The black SUV with its government plates was almost lost behind the gathering crowd, but Colonel Dixon spotted it right away. The man who got out of the vehicle passed through the spectators as smoothly as a fish through the water and held up a badge to the police officers guarding the perimeter.
"Great. Who's this guy?" Dixon grumbled. "Looks like a Feebie."
"Feebie?" Daniel asked, glancing over at the man in question. The term definitely didn't sound like one of endearment.
"FBI agent. Just what we need."
The police officers pointed in their direction and allowed the suit and tie-clad man past. Daniel conceded that the man did look like an FBI agent. He was even wearing a trench coat to add to the overall effect, despite the fact that it was a bit warm. What was it with people and long coats today?
"You in charge here? I'm Special Agent Matthew McCormick, FBI," the man addressed Colonel Dixon in a strong Southern drawl as he held up his credentials for them to inspect. Daniel was more interested in the man holding the badge, however; this could only be the agent who wrote the report on Sydyk's handiwork in Washington.
McCormick was a bit above average height, maybe a hair shorter than Daniel himself, with dark hair and strong features. And while he to all appearances appeared to be younger than Daniel by a few years at least, he projected a confidence of an veteran with decades under his belt.
"Colonel Dixon, United States Air Force. This here is Dr. Daniel Jackson," the colonel introduced themselves bluntly, not recognizing the agent. "What's the FBI doing at our scene?"
"I've been tracking the leader of a cult all the way from the Seattle area. You might know him by the name Sydyk. Colorado Springs PD answered the federal BOLO, said he might be here. Judging by the ruckus going on, I'd say they were right," Agent McCormick replied dryly, slipping the credentials back into his jacket pocket. "If you have my suspect in custody, I'd like him back now. He's got a lot to answer for back in Washington."
"Ah…" Daniel interrupted before Colonel Dixon could say anything. "You must be the case agent from Washington. I read your report. How much do you know about Sydyk?"
The FBI agent frowned archly. "You read my report," he replied shortly. "He's a damned murderer, that's what I know."
"Anything more specific than that, Special Agent McCormick?" Colonel Dixon did not look thrilled to have an FBI agent poking around. Frankly, Daniel wasn't too excited by the prospect, either. On the other hand, the FBI had a lot of man-hunting resources they might actually need, as well as the legal civilian authority behind it. The fact that the situation was already a public nightmare would doubtless give the IOA apoplexy.
Agent McCormick glowered slightly, his jaw tightening in annoyance. "I have spent the last few days tracking this man and his so-called 'high priests.' Before that, I was at his compound, walking among the corpses of men, women, and children, children! People who had been fanatically devoted to him, discarded like trash. Eighty four people, just dead. Let me tell you, gentlemen: serial killers are my bread and butter, but this turned my stomach."
The agent looked away for a moment, as if lost in the horrific memory. Daniel knew exactly how he felt; he'd seen more than a few things that haunted him. McCormick shook it off, however, and continued.
"I know that Sydyk was an older man, possibly in his sixties, Caucasian, with white hair and slightly on the paunchy side. I know that he has a specific hatred of the American military, particularly the United States Air Force."
"I wonder why that is," muttered Dixon.
Daniel shot him a look, which the colonel totally ignored.
Special Agent McCormick raised an eyebrow. "It was what led me to Colorado Springs once I noticed the route he and his men were taking. I don't need to remind you gentlemen that there are five military installations in the area, including the Air Force Academy. The hit on my BOLO seems to have proven me right. Now, do you have him or not?"
"Not," Dixon replied immediately. They certainly weren't about to tell an FBI agent that former Vice President Robert Kinsey was still alive (if not exactly well at this point). That would require more explanation than any of them wanted to give. "Sydyk cleared out before we arrived."
"Damn him," McCormick said softly. "I can assure you gentlemen that he won't escape this city. Do you know why he was here?"
"At this particular house? Well, an Air Force enlisted man and his family live here," Daniel remarked, thinking fast. "It's possible that he wanted to use him to get access to secure military facilities."
"Terrorist attack."
"Exactly," Daniel agreed. Eh, close enough. "Look, Special Agent McCormick, there's something else you should know. Sydyk's got his hands on some very dangerous, very classified weapons. There's no telling how much damage he could do, which is one of the reasons the Air Force is involved in this. I wish we could say more, but…" He glanced at Colonel Dixon, who crossed his arms uncompromisingly.
For the first time, McCormick actually seemed surprised. "Really. That's good to know. Thank you for telling me. Anything else?"
Daniel shared a meaningful look with Colonel Dixon. They couldn't leave it at that. One word to the cops, and he'd know they'd left out some very important details.
"We captured some of his men, but we're looking for two more people," Daniel said carefully. "We think that they tracked Sydyk from Washington, same as you. They were here just before we arrived, and we're hoping they can lead us to Sydyk."
McCormick blinked. "And just who are these… individuals?"
Daniel repeated the description that Officer Ayres had given to them. It wasn't exactly very helpful in narrowing things down. They'd have to sit the kid down with a sketch artist. More delays.
The FBI agent seemed to agree with that assessment, to judge by his deepening frown. "Anyone know who that car belongs to?" he asked in sudden non-sequitur.
"What car?" Daniel glanced around in confusion.
"The one I parked next to, with the Washington State plates."
Both Daniel and Colonel Dixon turned to see where McCormick was looking. Sure enough, just visible through the crowd there was a silver sedan with a Washington State license plate, parked innocuously on the side of the road.
"It doesn't belong to Sydyk, I can assure you. They were in a dark blue or black American-made SUV, possibly an Escalade, as recently as Utah," McCormick said matter-of-factly. "It's probably parked nearby. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, gentlemen, I would be glad to run the sedan's license plate through our database and tell you who it belongs to."
It wasn't as far away the airman's house as Methos would like (Madagascar wasn't as far as he'd like at this point), but he needed somewhere that they wouldn't be immediately disturbed. Sydyk's own bolt hole looking over the Cheyenne Mountain access road would do nicely for the moment, but he couldn't guarantee it for long, since Daniel Jackson and his people no doubt had Sydyk's cronies by now.
He had a little time, at least: for the bastards to wake up from the drumming he gave them, and then for one or more of them to be broken by interrogation. Methos hated to rely on fanatic devotion as a shield, because such things could always be manipulated if one knew how.
There was the possibility that Sydyk's former host, the old man, might reveal something, but Methos doubted he'd be strong enough to answer questions in earnest for hours at the earliest.
"Why have you brought me here?" Sydyk demanded, clearly recognizing where they were going.
"Two reasons, actually," Methos replied. "First, to show you that I have been watching you, so don't try anything stupid. Second, because this is the last place Daniel Jackson and his friends will look for you. They'll think that you've scarpered, cut your losses and ran to live and fight another day."
Let Sydyk think that. It was one reason, and a fairly passable one to someone as self-centered as this Goa'uld.
He pulled his car into the driveway. He didn't have a key to the house, but he still had Amanda's lock picks.
"Your time here on this planet has taught you some… interesting… skills, I see," Sydyk noted archly as Methos manipulated the lock with ease.
Slipping the picks back into his pocket, Methos opened the front door and gestured grandly for Sydyk to precede him. "After you."
He most certainly did not want the snake at his back, armed or not. Sydyk, happily, did not argue the point, and strode regally in. Methos frowned slightly – was that a hint of Amanda's slink in that walk?
Keep fighting, he urged her, feeling slightly disturbed by the potential implications.
Inside was a very pleasantly furnished home; nothing too ostentatious or gaudy, the expense was in the subtle touches. No doubt the Goa'uld thought it perfectly dreary. Oh, wait, the family room had an enormous television. Maybe Sydyk had spent its free time rotting its brain on daytime soaps.
"I must examine this body in detail," the parasite declared. "I have never taken a female host before. The feeling is... " Amanda's hands ran up and down her body sensually, "...quite different."
"I can only imagine," he replied, resisting the urge to retch in disgust.
Methos's silent internal horror and revulsion went unnoticed by the creature inhabiting the body of his friend. The Goa'uld merely turned away, dropping articles of clothing as it slinked towards one of the bedrooms.
Methos scooped up Amanda's discarded mobile phone, which had bounced free as Sydyk had shed the coat on the hard marble entry. He dropped it into one of the many pockets of his own coat, which he draped on the couch.
At the same time, he slipped free his concealed handgun. Now was probably the best opportunity he would have to take down the Goa'uld: it was distracted and defenseless, and hopefully would not expect the sudden seeming betrayal after "Tanith" had gone through the effort of saving it earlier. He couldn't afford to wait much longer, nor, he suspected, could Amanda.
Methos tightened his grip on the gun almost unconsciously.
He had to be quick.