Author's Note: Well, I have a confession to make – I completely rewrote this chapter. In fact, I revamped most of the plot because, well, I just didn't like what I had originally planned or written. So, here's the new turn, although you'll never know it because nothing needs to be retracted (yet). Hope you enjoy the continuing adventure.
Chapter 9
Ellen Bainbridge was in a hurry. The drive to her house was a long one along the winding California highways. Twice, she came to a complete stop in rush hour traffic. Her eyes darted between the road and her rearview mirror, checking to see if she was being followed. She doubted she would be able to tell in the heavy congestion, but she was confident she would be able to see more clearly if someone was tailing her once she came to her exit.
She rode the slow lane the entire way, constantly aware of an escape route if she needed it. The radio was off, but the air conditioning was at least comforting in its steady sound. It calmed her nerves somewhat until she neared her exit. She gunned her blue Mercedes on the off-ramp, eager to find space in which to breathe. A quick look in the mirror showed no suspicious vehicles, no one following too closely.
Her house was on a quiet street, seven blocks off the highway. Ellen remembered when she and her husband settled on the property. He was a pharmaceutical salesman. They met in a quiet Donegal pub while she was on holiday. He brought her to the United States, and they remained together for almost twenty-five years before cancer took him from her on a crystal clear Sunday morning. There were too many memories in the house to leave them to some stranger. He was there with her, in the quiet moments at night. Sometimes, she swore she could feel his arms about her as she lay alone in the bed they had shared.
Now, her research kept her company. After Stewart died, she threw herself into her work with abandon. As was the saying, Prime had come looking for her with glowing opportunities she could not turn down by any means. It had been a salve to the pain of losing Stewart, the lifeblood she had enjoyed so much. It had been a conduit for her mind to ease the pressure she felt in her soul and the longing to have him back for just one more day. Just as Stewart was once everything in her life, now her work was.
The sun had begun to set, casting shadows over the quiet street. Some porch lights were already on, with neighbors sitting and enjoying the reprieve Friday brought from the hectic work week. Ellen envisioned her youth, when such a time was ideal for "kick the can" and "hide and seek." They were childhood pastimes she remembered so fondly that they brought waves of memories flooding back through her mind as though it were yesterday.
Her house sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, apart from neighbors with prying eyes. The setting was perfect when she wanted to work on projects in the privacy of her home. There was no risk of accidental exposure of research through the open windows of the beige one-story ranch with hunter green shutters and cement pad porch. They had purchased the unimproved lots on either side, giving them plenty of privacy and a lawn which Stewart rejoiced in keeping pristine.
The tiny lanterns that lit the sidewalk to the front door had come on automatically when darkness had dimmed the sky enough. Ellen punched the garage door opener, waiting as the hulking wall rose and disappeared into the ceiling. She pulled the Mercedes into the carport. With one last look in the rearview mirror to ensure no one had followed her, she hit the controller again to shut the door.
The garage light illuminated the yard tools Stewart had collected over the years, which she had not the heart to get rid of even once. The clumps of grass that clung to the side of the Weed Eater reminded her of the line of grass stains she would toil to get out of the white socks he wore with his beloved Nikes that he would never let her throw in the trash. She had kept those shoes, too, in the closet they shared equally.
Ellen reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed her briefcase, her heart beginning to pump faster at what she suspected the samples inside it contained. She had taken research home with her before and had the full blessing of Prime to work out of her home in the off hours. She was a senior researcher, and only Rachel Dekker had the authority to reprimand her for such actions. The samples had been passed through Security without question. In fact, no one had bothered to even check her briefcase as she hurried out the doors of the research facility.
The air was cool in the garage as she exited the Mercedes and made her way to the door leading into the kitchen. Once she unlocked the door, she kicked off her heels, reveling in the cool linoleum as she padded across it toward the cupboards. She held the briefcase tightly in her one hand while she rummaged in the food cupboard, pushing aside boxes of pasta and rice. She reached down into the gap between the wall and the shelf and pulled out the book with the brown cardboard cover. Ellen's diaries of research notes had been kept there for quite some time. They were her back up in case Prime's servers were compromised. There were several volumes that had been compiled over the years. When one book became filled, she carefully hid it in the basement safe, the safe Stewart never was there in all the years they shared a life. Then she put a new blank notebook in its place in the cupboard.
She closed the cupboard door and went to the den, feeling the change from linoleum to plush carpet that comforted her aching feet in the dim light from the kitchen. It seemed she had been standing all day for one reason or another. Her office was to the right of the fireplace. Large glass doors to the patio were off to the left. She entered the study and found everything as she had left it, with the soft lamplight glowing in the corner that had come on automatically via a timer. The microscope she had bought with her own money was no Wal-Mart special. It was industry standard, and she used it to stay one step ahead at work when projects were down to the wire. It was powerful enough to enlarge the samples in her briefcase to allow her to further examine what she was surprised to find at work. It had been by accident, really. A simple intent of DNA profiling as a base for a project had turned into something so large she could hardly believe the implications. Her hands felt clammy as she placed the briefcase on the desk and sat down in the high-backed chair.
Something felt off, but she could not say what it was. Her nerves were on edge, and at first, she assumed that had been it. But the feeling continued to gnaw at her as she pulled out the samples and prepared them for viewing under the microscope. It was a presence she could not define. Her mind had been on Stewart so much lately, missing him, that part of her hoped it was his spirit coming to visit her and hold just one more time, to tell her he was okay and that she would be, too. Ellen stopped cold for a moment and listened. The house was quiet except for the sound of central air pushing through the vent at her feet.
She put the sample on the slide and wet it with a contrast solution. The fragile slip sucked down onto the liquid, trapping the object of her interest. She slid the slide under the clamps on the stage of the microscope and turned on its light. She began to focus the view. A heart rate that had been elevated before suddenly picked up speed as she confirmed once again what she had seen in her lab at Prime. It was impossible to say for certain what she was looking at without extensive testing, but Ellen had quite the educated guess.
Her notes were furiously scribbled, deducing everything she could think of for a source. Previous tests were negative for such an anomaly, and she knew when those had been done because she was the one to perform them. Now, Prime had been compromised. Ellen's mind flew as she traced the possibilities of sources. There could only be one, and she wrote down the thought in the notebook.
The sound from outside her window that looked on to the patio had been so slight, but in Ellen's ears, it sounded like a clamor. It broke her concentration so swiftly that she jumped. Was it a shadow she had just seen in the waning hours of daylight? The patio lights were off, shrouding the back of the house in darkness. She had meant to turn them on when she got home but had forgotten. Her heart thumped more as she stood and closed the notebook. She got up and went back to the kitchen, putting the book back in its hiding place in the cupboard.
There was another noise, and this time, she was sure she was not imagining it. She heard the sliding door to the patio slowly open as the rollers slid against the metal track. Her hand went to the light switch in the kitchen, dousing it into darkness. The living room lights were off, with the only light coming from her study. She saw the shadowy figure cross the living room, taking time to look into the study. Ellen looked for a weapon to defend herself with, but there was nothing near she could get to without making noise and revealing her position. And in just a few seconds, the point was moot. The intruder saw her crouched down behind the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. The rate of closure was immense, leaving her nowhere to go.
The first blow sent her reeling backward as the intruder struck her head with a gloved, closed fist. Ellen saw bright lights flash and felt a painful gash open across the bridge of her nose. The stinging in her sinuses increased as the blood began to flow from her nostrils. Then came the merciless, relentless series of punches and kicks. She tried to scramble away, but there was nowhere to go. She cowered in the corner, trying to protect her head to no avail. The strikes continued as the intruder, clad in black, continued the assault.
Suddenly, the pain seemed to abate as her senses slipped into the blessed state of semi-consciousness. Ellen had no grasp of time, nor did she really care. The intruder had stopped the attack. Through one swollen eye she was able to open, she saw legs walking away from her and out into the living room. Shadows cast on the wall told her someone was in the study. She heard things being moved, drawers being opened, and she prayed that the precious ships in a bottle Stewart loved to make that she kept on the shelf in there remained intact.
The legs reappeared in the kitchen once more. Her briefcase hung beside them. Her work was being taken. Ellen made the mistake of trying to breathe. The gurgling sound of blood in her throat alerted the intruder to her consciousness. She saw the boot coming toward her face and closed the one eye before it hit.
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Sam had no sooner thrown her jacket on the bed at the Radisson than her cell phone rang, jarring her out of her reverie and review of the conversation with Jack O'Neill, who was now on his way back to Cheyenne.
"Carter," she answered.
"It's Rachel," Dekker said sharply. "Where are you?"
The urgency stunned Carter. She could hear the sound of traffic in the background and the extreme edge to Rachel's voice. "At my hotel. Why? What's wrong?"
"I'm on my way to Mercy General. Ellen Bainbridge is in the ER."
"What happened?" Sam asked, shocked.
"Someone broke in to her house and beat the hell out of her."
"Oh my God," Sam breathed. "How bad is it?"
"I don't know, but they're telling me to get there as soon as possible." Rachel paused for a moment. "Sam, I could use some backup on this one."
Carter did not hesitate. "I'm on my way," she said. She picked up her jacket and keys and headed out the door.
She listened as Rachel gave driving directions to the hospital from the hotel. It was a straight shot. With care, Carter ran two red lights that had no cross traffic, fully prepared to flash government credentials at anyone who might try to pull her over for it.
The visitor parking lot was off to the side of the emergency room, just a short walk. Sam jogged to the doors, seeing Rachel inside already at the information desk, demanding information. The nurse behind the desk was unimpressed at the tirade building in her honor. Sam intervened.
Carter pulled out her identification. "I'm Major Samantha Carter, United States Air Force. This is official government business. Ellen Bainbridge was brought in a while ago. We need to get back there right now."
"I'm sorry, Major," the nurse said with what Carter felt was a snobbish and superior attitude, "I can't admit you to the trauma area."
The nurse was a sweet young thing, probably just out of college and stuck taking temperatures in the general triage area. Carter doubted she had even seen Bainbridge brought in via the ambulance bay. Her dark hair was gathered in a ponytail tied with a bow. Her green scrubs were pristine and pressed, hardly the look of nurses Carter had seen working in a trauma ER.
"Listen . . . " Carter peered down at the nurse's identification badge, "Becky Henstridge – this is a matter of national security. I would hate to see your name show up all over my reports as having impeded an investigation. Now, you can either let us back there, or you can have a very busy rest of the week with federal investigators prying into every aspect of your life."
Becky gave Carter's threat some consideration. Her hand moved to the phone. "Let me call my supervisor." She began dialing quickly and murmured her plight to whoever was on the receiving end of the call.
In a few moments, an older nurse – one with experienced eyes and a figure that was not quite as shapely as Becky's from too many years of donuts for a quick dinner – appeared. Carter flashed the credentials again and announced herself to the supervisor, Margaret Holmes.
Carter began to unleash again that it was a government investigation when Margaret held up two hands to stop her.
"I get it already," Margaret said. She was obviously more in tune with what credentials meant than Becky was. "Follow me."
Sam and Rachel followed Margaret through the sliding glass doors into the trauma area.
"I'm not going to lie to you," Margaret said, "She's in bad shape. Any idea who did this to her?"
Rachel was silent to the question.
"No," Carter answered. "Has she said anything?"
"She's been unconscious since they brought her in. Even if she was awake, she's been worked over pretty good. I doubt she could say anything anyway. Broken jaw, facial bones, teeth missing. The doctors are still assessing, but I'd say she's in a bad way right now. The doctors will have more information, but I've seen my share of assaults like this. It's never good."
The double doors to the trauma room where Bainbridge was being treated was a hive of activity. Bloodied material lay strewn on the floor. Carter saw the neck brace that sat flush against Ellen's chin, keeping her immobilized as medical staff worked on her. A plainclothes detective leaned against the wall to the left of the trauma room, arms folded, waiting.
"Wait here," Margaret said, leaving Rachel and Carter to halt where the detective stood. She went in and began talking with one of the doctors working on Bainbridge.
The detective sized up the two women. His salt and pepper crew cut and thin mustache screamed he no longer worked undercover. He looked every bit the cop, thin but muscular and laced with a cockiness that was required to do such a job on a daily basis.
He nodded. "Can I help you?" he said in a way that was a warning.
Carter was not impressed. Once again, she presented her identification. "I'm Major Carter, United States Air Force. Can you tell me what happened tonight?"
He straightened. "Detective Sergeant Garner. What's your interest in this case, Major?" he said, examining her identification closely.
"I'm afraid that's a matter of national security, Sergeant. I need to know what you know so far."
Garner peered into the room, as if to refresh his memory. "Look, I can't just spill a case to you without some verification."
Rachel stepped forward, her frustration finally reaching its limit. "Ellen works for me at Prime Power on some very sensitive projects. Who did this to her?"
"What's your name?" Garner asked.
"Rachel Dekker."
Garner nodded. "Saw your name in an address book in the kitchen," he said in recognition. "You're her ICE contact on her cell phone, too."
"Yeah, I know, one of you guys called me," Rachel said in hasty confirmation. "What the hell happened?"
Garner addressed Carter more than Rachel. "As far as we can tell, there was no forced entry. The patio door was unlocked, which is probably how the perp got in. She was assaulted in the kitchen. Doesn't look like anything was taken."
Carter was trying to absorb the information all at once. "Who found her?"
"No one," Garner said. "She called it in herself. Dialed nine-one-one but couldn't talk. Black and whites responded and found her inside. By then, she was out like a light. We don't know any more than that at the moment, and nobody saw a thing. Forensics is working the house over now, but there's not much to go on at this point."
Rachel stared into the trauma room, watching the medical team work on Bainbridge.
"How bad are her injuries?" Carter continued.
"No sign of sexual assault, but whoever did this to her has issues."
A doctor in what Sam estimated in his forties, dark and tall, made his way toward the door. Garner pulled out a notepad and pen.
"What's the verdict, Doc?" he asked nonchalantly, as though bored that it was business as usual for an assault case.
The doctor turned slightly to address Rachel and Sam. "I'm Doctor Sandoval. Are you family?"
"They're clear, Doc," Garner said. "Federal interest in this one. You can talk in front of them. What have we got?"
Sandoval folded his arms and took a deep breath, letting it out quickly. "It's not good. Couple of deep face lacs, broken nose and jaw, and the CT scan isn't encouraging. We're going to get her to ICU to monitor, but I wouldn't be surprised if we're putting in a shunt tonight to relieve some pressure on her brain. She has a skull fracture that's causing some swelling, and there may be additional damage to the vertebrae in her neck. We won't know the extent of that until the swelling goes down a bit."
The litany of injuries was overwhelming. Sam tried to process it all. She silently wished Fraiser were available to get more information, but something told her Sandoval had told all he knew.
"Can I see her?" Rachel asked.
"Sure," Sandoval said, "but you should know she's pretty cut up and bruised. I want to prepare you for that."
Sam watched as Sandoval guided Rachel into the trauma room. The president of Prime Power stood at the side of the gurney. She reached down and held Ellen's hand, trying to keep emotions at bay. Sam had never seen Rachel so distraught and out of control.
Garner broke the silence. "I'm going to take it that your friend is a little more emotionally involved here than you are."
Something snapped inside Sam. Garner was peanuts compared to what she had endured of NID, CIA, FBI and every three-letter agency who occasionally meddled in SGC operations. His demeanor was insulting and annoying, his intimidation factor mediocre at best.
"I need full disclosure from you, Sergeant," Sam said directly. "I want a copy of the report you file on this and any follow-ups. Is that understood?"
Garner gave several mock salutes. "Yes, ma'am, yes, sir," he said, jumping to attention.
She stepped closer to him. "You may think this is funny, but the Air Force sure as hell isn't laughing. You won't be, either, if I find for one minute you're holding back information. Is that clear?"
The detective was not intimidated. "Take it up with my superiors," he said, dismissing her threats.
Her hand was on her cell phone so fast it looked like a gunfighter's draw. She hit the speed dial.
"Colonel O'Neill, this is Major Carter, sir. I need some guidance given to the local PD here concerning an assault case I'm investigating."
O'Neill paused on the other side of the connection. "Carter? You okay?"
"Yes, sir. I'll explain the details later. I need you to place a call to the supervisor of a Detective Sergeant Garner. He's working the assault case of Ellen Bainbridge. Let them know I am to be kept in the loop of the investigation and have full clearance."
"Carter, are you serious? Or is this some kind of joke?"
"Yes, sir," she said.
O'Neill paused again, having muddied the circumstances of the call all by himself. "Yes, you're serious, or yes, this is a joke?"
"The sooner you make the call the better, sir."
"Okay, you're serious," O'Neill surmised. "Give me twenty and I'll have it handled. Then you fill me in, and that's an order."
"Affirmative, Colonel."
She snapped the phone shut, ending the call. Garner's attitude remained until ten minutes later, when his own cell phone rang. Carter watched as he nearly came to attention to the voice on the other end. He turned slightly but eyed Carter out of the corner of his eyes.
After a series of "yes, sir," and "I know, but . . .", he, too, ended his call.
The attitude was still there, but it was dialed down a notch. "You want that report in triplicate or email, Major?"
"Whatever's easiest for you, Sergeant," she said, not backing down to his posturing.
Rachel emerged from the trauma room. Her face was drawn and stressed. Sandoval followed her.
"We're taking her up to ICU now," he announced. "It's going to be a long night. If you'll leave your contact information at the nurse's station, they'll call you if anything happens." Then he addressed Rachel directly. "I'm sorry about your friend."
Rachel nodded solemnly and looked back into the trauma room at Bainbridge's unmoving form.
"Thank you, Doctor," Carter said. "We'll do that."
Sandoval meandered down the hall to another patient.
"Sergeant," Carter said, "I need to see the crime scene. I'll need you to inform your officers and detectives we're on our way."
"Sure," he said. He picked up his cell phone and made the call like a good cop should.
Sam led Rachel to a series of chairs along the wall and helped her to sit. Dekker's skin looked pale and shocked, having fully seen the damage inflicted on Bainbridge. Sam got a cup of water from a nearby water fountain.
"You all right?" she asked, handing the cup to Rachel.
The slight tremor in Dekker's hand as she took hold of the cup indicated that she was far from all right.
"I'll be fine," Rachel said with a slightly quiver in her voice.
They watched as the gurney, with all its attached medical equipment, was carefully moved down the hall. Ellen Bainbridge disappeared from sight around a corner.
"We're going to find who did this," Sam vowed.
Rachel sipped from the cone cup. "Damned right we are," she said icily.