Teal'c moved swiftly through the night. The tracks he followed grew more obvious, as though the makers knew that the end game was near. There was no point to subtlety any longer. The federal agents were left behind, but Teal'c did not care. Micaletti called to him, anger in his voice at this challenge to his federal authority. Teal'c moved on; he had no time for this petty bureaucratic hustling for power.
There, up ahead. He saw them: two men standing over a small stand of shrubbery, each with a gun in their hand. Though Teal'c could not see what they were aiming at, there was no doubt in his mind that he had found his missing team mate.
There was no time. Teal'c carried no weapon; his preferred staff weapon was safely stowed away in the Cheyenne Mountain Base where unauthorized personnel never knew it existed. But a weaponless Teal'c was not a powerless Jaffa. Seizing a hand-sized rock, he flung it at the nearest of the two terrorists.
His aim was true. The rock struck the man squarely above the ear, caving in the skull. The terrorist dropped to the forest floor, gun rolling free from suddenly nerveless hands. The other man whirled around in shock.
Teal'c was already half-way across the clearing. He launched himself into the air with the speed and grace of a diver, knocking the second man off of his feet. The man shrieked, and his pistol went off.
In the bushes, Daniel froze. Who had been hit?
Then Teal'c picked himself up off of the man, grabbing the terrorist by the shirt and shaking him. His black stocking cap rolled up, and the golden symbol of First Prime gleamed in the meager starlight. Teal'c pulled back his fist and let fly. The terrorist's eyes rolled back up in his head, and he went limp in Teal'c's grasp.
Teal'c met Daniel's terrified stare. He raised one eyebrow and allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk upward just slightly as he indicated the trunk of the tree behind Daniel. Daniel chanced a quick look: the tree had taken the bullet just six inches above Daniel's own head. The cloud cover above chose that moment to clear and to show the image in clearer detail than any had seen all night. Daniel felt queasy.
No time for that now. "Teal'c," Daniel gasped out, "the other one. He's a Goa'uld!"
Teal'c stiffened. "You are certain?" He let the second terrorist slide to the ground.
Daniel nodded, the movement shakier than he thought it would be. "I saw his eyes glow. He knew who I was, that I knew who he was."
"Then we must exercise extreme caution," Teal'c said. He stepped over to the man he'd thrown the rock at and felt for a pulse. "He appears to be dead. But I will not allow this body to be taken anywhere but the Cheyenne Mountain Base." The juvenile symbiote inside him squirmed irritably in such close proximity to a mature Goa'uld, confirming Daniel's words. He frowned.
"Good." Daniel closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them, determined to crawl out from his inadequate hiding place. Two unsuccessful attempts later, and he felt Teal'c's strong arms gripping his, gently hauling him out through the bushes. He clung to the Jaffa, not at all certain that his own legs would support him. A gentle summer breeze attacked, sending shivers up and down to start him shaking, the water-soaked clothing leaching heat.
Micaletti dashed into sight, sending up a shout to alert the others. "You found him."
"That is obvious," Teal'c stated. "Fetch blankets, and quickly. I believe that DanielJackson is in shock."
Micaletti stared at the two bodies sprawled in the dirt, barely visible in the dim starlight. "What the hell happened here?"
"I subdued them." Teal'c allowed a hint of annoyance to tinge his voice. The federal agent was wasting time with foolish questions. "Fetch blankets. This man has been injured, and requires assistance, as does one of these attackers. The other is dead."
Micaletti finally jumped into action. "Yo, doc! Basehart, you too! Get over here! We got 'em!"
The other five hustled into view, the forensics specialist going automatically to the terrorists on the ground. "Dead," he pronounced the Goa'uld without a second thought. The other was coming around, and the doctor produced an ampule that he snapped underneath the man's nose. The terrorist's head jerked back with full and unwelcome consciousness, and his eyes widened as he realized who was surrounding him. Two federal agents secured his arms, and another stood back with his service revolver aimed loosely at the terrorist. There was no way this one was escaping.
"Blankets," Teal'c insisted. Daniel's shivering was becoming more pronounced.
Micaletti flicked them an irritated look that clearly said that he had better things to do. "Basehart, give the Air Force guys a hand, then get back down here." He turned away. "Doc, give me a cause of death."
Basehart was low man on Micaletti's totem pole, but Teal'c was not displeased. As long as Teal'c received the assistance he required, Micaletti could do what he liked with the others. Basehart shouldered one of Daniel's arms, helping Teal'c to raise the archeologist to his feet and stagger up the slope.
"I've got a wilderness pack in the back of the SUV," Basehart volunteered, pulling the car keys out of his pocket. "Hang on; I'll get it. You start getting that wet shirt off of him. I've also got something liquid that I'll heat from the cigarette lighter."
"Coffee," Daniel murmured, hungry for the warmth. He didn't seem to have any strength left, only realized after the fact that Teal'c had pulled the sodden shirt over his head and was wrapping him in a silvery survival blanket. The Jaffa let his team mate rest bonelessly against his chest, offering his own body heat. Then there was a hot mug in Daniel's grasp, two large Jaffa hands steadying his own and guiding them to his lips.
He sipped, and sputtered. "This isn't coffee!"
"Nope. It's tea." Basehart was unapologetic. "Hot, herbal, and de-caffeinated. Caffeine is the last thing you need right now, Dr. Jackson." He glanced down the slope. "I gotta get back there. You need anything more before I go?"
"Warn the others to exercise extreme caution when approaching the 'dead' body," Teal'c instructed swiftly. "In fact, it would be prudent for you to leave it as it is until others with more knowledge can collect it."
Basehart frowned. "You mean, he's a plague carrier? He seemed healthy enough to track you cross country."
"Something like that." Daniel let Teal'c help him with another sip of the hot liquid. Basehart was right; it did help. Daniel felt as if he could almost open his eyes unassisted. And the shivering had gone from a seven on the Richter scale to a mere five. He took another sip, adding, "Just leave the body alone. Stay ten feet away at all times. Our people will be by to take care of it shortly."
Carter looked at the two suspects that Duluth International had collected through the one way mirror. The glass on the other side fooled no one, least of all the two men who were glaring at her from beneath beetled and bushy black eyebrows. Both were swarthy in complexion with short black hair topping off liquid brown eyes that smoldered with unsuppressed anger.
They had each dressed casually, trying avoid notice, both in chinos and polo shirts, clean shaven and unremarkable. The contents of their pockets had been taken from them, and now lay in neat lines across the table in the center of the room. They had little with them: wallets that contained less than ten dollars between them, no pictures of loved ones, no credit cards, only a small paper that contained flowing Arabic script. Copies of the script had already been faxed to Washington for translation, and the drivers' licenses were being run through databases in an effort to verify identity. Carter's federal escort, a man named LaPierre, was betting that the licenses were fake.
"That's them." There was no doubt in her mind. "That's the two men that Dr. Jackson overheard in the diner."
The head of Duluth International security nodded grimly. "We've already pulled their luggage off of the plane, and we're going through it right now." He accepted a message handed to him from a runner. "And this confirms it. There's a small explosive inside of the carry-on that one was holding. There'll be an investigation as to how the carry-on got this far into the airport." He indicated one of the terrorists, and cocked his head at LaPierre. "This is your territory, Agent LaPierre. You want custody?"
"Sure," LaPierre started to say when Carter interrupted.
"You said a small explosive?"
"Yes. What's wrong?"
"Plenty," Carter said grimly. "From what I know, these guys don't do anything in a small way. The plans that Colonel O'Neill saw indicate a bomb that could take out half of this airport. And Dr. Jackson overheard them talking about a railroad depot, not an airport."
"Which means we're missing a lot of information," LaPierre realized. He turned to the Duluth security chief. "Ground the planes. Start an orderly evacuation. I'll call Washington."
The man paled. "You can't be serious. I'll have the airlines screaming at me."
Major Carter backed LaPierre up. "You'll have a squadron of jet fighters screaming at you from overhead if you don't comply, buster. Notify your flight tower that it's time to shut down. Nobody takes off, and nobody lands."
Daniel tugged on Teal'c's sleeve, and the Jaffa bent to listen. "Go and watch the body," he instructed. "I'm all right here. But if that Goa'uld jumps into another body, we may never find it."
Teal'c surveyed Daniel doubtfully. He and Agent Basehart had set Daniel up in the back seat of the SUV with enough survival blankets wrapped over and around him so that he could pass for a hermit dispensing wisdom on a cold mountaintop. That and two cups of tea had already put color back into the archeologist's face, and the shivering had abated to a mere tremble every now and again. Daniel was even able to hold his own mug now, instead of needing help to prevent spillage. He sat there, a huddling lump of flesh, perched sideways on the SUV car seat so that he could watch the flashlighted scene below.
But if DanielJackson was right, if the Goa'uld had not been damaged beyond its own healing powers, if it slid unnoticed into another of the humans here present, then that would be a greater calamity than one man dumping tea upon himself. Teal'c bowed to the necessity, and inclined his head. "ColonelO'Neill will arrive presently."
Teal'c found to his dismay that the federal agents had placed the corpse of the Goa'uld into a dark plastic body bag. Teal'c would have preferred that they had left it strictly alone, that none had approached, but Micaletti assured him that they had taken all precautions against plague. This puzzled Teal'c, for his team members had told him over and over again that no one outside of the Cheyenne Mountain Base knew of the Goa'uld threat but he supposed that there were standard control measures that all Tau're knew of. That should be sufficient, but Teal'c resolved to discuss the issue with ColonelO'Neill at the earliest convenient opportunity. If the Jaffa were wrong, it could have dire consequences for his adopted home world.
He approached the plastic-wrapped corpse. This time his immature symbiote was still, indicating that the Goa'uld inside was dead. Teal'c felt relief. These plague precautions that Micaletti had spoken of were unnecessary. This Goa'uld would trouble no more beings. Its recuperative powers had not been up to the task of reviving the host.
Basehart caught up with him. "I got hold of the doc, and sent him on to Dr. Jackson. Good man, the doc, but tends to forget that sometimes living people need care before looking at a crime scene."
"Thank you," Teal'c returned. "DanielJackson is an important member of our team."
Basehart gave him an odd look. "Yeah, I kinda figured that. No, don't tell me any more. You'd probably have to kill me."
Teal'c lifted one eyebrow. "Why would I do that?" Perhaps this would be an opportune time to put the lessons that I have learned into action. He added, "Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck."
A half-hearted smile was the Jaffa's reward, and he cautiously allowed himself to be pleased. Clearly I have progressed in my studies.
O'Neill pulled the car in behind the others on the dirt road high above the ravine, jumping out and leaving the keys behind in the ignition. It's a federal vehicle, let them keep watch over it. "Teal'c?" he called. "Daniel?"
"Colonel O'Neill? Over here." It was an unfamiliar voice, but it knew his name. O'Neill didn't waste any time in responding. He headed for the SUV that had called his name.
O'Neill found them in the lead SUV, Daniel propped up in one of the back seats swathed in blankets with one of the two federal agents patiently waiting to push more hot tea at him. The back of the seat was tilted back as far as it would go and a second agent was putting a stethoscope away, by which O'Neill deduced that agent number two was the forensic specialist that Frauhoffer had called in, doubling by actually using the medical skills he had acquired a decade ago on a breathing human. O'Neill only had eyes for the civilian member of his team. "Daniel?"
"I'm okay, Jack," Daniel reassured him tiredly. "Just a little dented. Did you get them?"
"Got a lot more than a few terrorists." O'Neill tried to grin. Mindful of the pair of federal agents, he pulled out the plans to the bomb that he had recovered from the compound. "Carter called me, told me that they got the other two in custody, the pair that you overheard. They've also found a small bomb in their carry-on luggage, which pretty much nails their sorry hides to the prison wall for the next several decades. With those two, what Frauhoffer and I have found in the compound, and your friends below in the ravine trying to kill you and a bunch of federal types, we've wiped out this particular cell of nastiness."
"You don't appear particularly satisfied," the forensic specialist observed dryly.
"I'm not." O'Neill unrolled the plans under Daniel's nose. Both federal agents peered interestedly at them, elbowing each other for a better view. "The bomb Carter described looks too small to be the one in these plans. And, as Carter so clearly pointed out, Duluth International is an airport, not a train station. Care to explain, Daniel?"
Daniel perched his glasses more firmly on his nose, wincing as he took the plans from O'Neill, trying to read them from his reclining position in the dim overhead light from the SUV. O'Neill watched his archeologist closely, not liking the gray cast to the man's face. But the doctor didn't seem especially concerned, and Basehart too paid more attention to the papers than to Daniel. And where the hell was Teal'c? If there were anything seriously wrong with Daniel, no one would have been able to tear the Jaffa away from his side. Putting a lid on his worry, O'Neill turned his attention back to Daniel perusing the writing. Daniel's eyes flickered up and down the entire length of the page.
"Daniel?"
"There are two sets of writings here, Jack. One is Farsi."
"Don't tell me; let me guess. The other is that unusual subset of ancient Egyptian that you've been working on." O'Neill kept his voice awesomely casual for the federal agents present.
"You nailed it, Jack. Just a line or two. Nothing much; a rough translation would be I will conquer this world as is my right. Another couple of flowery descriptive phrases about a god called Serus."
"Serus?" The doctor poked his head up. "Don't think I've heard of that one, and I thought I knew most of the ancient Egyptian gods. Hobby of mine."
Daniel shrugged as casually as O'Neill had, then grimaced as the movement pulled on sore muscles. "I'm in the field, and even I keep learning about new ones. Just when you thought you've heard them all, another one rises to take his or her place. Sometimes I think they'll never run out."
"Must be a pretty powerful god, putting out compliments like that," the doctor offered.
O'Neill snorted. "Heard that one before. Wouldn't call 'em compliments, doc. More like boasting." Basehart snickered, and even Daniel cracked a distracted smile. O'Neill moved on. "Daniel, what about the rest of it? Anything useful, like the master plans to this bomb that may or may not be in the airport?"
Daniel frowned. "It's Farsi, but in code. This is going to take me a few minutes." He struggled to sit up, the better to concentrate, not even realizing that O'Neill had automatically reached to support him. He did feel it when the blood drained out of his head, and Daniel slumped into O'Neill's arms. "Dammit," he moaned, the shakes coming back. The plans dropped to the floor of the SUV. Basehart scrambled to collect them.
"Steady, big guy." O'Neill eased the man back as far as he could. "It's gonna be hard to translate this stuff with you passing out on me. Why don't you just stay flat here, Daniel?" It wasn't a request, and Daniel was in no condition to argue. "Doc, a little help over here?"
"Just a little dehydrated, that's all. He's had a rough night." The forensic specialist shone a pencil light into Daniel's eyes. "Keep pushing the tea, colonel, and keep the blankets around him. Hang on; chug these down." He held out a couple of white pills.
"What are they?" That was O'Neill. Daniel didn't feel up to asking.
"Antibiotics. Anyone out in the forest trying to drink down the entire creek is a natural for pneumonia." The specialist dropped the pills into O'Neill's hand. "As they say, take two of these and call me in the morning. On second thought, don't bother. You'll feel a lot better by then, and I'll probably be up all night processing this scene. Your man did a pretty thorough job on that terrorist. Nothing much left to him."
"Yeah, well, that's our T-man. Thorough." O'Neill helped Daniel swallow the pills, holding the mug of now lukewarm tea to his lips and determined to get a fresh cup. "You heard the doctor, Daniel. Chug 'em down."
"This stuff tastes vile," Daniel complained. "Coffee would be better."
Basehart winked at O'Neill. "I'll get some more tea, hot so you can't taste it past the burned taste buds. And some decent light to see these plans with, since I don't see anyone else in the vicinity who knows Farsi. And that includes Fiedler, even if his eyes were working."
"Works for me. If you see him, send Teal'c up this way." Best to keep the Jaffa close at hand where O'Neill could keep an eye on him.
Daniel could barely wait until both the forensic specialist and Basehart disappeared from view. He clutched O'Neill's arm. "Jack, the Goa'uld is here!"
"What?" O'Neill did a swift scan of the area. No one was in earshot. He put his ear close to Daniel's mouth. "Talk, Daniel. Fast and quiet."
"It was one of the terrorists, one of the ones trailing me and Fiedler. I don't think anyone else knows. Teal'c killed the host. It's the one in the body bag. I sent Teal'c to keep an eye on the body."
"Good thought, Daniel. Wouldn't want the snake crawling into anyone else before it croaked. Any other glowing eyes?" And that explained why the Jaffa wasn't hovering. Priorities, colonel.
"Not that I've seen," Daniel muttered, trying not to yawn. "God, I'm exhausted."
"Can't imagine why. You've only been up all night, running for your life."
"Swimming, more like it," Daniel grumbled. O'Neill tucked the covers further up under the man's chin. "Give me the plans. You need to know what they say."
O'Neill eyed his civilian team member. Daniel really did look pale and sweating, thoroughly uncomfortable. But Carter too was sitting on a powder keg, literally. They needed the terrorist plans translated and needed them now.
Teal'c padded up, a corner of his mouth quirking up in greeting. "ColonelO'Neill. Were you successful in your foray to the terrorist compound?"
O'Neill nodded, relief spreading through him. Teal'c wouldn't be so calm if there were a Goa'uld lurking about. "Got the results right there in Daniel's hands. You?"
"I believe the Goa'uld is no more. I killed the host while rescuing DanielJackson, not knowing that he was Goa'uld. Once informed, the federal agents instituted precautions against plague. None approached the body."
"Works for me," O'Neill said. "And now?"
"I have examined the remains," Teal'c continued. "My symbiote does not detect the presence of a mature Goa'uld within the corpse, therefore I believe the symbiote died with the host. The threat is ended."
"One threat," O'Neill reminded him. "Carter is still sitting on a pair of terrorists. Not Goa'uld, but still plenty dangerous. Speaking of which…" He pulled out his cell and got through to his second in command. "Carter?"
"Good timing, sir. I was just about to call you." There was no pleasure in her voice. "We pulled these guys' luggage off of the plane. There wasn't very much inside. Pretty empty, in fact."
"But—?"
"We did find traces of C4."
There was dead silence across the air waves while O'Neill unhappily digested that fact. Then—"That's a military explosive, Carter. How did a couple of terrorists get their hands on it?" The question was rhetorical. "More to the point, where is it now?"
"Good question, sir. I was hoping that some of the people you apprehended might talk. This pair won't even admit to speaking English."
"Jack." Daniel was listening in. "Tell her to look in Terminal C, in the baggage area next to…" he trailed off as the words didn't translate properly. He rustled the plans, trying to get them into better light, as if that would help him to decipher the meaning.
"Where in the baggage area?" Carter wanted to know. "Details, Daniel. It's a big baggage area."
"Can't be too many places to hide six kilos of C4," Daniel grumbled.
O'Neill jerked his head up in alarm. "Six kilos? That's enough to take out the entire airport!"
"And not very large in terms of sheer size, Daniel," Carter admonished. "We're talking no bigger than a bread box."
"Bread box?" Daniel caught that one over the phone. "I didn't realize it could be so small. Or so scary." He tried to focus on the plans, trying to translate the coded phrases, and yawned. "Dammit, Jack, I need some coffee with a double dose of caffeine. I can't concentrate!"
O'Neill eyed the archeologist doubtfully. The man truly didn't appear healthy. But six kilos of C4 would make a whole lot of other people even more unhealthy, not to mention the mess to clean up. And the doc did say that Daniel would be fine in the morning…He made his decision. "Teal'c, get some high octane stuff."
They could see the color steep back into Daniel's cheeks as the caffeine took effect. His eyes got brighter, his gestures more animated, and the translation flowed. He took another healthy swig of coffee and spoke. "Sam, look in the fourth carrier from the back, the one that isn't scheduled to be loaded until four AM. Look for a suitcase with black sides, silver molding, hard plastic body, ticketed to go to Atlanta."
"Hang on. Going to the fourth carrier, opening the carrier door. Boy, what some people take on planes! Heaven only knows what's in that over-sized package." She continued the running commentary, keeping the rest of her team appraised of her progress. "Wait a minute. That looks like it." Then— "Got it."
"Don't open it!" O'Neill found himself saying. "The lock could be booby-trapped!"
"It is," Daniel confirmed. "Says so right on the plans."
"How do I get inside to disarm it?"
Daniel studied the papers in front of him. "It doesn't say. It just says that the lock is hooked up to the explosive. Pressure sensitive lock."
"Where's the Duluth bomb expert?" O'Neill demanded. His second in command was good, but defusing explosives was a job for professionals—the young and stupid ones, because all of the old, smart ones were smart enough to retire with all of their body parts intact. O'Neill needed Carter in one piece.
"Sick in bed," came the response. "He's down with the flu. There isn't anyone else, Colonel." Carter kept her voice light. "Want to talk me through this?"
"Not a chance, Carter." O'Neill knew better. "Have one of the baggage jockeys take one of the tug boats on wheels and haul the baggage container out to an open field. Have them divert all air traffic."
"Ahead of you there, sir. The airport's been evacuated, and all the incoming flights have been turned away."
"Good." Finally, something going right. This whole vacation had been one disaster after another. It was enough to make O'Neill want to go back to PS-whatever, the one with the squadron of Jaffa. At least there he could shoot someone without his own side getting upset with him. "Then get someone to bring the baggage container out to one of the runways."
There was a pause. Carter came back on. "The airport supervisor is objecting, sir. He's worried that the runways will be blown up."
O'Neill said a bad word. "Tell him that a runway is easier to replace than the whole airport."
"Yes, sir."
"And then tell him that if he doesn't get that baggage container out into the open where it can do the least damage, I will personally tell the flock of F-8's that are on their way here to bomb the hell out of his airport."
Pause. Then, in amusement—"Yes, sir."
"Jack." It was Daniel, hunched over the plans to the bomb. "Jack, this stuff that I'm reading doesn't sound very good."
"Don't think they were much into plot development, Daniel."
"No, I mean they designed the bomb so that it couldn't be defused."
"Most terrorists try to do that. It's the concept behind the whole I'm-going-blow-myself-up-and-be-a-martyr idea." O'Neill came over to look. "What does that say?" He pointed at a phrase which appeared to be attached to the detonation device.
"Grace be to Allah."
"Besides that."
"All glory be unto him. Rough translation, of course. It's nicer in the original. Farsi really is a lovely sounding language."
"Of course. Anything about how this bomb works?"
"Not unless 'Serus' is code for 'bomb'. 'Almighty' would work, and I could even push for 'glorious ball of fire across the sky' but 'he spread his hand, and the crops came forth' just doesn't cut it." Daniel sighed, closing his eyes. "Don't think there's anything here that will help Sam, Jack."
Crap! Into the cell: "You got that baggage container out in the open yet, Carter?"
"Just now, sir. Good news, sir," she added. "Duluth has a robotic device for the police bomb squad. It's arriving now. We're going to use it to remove all the other luggage from around the bomb."
"Good. Keep me posted on your progress. O'Neill out." O'Neill clicked off the cell. He eyed Daniel worriedly. The man didn't look well, looked uncomfortable in the extreme. The caffeine fix appeared to be wearing off. "Are you sure you're all right, Daniel?"
"Fine." Daniel winced, laying back against the car seat, the blankets in disarray. Teal'c automatically went to straighten them out. "I just need a little rest. The doctor said I'd be fine in the morning."
"That's assuming you get some sleep," O'Neill grumbled, turning away just in time for Micaletti to come rushing up, a sheaf of papers in his hand and excited.
"O'Neill! O'Neill!"
"Right here," O'Neill returned testily. "Haven't gone anywhere yet. Planning on going home soon," he added in warning. "I've got a civilian who needs a good night's sleep."
"You can't," Micaletti said in no uncertain terms. "Look what we found in the terrorists' car."
'This' turned out to be the papers that Micaletti was waving about, four photocopied sheets containing a large amount of undecipherable writing. Undecipherable to O'Neill, certainly, but Teal'c's eyes narrowed. And even O'Neill recognized the flowing script as Goa'uld at its finest.
"You have to have your man translate this now," Micaletti insisted. "Who knows what it could be saying? This could contain the names and places of terrorist cells across America."
"Or it could contain Bin Laden's favorite recipe for falafel," O'Neill returned testily. Whatever information the papers held, it certainly wasn't terrorist-related—at least, not Middle East type terrorists, or home-grown type terrorists. Those papers that Micaletti was waving about would certainly end up in SGC hands where Daniel could translate them at his leisure and find out what the dead Goa'uld had been writing in his memoirs. Emphasis on dead Goa'uld. Those papers weren't to communicate information to the terrorist cell that O'Neill and Frauhoffer had taken out, because O'Neill highly doubted that the hidden Goa'uld would have taught the terrorists to speak Goa'uld. O'Neill added, "You never know when Bin Laden might be coming to inspect the barracks, and a good terrorist cell is always prepared."
"Not funny, O'Neill," Micaletti snarled. "We have a situation here, and you're sitting in the middle of it about to get run over. Let's have a little cooperation, here. Trot your boy out now."
O'Neill's eyes narrowed, and he stiffened his spine just enough to let Micaletti know that he'd gone too far. "Cooperation, Special Agent Micaletti? I think your department and the armed forces of this country may have a different definition of the word 'cooperation.' As in, 'Dr. Jackson and Major Carter reported suspicious activities when they could have simply driven on to enjoy a peaceful vacation.' And, 'Dr. Jackson went to help out your people with a translation when your people screwed up by sending the wrong expert, and nearly lost his life when your people couldn't get themselves out of an ambush.' And, 'Colonel O'Neill assisted Special Agent Frauhoffer to take out a terrorist cell in the woods.' And 'Major Carter is currently defusing a bomb at a large airport because your people don't know how to do it.'" O'Neill folded his arms. "Just what part of cooperation were you referring to, Micaletti?"
Micaletti didn't know when to quit. "The part where Dr. Jackson translates this document, Colonel O'Neill. The part where he tells us the names and aliases of two dozen terrorists hiding in America, and we take them out without a single shot fired. The part where a grateful country thanks him for cooperation."
"Fine." O'Neill took the papers from Micaletti, and had to tug to get them from the agent's hand. Might as well start SGC's part in this mess right now. "He'll do it in the morning. I very much doubt that the two hours between now and daylight will make any difference in the terrorists' plans. Right now I'm taking my people home and I'm instructing Major Carter to return as soon as that bomb is no longer a threat." There was a single, long, loud boom from somewhere to the south, and it felt as though a triple decker Mack truck had just rumbled by on the dirt road. O'Neill cocked his head. "And I would say that that situation is now a reality." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the last number. "Carter?"
"There's a pretty big crater in the middle of runway D and I think there's a few sets of Canadian geese who aren't particularly pleased with having their sleep disturbed, but beyond that everything's fine, sir. No one injured, and we even managed to get the tug far enough away."
"Good work, Carter."
"I could have defused it, sir."
"Possibly. But I like having things go boom. You know that, Major. And Daniel's translation suggested otherwise. Meet us back at the cabin, because the three of us are headed there now. O'Neill out." O'Neill turned back to Micaletti. "Your bomb is no longer a threat. The terrorists are either dead or in custody. I am getting into my car," and he jerked his thumb at the rental he'd picked up when driving Teal'c and himself out from Duluth International how many days ago?, "and taking my people back home to try to enjoy the rest of our leave time. In the morning Dr. Jackson will look at these documents and inform you if there is anything pertinent to your investigation or to national security." And I already know that there won't be, so don't hold your breath. This ain't national security, it's planetary. "I suggest you get the bodies to the morgue, Special Agent. They won't look like much in the morning if you don't." And I'm not going to tell you that the terrorist's body containing traces of a dead Goa'uld is going to mysteriously get diverted to Cheyenne Mountain where SG personnel can do a proper job of an autopsy. "Is there any more 'cooperation' that you think you need, Special Agent Micaletti?"
Micaletti scowled, wanting to object more but not able to think of anything on the spot. Daniel eased himself out of the SUV, leaving the mug and the blankets behind, listing to one side until Teal'c moved in to shore him up. O'Neill scowled himself, half-tempted to call a halt and drag over that forensic specialist with an MD behind his name one last time, but Daniel gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Just tired, Jack. Need a soft bed.