Chapter Summary: SG-1, a letter, a box and a padlock.
Part XI:
It was a concerned General Hammond who met SG-1 in the Gateroom.
"Welcome back, SG-1. Colonel O'Neill, we need to talk. Everyone else, report to the infirmary. We'll debrief in an hour."
SG-1, leaving the Gateroom, didn't see the note that Hammond handed to Jack. They didn't see Jack's face pale… and they didn't see the pair head through the Control Room and up the stairs toward the General's office.
Jack's mind was only half-aware of the debrief on planet PX… something, barely even recognizing the fact that his teammates were describing the most recent mission. It wasn't like there was all that much to describe, since absolutely nothing had happened. Jack had more important things to worry about – like his earlier conversation with the General.
"Jack, this message was phoned in to the SGC just over two hours ago, coming directly to the main switchboard… by way of the unlisted number. Whoever this person is didn't just look up the contact information for Deep Space Radar Telemetry; he knew who he was calling. Now, that, normally, wouldn't be a problem."
"But…?"
"The caller's name isn't ringing any bells with me – neither is the code that he used. The message itself… would lead me to believe that there is a Goa'uld in southern California. Since the message was addressed to both of us… take a look."
Curious, O'Neill took the message, reading it. Face paling, he read it again, and then a third time. Walking toward the General's office, Jack continually re-read the message, only one thought on his mind. How?
"Jack?"
Shutting the office door behind him, O'Neill answered, "Harris isn't familiar, and that's definitely not an SGC code – you already knew that – but I recognize it. Sir, in Iraq…" He paused a moment.
"I know what happened, Jack, You were captured and spent four months as a guest of the Iraqi military before escaping."
"Ah… well… speaking of that escape… I…ah… oh, hell. I got out of the camp on my own, yes, but I hadn't even made it more than a couple hundred yards before the rest of the guards figured out I was missing. If you want the truth, I was damned lucky. Intel had figured out where I was, and they sent in a second team to come get me. If that team hadn't been coming in at that exact time… I would have either been dead or wishing that I was. I was lucky, and nothing but. Anyway…"
He paused for a moment. "Anyway," he continued, "I figured I owed them, so if they ever needed someone to save their asses like they saved mine… this code was a call for backup, sir."
"And Harris?"
"I don't know, General. I have no idea how he could have gotten a hold of this or how he could know what the Goa'uld are. There was no one named Harris on the retrieval team. Actually, at the moment, there is no retrieval team, period. There's no one left. Two of the five died while working here – Kawalski and Ferretti. The third died in a car crash, the fourth in a barroom brawl… and the fifth… well, that was a little strange. Apparently, he was killed by someone with a vampire fetish – two holes in the neck and no blood in the body. Anyway, I can't see any of them mentioning this to someone else. All of it was classified."
"You're concerned about a possible security breach, then?"
"Among other things, though I'm a hell of a lot more worried that this caller is right and there really is a Goa'uld loose on the planet."
"Jack?"
There was no response from Colonel O'Neill, still lost in thought.
"Colonel!"
His head snapped up and he realized that while he'd been remembering that conversation, he'd obviously missed something in this one.
"Sir?"
Hammond shook his head. "Brief your team, Colonel. It looks like you're going to California."
Two hours previous… The Magic Box
I should be angry, Buffy thought, dropping the padlock on to the table – along with the portion of the door still attached to said padlock.
Xander's eyes asked for forgiveness but held no apology… and she understood why. The letter that he'd written earlier in the day – after failing to convince her to stay behind while he went scouting – explained his reasons. And he did it without actually revealing anything he wasn't supposed to – gotta admire that, right?
The nod she gave him was from one warrior to another, acknowledging and accepting his reasons. The truth was that he had tried to talk her out of going… and what he'd ultimately done had been the only remaining method of keeping her out of harm's way.
It galled her to think that there was something the Scoobies might not be able to handle – they had just defeated a Hell god, after all – but if Xander was right…
Unfolding the page in her hand, she read the letter again.
Buffy,
If you're reading this right now, either we're laughing our asses off… many years from now, or you're pissed at me. I'm hoping that I've managed to talk you out of going on recon and that this letter is now useless. If I haven't, then you're most likely locked in my storage unit, in the basement of my apartment building.
If there had been any other way, Buffy, I would have taken it. I know that you won't have a hard time getting out – the door wasn't exactly built with you in mind, after all – but by the time you do, Spike and I should be out of sight… and out of "spidey-sense" range.
So, why didn't I want you to follow? That one's easy, Buff-ster. Spike's words have stirred a few of soldier guy's memories, and if the leader is what I think he/she is, I can guarantee that we don't have the equipment or the training needed to eliminate the threat. I've got the knowledge… or rather, HE does, but improvising an attack plan with these guys isn't always the best idea. And, well… with them, being captured is a hell of a lot worse than being dead. If they take Spike, I suspect that they would kill him – it would be a mercy. If they capture me… well, it's been a good life. If they get YOU, then we've all got a problem.
If they get Willow and/or Tara, the world is pretty much fucked – sorry about the language, but soldier guy's memories were pretty damn clear on what these things do to people… and they could do a lot of damage with a witch or two on their side, however unwilling.
And then there's Giles, with his knowledge of magic… and what might as well be an index to the entirety of the Watcher store of knowledge in his head. He may not know every detail, but I'd be surprised if he doesn't generally know where to find it.
Buffy, I locked you in, made you stay, because if I don't get back, you need to take Giles, Tara, Willow and Dawn and get as far away from Sunnydale and this cult as possible. There is contact information at the bottom of this letter – a phone number, some names, and a few things you need to say. If I don't make it back tonight, CALL these people, recite what I've written there.
There is a box in my apartment, hidden in a crawlspace between my floor and the ceiling of the apartment below mine. In the morning, bring Willow with you (she has a key), and get the box. You have to go to the closet in my bedroom. Move the footlocker (gotta love military surplus). Underneath is a door (sort of – it's not exactly in the original building blueprints). Open it, and the box is right there. It's magically sealed, but Wills can open it. Make the call AFTER you have the box. Arrange a time to meet with either of the officers named… anywhere other than Sunnydale. When one or both of them show, hand over the contents of the box. The key thing is the notebook… it's right on top.
Anyway, that's the best I can do right now, other than pray that I make it back in one piece. Stay safe, Buffy. LIVE. You save the world on a regular basis… but if I'm right… this is an entirely different game than we're used to dealing with. Please… listen to me and do as I've asked. Make sure they're safe.
Love,
Your Xander-shaped friend
It was hours before Buffy could bring herself to get some sleep, curled up on Giles' living room couch. Her mind whirled and her gaze wandered between the letter and the box – Xander had retrieved it himself when everyone had decided to crash at the Watcher's place, saying that he didn't feel comfortable sleeping without knowing it was safe. Buffy had a suspicion that they would need whatever was in it soon, anyway. Giles had given Willow and Tara his bedroom for the night and had stretched out in the den. Anya rested in the comfortable chair, feet up on the ottoman.
Xander had chosen a simple space on the floor, making a bed out of a few blankets. Buffy couldn't help but notice that his space had a clear view of the door… and that Dawn had chosen to curl up at his back, trusting in her surrogate older brother to keep her safe from the demons only he knew about.
Spike, being wide awake, simply elected to grab the paper and some dinner and make himself at home at the kitchen table.
Early the next morning, long before the shop was normally due to open, Giles was back at the main table. The sign he'd placed in the window stated clearly that the shop would be closed for the next few days, and he'd surrounded himself with research, not certain what he was looking for, but needing to do something.
His focus was jarred somewhat when Xander – who had entered unnoticed by the Watcher – placed a cup of tea on the table next to the older man's hand. "Thank you, Xander."
Xander simply nodded, his focus on the door, where three sharp raps had just sounded. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but Giles had no trouble hearing him. "They're here."
Part XII