2112 Hours the Next Day
A dark-eyed Jack O'Neill answered the telephone. He hadn't slept at all the night before, and, although he could've dropped where he sat at his desk, he couldn't sleep. Carter was a hostage, and it was up to him to help her.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"Oooh, right down to business I see," Person X said in a sickly, sing-song voice. "I have a proposal. We have a little task that needs to be completed. You complete it, Carter goes free. However, you fail to complete the task, Cartergoes. . ." He made a noise in his throat like someone choking."Do I make myself clear?"
Jack rested his face in his hands. "How do I know you'll honor your end of the bargain?"
"Hmm. How about I give you my word. How's that, huh?"
"Even if you weren't holding a member of my team hostage, it still wouldn't mean a lot to me."
Jack felt misery swimming inside of him. He was getting himself into a corner that he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of. But he had no choice. His 'colleague's' (he would admit to no more) life was on the line.
"Before we deal," said Jack, his hands shaking, "I need to know that Carter is still alive. Let me speak to her."
Silence. X had obviously not been expecting this request. "Yeah, she's right here."
"Sam?"
"Sir?"
"Sam, where are you?"
"I don't know. Sir, don't . . ."
Jack had hoped that he would have been able to speak to her for a little longer, but it had been stupid to hope that much. These men were ruthless, and were not in the least sympathetic to anyone whose aim was short of theirs.
"That's it! Say, 'Goodbye'!" X continued on a more serious note. "Now you have your confirmation, it's time to get your orders. They are to be carried out quickly and accurately. If you stuff it up, it'll be on Carter's head, so you had better listen carefully . . ."
"Come in, Colonel!" called General Hammond from his place at the desk. Jack walked in, taking the seat the Hammond had gestured at. "Geez, Jack, you look terrible!" He did. The dark circles under his eyes had got even darker, he seemed very pale and General Hammond got the impression he had to make a concerted effort to simply stand up.
"No, I'm fine General, I just need some time off," Jack said, slouching in his chair.
"Sure," Hammond responded immediately. "Take all the time you need."
"Thank you, sir. Three days should do it."
"Do you need a lift home?" asked Hammond, concerned.
"No, sir, I'll be fine."
"Hold on, Jack." Hammond pulled Jack up. "Didn't Doctor Fraiser give you a clean bill of health yesterday?" he asked, beginning to get a little suspicious.
"I think it's just a cold, sir. It'll pass in a couple of days."
Hammond just nodded. He knew something was bothering his friend, but also knew that if Jack didn't want to tell him, he wouldn't budge. So he let it go, hoping all would become clear, in time. He knew that was what always happened in these kinds of situations, but the question he didn't touch on was this: how much time?
Jack got into his car and started the engine. He drove all the way home looking as if he had had a really rough night. He let himself in, and went straight to the bathroom. He splashed his face with water, rubbing his eyes in order to remove the dark eye make-up.
Geez, he thought to himself, why did these guys insist I had to look so bad? I feel like a Goth.
After finally removing the heavy black powder from around his eyes, he straightened his posture, a determined gleam returning to his brown eyes. He was no longer playing in the little kids' ball park. It was do or die, but the consequences of his actions did not affect him as much as they did Carter.
Carter. Together they had prevented Goa'uld attack on Earth, and yet, she was being held hostage by someone on their own planet. He felt so guilty! He had been the one who had pestered General Hammond to make her take some leave, and now look where she was.
Carter. What the hell would Stargate Command do without her? Whenever there was a problem with the Stargate, she was there to fix it, and fix it twice as fast as anybody else on base. And in her spare time, she was working on some device that could potentially act as a weapon against the Goa'uld. Jack found a wall clear of all posters and shelves and whacked his head against it. His head hurt terribly afterwards, but he reasoned that it might serve to ease the unending guilt swimming within his heart.
With difficulty, he got himself together. It was not going to help her by drowning in a sea of misery, but more likely sentence her to death. He went into his back verandah. Jack ran his fingers through his hair. It was there, just like X had said it would be. The Sniper Rifle. The Sniper Rifle with which he was going to assassinate General Hamish Archer,the head of the United States Air Force.
Thankyou to Nelarun of Australia for coming up with the name Archer. I'm terrible with names(!) Another chapter? Ja? Nein? Vielleicht?