Author's Note: I couldn't decide which holiday to pick for today as there were two that stood out, so this is a little bonus chapter. The previous chapter (Punch The Clock) is the main entry for today (27 January) – FF messed up the order for a while...
Written for 'National Geographic Day'.
Next to his Simpsons DVDs, the most important collection Jack owned – in his eyes – was his National Geographics. But when he set the crate of magazines down and looked at them, he knew he'd trade them in a heartbeat, a hundred times over, if it brought Carter back to him alive and well and safe.
Something didn't feel right. The homeless man was nowhere to be seen but Jack could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He was being watched.
Jack decided to leave the magazines and hoped their new owner would return soon to find them and appreciate them. As he turned and started to make his way back to his truck, he heard footsteps.
"Hi, Jack."
He felt his stomach plummet.
"Don't turn around."
With Maybourne's appearance Jack had a renewed sense of hope that they'd be one step closer to finding Sam; but his appearance also brought dread as it confirmed the colonel's suspicions. That the NID were behind Carter's disappearance. And they'd had a four-day head start with his major in their possession. He didn't want to think about what could have happened to her during that time, and all because he and the rest of the team had no idea that she was missing.
Once they got Carter back, Jack promised that he would be setting new ground rules with his team about daily check-ins. He didn't care if it sounded stupid or a waste of time. If something happened to Sam because he hadn't thought to contact her or make sure she was OK because he hadn't heard from her in two days, he'd never forgive himself.
He forced the thoughts aside and half-turned to face Maybourne.
"Harry, where ya been?" He said as casually as he could muster, a wry smile twisting his lips. "You never write. You don't call."
"I have a gun."
"So do I," he shrugged.
"I'm just trying to protect you. I'm a wanted criminal. It's your duty to arrest me and all."
"Always thinking of the other guy," he nodded unconvinced. "How'd you find me?"
"Played a lot of hide and seek as a kid. Funny, I could always find anyone anywhere but they could never find me."
"Because they didn't want to," Jack shot back as his patience started to wear thin – something Maybourne seemed to pick up on.
"What do you need, Jack?"
He hesitated for a second before he answered, all previous anger and joking gone.
"Carter's missing."
"Really?"
"Bunch of guys in a van took her out of this lot about four days ago. Figured it might be some of your old friends."
"Not the word I'd use for them."
"What do you know?"
"Sorry."
With a smile void of humor, Jack levelled a challenging stare. "You didn't come back into this country and risk execution just to see me."
"God knows I could think of a hundred reasons why the NID might want Major Carter," he admitted. "But I swear to you I don't know where she is or why she was taken. Why don't you ask the NID?"
"Gee, thanks," Jack drawled. "Hadn't thought of that."
"Try user 4574."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"
"Wish I could stay and chat."
"Harry," he said firmly, and Jack wasn't quite sure if it was supposed to be a warning or a plea for help on his part. "We're talking about Carter, here."
He caught a hint of regret in the man's expression before it vanished. "I know," Maybourne eventually said. "I'm sorry, Jack. I really am. You know how this game is played and the kind of people who play it. You gotta prepare yourself for the possibility that she may not be coming back."
Jack's jaw tightened at his words as he watched him walk away.
"Well, that's just fucking unacceptable," he muttered as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Yeah, it's O'Neill. Get me Hammond," he growled as he made his way back to his truck, his anger increasing with every step.
"Jack. Any progress?"
"I've just had a run-in with Maybourne, sir."
"Maybourne?"
"Yeah. He didn't have much information, except to say try user 4574."
"That's all he said? User 4574. I think we know who that is, colonel."
"And that would be?"
He heard Hammond sigh heavily and didn't like where this was heading. "Colonel Simmons."
Jack's anger skyrocketed.
Colonel Frank Simmons.
He thought back to just a few months earlier, when Orlin followed the team through the gate and made himself at home – in Carter's home. He remembered the way Simmons had tried to discredit the major and questioned her ability to do her job.
He was struck with the memory a few weeks after that incident to when SG-1 had their minds altered by the supposed 'Lieutenant Tyler'. Following the whole situation, Jack heard Simmons and Carter had butted heads again, but Sam had refused to tell him what had happened. He'd heard later through the SGC grapevine, however, that Simmons had threatened to destroy her career.
Jack didn't need any more information. He knew the son of a bitch was involved with the major's disappearance, and he swore then and there that if Simmons had so much as laid a finger on Carter, he was a dead man.
The general's voice suddenly broke through his thoughts.
"Is that understood, Jack?"
"Sir?"
"I said we need to be careful, son."
He pulled a face at Hammond's unspoken warning. He knew his commanding officer was right; they needed to be sensible, and as much as he preferred to shoot first ask questions later, he wouldn't do anything that could jeopardize Carter's life.
"Yes, sir."
He wouldn't use violence to get some answers out of Simmons, or whomever he needed to from the NID – at least not yet anyway – but that didn't mean he couldn't ruffle a few feathers along the way.
There was only one thing to do.
He'd a nice comfy office in the Pentagon to visit.
"Permission to go to Washington, sir?"
