Disclaimer, et al. in part 1

Hell, Reclaimed, part 2

O'Neill took point himself and led the group right up to a wire fence enclosing the stronghold. He motioned to McGhee who produced a pair of wire snips and quickly created an opening. One-by-one they crept in keeping their bodies hunched over. Up to now they'd had cover from either small trees and brush or abandoned buildings. Once inside the perimeter there was little to conceal their presence. As they neared the buildings, O'Neill made a sweeping motion down with his hand and dropped to his belly. The others followed suit without question. From here on, they'd have to crawl until they made it to the deep shadows around the buildings.

They needed to pass by three outer buildings to get to the prisoner's location, and it was a certainty that all of them would be occupied. Sticking to the shadows the group split up. McGhee stayed with O'Neill, and Major Barnes swung off to the left wall followed closely by Blacksmith, the other Lieutenant.

Within sight of their target, Barnes flashed a penlight toward O'Neill and motioned that there were two guards at the entrance. O'Neill nodded and motioned back that he and McGhee were set to take the rear entrance. They coordinated a two-minute count. Then they'd go in simultaneously.

The goal was to get in without firing a shot, if they were discovered too soon, none of them would make it out alive. One minute after the deadline O'Neill was standing in the middle of the central corridor admiring the work of his team. Six Iraqis were down, two dead, four likely to be unconscious for a very long time even though the only weapons used had been knives and bare hands. The only other indigenous life forms moving about were the field mice skittering away from the intrusion, as surprised as the guards had been by the silent invasion of their abode.

Finally free to speak O'Neill pointed to the back hallway and a solid-looking bolted door. "In there."

Blacksmith relieved one of the guards of a ring of heavy iron keys and proceeded to try them on the door. The third one fit. The heavy door slid open away from him leaving an additional scrape in the already rutted floor. O'Neill was first in and moved cautiously along the row of cells looking for his friend. Most of the cages were empty but near the back he heard sounds of rustling feet and saw a hand or two clasping at the iron bars.

He motioned for the Lieutenant to come up and begin unlocking the door as he moved all the way to the back, casting only an understanding nod toward the two Americans soon to be released. When he got to the end his shoulders slumped. Toby was not here.

O'Neill turned on his heel and marched back to the open cells just in time to catch one of the emerging men by the collar. He slammed the young man back against the bars and growled as loudly as he dared. "Where is he? The other one that was with you?"

"Sir?" The airman was not much more than a boy, and having been caged for so long, he'd lost weight and muscle. He was as limp as a washrag in O'Neill's hands. "I, I don't know, Sir." He was stuttering either from shock or fear, perhaps some of both. He feared the Iraqis for sure but somehow this irate Colonel had them beat.

O'Neill relaxed his grip but didn't let go for fear the kid would drop all the way to the floor. "Okay. We're getting you out of here, but we'd like to get everyone. Tell me your name."

The young man blew out a shaky breath and slumped but held onto O'Neill's wrist where he'd grabbed him. "Mark. Mark Johnson. I mean First Lieutenant Johnson, Sir."

O'Neill smiled at the cracking of the airman's voice. "Well, Mark, Mark Johnson, do you know who we're looking for?"

"Yes, Sir. It's Toby, right?"

"Good boy. Now, was he here?"

"Yeah, all this time up until five days ago. Some guard took an interest in his Special Forces tattoo and I guess they thought he might have more information than the rest of us. They took him off for interrogation and never brought him back."

At the fallen appearance of O'Neill's face he hurriedly continued. "But he's not dead. They're just holding him somewhere else. I just saw him this afternoon when they had him out in the yard. They let us all out for short periods once a day."

O'Neill brightened. "But you don't know where he is."

"Not exactly, but the guy who runs this place has his headquarters in that large bunker at the opposite end of the compound from here. They've got some holding cells, and it's a safe bet he'd be there."

O'Neill moved his hands and clasped the boy's shoulders. "Good enough, you feel like taking a walk?"

Johnson grinned. "Hell, yeah!"

Getting out proved to be easier than getting in. The guards were still out, and they weren't due for a rotation for another forty minutes. O'Neill took up the six, and just as they left one of the other prisoners called out. The language was a hill dialect O'Neill didn't recognize but the intent was clear. 'Take us too'.

The plan was supposed to have been to get the American prisoners safely away before the Iraqis had any idea they'd been infiltrated. Now with additional prisoners to think about O'Neill wondered at the possibility of compromising his own people. If he released them and left them to find their own route to freedom, the chance they'd all be found out might be increased. Leave them behind, and it was for certain; he knew they'd raise such a ruckus he'd have no time to get his team and their charges to safety.

O'Neill snagged the keys from his Lieutenant and held them up to the man in the cell. He tapped his watch and motioned holding up ten fingers.

The man nodded and answered in English, though with a heavy accent. "Ten, yes, ten minutes. We wait." O'Neill touched his finger to his mouth in a gesture of shushing and tossed the keys through the bars. He watched as the man slinked to the back of the cell and hunched down, whispering to another man in the adjacent cell. The Colonel hoped they valued their freedom as much as he and would be quiet when they made their move.

The now party of six moved quickly from shadow to shadow and then crawled across the open expanse before getting back to the fence. After passing the barrier they picked up their pace as much as they could with the two haggard officers in tow.

After they'd gone past the first hill Barnes paused and radioed to the helicopter waiting just beyond the border. They didn't want to have to wait at the pick up point for too long; he gave them an estimate of forty-five minutes to the rendezvous.

Just as he started to move out, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see O'Neill.

"Major, a moment." He waved McGhee over to join them.

The Lieutenant trotted over to the men and offered a salute. "Ready when you are, Colonel."

Barnes looked from one to the other and frowned. "Ready for what?"

"Slight change of plans here; actually for you, too, Lieutenant. Major, as you may have realized a portion of this mission has not yet been addressed." He swung the state-of-the-art sniper rifle down off his shoulder and let it rest across his left forearm. "The original plan was for McGhee and I to return to the compound where I would set off an alarm on purpose. We'd be waiting on that small rise to the south, and when Bensada showed himself, I'd have maybe one good opportunity to take a shot. McGhee was to be there to watch my six."

Barnes face grew red with anger. "That's what the second helicopter was for, you wanted us to go on ahead with the guys we rescued while you and McGhee did this."

McGhee was still absorbing what the Colonel had said and frowned. "Sir? Was?"

"Exactly, *was*. "

Both Barnes and McGhee looked at their Commander in confusion. O'Neill clarified. "*Was* the plan, not *is*. Toby is still back there. Dwight, you go with Barnes and the others on the first Helo. Get those men to safety. That's a direct order. Radio to the second chopper and tell them to abort."

Barnes nearly yelped a reply. "What? Leave you behind in hostile territory? Alone?"

"Hold on," O'Neill raised a hand to him. "It's just a delay. Tell Sykes I want him to advise the General there's been a slight complication. I'll need twenty-four hours instead of the two we'd planned. Have a Helo at the same extraction point tomorrow night. I'll be there."

"Sir, with all due respect-" Barnes shook is head. "There is no way in Hell-"

O'Neill spat at the man. "Major! What part of 'direct order' do you not understand?"

Barnes held his ground. "Sir, this is not our mission."

"No, it's not. Your mission was to retrieve hostages. This mission is mine." There was dead silence between the three men. Then Barnes eyes fell on the rifle O'Neill was carrying. "And just what *is* that mission Colonel? Are you going after Toby or Bensada?"

"Both."

O'Neill's sudden honesty surprised Barnes, and he lowered his eyes. "This Toby must be a hell of a guy." Even as he said it the Major had a feeling O'Neill would have done the same for any of the men.

"He is. Now go." O'Neill turned and trotted off without a look back.



As he distanced himself from his team O'Neill thought of what he'd just done- stranded himself behind enemy lines with only what he carried in his pack and a few weapons. Far in the distance he noted the low pulsing sound of helicopter blades and sighed; at least his team was getting out. He had a small pang of guilt for the position he'd put Barnes into. His counterpart, Colonel Sykes, would be on that Helo and was sure to take a piece out of the Major's hide for bowing to O'Neill's new and somewhat reckless plan. He shook it off and kept moving, much more slowly now. It was possible the escape had been noticed by this time, and Iraqi soldiers could be anywhere searching for them.

He was nearly back to the compound when a sound in the brush behind him made O'Neill freeze. There were few nocturnal animals about and he was sure the rustling was made by something much larger than a mouse or rabbit. He waited, listening intently until another rustle occurred not ten meters behind him.

O'Neill dropped and spun at the same moment bringing up the MP-5 to shooting position. Only quick reflexes stopped his finger from depressing the trigger when he saw not Iraqi regulars but an American face in the dim light.

"Dammit Barnes! I said go!"

"You said to get those men to safety. I did that."

"That's a fine line you're treading Major."

"As are you." Another voice spoke out of the darkness, and Sykes stepped forward. "I suppose you call this following orders."

"As a matter of fact I do."

Sykes shook his head at the other Colonel. "Jack, I don't know the full extent of whatever your actual orders were, but I can make an educated guess. Did you really think you were going to be left to accomplish what has become a suicide mission?"

"I have a habit of getting out alive, thank you, and it is *my* mission, not yours."

"Yeah, well *my* mission was to get your sorry ass out of the zone. Did you have to go and make it so difficult?"

"You can go back anytime now."

"Not quite. The chopper's already been called off. We've arranged an additional pick up in twenty-four hours, same place, as per your instructions." His voice dripped sarcasm. "You've got that long. You do your thing, and we see if there's a snowballs chance to get Sellers out. If you aren't ready to go when time's up, I'll shoot you myself and carry your ass to the chopper. And I want you to know my knees have been killing me all day, hiking with you over my shoulder won't improve my mood."

O'Neill's glare turned to a smirk and then to a grin as he lowered his head and broke eye contact. "Damn, Sykes, if I didn't know better I'd say you had a wee bit o' stubborn Irishman in you."

Sykes was still glaring and clenching his fists; he was not yet ready to drop the argument. The sight of a Jeep heading in their direction with a searchlight sweeping the area caught the attention of all three men. Immediately their disagreement was forgotten.

"All right. All right." O'Neill's eyes scanned the area for soldiers on foot. "Twenty-four hours. Whatever happens we go. But for now we need to find a place to hide for awhile. We went near several abandoned buildings earlier, I'm sure we could find someplace to stay out of sight." The two officers nodded. They let O'Neill lead on circling away from the Jeep and then straight for the compound and shelter.

Their situation was much more dangerous than before. The Iraqis would be looking for the escaped prisoners but would also be aware that such a thing could not have been done without help. The building O'Neill chose was adequate. The cellar was cool and dry, and there was so much rickety lumber above them it was improbable anyone would dare check out the lower level. Barnes himself voiced a bit of concern, it seemed to him a slight breeze would cause the building to collapse on them.

O'Neill's strategy worked. A patrol did come by and got close enough O'Neill could smell the cigar smoke lingering in their clothing, but they just scanned the wreckage with flashlights and did not enter. After that Sykes produced a handful of energy bars and passed them out in lieu of dinner. They couldn't chance a fire to heat water so instead of coffee and MRE's the three made do with only water from their canteens and the packaged bars.

Hours before first light O'Neill decided to move out, they'd need to find someplace suitable to at least observe the compound and yet remain hidden. Just outside the fence one of the abandoned buildings still held all of its four stories; though there was no roof, it would provide an acceptable vantage point. It also was on the opposite side of the compound from where the team had entered the night before. Hopefully it was closer to where Toby was being held.

O'Neill set up a tripod in the corner of an opening that at one time must have been a beautiful picture window. Tiny shards of glass crunched underfoot as he kicked away the largest pieces to make an area where he could sit and lean his back against the wall. Sykes and Barnes made their own 'nests' of sorts moving a few planks and the odd chunk of plaster or stone to make enough room to get comfortable. They would be there a good while, possibly until it was time to leave.

Once daylight arrived it was evident most of the patrols were being recalled. Sykes mentioned they'd have to keep their ears and eyes alert for any airborne recon since it was most likely that would be the Iraqis next step.



O'Neill concurred and leaned a large plank against the wall over his head to at least partially obscure him if a chopper flew over. Their position proved to be more advantageous than they'd thought. Not too long after sunrise a man was dragged out and deposited in the center of a small courtyard flanked by a bunker on one side and a small but intact building on the other. O'Neill leaned into his rifle scope and confirmed his worst fears. The bound man was his friend Toby, bruised, battered and underweight but still recognizable.

O'Neill watched with interest as a man of some obvious importance emerged from the small building and surveyed the area. It was Bensada himself, and he appeared to be preparing to conduct his interrogation in the open this time. A show meant to entice any onlookers to give away their positions. O'Neill steeled himself for the barbaric scene to come.

His instincts proved right. The Iraqi leader seemed to be asking very few questions and making a great show of every blow he inflicted on the American. They were too far away to hear any dialog, but O'Neill was certain it would be all spoken in English and mostly for their benefit just in case they were nearby.

Instead of continuing to focus on what was happening to Toby, O'Neill switched to binoculars to better survey a broader area, noting the positions of the soldiers and what they seemed to be doing. Right now he was far from being in a position to rescue his friend; all he could do was observe.

The shoving and slapping turned into a hard gut-punch, and Sellers crumpled on his side in obvious pain. Instead of staying down he rolled up on one shoulder and forced himself back up, not an easy task given his hands were tied securely behind his back. O'Neill tossed his binoculars to Sykes and resumed watching the spectacle through his scope.

The Iraqi was becoming angrier and flailed his arms about as he taunted the American. Whatever was being said, Toby must have understood it; the anger was growing is his eyes as well. At one point he leaned forward, and O'Neill was easily able to make out his words by watching the movements of his mouth. 'Fuck you.'

O'Neill's soft chuckle was cut off suddenly when Bensada backed up a few steps and drew a handgun from the holster on his hip. He waved the object with abandon, and when it finally stilled it was pointing directly at Sellers head. The American only blinked in response; he did not cower or try to get away.

Without realizing it, O'Neill had positioned himself to shoot. One hand braced the weapon against his shoulder while the other held the grip with one finger lightly resting against the trigger. He depressed it ever so slightly, just enough to make his fingertip flatten a little against the metal. His breathing slowed and he blinked once, rewetting his eyes. In a moment he would have to make the decision to take the shot or not and allow an execution to take place right in front of him.

It was no contest, really.

The explosive sound of gunfire erupted from two locations simultaneously. One from beyond the compound, somewhere among the cluster of burned out buildings and the second from the courtyard.

Two men fell.

O'Neill held position and quickly verified his shot was true. Bensada was lying flat out on his back with a single bullet hole in his head. The rifle swung a few inches to the right and O'Neill looked for Toby. The American was also down, this time not moving. "Shit."

O'Neill's head lowered, and he closed his eyes, damning himself for taking that one-tenth second too long to make his choice. Toby had paid the price.

The compound was suddenly a rush of activity as soldiers came from all of the buildings at once. Some were dispatched to search the immediate area while the rest secured the compound or tended to the fallen leader. O'Neill checked the scope out one last time and saw an Iraqi kneeling beside his friend. The man waved his hand and called another soldier over as if he'd found something. Toby's body remained still but there was a glint of hope that perhaps the Iraqis shot had not quite found its mark.

Sykes put his hand on O'Neill's shoulder. "We have to go, now."

"Not yet, I just want to see-"

"Now." The second Colonel used the most commanding tone he could muster. "Even if he is, there's nothing we can do. Just hope they still believe he has enough value to let their doctors work on him."

O'Neill blew out a breath and nodded. Of course Sykes was right. He got to his feet and turned away from the window. "Back stairs, there. We'll head back to that cellar. Watch what tracks you leave; they won't have any trouble seeing them in the daylight. Hopefully they'll think we took off into the brush and have long since left the area."

The three Americans quickly exited to ground level and ran deeper into the mass of ruins only to find the place swarming with Iraqi regulars. There were no deep dark shadows to obscure them from view now, and though they were yet free, they were running out of places to go.

Barnes was on the six and suddenly let out a muffled cry. Fearing the worst both Colonels dropped and spun around with their weapons raised to fire. An Iraqi man dressed all in black had Barnes from behind, one arm around his neck and the other holding a long bladed knife to his abdomen. O'Neill and Sykes both froze, each determining their best chance to take a shot.

In a move that stunned all three Americans the unidentified man released his hostage and took a step backwards, extending his arms wide.

"I will not harm you!" He demonstrated by slowly crouching and laying the knife on the ground.

O'Neill straightened up but did not lower his weapon. "Didn't look that way a minute ago."

"Danger comes in many forms. I, too, must protect myself."

"From us?" Sykes frowned at him.

"Shoot first, question later? Is this not an American concept?"

O'Neill glanced at Sykes then to Barnes and back to the Iraqi. "You'll notice some of us aren't picky about timing, we're just as likely to shoot you before, during *and* after questioning you." He waved the muzzle of the gun at the man. "Let's start with name and what do you want?"

The man's breathing was noticeably more rapid. "I am Alianni Um'Sallabon and I *want* you to come with me."

"And why would we do that?" Sykes growled.

"Because unless I am mistaken, you want to live." He looked at each of the Americans individually then continued. "Bensada is a very bad man. You may think you have stopped him. You have not. Even now his soldiers close in on this position. You will not escape."

"Shit." It was O'Neill's turn to growl. If there was one thing he hated with a passion it was being backed into a corner, out of options. "And I suppose you know a way out of this."

"Indeed I do." Alianni gestured toward a side entrance. The sounds of vehicles could be heard getting closer to their location. "We must hurry."

O'Neill was first to lower his weapon. He shrugged. "Show us what you've got."

Immediately the Iraqi was through the door. "Come! Hurry!" He ran not out and away from the buildings but into a large one with a huge mural of Hussein on the one still intact wall. He disappeared into the rubble behind it, and the Americans had no choice but to follow him or take their chances with the soldiers soon to arrive.

Only a short way within, the Iraqi seemed to simply vanish. O'Neill nearly fell into a man-sized opening beneath him as Alianni grabbed his boot.

"Down. You must come down here. The tunnels will take us to safety."

O'Neill shook his head and adjusted the rifle he was still carrying on his back. There was no ladder to facilitate entry into the tunnel, only fallen timbers and rocks. Not one of them made it without a scrape and a splinter or two.

Alianni didn't waste any time; as soon as all four of them were together he started moving using only a dim flashlight to see. O'Neill and the others flicked on their own lights affixed to their weapons and stumbled on behind him, barely keeping up.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, turning one way and then the other as it detoured to connect several buildings via the subterranean maze. O'Neill caught up to their new friend.

"Are you saying Bensada's men don't know about all these tunnels?"

"Of course they do."

O'Neill came to a dead stop. "And we are safe here because?"

Alianni turned and shot a look of irritation. "Because they believe them to be either collapsed or too unsafe to travel."

"Are they?"

The man turned back to the tunnel before him. "Safer here than on the surface."

O'Neill, Sykes and Barnes all looked at each other. "Shit." "Right." "Crap."

They hurried along trailing behind before they lost sight of Alianni's dim torch.

Many feet later and too many twists and turns to count, they noticed they were moving up an incline. After one last right angle turn Alianni stopped and shoved on the wall directly in front of him. Amazingly it gave.

Brilliant white sunlight poured into the black hole making all four men squint and flinch back as if assaulted. Alianni wasted no time, and stepped into the daylight. They emerged one at a time into another bombed out building, so similar to the first they wondered if they'd left at all.

"Ah, good. You see? No soldiers here. Come." He crawled into the driver's seat of what looked like a derelict Jeep and motioned for them to join him.

They settled themselves, O'Neill in front beside Alianni and the other men in the rear seats, all of them glad to have a moment just to sit down. It certainly didn't appear they were going anywhere anytime soon. Alianni pointed to a pile of dusty brown rags on the floor. "It would be wise to cover your faces."

Sykes passed out what turned out to be robes and they each covered up, dutifully, still wondering what for.

Alianni smiled a crooked grin and spoke with a voice full of laughter. "Hold on. This one, she bucks sometimes!" With that he turned the ignition and started the shaky engine. Without warning or explanation he shifted the vehicle into reverse and stomped the gas. It lurched backwards into the paper thin plaster wall of the building and went right through showering all of them with bits of debris.

"Dammit, Ali. What are you doing?"

He grinned again as he turned the wheel. "Going home. My wife and son, they will enjoy meeting you."

O'Neill was speechless. He shut his mouth and closed his eyes as the Jeep jerked forward making all of their heads wobble at the sudden unsteady movement. There was no point in arguing; they didn't even really know where they were at that point. Hopefully this hadn't been a terribly bad mistake.



They were away from any structures in no time bumping on down the dirt road; the cleared area giving way quickly to scrubby trees and overgrown grasses. Unless someone was directly overhead it would have been hard to spot the Jeep or anything else traveling along the rural highway.

The road twisted as much as the tunnels did but soon they came upon a small encampment. Alianni stopped the Jeep by a large tent with brightly colored red and yellow woven cloths arranged as walls and jumped out. Before the first American could follow him; the Jeep was surrounded by twenty armed men who suddenly appeared from all parts of the camp and the surrounding grass. Alianni turned and waved his hand almost without concern. "S'okay. They are here to help us fight Bensada."

The men backed away just enough to give the Americans room to exit the vehicle but did not lower their weapons. Alianni only shrugged by way of explanation. "It has been difficult for a very long time, not just the war."

O'Neill carefully exited the Jeep, one hand on his MP 5 and the other resting on the hilt of his knife under the robe. He followed Alianni to the tent end entered as the man held back the heavy tapestry to admit his guests.

The inside was a typical nomadic abode. The ground was covered with several multicolored carpets, and there was a seating area in the center and in the corner a low table with implements for food preparation. Off against one wall were cots for sleeping. Alianni introduced his wife, Indirae, who carefully kept her face hidden and his young son, Maku, who did nothing but stare wide-eyed at the decidedly non-Arabic looking visitors.

They were given towels and water to wipe the dust off their faces and hands. Alianni then passed out cups and gave them each cold water to drink.

O'Neill eyed his cup and raised an eyebrow; he didn't expect these people to have access to refrigeration given the living accommodations. Alianni noted his unspoken question and answered. "No, we have no modern conveniences. This is from a well that has been controlled by my family for ten generations. The water is clear and always cold, a blessing from God." He made a quick gesture of thanks and took a long draft from his own cup to demonstrate the safety of the water.

The Americans nodded their thanks and drank. After taking a few sips O'Neill set his cup beside him on the floor.

"Alianni, correct?"

The Iraqi nodded.

"Believe me, your hospitality is appreciated, but most unexpected. Why are you doing this?"

The man looked as though it was a subject he did not want to discuss. "In recent years much evil has come to my country. I am one of the few who does not believe this includes the American forces." He picked up a piece of pottery and fiddled with it. "Saddam was as powerful as he was evil; it is sad even now how many are loyal to him. I have chosen not to take that path. Here we are far enough away from Baghdad and its politics that we were left alone to live as we chose. That was until Bensada came."

"My people have been aware of information gathering by the Americans and Turks recently, and I have been watching for something to happen. When my people reported what you'd done, I thought perhaps it was time for me to take action as well. What kind of man would I be to say one thing and do another? It is dangerous to disagree with those in power, but they will remain so unless some of us at least try."

O'Neill inclined his head. "So you helped us. But the 'they're here to help us fight' thing? You know we're not going to do that; we're not here to start another war. Bensada might be out of the picture, but eventually one of his Generals will take his place. Maybe things will be better for you, maybe not."

Alianni leaned back against a beam for support. "You are mistaken. Believe me when I say no one will take his place, for he is not dead."

"Are you telling me I shot the wrong man? I damn well shot someone who looked just like him, and unless he's a lot closer to his god than any of us are, he will only be going one place- into the ground." O'Neill pointed at the floor sharply making his point.

Alianni scrubbed a hand over his beard and thought for a moment. He folded his hands in his lap and gestured using only his thumbs. "Yes, the man you shot *was* Bensada. But you do not know of what I speak. This man, he cannot be killed. I have seen it myself not six months ago. There was a disagreement with the Turks, and someone tried to kill him with a grenade. I swear it landed in his lap and went off. How could anyone survive that? And yet he lives and bears no scars, does not limp."

"Some kind of body armor maybe. I *know* my shot was good."

"Perhaps it was." His tone became hushed and he leaned forward. "There are stories told about this man. He is said to command great magic. Great evil. I have heard of a mysterious box he has in his possession. It is covered with gold and can bring a man back from death itself."

Sykes next glance was at O'Neill, who had shifted over closer to Alianni and was asking him some very odd questions. His brow knit as he listened.

"Gold, huh? How big a box? Is there writing on it? Can anyone here read it? Has anyone here actually seen it? How long after the grenade was he seen alive and well?"

Shocked at first at the American's questions, Alianni grinned as he began to answer them in order. He didn't expect to be believed so easily.

"Yes, gold. Real gold, a sufficient amount to buy a man's soul. Big enough that a man can fit inside it. Yes, strange writing. It is said only Bensada himself and a few trusted aides can read it at all. Perhaps it is an incantation to make the box work. Um, after the grenade? One day, no less than that, only several hours."

"You're not believing this fairy-tale are you?"

O'Neill shut Sykes up with an icy glare and turned back to Alianni. "Ali, this is important. Where is the box now?"

He shrugged as if the question was too simple. "He keeps it in the compound, of course; he never goes far from it."

O'Neill's mouth was frozen in a thin tense line for several moments before he spoke. "You are expecting us to help you. We can do that. But right now it's important we get out of here. If I am to help you, I need my own people to do it. I must go back and contact them."

Sykes mouth gaped at what he'd just heard. He couldn't believe O'Neill had changed his position so suddenly and offered military support to the man.

Alianni licked his lips and nodded. "Your friends, they have magic like Bensada?"

"No." O'Neill shook his head. "It's not magic, Ali, none of it. It's technology."

Barnes was only half listening. "Oh, yeah, like you know all about some big gold box that-"

His eyes meet O'Neill's, and what he saw there made his voice fail. Every eye in the room lit on O'Neill in that instant. Alianni's wife dropped the earthen jar she was holding and apologized quickly as she cleaned up what had spilled. "You do." It was meant to be a question, but Barnes spoke it as a fact.

"You what?" Sykes demanded. "You not only believe this load of bunk, you're verifying it's true?"

O'Neill took a deep breath in and huffed it out before answering. He'd already said too much, just admitting this was not something new to him. "Jeff, look, if it was some fancy new weapon you wouldn't be questioning it would you? It's something I do back in Colorado; deal with technologies like you have no idea. Trust me on this, okay?"

He snorted loudly. "O'Neill, you sure don't come off as a geek. You're surprising the hell out of me."

"Just wait 'til you meet my team."



O'Neill explained to Alianni that a pick up had already been arranged; they only needed transportation to the site. He hesitated to divulge the exact location at first but then decided if the Iraqi wanted them dead he'd already had ample opportunity to do it. Alianni knew the place and agreed to take them there after sundown. Until then the Americans were free to rest and refresh themselves.

Alianni was more than impressed with both O'Neill's attitude and seeming command of the situation and kindly offered the men tents in order to have a private place to relax, as if they were visiting sheiks. O'Neill chose to sleep over all else and only grabbed a few dates to eat then headed to his tent immediately. His clothing was in fair shape considering what they'd been through but still dusty, and with his trust in Alianni growing, he decided it was safe enough to not have to rest fully dressed with boots on. Sykes was being paranoid enough for both of them anyway.

Being midday, it was hot, so he shed his clothing down to his boxers and stretched out on a low cot. He hadn't intended to sleep, but in a few moments he drifted off.

He wasn't even aware he had been asleep until he woke. His sixth sense had kicked in, and what awakened him were the small hairs on the back of his neck coming to attention. Wide-awake but not moving, he maintained the depth and rhythm of his breathing the same as it had been when he slept. Not even an eyelid fluttered but inside his senses were running in high gear.

He listened.

A rustle of fabric. A swish of clothing. The scent of perhaps ginger or some other spice. Someone was definitely in the tent. Very light footfalls. Either the person was small or they were trying to approach covertly.

His suspicious mind chose the latter.

His Beretta was lying beside him, tucked under a corner of the blanket he was lying on; feeling secure or not, access to a weapon was not something he'd concede under any circumstances. It was too warm to be under even a thin layer so he had stretched out on top of the cot, uncovered.

Very slowly, knowing full well he was being watched, O'Neill slid his fingers around the grip of the handgun.

~TBC