Hostage Situation

Part Three

An hour later, the office was the only quiet place in the building, the door shut against the beehive of activity that represented the community hall outside.

Daniel had a bad feeling about this. And it was only getting worse.

Firstly, there was the fact that this guy had an axe to grind with Jack, and the implication that he knew about SG-1 and the SGC. Then there was the matter of just how he'd gotten hold of the Goa'uld technology. Finally, there was the jurisdictional storm brewing outside the office in the community hall as the SGC personnel moved their equipment into the hall, displacing both Police and SWAT as they did so.

SG-1 had taken over what looked to have been the office of the centre administrator. It was a far cry from the lap of luxury, but it afforded some measure of peace and privacy. Jack had taken one look at the office upon taking over the premises, and made the sardonic comment that someone certainly liked beige. The walls, chair, desk, and carpet were all varying shades of the colour, and the sole contrast in the room was the plastic plant that someone had put in the corner as a concession to the eyes.

The office wasn't just the only quiet spot in the place; it was also the only place where no jurisdictional heads were presently being butted. And that was mostly because Jack had just shut the door in Shanahan's face with a terse, "Classified," as he tried to follow Sam in.

Shanahan wasn't looking too pleased as he backed away from the room and joined his colleagues over by the windows. He seemed to be enduring some good-natured teasing by his fellow officers of the Police Force, accompanied by a few knowing smirks and elbows.

Inside the room, Jack was all business as he turned to Sam. "Carter?"

"No tech missing, sir," Sam reported, briskly. "However, we don't have a status on the remaining pieces of the mothership off Alaska."

Jack frowned as he sat back down on the table, one leg hooked over the table leg, the other balanced down on the ground. "I thought we had someone monitoring those."

"We did," Sam said. "After being upstaged by Thor at the disclosure meeting eighteen months ago, Senator Kinsey was looking at any way to get back at the SGC Project. The funding for half a dozen research projects was cut, and the monitor station was one of the casualties. The General reinstated it as soon as he could, but there's a two-month gap in the records."

"We should have tossed Kinsey through the wormhole to the Aschen planet; him and his goddamned treaty..." The mutter was darkly vicious before Jack looked up. "Have you ever managed to get a force field working before, Carter?" It wasn't an accusation, but she stiffened anyway.

"No."

"Okay, so if you couldn't, how could he?"

Daniel personally felt that the primary question was more to do with exactly how Retired Colonel Michael Stambaugh had managed to get hold of Goa'uld technology. Michael Stambaugh had never been told about the Stargate program or the technology it produced. He should never have been able to get hold of force-shields - certainly he should never have been able to make them work.

He'd just opened his mouth to point this out to Jack, when the door was yanked open without ceremony. Paul Davis looked in, "Jack, you guys had better get out here. Stambaugh's just called."

Out in the main room, the atmosphere was tense with people waiting to hear the first confrontation between Michael Stambaugh and the man whose presence had been one of his demands.

"...I asked for Jack, is he here yet?" The words of the speaker were crisp and slightly irritated. Daniel was reminded of the way Jack spoke when issuing orders; with a brusque authority that expected to be obeyed - and obeyed right now.

One of the techs handed Jack something that looked like a really old cell phone, held together with duct tape.

"I'm here, Mike."

"So good of you to turn up, Jack. Especially after I went to all the trouble of getting Sara here so we could have this talk."

"If you wanted to catch up, you could have just called me up, you know," Jack said. "Go out for a coffee, come around for a barbecue. That's what most people do these days."

"You always tried to live the normal life, didn't you, Jack?" Stambaugh said, dryly. "Tried to pretend that you could ever be a normal guy after what they put us through. Remember Iraq?"

If there was one thing nearly guaranteed to get Jack, it was mentioning Iraq. Daniel wondered if Stambaugh had been one of the team that had left Jack behind, or if he'd just heard about it after the fact. The colonel's face closed up, grim secrets hiding behind a suddenly neutral expression. His next words were barked into the mouthpiece, "I probably remember it better than you."

"Mary cried every day for a month when I told her. She was inconsolable."

If Jack had any idea of what was behind that non-sequitur, Daniel couldn't see it. "Mike, where's this going?"

"Still as impatient as ever, I see," sighed the slightly tinny voice over the speakers. "I despaired of ever persuading you that there was a time for everything. Did you bring your team with you?"

"Yeah."

"Lovely, bring them along. Dr. Jackson? Please speak up. We haven't had the chance to meet."

Daniel paused as he opened the folder Major Davis had just handed him – some psychological profiling on the man who was addressing him now. "It's a pity it couldn't be under better circumstances," he said with complete sincerity and utter irony.

"And Major Carter?"

"Colonel Stambaugh," Sam's voice was strong and slightly disdainful. Daniel had no idea how she did it, but she could fit loads of emotion into something as small as an address. As a linguist, it was a delight and an amazement every time.

"It's actually retired Colonel, but never mind, Major. You have no idea how much I've heard about you. And Teal'c?"

"I am here," Teal'c said, quiet and solemn as ever.

"Jaffa kree! Rak hashak, shol'va kek olatakka kree!"

Teal'c regarded Jack with a raised eyebrow as the words rang through the room, their tonality subtly altered, as though through a voice harmonics program. Daniel jerked up from his perusal of the file as his mind automatically translated the Goa'uld. Jaffa, for your betrayal, you shall suffer a thousand deaths!

Well, that certainly changes things.

Jack had frozen where he stood, very still, staring into space. The next moment, his eyes glittered dangerously, and he lifted the phone to his mouth and ground out, "If you hurt her, you sonovabitch..."

"Believe me, Jack, Sara is not my goal," Stambaugh said, once against speaking in a human voice. "I will have my pound of flesh of you in much more...effective ways than her."

"So exactly what do you want?" And, now, Jack wasn't talking to Stambaugh.

"That would be telling, O'Neill."

With a click, the line went dead.

----

Jack never had patience for bureaucracy at the best of times. He was trained in practicalities, and so the pointlessness of red tape infuriated him. He endured it, but he didn't like it.

With Sara in the hands of a Goa'uld, Jack's temper was short. His team knew the signs and were doing their best to buffer the inevitable conflicts, but there were some things even they couldn't do.

For starters, they didn't have the authority to interact with the SWAT commander and the Denver Police Chief. That was Jack's role and responsibility, and one he'd quite happily forgo given the opportunity.

He wasn't given the opportunity.

"There are standard operating procedures for this situation," Commander Andrews insisted.

"Including not antagonising the guy," added Chief Geraldton, acidly.

Neither SWAT Commander nor Police Chief was particularly happy with Jack right now. At one level, he recognised this was less about him failing to following procedure, and more about protesting his assumption of their jurisdictional command. But he needed to establish one thing right now before everything went belly-up again.

"Your rules won't work here," Jack told them, bluntly. "Whatever SOPs you have to deal with situations like this won't work on Stambaugh anymore."

"How do you know that?"

Jack gritted his teeth. This was where things got inventive. "I have personal knowledge of Stambaugh, and I've seen his condition before."

"Exactly where have you seen this before?"

"And what's this about him having a 'condition' anyway?" Andrews was one step behind the Chief.

Jack wasn't about to go against classification, but they needed to get the message that Stambaugh wasn't going to react the way they'd expect him to. Not when he had a snake in the head. "Let's just say that he's not in his right mind anymore, and leave it at that, shall we?"

"There's nothing about that in his record," Andrews retorted. "How do you know he has a condition?"

"We know because of the technology he's using," a new voice interrupted, clear and authoritative. The men immediately turned to Carter as she paused just beyond Jack. In the background, Shanahan lurked, apparently unwilling to let Carter out of his sight for more than a few seconds. Jack glanced over the guy, then ignored him. He wasn't a player in this show.

"Major Carter is our expert on all things technological," Jack said, by way of repeat introduction.

"So you indicated," the commander said, harshly. He regarded Carter in a manner that was insultingly dubious. "And you still haven't explained the stuff my men encountered when they went in before." From the sound of it, he was smarting from the silence on that point, too.

"I apologise, Commander," Carter said, at her most uncompromisingly polite. "But neither you or your men are authorised to know the specifics of the technology." The wide mouth was set in a pleasant line, but her manner was cool. "What your men encountered is both classified and highly experimental materials that are not without their operating risks."

"And exactly what does this have to do with Stambaugh's instability?"

Carter held herself casually, but she spoke with complete authority. Jack took a moment to admire and be proud of her, before he listened to her explanation. Knowing Carter, it would be a good explanation, and probably one that the SGC should put about to stem any rumours regarding the Goa'uld and Goa'uld technology. "The items he has use highly radioactive materials. If they're not handled correctly, with proper precautions taken, then people in long-term close contact with the material tend to develop psychological imbalances."

Perfect. It gave an explanation both for why Stambaugh couldn't be treated like your average hostage-taker, and why the tech hadn't been adapted out for more public use. Two birds with one stone.

"And you let him have this highly experimental and classified technology?"

Irritation overcame him and temporarily switched off his internal censors. "As a matter of fact we gave it to him for free," Jack said sarcastically. "What do you think, Andrews? The man stole it."

"And this means you can disregard protocol?"

"No," Jack stated. He wondered how long it would take them to get it. "It means we use a new protocol that works, not ones that have already tried and failed."

One of the SWAT men paused on the edge of the conversation, "Uh, sir?"

"Fenwick?"

"Counter-measures have been initiated."

Jack stomach felt as though it had just been sucked into a black hole, before disbelief and anger swept the sensation away. "Counter-measures?" Since the discovery of Stambaugh's possession of Goa'uld technology, the operation had been handed over to USAF. That meant no actions should have been taken without Jack being informed and authorising it... If the bastard went over my head...

"You weren't taking any action, Colonel, so I deemed it a necessary measure to get Stambaugh in the right frame of mind." Andrews' lofty tones made it clear he considered he'd been perfectly justified in his actions.

Count to ten and don't tell him he's an asshole. Just think it. "And you're talking to me about following protocol?" Incensed, he managed to retain the barest of holds on his temper, and saw Carter's mouth pinch. "Might I remind you that this operation is now under the jurisdiction of the United States Air Force..."

"Under the jurisdiction of the Air Force? That's a laugh!" Andrews sneered, his lip curling. "You haven't done anything helpful since you arrived here!"

"And you sent in an extra six hostages for Stambaugh to play with!" Jack retorted. The SWAT personnel began to bristle. "I don't call that 'doing something helpful!'"

"Sir, this situation needs to be treated with caution given the delicate nature of Stambaugh's state of mind..." Carter added her voice to Jack's, more reasonable, but apparently even less welcome as Andrews turned on her with a snarl of anger.

"Major, your opinion was not asked for!"

"Perhaps not, sir, but your measures weren't asked for either." Jack felt a bit like smirking at Sam's cool retort. He retained enough control over his facial expression to avoid open amusement, at least. "You're using 'standard operation procedure' for a situation that is anything but standard..."

"It looks perfectly standard to me!"

"Looks can be deceiving, commander," she replied. And there was an added bite to her voice that caused Jack to wonder whether the hostage situation was the only thing she was talking of.

Time enough to ask that later. Concentrate on the argument.

"Stambaugh isn't stable right now," Jack told them. "He won't behave the way you expect him to behave, he won't do the things you expect him to do..."

Outside, there was a shout and then a muffled thump; the sound of something heavy falling solidly to the ground. More cries - of horror - accompanied the thud, even as the trio of commanders burst out into the Colorado midday, Carter and others following them.

Jack's eyes tracked around the street, seeking the source of the concern. He glimpsed Teal'c standing over to one side, but even as he took a step towards his friend, he spotted the crowd over on the grass.

A man lay in the middle of the circles of people, obviously dead. He was dressed in a SWAT uniform, sans flak jacket and accoutrements. Empty blue eyes stared up at the empty blue sky over his head, and his blood soaked the earth beneath his shattered body.

Commander Andrews had just received his response to switching off the power.

"What happened?" Jack demanded of an airman he recognised.

"He just fell, sir." The young man looked revolted by the death before his eyes. Jack didn't blame him. It wasn't a pretty sight. The man's crumpled cranium had jolted his features slightly out of place. The result was a corpse with a grotesquely twisted expression on its face.

Stambaugh's Goa'uld was well and truly pissed off.

Jack looked upon the wreck of what had once been a human being and turned the young airman around, pushing him back towards the building. Best to leave the death to those who had stronger stomachs or were more accustomed to this kind of scene.

Trauma counselling would be required for more than a few people around here. Several bystanders, mostly police, were looking distinctly green. At least one was on his hands and knees throwing up in a nearby clump of bushes, and several others had turned away, their hands over their mouths as they fought to control their retching.

Jack grimaced and shaded his eyes as he looked up at the office building. If there was anyone watching their response, he couldn't see anything against the reflective glass panels from which the building had been constructed. Sara was trapped inside, somewhere up there; trapped with a man who held a grudge against Jack and was willing to use her to get to him.

God, he hoped she was okay. It had been years since they'd seen each other, but he still thought about her every once in a while; occasional thoughts when something reminded him of her. It was never enough to get to the phone and actually call her, but he took some pleasure in the fonder recollections of their marriage.

She would be okay. Mike knew better than to piss Jack off.

"Colonel O'Neill!" Andrews' strident voice carried clearly around the street. The man strode towards him, fuming with every step. "Were you expecting this?"

"This specifically?" Jack asked as he gestured at the dead body. "No." He didn't say 'I told you so.' He didn't need to. "My people know how to deal with this, Andrews. If you want to keep getting your men killed, then just continue going on the way you have been. If you'd like to stop Stambaugh, then you're going to need me and my people." He paused as the SWAT commander struggled with giving up control of the situation. "You're going to have to trust us."

In some ways, he hated to have to make the point this way, but Andrews hadn't listened so far - and he'd lost two men along the way. At least one of them could have been saved, especially after Jack had taken over the operation.

"Sir!"

He jerked his head around, to where she stood among the onlookers. "Carter?"

A dozen rapid steps brought him to her side. She indicated the misshapen face of the dead man, beyond the shoulder of the personnel who were checking him over for injuries or signs of what Stambaugh had done to him.

It was the only sign of injury. Other than the smashed skeleton where he impacted the concrete, muttered a little voice inside his head. On the forehead, between his eyes, a roughly circular mark glowed up at the onlookers, burned red against the tan skin.

It was just the kind of mark that could be made by a Goa'uld with a ribbon device.

End of Part Three