Disclaimer: I do not own 'Stargate: SG-1', 'The 4400' or any of the characters associated with either show.

Chapter Ten

Carter's house was a wreck.

The fire department had arrived shortly before Jack had and were dousing the still smouldering embers when he pulled up outside the house, climbing out of the car and approaching, ignoring the warnings against getting too close.

Once he had identified himself, they had allowed him to move past the barricades they had set up, though he was told in no uncertain terms not to enter the house itself until they were satisfied that it was safe.

The air still smelled faintly of petrol, the front door had been blown to splinters and the walls were blackened with smoke.

As it was still early afternoon, only a few of Sam's neighbours were home but those that were had already gathered around to watch, whispering amongst themselves, speculating as to who could possibly have done such a thing.

Jack knew better than to think that any of them would know anything about what had happened just before and after the bomb had gone off, the explosion had been an effective distraction – which, of course, had been the idea behind it – but he made a note to have the people Hammond was sending make enquiries once they arrived.

He was about to take out his own cellphone to dial Cheyenne Mountain when he trod on something and bending down, picked up a familiar item, slightly melted and hot to the touch but recognizable none the less.

Although it was slightly melted and hot to the touch, Carter's phone was pretty much intact. He prayed that the same could be said for its owner.

'The one day I persuade Carter to go home early and something like this happens!' One of the firemen was saying something but he scarcely heard it over the roar of his own thoughts. "Sorry?"

"There's no body, sir." The other man repeated quietly. "It is unlikely that Miss…"

"Captain." Jack corrected automatically.

"It is unlikely that Captain Carter was inside when the bomb exploded."

"Right," Jack nodded absently, his eyes still on her cellphone, "thanks."

Although he was grateful beyond words to know that she hadn't died in the explosion, he had no idea where she was now and, worse still, no idea where he should begin looking.

Her head ached.

The painful throbbing in the back of her skull was the first thing Sam became aware of when she began to stir back to consciousness, followed by the stiffness of her limbs and a rough carpet rubbing against her skin.

The surface on which she was lying lurched slightly, the engine beneath her humming as it sped along, bearing her Heaven knew where.

Forcing one eye open, she noted her surroundings; she was lying on the floor of a van and, more importantly, she was alone. If her headache and rising nausea were any indication, she had been drugged, and heavily at that. Had it not been for the naquadah and protein marker Jolinar had left behind, she would undoubtedly still have been unconscious. To her surprise, she hadn't been bound or gagged as she had half-expected.

'Must have thought I'd be out cold more than long enough to get wherever we're going.' She surmised, stretching her left leg experimentally, doing likewise with her right when the left obeyed her.

So far, so good.

Turning her head as much as her prone position and headache allowed, she could make out two slightly blurred shapes behind the dense wire mesh separating her from the front of the van and her abductors.

Moving as silently as possible, she began to turn towards the rear of the van, closing her eyes and remaining still, trying to keep her breathing slow and even when one of her captors turned to look in on her. Satisfied that she was still out for the count, he turned back to his companion, chatting as comfortably as if they were on a Sunday drive, not kidnapping somebody.

Wherever they were planning on taking her, Sam was pretty certain that she wasn't going to like it.

Using her newly developed abilities was not something she was comfortable doing, especially as her control over them was very limited but the old adage that desperate times called for desperate measures definitely fit with her current predicament.

Her legs were free; if she could get out of the van, she could take it from there.

'I just need to get that door open,' she thought, focusing on the locked door in front of her and trying to nudge it open.

A moment later, the sunlight was almost blinding her and the van door hit the road with a deafening crash.

Taking advantage of the seconds it took her chauffeurs to register what had happened, Sam rolled out the back of the van, landing heavily and pulling herself to her feet with some difficulty.

It was a quiet stretch of road, with no other vehicles passing by to come to the rescue.

"S--t!" Realising that they were missing their passenger, along with their rear door, the man driving the van turned the vehicle in a sharp U-turn and pressed his foot to the accelerator.

It was a reflex, or at least that's what Sam tried to convince herself afterwards.

The van sped towards her, its driver more than prepared to run her over if that was what it took to recapture her.

'Or they're not fussy about whether they bring me in dead or alive.' Sam thought, focusing her energy on 'nudging' the van off course and watching in mingled astonishment and horror as it was knocked away, sparks flying when its roof and sides scraped the road as it turned in a drunken cartwheel before it landed, upside-down, its wheels continuing to turn in the air for a few moments before slowing to a stop.

As promised, General Hammond had sent a team in to interview Sam's neighbours and to investigate the scene, albeit unofficially. NTAC, as the body responsible for the 4400, had been informed and their people would have full jurisdiction over the investigation. Jack had extremely limited faith in their ability to find Sam but even Hammond could not overrule the director of NTAC, so the best the SGC personnel could do was to quietly look into it themselves.

At least they had a head start.

When Jack's cellphone rang, he answered it before it had reached the second ring, "O'Neill." He said, hoping against hope that Sam had been able to escape and get to a phone. Though familiar, the voice on the other end of the line was not what Jack would have called a welcome one. Far from it.

"This day just keeps getting better and better." He groused.

"Hi Jack." The greeting was cheerful.

Jack scowled, in no mood for games. "What do you want, Maybourne?"

"I heard that you lost Carter… again."

"If you had anything to do with this, I swear to God…"

"Jack!" Maybourne cut him off reproachfully. "I'm hurt that you would even think that!"

"Did you?"

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

"I have some ideas, nothing concrete yet…"

"Do you know where Carter might have been taken?" Jack demanded, cutting him off. He did not have the time or the inclination to let Maybourne lead him on a wild goose chase, not when Sam's life was in danger.

"No, but…"

"Do you know anything that I can use?"

"Not yet…"

"Wait until you do before calling again." Jack ordered brusquely, hanging up without another word.

TBC.