Teal'c was presiding over the grill, baseball cap firmly over his head to cover his emblem of shame. The largest fish caught was his, and he claimed the honor of cleaning and cooking it. Both O'Neill and Carter graciously allowed him to proceed, even bestowing the three others that they had caught upon him for additional glory. O'Neill pulled a bottom of lemon mustard marinade out for Teal'c to experiment with, then left the Jaffa to his task though not without his doubts.

O'Neill lounged on the deck, feet up on the rail, Carter beside him in a hammock, both looking out over the lake. He glanced at his watch, then at the sky. They both said the same thing. O'Neill put it into words: "Daniel should be getting back soon. It's almost dark."

"You know Daniel," Carter offered, "always forgetting the time. They probably had several tapes that they needed him to listen to."

"Not an excuse," O'Neill grumbled, then brightened. "That him? I hear a car coming up the dirt." He frowned again. "That doesn't look like the rental. Didn't you two get a little compact job?"

"Not my choice," Carter said quickly. "Daniel's name is on the rental agreement."

"Yeah." O'Neill continued to look down the road. "Whatever. But it wasn't a black Ford Taurus, was it?"

"No, sir. It was a little Chevy something." Now Carter sat up. "What happened? Why isn't Daniel driving the rental? Why isn't that Daniel?"

"We're about to find out." O'Neill kept his tone mild. "But it had better not be an FBI agent coming to tell me that Daniel's spending another day or two in town. If they are, that sedan should morph into a tank. One with a rocket launcher in the turret. They're going to need it."

Carter didn't envy the two men who approached the cabin. Like the previous set, they were dressed in business suits, and Carter spotted carefully crafted leather holsters each loaded with a sleek dark pistol under their arm. But there the similarity to the previous agents ended. These were upper level agents, possibly the ones in charge of this case. But Daniel wasn't with them, and O'Neill had had lots of experience in dealing with upper class government officials of many different governments both on and off world. Carter steeled herself. This wouldn't move into a fight, not a physical one, but words would be exchanged and they wouldn't be pleasant.

This pair had been better briefed on the personnel they were dealing with, or so it seemed. They glanced from O'Neill to Carter to Teal'c, clearly understanding who was the senior officer but uncertain as to who Teal'c was. Their briefing hadn't extended that far, and Carter would have been surprised if it had. The gray-haired one cleared his throat. "Major Carter?"

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Special Agent Frauhoffer, Agent Micaletti, FBI." The feds didn't offer to shake hands. Frauhoffer turned to O'Neill. "And you are—?" Just to make certain.

"Colonel O'Neill, USAF," O'Neill replied, allowing a hint of irritation to leak through. "Where's Dr. Jackson?"

"We'd like to ask you the same thing," Frauhoffer said grimly. "None of our people arrived back in town."

A cold feeling seeped into Carter. "What do you mean? They left here hours ago."

"Did they?" Frauhoffer challenged. "We have only your word for that, Major. What kind of stunt are you pulling, first coming up with this wild tale of terrorists in the wilderness and then federal agents disappear without a trace after coming to speak with your partner. I think you'd better come into town with us. We have a few more questions for you. As well as a little fingerprinting, to make sure you are who you say you are."

"What?" Carter couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Hold on," O'Neill said, frost covering each and every word. "You'd better explain that, Frauhoffer."

"I don't need to, O'Neill. This is my jurisdiction. Federal agents are missing, and they went missing after coming up here. Hold it!" Frauhoffer snarled. Both he and Micaletti drew their weapons, aiming them at Teal'c who was advancing on them with annoyance in every step. "I said, stop right there or I'll shoot!"

"Back off, T," O'Neill said, cooling himself down. "Frauhoffer, I strongly recommend that you put those popguns away. If you shoot, you'll only make him angry."

"Tell him to stand down." Frauhoffer didn't budge.

"Keep cool, T. These boys aren't the ones who took Daniel. I think." O'Neill looked back at the federal agents, deliberately folding his arms. "He's unarmed, Frauhoffer. Going to shoot an unarmed man? Even your bosses won't be able to cover that one up. Especially when at the top we all have the same boss." He held his hands up in the air, to show that he himself was unarmed as well. "We are now going to clear this up and get down to business. Take out your cell phone, check to see that you can get reception around here, and dial this number." O'Neill recited a number he knew by heart. "Ask to speak to General Hammond. And if you don't believe me, call your superiors and have them get in touch with him. But if you don't use the direct line that I just gave you, it'll take you all night. And I have no intention of waiting that long to go after my man." He gestured to the door of the cabin. "I'm going to go inside to begin dinner preparations and to wait. And after you finish hearing how stupid you were from your bosses for annoying me, I am going to go look for Dr. Jackson. Oh, and don't take too long. Much more than an hour, and I'm going to go without you. And if you get in my way, you will regret it. Have I made myself understood?"

The seatbelt failed. Daniel knew that because he had sailed headfirst through the broken windshield, bounced several times, and rolled to a stop on the ground next to Turner's previously pristine sedan.

Both Turner and the un-named agent were dead. No one could survive for more than seconds with a neck at that angle. Daniel pulled himself up hand over hand and peered inside the sedan to make that gruesome discovery.

No time for more. Whoever was shooting at them was likely to be on their way down the slope to investigate and to make certain of any survivors. Speaking of which, Daniel needed to check on young Agent Fiedler. He staggered away from the sedan, hoping that the suspiciously jiggly feeling inside his chest wasn't anything serious. Even if it was, it would have to wait for a better time to be dealt with.

He found Fiedler in the ruined hulk of the rental car, still jammed down underneath the dash where he hid to avoid the bullets. The kid was only semi-conscious—lucky bastard!—and moaned in response to Daniel's calls.

"You've…got to…get out…of…there," Daniel panted. He pulled at the door handle. It was stuck, the dent in the side freezing the locking mechanism in place. "Dammit, Fiedler, give me a hand here! I'm trying to save your life!" Something broken jabbed into his side, sending him to his knees. He refused to look, fearing that the broken part was internal and not a branch cracked by the headlong plunge of the rental car.

Fiedler wiggled out from under the dash, whimpering. He banged helplessly at the door. "Get me out! Get me out! The car's going to blow up!"

"That's only in badly written movies," Daniel snarled, his patience gone. "But those gunmen are up on the hill, and they really will be coming down to kill us if you don't get moving!" He steeled himself. A mighty yank accompanied by an involuntary moan—how and when did I land on the dirt?—and Fiedler was out of the car. But—

"I can't see!" was Fiedler's next despairing cry.

Daniel felt like crying with him. To his shame, he even considered leaving him behind. Colonel Manheim of SG-12 would have; would have considered it from the strategic point of view, to cut his losses and get out with as little damage as possible with the intent of sending back help. But leaving people behind, even as miserable an excuse for a human being as Fiedler was, was not in Daniel's make up. Fiedler should have known the risks of his job—and did, to hear him tell it—but that was a far cry from a kid facing death for the first time in his young life.

"C'mon," Daniel said roughly, suppressing the urge to whimper himself. Daniel used the car to haul himself into an upright position. "Hang onto me. We've got to get away from here as quickly as possible."

"You have twelve hours to solve this, Frauhoffer," O'Neill said, making a point of checking his watch. The sun was heading for the hills, but still willing to give its all for the sake of preserving the daylight hours. There was no smile on the colonel's face. "That gives you until first thing tomorrow morning. Right now I will be calling my superiors to let them know what I already know: that you are thoroughly out-classed by a cell of outcast terrorists so stupid that their superiors stationed them out in the middle of nowhere. As soon as I make that call, a platoon of highly motivated and enthusiastic Air Force Special Ops are going to prepare to descend on this sleepy town and give it a thorough wake-up call. And the only reason it will take twelve hours is because they have to fill out the damn paperwork to requisition a car to drive up here after they requisition a jet to land at the nearest air force base. But if I find something that I find alarming, Agent Frauhoffer, then the call I make will be a little more pungent, in which case the Special Ops squad is going to use the requisition paperwork for target practice and parachute their way down in a matter of minutes. Do I make myself clear?"

Frauhoffer didn't look happy, and his five o'clock shadow was working on nine PM. "Dr. Jackson is that important?"

"Dr. Jackson is that important," O'Neill affirmed. "In fact, he's so important that I'm not going to wait for tomorrow morning to begin my own search. I'm going to start right now, and you're going to give me what you've got. Talk."

"This is my investigation—"

"And my man is missing, after yours took him away. I know my team, Special Agent Frauhoffer. How well do you know yours?"

"Special Agent Turner comes with a fine record—"

"Translation: you've never met him before in your life. For all you know, he could be a secret member of the little cult in the woods a few miles away across the lake." O'Neill could have made it much more cutting. But he was just getting started. Carter estimated that the really good stuff wouldn't flow until close to the morning. "How many field operations in the back country have you conducted?"

"I've been with the FBI for over six years—"

O'Neill cut him off. "That's not what I asked, which means you don't have much of a record. You've handled investigations in cities where there are stoolies and teams of forensic specialists to tell you what to do." He uncrossed his arms to point a finger at Frauhoffer. "Here's what's going to happen. You and your team are going to scour the roads between here and town, and you are going to find out where and how and who took out a crack team"—the sarcasm flowed a little more heavily—"of FBI agents and one national treasure."

"And what are you going to be doing?" Frauhoffer asked, outclassed and knowing it and resenting it.

O'Neill looked over at Carter, who didn't know whether to smile at O'Neill's tactics or bite her lip with worry. "You remember, Major, when I said that as long as that group across the lake didn't bother me, that I wasn't about to bother them?"

"Yes, sir."

"They are now bothering me."

Fiedler fell for what seemed like the one hundredth time. The only good part about it was that the kid was able to pick himself up, because Daniel himself was having difficulty staying on his feet. And if Daniel went down, he wasn't certain that getting up was within his abilities.

Night had recently fallen, which meant that it was now somewhere in the vicinity of ten o'clock at night. Fiedler's sight had not returned. Daniel had washed away some of the blood on the kid's forehead when they forded the stream a while back, and more blood had oozed out to form a ragged-looking covering on a nasty gash. Daniel seriously wished for some medical attention for Fiedler; it didn't take a brain surgeon to tell that the head wound was affecting the kid's vision. Daniel devoutly hoped that it wasn't permanent, and that medical care could fix what was wrong. And he wouldn't mind some of that medical care for himself, someone armed with some heavy duty pain-killers. The stitch in his side was rapidly turning from a slender needle to a heavy duty power drill.

Their pursuers were gaining on them. Daniel had put a fair distance between them in their first frantic flight from the smashed vehicles but between his own injuries and Fiedler's loss of vision, that space was closing. Every tree that they passed seemed to have it in for Daniel, whipping back a branch to hit him in the face or whatever bruise was closest. Little gullies in the trail they were following shifted over to either catch his foot or grab Fiedler's, sending the kid careening into him. And Daniel was certain that the pair sounded like a pair of rampaging elephants. Teal'c would be ashamed, Daniel thought. All the work he did, trying to teach me to move silently in the brush.

This couldn't go on. All too soon the terrorists would catch up with them, and it would be the end of one very young FBI agent and one hapless civilian archeologist, recently attached to the Air Force. O'Neill's voice floated annoyingly through his mind: what'sa matter, Daniel? Giving up already?

Yeah, Jack, it would be a lot easier to simply lie down and let them shoot me.

But there were texts still left to be translated back in his office in Cheyenne Mountain, and new worlds to explore, and people to meet. And, illogical as it sounded, he didn't think he could look Jack O'Neill in the face if he took the easy way out. Easy had never been the Jackson technique.

Plan A—lose 'em—wasn't particularly effective. Time to move on to Plan B. Daniel spotted what he was looking for: a thick set of bushes. He guided Fiedler to them.

"Crawl under there and keep quiet," he ordered in a harsh whisper.

"But they'll find me. They'll shoot me."

"Not if you keep quiet."

"But how will I get out of here?"

"Just keep quiet for at least two hours," Daniel told him, "then crawl up hill. There's a road up there. You'll feel it with your hands."

"But how will I know which way to go? How will I know when two hours is up?"

"Would you rather stay here with me and get shot?" It came out more harshly than Daniel had intended. The kid's face fell. Daniel relented. "I'm going to draw them away from you. After you hear them pass, wait at least another half an hour, then go up to the road. Hopefully by now your people and mine are looking for us. If we're lucky, they'll find us before our friends with the pistols do." Daniel tried to put hope into his voice. "Just keep quiet. I've been in lots of situations like this. It'll all work out."

"You've been in spots like this? You're an archeologist."

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing what can happen when you study old civilizations. We'll be laughing about this in another week." I hope.

O'Neill dumped another unconscious body onto the rapidly growing pile behind the woodshed. He wiped his hand across the camouflage colored kerchief that he tied over silver hair, knowing that the black dirt he'd rubbed across his face made him difficult to see in the deteriorating light. He deliberately ignored Frauhoffer's wide-eyed stare. "Any of 'em move?"

Audible gulp. "No, sir."

O'Neill had reluctantly allowed Special Agent Frauhoffer to accompany him to the camp across the lake. There really wasn't a better option: he'd sent Carter and Teal'c to canvas the road along with the federal agents, to see if they could track down where the terrorists had taken out the mini-convoy—Teal'c to do the tracking, and Carter to keep the Jaffa from collecting too many wondering stares. Frauhoffer's team might not be up to O'Neill's standards, but that didn't mean that they were stupid. A gaff here, a mistake there, and Teal'c would be facing an inquiring public and O'Neill a highly annoyed General Hammond.

But that didn't mean that O'Neill was about to trust Frauhoffer on his six. Better not to rely on anyone than to rely on a leg likely to break. So he put Frauhoffer in charge of the terrorists that he took down, to keep them quiet and to keep everyone out of his way as he went about the chore of taking out the terrorist camp that was causing all the trouble.

It wasn't a tough task, at least not at first. O'Neill took them through the barbed wire fence with barely a pause to cut the wires. The sentry he took out next, tying the man up and selecting the woodshed as the place to dump him, with Frauhoffer assigned to guard the terrorists as the heap of bodies grew larger. O'Neill doubted that the silencer on the federal gun was standard issue, and his opinion of Special Agent Frauhoffer rose just slightly. Frauhoffer's own opinion of O'Neill, the colonel suspected, had risen substantially.

A quick scan of the compound was next: twelve men, two women, no dogs. O'Neill smiled tightly to himself. No dogs to bark made his life easier. But also no Daniel or any sign of the three federal agents who had also gone missing. Likewise worrisome was the fact that the camp appeared to hold some four other people of whom there was no sign.

There was, however, a table filled with plans. Some of it O'Neill could understand. He had learned a great deal about simple and straightforward explosives, and he could read the chart with the various wires and electrical impulses leading to a black box which presumably went boom in response to the appropriate stimuli. The flowing script around it was more daunting, but O'Neill had no doubt but that Daniel could read it without blinking. Hence the need for the terrorists to eliminate him. It made sense.

Which brought up another concern, one that had been niggling at him ever since Frauhoffer had arrived on his doorstep: how had the terrorists known about Daniel in the first place? Second, how had the terrorists known when and where to take Daniel and his escort down? Both suggested a mole somewhere in the works and since O'Neill was completely confident in the security of his own team, that left only the federal agents as suspects. Okay, maybe one of the locals, but since the feds were treating the locals only slightly better than SG-1…

Well, Frauhoffer hadn't tried to shoot him in the back, so that gave the Special Agent a mark on the plus side. O'Neill confiscated the plans to show to Frauhoffer.

Frauhoffer had had as much training in explosives as O'Neill. His eyes widened when O'Neill unrolled the documents, and he swallowed hard. "When they sent me out here, Colonel O'Neill, this was supposed to be another false alarm by overly concerned citizens. A nice, simple, straight-forward mission where we pat the locals on the head, thank the responsible tourists for being so patriotic, and go home to collect another paycheck."

O'Neill gave a tight, sympathetic smile. "Instead, you've got three missing agents, a missing civilian, and blueprints for a bomb that will take out the train station as well as half of Duluth. Assuming that's where the terrorists are headed."

Frauhoffer snorted, and grinned gamely. "You forgot to mention running up against a pissed off team of Air Force Special Ops on vacation." He gestured at the still unconscious men on the ground. "I've already called Washington for back up, colonel, but in the meantime I'd appreciate any help you and your people could offer. My investigation is your investigation."

Cold and wet. That wasn't a new sensation for Daniel Jackson but he still didn't like it. After hiding Fiedler in the brush, he'd taken off at as fast a clip as he could manage, trying to put as much distance between himself and the terrorists as he could.

Hiding his trail was also not in the game plan. He wanted to lead the terrorists away from the young federal agent, so he made certain that there were a lot of tracks for them to see even at night. The shout that came out when he slipped and rolled down a slope into the shallow creek below wasn't intended, but certainly didn't hurt.

Yes, it did. It hurt like hell, waking up the stitch in his side. Daniel spent a precious few moments writhing on the ground, praying for the pain to go away before the terrorists arrived.

Prayers answered. He crept gingerly to his feet, vowing not to fall down again, and scuttled away into the night.

"Here." Teal'c rose smoothly from where he had examined the ground. Carter could hear the contempt in the Jaffa's voice as he continued, though the federal agents were oblivious to the tones as they had been to the evidence that they'd driven past several times. "Even in the dark, the markings are clear. The lead car containing Turner and the other one was struck here, swerved to strike this tree, and stopped. The second car likewise was struck, the tires damaged, and it plunged over the forest edge into this ravine. The attackers approached, examined the car below from this vantage point, then pushed the lead car over the edge as well. I will investigate the ravine," he said, tension putting a knife edge to his voice. "Major Carter, will you accompany me?"

"Undomesticated equines," Carter murmured, holding onto a slender sapling to start her descent. "Lead on. Are they down there?"

"I'll lead," Micaletti insisted. "This is a federal investigation. Those are my men who are missing."

"Then hustle it up, Micaletti," Carter snapped, unwilling to engage in interdepartmental warfare just yet. "They could be hurt down there, or dying."

"Doubtful, Major Carter." Teal'c sounded as unperturbed as ever despite the seriousness of the matter. "The attackers also descended this route. They would have dealt with any survivors. After this much of a delay," and he paused to glare balefully at Special Agent Micaletti, "there will be no one to rescue. Only bodies to recover."

They found the two dead federal agents still in their ruined car. The FBI doctor that Micaletti had brought along—"forensics," he'd explained—opined that both had been killed instantly in the crash.

"So where's Fiedler and your man?" Micaletti asked rhetorically, annoyance in every syllable.

Teal'c did not recognize the statement as rhetorical. "Unknown. However, it does not appear that the miscreants apprehended them. I see blood here and here, tracked over by footprints. The likely scenario is that both DanielJackson and AgentFiedler extricated themselves from the rental car and fled on foot. The terrorists descended as we did, observed that they had been successful with the other two agents, and are currently pursuing their quarry." Teal'c gazed off into the distance, seeing little but hearing much. "I believe they went in that direction."

"You hear them?" asked Micaletti.

"No. But both I and Colonel O'Neill have taught DanielJackson to go downstream when attempting to avoid capture. In addition, the patterns of the sounds of the insects at night are consistent with the passage of several large creatures not long ago. From both facts I surmise that DanielJackson and AgentFiedler have traveled in that direction." Teal'c pointed down stream. "Therefore I shall also go in that direction."

But there was a shout from up above. "Agent Micaletti! Agent Micaletti!"

"Now what?" Micaletti pulled out his cell to talk to the agents left up on the road. "Micaletti. This better be good."

"Breakthrough, Micaletti. Duluth International Airport security spotted the pair that the Air Force guys saw, recognized 'em from the pictures we've been floating around. They're holding them at the airport. They're calling for a positive ID."

Micaletti cursed. "Damn. We were supposed to have Jackson back at the local police precinct by now. He could've identified the terrorists, then we could have sweated the location of the bomb out of 'em." He focused on the distaff member of SG-1. "Major Carter, you're the only other person who knows what they look like. I need you to go to the airport. Schneider will take you. Get moving."

"But—"

"You know anybody else around here that knows what those damn terrorists look like, lady?"

Maybe it is time for inter-department warfare. But, obnoxious or not, the agent was correct; Carter was the only one who could ID the pair that airport security had detained. She frowned and pulled out her own cell, knowing that O'Neill had turned his off while infiltrating the terrorist camp. She filled him in on voice mail, letting him know that Teal'c was on his own among the federal agents looking for Daniel. O'Neill would read between the lines, would return as soon as humanly possible. Leaving Teal'c alone among these suspicious men was not a good idea, but turning Micaletti down on his high-handed demand for her to identify the men at the airport was worse, not to mention hard on the train depot the terrorists were planning to bomb. They would have to let things play out and hope for the best. She gave Teal'c a meaning-filled look before allowing one of Micaletti's people to escort her away. Low profile, Teal'c.

Teal'c inclined his head in acknowledgment, watching her go with misgivings. He had had no chance to discuss his own concerns with her, but Teal'c was convinced that there was a traitor among the federal agents. There was nothing he could put a finger on—to borrow the Tau're phrase—nothing that he could point to as evidence that he was correct, but this splitting of his team was dangerous.

However, as MajorCarter had pointed out, there was no better option. ColonelO'Neill was a capable warrior, as was MajorCarter. And as for DanielJackson, he had proven himself on many occasions, to the dismay of his enemies. Teal'c would persevere, and O'Neill would return shortly to assist him in his search for the missing archeologist. Given the man's history as a survivor, Teal'c was convinced that he would eventually find his comrade. Teal'c returned to his perusal of the trail left by DanielJackson and the terrorists.

"That's all of 'em." O'Neill dumped the last terrorist into the pile. "Are the locals on the way?"

"They had to call in the day shift to help out, but ninety percent of the force is on their way here," Frauhoffer reported, "all six of them. They left Chief Holloway to hold down the fort."

"Good. They can take possession of the three crates of automatic weapons in the far bunk house," O'Neill said. "There's another crate of grenades as well, and I didn't bother going into any of the other boxes. They're not going anywhere. Illegal possession of firearms will be enough for now if charges are needed. Hear anything from the search party?" Which was what O'Neill really wanted to know about.

"Nothing. We'll join them as soon as the locals arrive to take over." Frauhoffer unrolled the plans to the bomb that O'Neill found. "Have you ever seen writing like that? Must be that Farsi stuff that Dr. Jackson was talking about."

"Um." The scribblings on the plans for the bomb looked unnervingly familiar, as though O'Neill had seen it before, and not in the too distant past. I've been hanging around Daniel too much, O'Neill thought. Next thing you know, he'll be teaching me to read Goa'uld. He pulled out his cell phone to call Carter and saw the little envelope I've-got-a-message sign in the corner. He dialed in, and his second's lyrical tones seeped through the airwaves.

"Colonel, Carter here. No luck yet finding Daniel and Fiedler, but Teal'c's tracking them right now, and he says the trail is pretty hot, not more than a couple of hours ahead of us. Duluth International has picked up a couple of men they say fit the description of the terrorists that Daniel and I overheard, so I'm going to ID them now before they can get to the train station from the airport. If we can stop them before they have a chance to plant the bomb we'll prevent a lot of misery. I'm giving Teal'c my cell so that you can contact him. The feds are escorting me to the airport; you can get hold of me through them. Carter out."

O'Neill felt a cold seep into his gut. There was no doubt that what Carter did was the right thing—aside from Daniel, she was the only person who could identify the pair of terrorists—but leaving Teal'c alone among a team of highly trained federal agents was not his idea of a vacation for the top level security risk. Trying to call the Jaffa's mark on his forehead a tattoo was like waving a red flag at a bull and whistling, "here, kitty, kitty."

Not the time for second thoughts; what was done was done. But it did mean that O'Neill needed to hustle back to the other side of the lake to keep a handle on a certain team member in a potentially volatile situation. And it was clear that Daniel wasn't among the sleeping bodies in this camp, so the next place to go look for him would be at Teal'c's side.

He tried to sound calm, and thought that he succeeded admirably. He traded on his rapidly growing reputation with Frauhoffer. "Carter says that they're closing in. Listen, Frauhoffer, you're the one with the federal authority here. I'm just a military grunt on vacation, and I'd rather keep our names out of this, if you know what I mean. If it's okay with you, I'll borrow your car and head back to the search. You handle things here, and tell the newspapers that they've got a fine team of Homeland Security folks working for 'em. Make sure they get you in a good light when they snap your picture."

Frauhoffer eyed him narrowly, not missing a speck of the camo clothing, the way O'Neill casually strapped a knife to his calf, the comfort level with the automatic tucked into his belt. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, colonel, but—are you Black Ops?"

O'Neill smiled weakly. "Something like that."

Frauhoffer nodded, satisfied. "I won't ask you for any more information. Wouldn't want your job for all the planets in the sky." He handed the plans to the bomb back to O'Neill. "Take these with you. If you find your man, we'll need a fast translation of these squiggles. I wouldn't put it past these guys to have already planted the device, and being able to tell which wire is which will mean a lot. Maybe the writing will even tell us where they're going to stick the bomb." He stuck out his hand. "Pleasure working with you, Colonel O'Neill. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope to never work with you again. You guys scare me."

"Pleasure," O'Neill echoed, shaking hands. He accepted the car keys from Frauhoffer and headed off for the agent's car.

A quiet murmur followed O'Neill. "Civilian archeologist—hah!"