Phillip Morgan was in a real panic. Things had gone badly for him and the men he had working under him; all of them were injured – Bennett was the worst of them with serious injuries sustained in his trip through the front windshield of the suburban, and he'd been told he was in surgery, in critical condition. Of course, that had also been while the police were trying to get Morgan to talk – something he wasn't going to do – so they might have been exaggerating to get him nervous enough to spill everything. It hadn't worked then, but things were getting bad enough that Morgan was really starting to sweat. Something he normally didn't do.

Once the police had given him a phone, Morgan had tried to call Admiral Leaf. Not his home phone, of course – he wasn't that stupid – but they had a special secured line that was just for emergencies like this. The phone call was routed through several different call stations, passing through from one number to the next until the origin of the call was untraceable, and the final destination of the call was unremarkable. There Morgan had left a numeric page – a message telling Leaf that things had gone wrong and Morgan and his team needed assistance getting out of the bind they were in. Leaf should have then returned the call with one equally obscure, placed at a message center based in Seattle Washington where no one would have been able to trace it in either direction, telling Morgan he received the message and things were already in motion to repair any damage.

Leaf had a ton of political clout and the ability to get anyone out of anything – although Morgan had never had to use that ability before today – but the Admiral hadn't made the necessary call to the message service, and Morgan and his team were pretty much high and dry until they heard from him. Which meant they had to ignore the questions the police were asking – which wasn't getting easy – and they were going to have to call in some legal council of their own if Leaf didn't reply any time soon.

He was just debating whether or not to try calling the emergency line one more time – it had been almost two hours, after all, and that was way too long – when the door to his room opened once more, and Morgan felt his stomach tighten slightly in fear when he saw who was walking in.

Colonel Jack O'Neill wasn't someone Phillip Morgan knew personally. He wasn't even someone Morgan wanted to know personally. Because of Leaf – and Kinsey – Morgan had been able to read O'Neill's file a few years back, and a more recent version of it from just a few months ago. What he'd read had confirmed what those who he knew who did know O'Neill had already told him when he'd made a few inquiries; Jack O'Neill was dangerous, and was not someone that they wanted in their organization. Not because he wasn't talented, but because he was unapproachable – an untouchable, as it were. There was no doubting O'Neill's loyalties, and that made him someone to leave alone – which had been the primary reason Shawn Adams was also unapproachable. Not even Leaf had dared risk O'Neill's wrath if he'd found out the Trust was actively pursuing his son.

And now the man was walking through his door, a blank – and very unfriendly – expression on his face, and Morgan wished suddenly that he was the one in surgery, where O'Neill wouldn't be able to find him.

He watched warily as O'Neill walked over to the bed he'd been put in. With both of his legs in solid, heavy casts, there was no way he was going anywhere. Of course, Jack O'Neill didn't know who he was – which was a scant comfort – so maybe he was just going to try and feel him out, to see if he could get any information. Morgan didn't know how badly the Hayden kid was injured – hopefully the trip through the windshield had killed him, because that was the best possible scenario. Then there wasn't a witness to claim they'd taken him against his will.

Of course, it didn't help that Bennett had fired a shot out in public, but Bennett was in surgery and was out of reach of the police. By the time they were able to question him, Leaf was sure to have come through and pulled the team out of the mess they were in. Only the Brooks kid knew who was all involved, and Morgan just had to hope that he hadn't said anything. He was sure that Brooks didn't know him, in any case, which gave O'Neill nothing to go on.

"Can I help you?" Morgan asked, assuming a look of innocent confusion. O'Neill didn't know he knew who he was, after all. That could help, too. All he needed was time.

"Cut the crap, Morgan."

Blanching, Morgan actually flinched – and hated himself for doing it, because he knew that gave away a lot more than just his name to O'Neill.

Jack didn't allow himself to smile, but he felt a smug satisfaction in the reaction from the man in the bed at the sound of his name. Obviously he'd been planning on using his anonymity to keep from being questioned, and Jack had just tossed that out the window by calling him by name. Of course, all he had was the guy's name – and the fact that he had a lot of information about the Stargate that he had no business knowing – but Morgan didn't need to know that, and Jack was very good at making people talk to him when he wanted to be.

Unless of course they were on pain medication.

"What do you want?" Morgan asked, and Jack could hear a slight tremor in his voice that he was obviously trying to hide behind bravado.

"Information."

Jack pulled a small leather pouch out of his jacket pocket and set it on the bed – actually, he set it on one of the plaster casts that covered the man's legs. Too bad they were casted already, he thought, because pain was a really good way to get someone to talk. Luckily, fear was another, and Jack was also good at intimidation when he wanted to be.

"I don't know anything."

"I think you do," Jack said, softly, still not looking at Morgan. Instead, he had pulled a small vial out of his little leather pouch. He knew without looking that he would have Morgan's full attention, after all, and he didn't need to look to verify that.

"I don't."

"We'll find out."

Morgan watched, feeling his mouth go dry, as O'Neill pulled the vial out of the little leather case. It looked like a small shaving kit or something similar, but the small vial wasn't anything so innocent.

"What is that?"

"Something to make you relax…"

Jack pulled a syringe out of the case, next, and uncapped the needle, turning the vial upside down and inserting the syringe into it.

Morgan knew it was just a ploy. He knew O'Neill wouldn't do anything. Not out in public like this. He didn't have the authority to do anything. Certainly not something like this.

"You're bluffing."

"Yup."

Jack pulled the plunger back, watching calmly as the syringe filled, and Morgan wondered when he was going to start bluffing.

"You can't do anything. You don't have the authority to…"

"You see anyone in here that can stop me?" Jack asked, still watching the needle.

"I could scream for help."

"You could." His voice was as calm as Morgan was panicked. And they both knew it.

"I don't know anything."

"I'm betting you do."

"I don't! Why are you doing this?"

Jack looked at him for the first time, and now Morgan saw fury on O'Neill's face; his eyes suddenly cold and dangerous.

"Because someone shot my son, you piece of dog shit. And I know you know who it was."