Chapter 10
Jerret Kethron tugged his hat brim lower and hunched his shoulders against the steady drip of oily water. He drew hungrily on his smoke, the glowing tip shielded by his curled hand, his breath, exhaled through pursed lips, spiralling, blue-tinged, in the light from Zanta's sign. Next to him, the two men were silent and Jerret's lip curled at their unease; bosses weren't supposed to do jobs like this. But Jerret found himself hungry for everything the dark promised, the harshness of the smoke in his lungs and the dripping shadows of the streets that were his domain, the anticipation of the violence ahead. Power would be his, soon. After years of gritting his teeth and bearing his father's derision, soon he would have more power than his late, unlamented parent had ever dreamt of. After this dark's work, Atlantis' wrath would surely descend on the Makers, tame diplomacy abandoned in the face of not only the deaths of Major Jordan and his team, but also their Colonel Sheppard.
The doors to Zanta's bar swung open and two figures emerged, one tripping up the steps and leaning on the other. Jerret frowned.
"Is he drunk?" he hissed.
"No, Sir. Drugged," replied Gresden.
"Drugs make me loopy!" The other man draped his arm over Gresden's shoulders and giggled. "Toldja that, McKay!" He lurched closer to Jerret and squinted. "You're not McKay!"
"My name is Jerret Kethron," he said, coldly.
"Oh, hey, you're the Getter guy, right? This fella, Gresden, says he knows where Jordan and his team are! We're going there now! You could come!" He smiled foolishly.
"I'd be delighted to accompany you, Colonel." To Gresden he added, "Why did you drug him?"
"I didn't! He said he took pain pills! For his arm." Gresden shrugged. "It made my job easy."
Jerret regarded the grinning man, leaning heavily on the shoulder of his loyal spy. The Colonel didn't look very impressive for a high-ranking military officer, one arm in a sling, his shirt untucked and his rapidly-dampening hair drooping over his forehead. He'd left himself vulnerable in a public place and allowed himself to be led out into the dark, unarmed. Would this man's death be enough of a blow to his commander to incite retribution against the Makers? It had better be.
"Bring him," Jerret said, shortly. He turned on his heel and stalked away from the cold, blue light.
oOo
Zanta put down the speaker and hurried out of her rooms and down the stairs. She stood, her hands gripping the railing overlooking the bar, scanning the busy tables through the pall of smoke. He wasn't there. Down the next flight and across to the bar, ignoring hails from familiar customers and curious glances at her agitation.
"Colonel Sheppard! Where is he?"
The barman replied. "He went out with the Maker foreman, Gresden."
"When?"
"Coupla minutes ago."
Zanta, heart pounding, wove through the close-packed tables and pushed through a group entering the bar.
"Dennet, are you armed?"
"Always, Ma'am," answered the doorman, patting a hidden holster.
"Come with me!" She pushed open the doors, ran up the steps and stood, listening, her head turning to look up and down the alley, one hand sheltering her face against the perpetual drip of run-off.
"Ma'am?"
In the grey-orange, murky distance, there was a flicker of movement and a snatch of a familiar voice floated back through the darkness.
"This way, Dennet!"
oOo
The speaker remained silent. Rodney paced back and forth, casting irritated glances at Breckna where he sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the shining wood, next to his primitive device. Breckna dialled Zanta once more, his fingers drumming with increasing agitation. Finally, he slammed his hand down on the desk and stood.
"Hal, Fenti, with me!" he barked. "You two can come too, if you must!" He stopped and faced Teyla and Rodney with a darkly threatening glare. "But if anything has happened to my Zanta, I shall lay it at your door!"
"She's not yours!" said Rodney. "You don't own her!"
"Neither is she yours, Dr McKay, and most especially not since you chose to mistrust her! And does she repay you by casting you out to take your chances on the streets? No, she rushes to defend your pathetic leader and presumably has now chosen to put her own life at risk by going after him alone!"
"She'll have taken Dennet," said Rodney quietly.
"You'd better hope she has!"
oOo
John looked round at his companions.
"Hey, um, guys?" The grim faces remained impassive, four solid bodies neatly fencing him in. "Hey, uh, it's kinda wet and a bit cold. You guys all have hats and coats and stuff. Can I go back for mine?"
"No."
"It's just I'm not feeling so good and I'm kinda tired now. Could we maybe do this some other time?"
"It's not much further."
John trudged along with his escort, rock walls about him now instead of metal, yellow lantern light instead of the orange streetlighting.
"Where is it we're going again?"
One of the men muttered, "Can I shoot him now, Boss?"
"Did you say shoot? You did, didn'tcha?" John grinned and shoved the man's shoulder in a friendly way, eliciting a growl. "You want anything shooting, I'm your man! It's what I do best! Or blow things up. No, McKay blows things up, I shoot them." He paused frowning. "Or... no, no, I do both!" One of the men gave him a sidelong look of dislike. "I don't have a weapon, now though. Should be a P90, hanging here." He patted his chest, as if the weapon might be hiding in his shirt. "Hm... This is wet. How come you all have hats and coats and stuff and I don't?"
"Boss, please!"
"No!"
"Hey this is better! I can see my feet!" The passageway was sparsely lit by cold white lights fastened to the walls, wires dangling between them in limp festoons. They turned down a side passage, unlit. John tripped. "Can't we go the other way? I can't see!"
He was shoved roughly from behind and staggered forward holding his injured arm.
"Enough with the shoving, mister!" He turned and squared up to the man, pushing into his space.
"Come, now, Colonel Sheppard! Forgive my man's impatience! Soon you'll be with your missing team!"
"Oh, yeah, Jordan." John turned and began to follow Jerret into the darkness once more.
They crossed several more lit passages and a confusing pattern of side-branches, then they stopped and Gresden set down his lantern and drew a key from his pocket. There was a heavy metal door set into the rock, which he unlocked. Jerret nodded to the guards who brought their weapons up and gestured John forward.
"Look, Colonel Sheppard, here is you missing team!" As the door opened, he and Gresden pushed John hard so that he fell, full length on the floor, landing hard on his injured arm. He lay, shocked by the sudden pain. A vicious kick increased his agony and he curled up, panting in quick, shallow breaths, his eyes closed tight.
"Open your eyes, Colonel! Don't you want to see your friends?"
John, holding his arm close to his body, opened his eyes and slowly sat up. In the yellow lantern light he saw two figures huddled again the rough rock wall, their faces gaunt and shadowed, their eyes hopeless: Captain Franks and Dr Griffin.
"And look! Your team leader and his loyal Sergeant!"
The nauseating stench of decay told John what he would see even before he turned his head. The bodies lay, one on top of the other, in a pathetically small pile, flaccid limbs tangled together, the uniforms sickeningly familiar.
"Of course, I couldn't let them live once they'd witnessed my rather dramatic takeover, but I thought, why let an opportunity go to waste? To incriminate my enemies, win a powerful ally and merge the two clans under my control! Such chances come but once in a lifetime!"
John sat on the cold ground, curled protectively around his arm; he could feel a trickle running down to his elbow.
Jerret snorted derisively. "If you'd just taken the bait and sided with me against the Makers, I could have had these two released unharmed! Gresden here would have laid some kind of trail to the Makers' door. But now, you will all have to die! Although, I'm beginning to doubt that the death of such a pathetic specimen will suffice! Perhaps I should terminate the woman and the scientist as well!"
Ice cold fury filled John's heart. He struggled to maintain the appearance of confusion and weakness he had assumed when he had seen Gresden approaching him in Zanta's bar. His right hand, tucked inside his sling, found the grip of his pistol and held it firmly, and, with Franks and Griffin to protect, trapped in a small, isolated cell with four enemies, two with their guns trained on him, John did the only thing that would give him a chance: he shot the lantern.
oOo
Zanta's blue velvet dress was heavy with dampness and splashed up to her knees with dirt and grit. She and Dennet had left the huge metal matrix of the city and entered the cave complex above, that labyrinth of tunnels known only by Getter initiates. The faint sounds from their quarry were fading and Zanta was becoming desperate. To carry on, to follow Gresden and his men and try to save the Colonel, or to go back for help? Breckna would follow, but how would he know where they had gone?
"Dennet, give me your weapon!"
"Ma'am?"
"You must go back and fetch Mr Breckna and lead him here!"
"What will you do?"
"I will keep following them and, if I can I'll stop them killing the Colonel, or at least distract them or something, anything!"
"No, Ma'am, you go back! I'll follow!"
"Dennet! Your weapon, now!"
He handed it over and she checked the chamber in a business-like manner. "Go!" she insisted, and turned down the passageway, with determination.
For a while, she thought she had lost them, but John's voice floated back to her hollowly and she caught the trail once more. On and on, hurrying where the way was lit, groping and stumbling where it was dark. She came to a choice of ways and could hear nothing. Zanta listened at each of the three passages, holding her body as still as she could, closing her eyes and willing there to be some sound, some clue. But there was nothing. Then a shot reverberated along the far left tunnel and she turned and, one hand skimming along the rough wall, she hurried forward as quickly as she could. Her hand left the wall; there was a sense of a wider space. Then there was a faint, fast pattering, which grew louder and seemed to come from the walls themselves; it resolved itself into the thud of footsteps and suddenly a solid form cannoned into her. She shrieked, he grunted, they both fell heavily to the ground.
Several gasping breaths, then, "Zanta?"
"Colonel!"
oOo
Her heavy amber scent was unmistakable, the velvet fabric soft beneath his hand, yet in the dark and the rush of adrenaline, it seemed impossible that she should be here. His instinct for strategy took over.
"Take this!" he said, urgently, attempting to press his pistol into her hands.
"No! I have one!
"Then run!" he said. "Back the way you came! Run, fire, then hide!"
"What? What about you?"
"Go! Now!"
She ran, stumbling in the dark, her movements black-on-black in the barely-there glimmer bouncing off uneven walls. John stepped back until his questing fingers touched rock. They were coming; the reverberate thudding grew and he waited til it boomed in his ears, fired, then dived to one side before two weapons instinctively pinpointed his position and let rip their thunder of bullets. He fired again, rolling over on the bruising rock and hit something solid which collapsed on him, knocking the wind from his lungs. He felt a grab at his hair and twisted and writhed, bucked upward and was stunned by a deafening blast close to his head. He pulled the trigger again and, in the fading report, heard a curse, and felt the thud of a boot in his side as he scrambled on hands and knees away from the heavy breaths and stamping feet.
"Where's he gone?"
A shot rang out in the distance, and one set of boots thudded into action.
"No! He's still here!" The footfalls receded nevertheless and John thanked Zanta silently. He rose to his feet, inch by inch, his and his opponents' heavy breathing mingling into a muffling white noise in the echoing space. John turned slowly, straining to pick up a hint of tell-tale movement. Behind him! He spun, fired, solid muscle slammed into him and, as he fell, his wrist hit the ground and his pistol flew from his grip. He heard the click of an empty chamber and then the hard angles of his opponent's weapon smashed into the side of his head and sparkles of light fizzed in John's eyes. He kicked upward, heard an 'oof' of breath, flailed for his boot and grasped the hilt of his hidden knife. He plunged it upward and felt the blade bite, twisted and withdrew to the man's bellow of agony. John rolled aside and, brought up short by the tunnel wall, scrambled half to his feet and pushed off, trusting his instincts to find his mark. The blade bit again. The grunt of pain confirmed the target; John thrust out his hand and grasped fabric, holding on as his opponent writhed and punched. He spun and brought his arm round the unseen throat, his muscles tightening in a choke-hold, desperate fingers clawing at his elbow. The knife plunged in and he pulled hard, a wet flood splashing his choking arm as his knife hand jerked through the hard tendon and cartilage of his enemy's throat.
Then the body was a heavy weight, slithering to the ground and John staggered back, reeled and fell, aware now of his sobbing breaths and trembling body. He slid his shaking legs beneath him and knelt, but for the moment could rise no further, his head spinning, his skin slick with sweat, his body rapidly chilling.
He could have sagged to the welcoming ground and slept, even in the cold and dark and danger. He felt beaten and weak and his left arm hung once more useless at his side, his reopened wound pulsing with rage in time with his heart. He blinked into the darkness and shivered in the cold silence. Zanta had been there, and she'd drawn one man off. Had he found her? Was she alone and fighting for her life, in danger because she'd helped John? Franks and Griffin; were they dead, killed by Jerret's hand? Or had they escaped when he shot the lantern? He groaned in pain and helplessness, then found the sling still hanging round his neck, took it off and, holding one end in his teeth, wrapped it tightly round his dangling arm. His sense of duty strengthening his unwilling body, he forced himself to his feet, then shuffled about on the rough-hewn floor feeling his opponent's lax body and some loose chips of rock, but not his pistol.
Time was short; he began to make his way back up the passage, halting and weaving at first, then more steadily, accepting, once again, the choice, the hard decision. He would go after his missing teammates and hope that Zanta remained hidden in the dark.
oOo
"She went down here." Dennet led them on, into a narrow, unlit passage and out into a wider area, well-used and lit, with several branching passages. "Then, I don't know!"
"Oh, nice work, Lennie!"
Dennet clearly understood Rodney's tone, if not the reference, and rounded on him, fists raised.
"I've had just about enough..."
"Stop!" Breckna's voice boomed in the cavernous space. "Fighting amongst ourselves will not help Zanta!"
"Or the Colonel," added Teyla, a firm hand on Rodney's arm.
Breckna continued. "If we cannot ascertain the correct route we must separate..."
His words were interrupted by a gunshot, followed by a flurry of firing and Breckna's guards led the way toward the sound, choosing the broadest passage. Teyla hesitated.
"Wait! I do not think..." Another shot rang out. "This way, Rodney!"
Rodney followed her into a narrow tunnel, Dennet's heavy tread behind him. The bodyguard overtook him, and at the next intersection overtook Teyla also and they chased another burst of gunfire, plunging into a tunnel that branched sharply right. Rodney stopped. Surely, that had been a cry from his left? He was alone, his companions' footfalls receding into the distance. A gasp, a grunt, another cry to his left and Rodney moved, one hand on the rock wall, his other holding his Beretta before him. In the faint light, he saw two struggling forms; the smaller kicked the larger and flung up a white arm to ward off a blow. Rodney sighted down his pistol. No; no clear shot. He ran forward, feet pounding, head down, using his body as a weapon. His shoulder rammed the larger shape and he kept pushing, even when a meaty fist bludgeoned into his stomach.
"Zanta, run!" he rasped, trying to bring his weapon to bear.
"No!" There was a glint of light against a gun barrel and then another flare of light on white teeth, followed by a cry of pain and the clatter of the weapon falling.
"Bitch!" He heard Zanta gasp at a blow and a pointed shoe kicked his shin.
"Ow, dammit, that was me!" He tried to shove her away, to get between her and their opponent, his gun useless in the three-way struggle of tangled limbs. A rough hand grasped his throat, another grabbed his arm and twisted it up his back, and he felt his grip on his Beretta weakening. Rodney stamped his foot down hard, but Zanta cried out and their assailant laughed. Rodney, choking, his vision starring, flung his head back hard and, through the stunning pain in his skull, heard a satisfying crunch. The choke-hold was released, and Rodney spun around to see Zanta mete out a hearty knee to the groin. He pushed her out of the way, flung up his weapon and fired, point blank, into the man's head, jerking the trigger over and over until his ears rang and the flashing discharge was burned into his eyes.
"Dr McKay, that's enough!" A hand grasped his arm. "Rodney, stop!"
He stopped. His arm fell. She held him, and he, shaking with fear and anger and shock, slowly clasped his arms around her and held her back.
oOo
John squeezed the grip of his knife for reassurance, but knew he wasn't up to another desperate hand-to-hand fight. The best he could hope for was to sneak past Jerret and Gresden, find Franks and Griffin and then get them all out of this labyrinth. He wanted Teyla and Rodney. And Ronon. And not to be alone and injured with only a knife to fight off his enemies.
He crept up the passage toward the cell; the dreadful cell, full of the stench of death. Even now it drifted into his nostrils and he had to suppress an urge to retch. The area was dark and silent, but further on, the pale glow of a lit route penetrated the darkness; and he could hear voices. He crept closer, lowering each foot carefully to avoid the tell-tale crunch of grit.
"They should have him by now! All that gunfire, surely!"
"They'll have him." Jerret was coolly confident. "They've probably got themselves lost. Dolts."
"So, the plan's still on?"
"Of course it is! Those other two won't have got far. We'll finish them and wait to enjoy the fall-out."
"I won't, thought, will I, Mr Kethron? Because I got Sheppard from Zanta's, so they'll know I was in on it! You said you'd give me enough to set up off-world!"
"Yes, yes, you can run away and enjoy the fruits of your labours."
John nearly snorted with disbelief. Gresden would be the loser whether Jerret came out on top or not. He crept a little further, crouching down behind a stack of crates. There were a couple of benches, some shelves and various tools lying about; it looked like a sorting area for finds from Above.
"I'm going down here," Jerret said. "You go that way, see if they've doubled back. Here, give me your weapon."
"It's all I've got!"
"Find something else to use, if you're afraid of the dark!"
Confident footsteps marched away. John peered up over the crates. Gresden was mumbling to himself, picking up tools and hefting them experimentally in one hand. He picked up a large wrench; not the kind of thing John wanted to be up against. He'd have to tackle Gresden, though, and dreaded hearing the echoing reports telling him that Jerret had tracked and killed his quarry.
Gresden's back was turned. John blinked the haze from his blurred vision, took a careful breath and stepped out into the open, his knife held low, waveringly balanced on the balls of his feet. Then gunfire erupted, but from somewhere far behind. Gresden whipped around, he saw John, raised the wrench and threw it, hard. John dodged, but then Gresden was upon him, another tool snatched from the bench, whipping down toward John's knife hand. John, one-handed, let his knife fall, and stopped Gresden's arm, pushing him backward with his chest, feeling blows thudding into his ribs. Gresden's legs hit a crate, he toppled over backward and John fell on top of him, still grasping his wrist, grinding the small bones together. Gresden yelled and dropped his weapon, kicked John off and rolled over. His hand found the wrench, he scrambled upright and then raised it over his head, his lips drawn back in a murderous grimace. John, back to the wall, flung up his arm in defence, his unfocussed eyes filled with looming shadows.
oOo
Teyla whirled round, her P90 raised, her senses on full alert. From all around her, gunfire echoed and reverberated and footsteps pounded, seeming to grow and then recede, come from behind and then before. She whipped round again as the booming reports faded. Dennet had gone, whether away from or toward the danger, she did not know or care.
Teyla closed her eyes, shutting out what little light existed, and she listened: a clang of metal against rock, a grunt, a crash. She opened her eyes and ran toward the glimmer of light, stepped out into a well-lit area, coolly sighted down her P90 and fired.
And after the deafening burst of rounds had found their target, there was silence, then a relieved rasp of exhausted breath and a familiar voice.
"Thanks, Teyla."
"John!" She pulled the body of her victim off her team leader's legs. "Are you alright?"
"Do I look alright?"
He sat, slumped with exhaustion, against the wall, one arm bloody and limp, his forehead cut and bruised.
"No, John, you do not."
He began to struggle to his feet.
"You should stay down! I will get help."
"No, no, we have to..." He broke off and breathed hard through his nose, his eyes closed. "Jerret went down there. After Franks and Griffin."
"They are here! And Major Jordan? Sergeant Bell?"
John shook his head. "They're dead," he croaked. "Help me up! We have to get after him!"
"I will go! You need to..."
"I'm coming!" he interrupted, grimly, forcing himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall. He held out a trembling hand. "Give me your sidearm."
Teyla passed over her Beretta and John took it and lurched away from the wall. Teyla stopped him.
"I am going first, John!"
"Yeah, 'kay." He gave her a bleary half-smile.
She turned and, following the steady beam of her P90 light, led the way down the passage.
oOo
Another distant burst of gunfire echoed down the tunnel to meet Jerret's impatient ears. His men were making hard work out of killing just one man; one rather incompetent man, he had thought, but now realised that perhaps the elusive Colonel Sheppard was a more formidable opponent than he had appeared. So much the better however, for the magnitude of his loss to Atlantis, and their subsequent violent suppression of the Maker Clan.
There were few side-branches this way and although not all areas were well lit, Jerret could have walked it blindfold; this was the main route to the surface, via the funicular railway. He held Gresden's weapon before him and listened for any sign of movement as he approached the final turn of the passage. A faint metallic rasp came to his ears, a very slight thud and then the grind and clank of a mechanism engaging. Jerret smirked with satisfaction and moved forward, swiftly. They wouldn't escape that way; in fact, the fools had trapped themselves nicely. He emerged at the railtrack terminus. The truck was just moving beyond the platform, slowly gathering speed. Jerret tucked his gun in his jacket and sprinted toward it, leapt off the end of the platform and landed with a crunch on the ballast at the side of the track. The truck was moving faster now. He ran along the wooden sleepers, his feet pushing off firmly, gaining steadily on his target. A burst of power, a reaching leap and his hands smacked onto the protruding metal framework. He swung up and balanced on the edge of the baseplate, withdrew the pistol and surged upward, ready to fire down upon his prey.
oOo
Teyla heard the grinding of machinery and quickened her pace.
"Run, Teyla," John urged.
She ran, John's limping gait receding behind her, and burst into brightness to see Jerret sprinting up the incline beside a climbing truck. She raised her P90.
"Teyla, fire!"
But it was too late. The truck, moving swiftly up the slope, was hidden by the rocky roof, just as a shadowy figure leapt upward and disappeared.
"No!" John crumpled to the ground beside her.
Teyla tightened her grip on her P90 and leapt off the end of the platform. She knew she would not be in time to prevent murder, but would instead deal out her own revenge.
oOo
Teyla's running figure had disappeared up the slope and John let his head fall forward and his eyes close. She wouldn't save them. The whole team would be lost to a power-hungry murderer. He rubbed his eyes and shuddered with weariness.
"Colonel Sheppard? Is that you?"
The voice seemed unreal; he didn't react.
"Colonel?"
A whining blast reached John's ears and his head jerked up. Then there was movement to his right and he turned to see a figure with its back to him that was reaching over the far edge of the platform and pulling.
"Up you come!"
"Thanks."
Two tattered figures sat next to him. He stared at them in puzzlement. Then smiled, slowly.
"Hey, Franks, Griffin."
oOo
Lost in the darkness and confusion of the deep-tunneled earth, he had wandered and searched in the silence, alone and weary. And then, the guiding sound of weapons-fire had given him a target and given him hope. He followed the sound, but was cautious and stealthy and had listened and waited. Drawn to the lights, he had seen two pale shapes slip from the shadows. Two limping, fearful figures in the tattered remains of uniforms, who had needed his help. And, runner, Wraith-killer, survivor that he was, he had used the resources at his disposal to set a trap.
When Ronon heard the running footsteps coming alongside the truck and felt the impact as someone leapt aboard, he smiled, knowing that the bait had been swallowed. He waited, clinging to the off-side of the truck and heard an explosive curse as his opponent saw that it was empty. Gripping his blaster firmly, Ronon rose and fired, hitting the leader of the Getters full in the chest. The body dropped, the rack and pinion ground, shuddered and continued. Ronon nodded in satisfaction and leapt easily down onto the railbed, leaving the truck to continue its ponderous rise to the surface.
He flung up a hand as yellow lantern light hit his eyes.
"Ronon!"
Ronon squinted into the light.
"McKay?"