broken and malnourished for months on end, finally giving up hope of a rescue that had taken too long in coming.
But when help finally came, he hadn't given a fuck whether he was dead or alive, not when it seemed as though everything he'd done hadn't mattered a whit.
Jack looked at Vandenburg coolly as he was led away. "No, Sir. I was just doing my job. Whereas you weren't doing yours."