Author's Note/Disclaimer: I have received permission from all members of SGX to use their characters in this story. Only one of these characters belongs to me. The rest are © their owners (see below). SG-1 does not belong to us, nor are we making any money from this. We do it solely for our own enjoyment.
Cast:
Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Bass: RaceGlen
Lance Corporal Jeremy Thomas: Jeremy J.
Lieutenant Robert 'Bobby' Dalziel: Brit
Lieutenant Bekki Eralc: Clare
Milo Kinski: WhiteJazz
Tamlyn Gregory: Mayhem
Tayte: RedVelvetDragon
Viper: Egypt
*March 31st, 2003 08:50 Hours*
"Absolutely not. There is no way your going to get approval for these people."
Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Bass stared at the older man across the fine oak desk that separated them, his expression never wavering from the calm look that had graced his rugged features since this had started. His eyes left the General's for a moment, just long enough to glance down at the open manila folders that were spread out atop his commanding officer's desk. There were about six in all, including the two that were set apart from the main group. It was those two that had aroused such a heated response from General Hammond.
"You're not having known criminals attached to this unit." he bellowed, "I know you. You were given carte blanche to form your team from Police, Military, and civilian units but this is absolutely unacceptable!"
If Bass had cared what his commanding officer had thought half the time he'd probably be a Brigadier General by now instead of still waylaying in a Gunny position. However, it was not his sunny attitude that had won him the opportunity for this command, it was his skills. Although skills could get you far in the military they couldn't do it all. You had to have an attitude as well. Bass had an attitude...it was just the wrong one.
"After the DC disaster I was given freedom to make up whit unit from anyone I picked." his voice was calm, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Hammond. "The President hand picked me to do this job, to do the jobs that none of the other SG teams will...or can do. Don't get me wrong, sir. I have nothing but respect for the other commanders but this is a completely different creature we are dealing with here. These people are hand picked to do the jobs that YOUR asking SG-X to do. If I can't go in there with the best that is available to me then what's the point of going in there at all? We need this unit to be made up of the best. If it's not then what's the point in even creating such a team?"
Hammond leaned back in his chair, a sigh slipping past his lips. As soon as that sigh slipped from those weathered lips Bass knew he had him. It was just a matter of convincing him that there was no alternative. That was always how it was with those in command. They never wanted to admit what was always right in front of them...the best people for the job were usually the worst scum of the universe.
"You do realize that it is going to be weeks, maybe even months before we can sanction SG-X to go through without a proper briefing."
Bass grinned, cracking his knuckles as he leaned forward. His large, left hand reached forward, his index finger reaching out to tap the picture on the nearest folder.
"We don't need to be ready right away." his eyes never left Hammond's as his hand fell still on the desk, "We have no scheduled missions. There's no burning need to take out Anubis, not after what SG-1 did to him last time. The Tok'ra and the Jaffa are keeping those damned snakes in check pretty much as it is. We're just going to give them a little...nudge in the right direction when we're ready. I'll get them trained Hammond, you let me worry about that. Right now we just need to get them together."
"These two here," Hammond pointed to the two folders that were set apart from the others, "They are going to be hard to locate. You do realize that don't you?"
"I am aware of that, sir. We'll need an insurgent strike team and a few weeks to get the one. The other...she shouldn't be too hard to locate. Apparently she's already been apprehended. Someone's doing our job for us. We'll get the military personnel in here and brief them. As for the others, let them come in blind. It's harder to say no that way."
Bass gets to his feet, snapping off a salute despite the fact that both he and Hammond are out of uniform at the moment. The General wore a suit, left over from the brunch he had with an old military friend. Bass was sporting a leather jacket, making him look more like the villain than the hero. It suited him though, his attitude more often being that of the villain. Anything to get the job done.
He gathered up the folders from the General's desk and headed for the door. Stopping as his hand wrapped around the doorknob he glanced back at the General, a wry smile splitting his features.
"Besides, you know what will happen if they do say no."
*X* *X* *X* *X*
"We have an eye witness that says they saw you leaving the scene of the crime around the time that the coroner says the victim died."
Frank Harper's only answer was silence, adding to his frustration and impatience. He had been interrogating this suspect for three hours and during the whole time they had not said a word. It was starting to get to him. He had never been faced with such an obstinate opponent.
"What do you know about Mr. Martin's death?"
Again silence, the only sound in the room was a groan from him as he ran his fingers through his hair. How could someone just set there for three hours and not say a word? Not even to protect themselves. This was no ordinary human. They had to have been trained in some way. No normal human could set still and silent for three hours while they were verbally attacked and accused of murder. How the hell did this person do it?
It was finally too much and Frank's temper got the better of him. With a roar of frustration and anger he reached across the table and grabbed the suspect by the front of their silk coat, hefting them out of their chair and pulling them almost all the way across the table. His anger and rage was meet with only a calm expression and clear eyes.
"I KNOW YOU KNOW SOMETHING! WHY WON'T YOU TALK?"
Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the door as it banged open hitting the wall. It was soon followed by the booming voice of the captain.
"FRANK!"
The detective ignored the larger man, his eyes fixed on the bluish-green ones of the person in his grasp.
"Let her go Frank! NOW!"
With another groan he shoved the woman away from him and toward the floor as hard as he could. To his surprise and dismay she landed on her feet, her calm features still taunting him as the captain pulled him out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
"She knows something captain," he replied, his eyes boring into the man, "I know she does."
"And that gives you a right to beat it out of her?"
Frank frowned, his anger and frustration still on the surface. He hadn't even touched her until that moment...even though he had wanted to.
"All you have is the testimony of a half blind witness. You can't place her at the scene, you don't have any DNA evidence, you don't even have a way to link her to the victim. All you have is circumstantial evidence. No jury in their right mind would convict her."
"I know she's connected to this. All I need is time to prove it..."
"You don't have any more time Frank," the captain interrupted, "She's being released."
"WHAT?!"
"You heard me! She's being released. We can't hold her anymore. We don't have anything to hold her on."
Frank's entire body twisted as he spun around and rammed his fist into the wall behind him. His entire case just went down the tubes...and he couldn't stop it.
"Who ordered the release?" he asked, his eyes focused on the dark haired woman who was now being led across the department floor.
"I don't know," the captain said, following Frank's line of vision, "All I know is that the orders came from high up...VERY high up."
A growl slipped past Frank's lips as he watched the woman. He knew in his gut that she had something to do with this death...but he had no way of proving it and with the order to have her released he knew he would never again be able to find her. It didn't help him any to see that she was being released to a group of suits. He knew something was going on here...but he couldn't change it and he couldn't stop it. Instead, all he could do was watch as the woman was led out of the police station and put into an unmarked car.
*X* *X* *X* *X*
Tamlyn observed the building across the street warily. She honestly had a bad feeling about this job and had almost walked away. However, someone had paid her a *lot* of money for this and, while she had no scruples and next to no morals, she did pride herself on her professional courtesy. Both of which demanded that you always finish a job you start.
She looked over the dark, quiet building once more before crossing the street and going down the alley next to it. She went to the motorcycle she had parked there an hour before and removed a small bag from the back. Securing it to her belt she climbed up on the back of the bike and grabbed the fire escape ladder. She left the bike where it was. Someone *might* take it, but it was hidden from view pretty well. Besides, if it was stolen she'd steal another- just as she'd taken that one.
As she climbed the fire escape she briefly wondered if she actually "owned" anything. Probably not, at least not legitimately
She reached the roof and pushed any additional thoughts out of her head. Crouching down low she listened for any sounds that were out of place. Hearing none, Tamlyn crept over to a roof access door. Pulling out a small electronic device she placed it next to the key pad on the lock. After pushing three buttons, she waited a few moments while her "key" worked to find the lock combination while scrambling the program that recorded and logged entries and exits. The door clicked open and she stepped inside.
She turned on a red-lensed flashlight and glanced down the stairway. Her information on the building's security system was pretty thorough. She walked quietly and swiftly down to the 5th floor. Her instructions had included a specific item in the far back room down the hall from the stairway entrance. The door was locked and she saw no external wires or power source connected to it.
Pulling a small kit off her belt, she grabbed two small, thin, metal spikes and inserted them into the lock. It took about 30 seconds to maneuver the pins and open the door with a barely audible 'click'.
She stepped into the hall, and took a moment to listen again. She was being paranoid tonight but she still had that gut feeling that all was not as it seemed, the hairs on the back of her neck had been on end all night. She took one last moment to decide and finally moved stealthily down the hall into the office where, even in the darkness, she could sense someone in the chair at the desk.
She averted her eyes quickly, as with a click light flooded the room. Her eyes didn't take long to adjust to it. Once they did she found herself face to face with a man who was occupying the chair behind the desk.
"I *so* do not need this right now." she rolled her eyes for emphasis.
She turned on her heel to walk back out when several heavily armed men came out of the surrounding shadows, all pointing their weapons at her.
She blinked, turned back around to the man, and placed a hand on her hip.
"All for li'l ole me? You *really* shouldn't have."
Why did she get the feeling she was being set up... again?
*X* *X* *X* *X*
Lieutenant, The Honorable, Robert St John Dalziel slammed his fist down on the desk.
"It's ridiculous and I won't stand for it."
The silver haired man sitting behind the desk sighed wearily. He wore the thick gold braid on his cuffs that designated the rank of Admiral in the Royal Navy.
"Bobby, there's nothing I can do about it. The orders come from the very top. I've heard that the Home Secretary and the Prime Minister are involved."
Bobby took no notice. "I was pulled from my course at a moments notice and told to report to a General Hammond at some hick town called Cheyenne Mountain. What the Hell is that about?"
The older man tried to calm him down, to no avail.
"I don't know, my boy." He shook his head, his graying hair shifting slightly in the artificial light. "I'm sure it's a little more important than a straight forward liaison job."
"Dad, do you know how long I waited to get on that course? The `Perisher', the one course that every submarine First Lieutenant would give his eye teeth to get on. I'm guaranteed Lieutenant Commander and my own boat if I pass, and I will pass." He smiled wryly at his father. "I've never asked you to use your influence before but I'm asking you now. Please, dad."
"It's way above my sphere of influence," his father said with a defeated sigh, "You're just going to have to put up with it."
Robert turned and without another word stormed out of the office, ignoring his father's secretary. He normally flirted outrageously with her but today he wasn't in the mood.
He exited the building and jumped into the British racing green Triumph TR7 that he'd parked illegally in the Defense Minister's space outside. He pulled away smoothly and drove through Whitehall. He needed to get on to the open road and put his foot down, that always made him feel a bit better.
He took a Motorway turn off as soon as he could and in less that ten minutes he was cruising in the outside lane at a steady hundred miles an hour. It was then that he heard the sirens behind him. Cursing colorfully he pulled over to the hard shoulder and watched as the police car pulled up behind him. One of the motorway policemen got out and walked up to the left side of the car.
"Good afternoon, Sir." The policeman gave the TR7 an appreciative look. "Do you know how fast you were going?"
"Do I look like a total idiot," Bobby roared, his patience completely gone, "Of course I know how fast I was going. Cut the crap, write the ticket and I'll pay the fine."
"Could I see your license, Sir?" The policeman was as cool as Bobby was irate.
Taking out his wallet and handed the small piece of plastic to the officer who glanced at it and used his radio to briefly speak to his colleague who still sat in the car behind Bobbie's.
"Just got to check you on the computer, Sir." the officer said with a nod.
They waited a few minutes before the radio squawked. The patrolman answered it; his eyes opened wide in surprise at what he was hearing. To Bobby's utter shock he closed his notebook and put it away.
"That'll be all, sir. Drive safely now." the man said as he handed Bobby's license back to him and walked back to the police car.
~What the hell?~ Bobby thought as the police car drove away. He was totally mystified. Never had he gotten out of a ticket like that.
Unsure of what to do or even if there was anything he COULD do he pulled back onto the motorway and made his way to his small apartment in Portsmouth without further incident. He almost fell over the suitcases stacked in the narrow hallway when he came in the door. With a look of confusion he made his way into the apartment, his eyes scanning the rooms for an explanation.
"Liza," he called. "What's going on?"
His girlfriend came out of the kitchen, her eyes red and swollen. She'd obviously been crying for some time.
"You absolute Bastard." She screamed, throwing a photograph at him. He picked it up and looked at it.
"Lizzy, love, that isn't me." he said as he stared at the revealing photo.
"Well it damn well looks like you, I don't know who she is though. You however, would appear to know her intimately." A car horn sounded. "Now get out of my way, my taxi's here."
He couldn't stop her, didn't even know how to stop her. all he could do was watch astonished as she walked out of his life. He had no idea what was going on but he was pretty certain that it was connected in some way with the job in the U.S. As much as he hated to admit it, there was only one way to find out.
*X* *X* *X* *X*
Milo Kinski followed the coroner, Dr. Martin, down a long, dimly lit corridor. He could smell the antiseptic and cleaner used on the floor. It nauseated him. The coroner's footfalls clattered loudly, followed by Milo's meeker, sneakered steps. This was the fourth time he'd been called down here in three years. It never got any easier.
Dr Martin pushed open the doors to the morgue leading Milo inside, a shiver running down his spine. It was always so damned cold in here, more than he was sure was necessary.
Dr. Martin walked over to the bank of lockers and opened the one in the very center. He slowly pulled out the tray.
"This one isn't pretty, Milo," Dr Martin said.
Milo nodded, stepping over to the coroner's side, his fingers picked at his frayed denim jeans.
"Never is, is it?" he asked nervously.
Dr Martin nodded as he unzipped the body bag. Milo made himself look at the face, even as he fought back a wave of nausea. The half-gone face of Kurt Miller, one of the many men Milo counseled at the Support Center, stared back at him.. Miller was one of the few men who knew what Milo had gone through in Special Forces, and now Kurt was laying in the morgue, dead of a self-inflected gunshot wound. Another wave of nausea overtook him but he managed to fight it back as well.
"Is that him?" Dr Martin asked.
Milo nodded, swallowing hard to keep his stomach settled.
"Yeah, it's Kurt. Jesus, I never thought he'd eat his own pistol like that."
"I'm sorry, Milo," Dr Martin said, zipping the bag back up.
"Yeah," Milo said dully.
Without waiting for the coroner to say anything else he spun around and marched out of the morgue, practically running back down the corridor toward the exit. Once outside on the street he found a trashcan and promptly threw up in it. Breakfast, lunch and his candy bar snack were quickly in the bottom of the can. Milo wiped his mouth, ignoring the stares of passersby. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered. Every time another vet took his own life Milo felt like he'd failed. Then he hated them for having the strength to end the suffering while leaving Milo behind with the memories of it all.
The only thought that comforted him at the moment was that he wouldn't have to ID another body, not like this. He had other plans, plans that would hopefully give him back what had been taken away so long ago.
It was a quick walk back to his apartment where he grabbed the small duffel bag he'd packed that morning. Everything else was going to be sold, as is, and the money given to the Veteran center he had been working for. It wouldn't be much but maybe it would help someone where he had failed. He told himself that he didn't care anymore, despite the fact that he knew it was a lie. Still, he had made up his mind. Even if this new job didn't work out he was never coming back to New York.
He left the apartment, going to the curb outside and hailing a cab. He instructed the driver to take him to the airport, not even bothering to look back as the car sped off towards his destination. Several hours later--after a long wait to get through the security protocols--he walked toward his flight terminal. Two men in suits, the same two men from yesterday, were waiting for him. The three boarded the plane, taking their seats and settling in for the four hour flight.
*X* *X* *X* *X*
Tayte was sitting on the transport plane feeling very out of sorts. This wasn't her usual quick, odd job. This was going to be a steady paycheck. She ran it over in her mind again. There WAS a paycheck involved right? she pushed the thoughts from her mind and returned her attention to the scenery that was passing below her as the plane made it's way through the sky. Absently she wondered where they were going, her mind wandering over the possibilities. Looking at her watch, she estimated she'd been sitting there for at least five hours or so. This place was definitely Western US. She noticed that the plane started to descend a bit and returned her attention to the window.
~Mountains?~ she thought to herself.
She heaved a sigh and leaned back in the chair to relax as the plane began it's final descent.
"I'm so ashamed of your young lady." The last words her father spoke to her rang in her ears.
He was professor of Archeology at MIT and she'd been his little protégé. Well, she liked to let him think that anyway. Oh she loved the subject too, but honestly Archeology pay was pretty much nonexistent. Grudgingly she'd taken small incognito archeological jobs, otherwise known as 'Smash and grabs'. She hated the term 'Pot Hunter' though. She'd go in with a small crew, strip down a site, gather the artifacts and then bury the site and either sell off the loot or turn it over to an employer for pay. Even she found it disgusting, robbing the past...but what else could she do in a society that deemed Archeology frivolous and useless. She always argued that if they didn't like it, they wouldn't miss it. That was until her Father started pontificating about morals.
Earlier that day, as she sat in her father's office on campus waiting for another tongue lashing in walked some men with weaponry that would make it hard for her to refuse their invitation to take a walk. Her father even held the door open for them. She didn't understand it then, and to be honest she still didn't. The had explained that she'd been recruited for a special team of some kind but they wouldn't tell her anymore. Apparently not even her father knew more than that.
Tayte frowned. What team?
"God I hope its not some kind of Heaven's Gate Cult." She said aloud.
The plane started to make its final descent and moments later was sitting on the tarmac. Tayte was then escorted out of the plane and placed in an unmarked black car. Despite her wish to know more all she could do was set quietly and wait until they arrived at their destination. Hopefully everything would be explained than.
*X* *X* *X* *X*
Bekki Eralc glanced at the transfer letter in her hand.
~No!~ her mind roared, ~It was so unfair.~
She had finally, finally been given command of her own unit and now this? There was no way she was going to take this without a fight. She had worked hard for that command, and now it was going to be taken away from her. Not if she could help it.
She stormed down the corridor to the Squadron. Leaders office and barged in with out knocking.
"Permission to barge in sir!"
"What's up Lt?" the man behind the desk asked as he glanced up at her.
"It's this," she slammed the letter down on his desk. "I worked hard for this promotion and my own unit. You know I have. Now I get this. Demotion to Staff Sgt. and transferred to some way out place in the U.S. that no one has ever heard of. WHY?"
Squadron Leader Thomas sighed. "The orders came from high up. There is nothing I can do."
"How high? Who do i have to go and kill?"
"The PM."
Bekki stopped short. "Sorry?"
"You heard. You've been hand chosen for this mission. They need a good doctor and you're it."
"For crying out loud Sir," she threw up her hands in exasperation, "Don't they have doctors in the States?"
"They want you Bekki."
She sighed. "But demotion?"
"I'll try to get that sorted. Go home and pack Lt. Your flight leaves at 1730 hours."
Bekki stormed back to her office and threw a few things into a bag, then she went home and packed. The Air Force car came and picked her up at 1630 and drove her to the airport. There a tall man in civvies met her. "Lt Eralc?"
"Yes and you are?"
"Later Lt. This way please. Your private jet is waiting. Squadron Leader Thomas said to tell you that the decision on your rank rests with your new CO in the States but he did put in a good word for you. The chances of you remaining a Lt are pretty good."
*X* *X* *X* *X*
Sgt. 1st class Jeremy Thomas was bored. He had spent the past four days setting behind the same table listening to lies and half-truths. He was not allowed to defend himself, that was his Lawyer's job and to be honest he was failing miserably at it. The jury was stacked against him, everyone of the twelve members either friends of the general or his ex-CO's. He shook his head, causing the long braid at his neck to flop slightly at his back. With a sigh he scanned the room for any sign of salvation and thought back to how he had gotten into this predicament.
Three weeks ago SEAL team 1 was stationed in Afghan hunting terrorists and their sympathizers. The team was based out of a small village in the foothills of the mountains. They had been there for about a week, and had come to look fondly on the town. The villagers were kind and had helped them with finding hideouts and information on their targets. The women and children had taken to cleaning and cooking for the Seals while the men of the village helped them with their patrols. It was a peaceful co-existence…until the army showed up. The Army General gave the order to have everyone in the village who was not American arrested on charges of conspiring with the terrorists. The Seals balked and gave their complaints but General would heat none of it. Begrudgingly, the Seals followed the General's orders…except for Jeremy. He stood off to the side, deciding to have nothing to do with this betrayal. Outraged at the way that the Seal was acting the General did what all Generals did…he got in Jeremy's face. It was then that Jeremy's short temper finally reached it's limit. Without so much as a word he decked the General and then stole his Jeep while everyone else just stood and watched.
It took the MP's four days to catch up with him. By that time he had already been in Italy for three days. He was arrested, slapped and shipped off to America to face Court-Martial. For the prosecutors all they had to do was show the Judge his file, which was full of demotions, lack of discipline, and innumerable other little tid bits that in and of themselves would have gotten him kicked out. All his lawyer could do was show all of Jeremy's medals, which included 3 Navy Crosses, a Medal of Honor, and the promotions…all of which Jeremy had eventually lost. Of course the court didn't care about the medals and the commendations. What they had focused on were his numerous charges of insubordination.
After four days Jeremy found himself still setting behind the same table looking at a judge that suddenly seemed bothered by something. No matter how many times he went over the trial in his head he couldn't figure out what it was that had the judge so…puzzled. It all seemed clear to him, no matter how badly that clarity was for him. At a loss he finally decided that the Judge's problem was that the maximum sentence for this offence was not nearly enough in the Judge's eyes.
After what seemed like forever the Judge heaved a sigh and looked up, his eyes focusing on the defendant.
"Sgt. 1st Class Thomas," he stated, his voice booming in the small room as Jeremy rose to his feet…prepared to meet his fate, "This court has found you guilty of the charges placed before you. However, in lieu of the sentencing…I have been asked to consider an alternative."
Jeremy most likely looked as confused as he felt. In all his time in the service he did not know of anyone who he had been close enough to that they would come to his defense. Especially when charged with a crime like this.
"I can either sent you to Leavenworth to serve out the maximum 15 year sentence, serve you with a dishonorably discharge, and leave you to live the rest of your life in disgrace or…" the Judge paused here, his eyes searching over the paper before him once more to be sure he was reading this right, "I can transfer you to the Marine Core, demote you to Lance Corporal and ship you off to join a new unit who's location and name will remain unnamed on the record of this court. When considering your exemplary service in the past I am inclined to believe that with the right CO you can still be a great service to this Nation. However, it has been shown in the past that forcing you to do something has never brought about good results. Therefore, I am leaving this choice up to you."
Jeremy stood there in shock, the judge's words slowly sinking in. Once he had absorbed everything that the judge had said he tried to think of an answer. Of course the answer was simply to anyone…it just took him a while to form them in his mind so that he wouldn't sound like a complete idiot. It then took another few moments to get his mouth to work.
"Your honor," amazingly he spoke clearly, his body rigid as he faced the judge, "I would prefer the second choice. But…" he relaxed a little, a frown creasing his face, "Do I have to become a jarhead?"
The judge frowned and refused to answer to Jeremy's comment. With a sigh he gathered his papers.
"The judgement of this court is that Sgt. 1st Class Jeremy Thomas will be transferred to the Marine Cores, demoted to rank of Lance Corporal and transferred to the requesting unit. So finds the court."
With that the judge smacked his gavel on the pulpit and rose to his feet. Jeremy stood there still in shock for a moment before he was ushered out of the room into another where he signed papers, gathered his few belongings into two duffle bag. From there he was practically shoved out the back doors into a waiting car that then drove him to the airfield where he was equally unceremoniously stuffed into a small Air Force plane with blacked out windows. It took until after take off before Jeremy regained his usual witt. He was still trying to figure out what had truly happened and who had come to his rescue.
With a sigh he turned his attention to the three Air Force Special Officers that were accompanying him. A grin crossed his face as he looked at all three.
"Which one of you has the peanuts?"