"What are you doing!" the man in charge bellowed, coming back into the warehouse. The facility was large, but packed with boxes in all four corners and stray wires and nails littering the floor. Four small windows dotted the sides, small enough not to allow much in the way of starlight to enter, and the inhabitants compensated with overhead fluorescent lighting. There was a skylight, but it too was opaque as befitted an opening used only to hoist large crates through. One side of the building had been caged off, probably to protect the supervisors from disgruntled employees. The man in charge felt a certain empathy for those long gone managers as he yelled, "Leave her alone! You want to ruin everything?"

"I wasn't gonna hurt her. Just find out a little about the Cheyenne project."

"You call this not hurting her?" The man in charge pulled Sam up by the arm. Her ripped sleeve dangled, and the rest of her came with it, held fast by ropes around her wrists. "What about this?" he yelled, indicating the fast darkening bruise on Sam's cheek.

"That was her. She fell when I grabbed her."

The man sent up a silent prayer for patience. He pointed to Sam. "Let me make this very plain, so that even you can understand. This one: hands off. She's worth a lot of money to us. That one—" and he pointed at Daniel, "is the one that I am going to use as a lever on O'Neill, so I don't want you touching him, either. Not until I tell you to. Clear?"

"I—"

"Clear?"

"I just—"

"Hell." His patience blew. He took out a pistol and shot his errant underling twice in the stomach. The man's mouth opened, but nothing emerged but the last gasp of life and he toppled over onto the cold cement floor.

"Stupid SOB." The man in charge wrenched Sam to her feet. "Take note, major. Do as I say, and do it immediately. Don't cross me. Clear?"

"Clear." Sam, not as stupid as the late kidnapper, had learned from the episode.

"Good. Get back inside the cage." He shoved her toward the fenced in area where Daniel stood, hands clenched on the bars, unable to do anything. He next pointed at Daniel. "You. Get out here."

"Leave him alone!" Sam demanded. "You don't need him. He's only a translator," she argued, building on what she'd already learned. These men had done their homework, but were receiving a failing grade for content. A lot of the information they'd gotten was just plain wrong. Maybe she could persuade them to let Daniel leave. "Let him go."

"Not a chance, major. I've got plans for your little secretary. Tell me, do you like him as much as O'Neill does?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked nervously.

But the man in charge had already moved on. He pushed Daniel into the center of the warehouse, training his gun on the man. Sam sawed at the ropes tying her hands together, hoping to get free.

"Stand there," the man ordered Daniel, pulling out his cell phone. Keeping his eye on Daniel and the gun cocked, he dialed a number that Sam recognized even from a distance. The voice over the line echoed in the cavernous warehouse.

"O'Neill."

"Pull over."

"Why? Where are you? Let me talk—"

"Pull over now or you'll be delivering a eulogy."

"All right!"

They could hear the crunching of stones beneath the truck as Teal'c pulled off the road, the sounds coming clearly over the air waves.

"Good. Now toss your cell out the window."

"What?"

"O'Neill, the next time you make me repeat myself, your little bitch here is going to regret it. I'm not going to have anyone trace the damn call. Throw it away!"

A quiet crash, and the line went dead. The man in charge leered at Daniel. "Lucky for you O'Neill knows how to follow orders."

Sam didn't know how the archeologist did it, but Daniel pulled himself a little taller, giving himself that slight edge. The bruise on his temple looked ugly, but his voice was clear. "You don't know how much trouble you're in right now. I seriously suggest that you untie us both and start running before they get here. I may be able to persuade Jack not to kill you when he finds you."

"Jack, is it? Listen, little man." The man in charge was not amused. "The only reason you're still alive right now is because you're O'Neill's favorite little bed warmer." Daniel blinked. That was news to him. "You are O'Neill's Achilles' heel, the weakest link in the chain of the Cheyenne Mountain project." The man gestured, his cell phone still in his hand. "If I were you, I'd be hoping that O'Neill doesn't decide to move back to dating women. Other than that, you're worthless. I need the scientists from the Cheyenne Mountain Project, not their pretty little secretaries. So when I tell you to beg, I want you to be making so much love to O'Neill over the phone that he'll get here faster than the speed of whatever it is that the major and Dr. Tilk are working on. Get it?"

Someone pulled open O'Neill's car door. A red-headed man with one arm in a sling and brandishing a cell phone pushed O'Neill over along the bench seat and settled on the car seat beside him. "Drive."

"I take it you're our new tour guide?" O'Neill inquired, sizing him up. One-armed bandit, a Beretta with the safety on snapped into a shoulder holster and with absolutely no appearance of nerves. This was a man who didn't care if O'Neill punched him out because he had an ace in the hole. Two, actually: Carter and Daniel.

Red was unimpressed with O'Neill's sense of humor. He held his own cell up in the air. "I will be checking in every ten minutes. If I don't check in, you will be out one pretty little secretary."

"If you injure either MajorCarter or DanielJack—"

"I'm making the threats here," Red told Teal'c, "and the phone calls. You drive."

"Obviously our new friend here believes in safe driving habits," O'Neill mentioned to Teal'c, sarcasm hanging out in the wind to dry. "No talking on the phone and driving at the same time. Did you bring your hands-free option?"

Red ignored him and punched in the numbers. O'Neill tried to follow what he was doing, but only made it to the first four digits. Red spoke quietly. "I'm here. Everything's fine. O'Neill's mouth is working."

"Let me talk to my people," O'Neill butted in.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Red handed the phone over.

"Carter? Daniel?"

"Jack?"

"Daniel? You and Carter all right?"

"A little dented but okay," Daniel assured him. "Is 'Dr. Tilk' with you?"

"I am here, DanielJackson."

"Good. This guy here wants me to plead for our lives. Consider it done." Then Daniel spoke swiftly in Goa'uld. "We're being held in a large building on the outskirts of a small town; I don't know the name. Sam says we drove for a little more than two hours to get here. The sign outside the building said Tractor Repair—" he shouted the last as the phone was pulled from him.

The rough voice came back on. "Colonel O'Neill, it is clearly past time to demonstrate the consequences of displeasing me. Despite my warning, you called for back up before leaving your home, then you lied about it. That did you no good, since we moved you along too quickly for your people to catch up with you, and we both know it. Now your little bitch here is trying to pass on information; again, useless in your present circumstances. I think that calls for a demonstration. There will be no further incidents."

"If you hurt either one of them, I'll track you down—"

"Are the irons hot enough?" The man spoke to one of his compatriots, but the message was clearly aimed at O'Neill. "Good. Hold him down. Get his boots off." The man's voice became clearer; he now spoke directly into the phone. "Did you know, colonel, that the sole of the foot has over five hundred nerve endings?"

"Don't do this—"

"Jack, don't give in!" Daniel shouted. "No matter what, don't—"

It started as a grunt, a man in pain, trying to hold it inside. Jack and Teal'c heard Sam in the background, shrieking at the men to stop. The grunt built to an agonized groan of despair, then abruptly cut off.

"Daniel!" Jack whispered.

"Well, well," the man said over the phone in a deliberately conversational tone. "Who would have thought that he would pass out so quickly? The little wimp. Guess the big strong colonel likes his pansies weak." Then his voice turned rough again. "Don't cross me, O'Neill. Do as you're told." He severed the connection.

"Daniel!" Jack turned on Red, holding out the phone. "Get him back!"

"Ten minutes," Red smirked, and leaned over to speak to Teal'c. "I'd push the speed limit, if I were you. That was just the beginning for your boy toy."

Daniel huddled on the cold floor, shuddering, head held in his hands, blood seeping from where he'd bitten through his lip. Red burns stood out angrily on the soles of his bare feet.

"Do that again," the man in charge snarled, "and you're a dead man. You say what you're told to say, and no more. In English." For good measure, he kicked Daniel in the ribs. Daniel cried out and rolled to try to get away.

"Let him alone!" Sam yelled. "I told him to do it! Hurt me if you need to punish someone!"

He glared at her. "Too much noise, and I'll gag and hogtie you, bitch." He turned back to Daniel. "Move, and you're dead. Understand?"

Daniel nodded. The floor was frigid but lying here trying to regain his addled wits sounded like a very good idea. Sweat beaded off of him.

"What did you tell him? What language?"

Daniel thought fast; not an easy task under the circumstances. "Swahili."

"O'Neill doesn't speak Swahili."

"'Dr. Tilk' does." Daniel swallowed hard. The pain in his feet was making him nauseous. He closed his eyes, and still flashes of light darted here and there, setting off fresh waves of agony. "Tilk…" He felt a booted foot prod his ribs and roll him over, and that set his stomach off. He erupted onto the floor.

"Dammit." The boots backed off. "Lie there," the man in charge growled. "Don't move."

Teal'c's face was set in his usual impassive stare. O'Neill wondered what is was that Daniel had told him. He'd recognized the Goa'uld and cheered silently. Of all the languages that could possibly have been used, it was the one that Daniel's and Carter's captors couldn't possibly have understood unless they were somehow connected with Stargate Command or the NID and probably not even then. That narrowed the playing field down and gave O'Neill a better hint of what they were dealing with: not NID or Stargate Command. There were plenty of people out there with a grudge against a certain colonel, but Daniel had single-handedly eliminated almost a third of them.

Rough Voice Guy himself had also cut down the number that it could be. The voice had referred to Daniel as if he and O'Neill were an item. That in itself was ridiculous, and anyone who knew O'Neill well enough to hate him knew that. And Daniel hadn't argued, which meant that he and Carter were playing along, stalling for time. O'Neill agreed; the pair were on the spot, with better intel. O'Neill would be guided by their actions for the time being. If he could only get Teal'c away from Red, here, he'd find out more from what Daniel actually said. O'Neill had no doubt that Daniel had given out a lot more information on how to get the entire team out, hopefully in one piece.

He shifted uncomfortably; his knee ached abominably. Frasier's magic pills had worn off hours ago. Not that he wanted more drugs. He needed his mind clear. But hobbling after these kidnappers was not in the best O'Neill form, and poking at them with crutches lacked flair.

Of course, get Sam and Daniel out of this mess, and Jack wouldn't care if he had to ask the Man in the Moon for help.

Red checked his watch, poking under the sling to look at it. "Time to check in," he said with excessive cheerfulness when they heard a siren behind them. Red saw the lights blinking behind them and cursed. "What the hell do you think you're trying to pull?"

"You instructed me to proceed swiftly."

"Not get pulled over by the cops!" Red thought fast. "No funny stuff, understand? Be polite, apologize, and accept the ticket without giving the cop a hard time. Where you're headed, you're not going to have to worry about paying it."

"That's going to be a little difficult." Jack was just as dismayed at this turn of events as the kidnapper. "Teal'c doesn't have a license."

"What!" Red ground his teeth. This was not going according to anyone's plans. "Shit. What the hell is he doing driving? O'Neill, you talk that cop out of this, or he's a dead man in blue. Hear me?"

"I hear you. Teal'c, roll down your window."

The officer strolled up, shining his flashlight into the car, focusing first on Teal'c in his black knitted cap, then O'Neill, then Red. Three men in a pick up truck, one with a wool cap and the other with a sling and all three looking grim at three in the morning: Jack would have been surprised if the cop wasn't suspicious with a hand on his service revolver. "Where's the fire—" the officer started to say.

O'Neill didn't let the man finish. "National Security, officer. Colonel Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force. This is an urgent matter." He held up his identification. Officer, you don't know how urgent. Just turn around and walk away before someone gets hurt.

"Oh, really? I've heard that one before, colonel. Late getting back to the base, are we?"

Jack ground his teeth. Didn't the man know that O'Neill was trying to save his life? "Officer, I'm aware we were speeding. As I said, this is a national security matter. This is not a game, and this is not a joke. If you'll just let us be on our way—"

"Stay here." The officer was going to be a hard ass. "If your ID checks out, you can be on your way in a moment or two." He turned to go back to his car.

"Hell," Red said. "Damn fool." He hopped out of the truck, crossed around the front, and shot the officer in the back. Then he jumped back into the cab, the reek of gunpowder drifting in after him. "Drive."

"You shot him!" O'Neill yelled.

"Yeah. And I'll shoot you in the other knee if Dr. Tilk doesn't get moving. We're late for this call, O'Neill." He punched in the number swiftly and spoke. "Yeah, we had some trouble. We got pulled over by a cop for speeding. No, he was going to ID O'Neill here, but I stopped that idea. What? Okay." Red handed the phone to O'Neill. "He wants to talk to you."

O'Neill accepted the phone warily. "O'Neill."

"I warned you what would happen if there was any trouble. Now listen very carefully."

The bang echoed in every corner of the truck. Jack froze. He knew that sound. It was the sound of a gunshot. And it was followed by a scream. "Carter? Daniel?"

The man in charge held the phone out toward Sam still captive behind the bars of the cage in the warehouse. Her hands were white-knuckled, her eyes glued to the man lying still on the floor.

"Talk to him. And say the right things, major. I'm not in a patient mood."

Sam swallowed hard. Her voice wobbled. "Colonel?"

"Carter?"

"He's…he's still alive, sir. He… They shot Daniel, sir."

The man in charge jerked the phone away. "That's right, O'Neill. I just shot your little snook'ums in the gut. He's bleeding, but not too badly. I tried to stay away from the good parts. But it does demonstrate just how serious I am. Another stunt like the one with the cop, and the next bullet will take off parts of him that you're probably very fond of. I hope I've made myself clear." He snapped the cell phone shut without waiting for an answer, shoving the instrument into his pocket. "Duke, get the van ready. They'll be here within thirty minutes."

Sam clutched the bars of her cage. All she could see was the crumpled form lying on the cold cement. "Please let me help him."

"No."

"Please," Carter begged. "He needs medical attention. I've had training as a medic; let me go to him."

The man in charge reconsidered. "All right. But take notice, major. I need you; you're worth a lot of money to me alive. If you make one wrong move, I'll put a bullet through your kneecap. And that won't affect your monetary value one iota."

"Pull over," Red ordered.

"Why?"

"I'm driving this last leg," Red informed O'Neill and Teal'c. "Unless you want to make an issue of it?" He dangled the cell phone tauntingly.

"Your arm is injured. It will impair your efficiency."

"Won't make a difference. Or would you like to take this argument to the boss?"

O'Neill breathed through his teeth. "Let the Wookiee win, Teal'c. Let him drive."

"Very well, O'Neill." Teal'c pulled over, declining to question his team leader on the obscure Tau're reference.

Red slipped into the driver's seat, opening the cell phone as he did so. "So far, so good," he reported to the unseen voice calling the shots. He listened a moment.

"Let me talk to Carter," O'Neill insisted.

"Boss?" Receiving permission, Red held out the cell phone to O'Neill, smirking. "It's getting pretty touching over there. Your boy isn't doing too good. He's losing a lot more blood than they thought he would. Your little Major chick is starting to get hysterical. Women do that, don't they? Even military chicks. You ever boff her when your little archeologist friend is out of town? Just for the variety? Bet she feels real good when you get her hot. Or maybe you leave her for Dr. Chocolate, here." Teal'c's fingers started digging holes in the seat cushion. But the Jaffa kept silent.

O'Neill ignored the taunts. He put the phone to his ear. "Carter? How's Daniel?"

But it was the man in charge who spoke. "He's alive. Whether he will stay that way is up to you, colonel. After you surrender yourselves to me I will permit you to call 911. I suggest you hurry."

There was some groaning in the background, and Carter's voice on top of that. "Keep breathing, Daniel. That was a bullet from a .38. It's not too large; they don't have anything bigger. Please, let me have some of those blankets," she pleaded to the man in charge. "Those crates from the Honduras have blocked the wind from getting in, but he's still too cold. I think he's going into shock." Thanks, Carter. Just a couple of pistols, no automatic weaponry to worry about. Keep that info coming, Major. If I can get to a phone without Red hanging on my every word, I'll have someone look up where crates from the Honduras might be stored.

Daniel could just barely be heard. O'Neill held the phone away from his ear just slightly so that Teal'c could hear as well: Daniel was putting out words in Goa'uld in between each moan, the syllables nothing but gasped nonsense sounds to his captors. Way to go, Daniel!

"I'm sure you can hear that they are both alive," the rough voice said. "In fact, it sounds like Major Carter is telling you to proceed with extreme haste. I advise you to listen to her."

That's not all she's telling us, you son of a—
"Please," Sam begged from inside the cage. "At least give me some bandages for him. A blanket. He's cold. He's going into shock."

The man in charge looked her over very carefully. "I am willing to consider a trade. Information for a blanket."

"No. I can't give you that."

He shrugged. "Your decision. Just some very basic information. What is the purpose of the Cheyenne Mountain project?" He gestured to the pile of coarse packing blankets tossed carelessly in the corner of the warehouse. "Your choice."

"Deep space telemetry. I swear, that's the truth."

"Try again. Your acting isn't that good."

"Plea—" Sam interrupted herself, closing her eyes in anguish. "All right. We're building a weapon that will be years ahead of anything else imaginable."

"Details, major."

"It's a satellite. That's where my expertise comes in. I'm an astrophysicist." Stick to the truth as much as possible. That's what O'Neill had taught her. Makes it easier to keep your stories straight.

"Very good." The man in charge picked up a blanket and dangled it tantalizingly in front of her, just out of reach. "You're almost there. What does the satellite do?"

"It's a weapon. A super-powered laser, that uses light directly from the sun. It concentrates it, and will be able to aim it at any point on Earth. Give me the blanket," Sam begged.

"Not yet. What about Dr. Tilk? What is his contribution?"

"Optics," Sam said immediately. "He developed the laser. Without him, there would be no weapon."

"And O'Neill? He's not just a bodyguard for Dr. Tilk. That's a given, despite what people have been told."

Sam blinked. This bunch was off-base by a country mile. O'Neill, a bodyguard? Teal'c needing one? She thought fast. "Colonel O'Neill's area of expertise is getting the two parts married with tactical ballistics. There's a lot of technology involved in getting the laser hooked onto the satellite, and deciding the orbit it needs to be in for optimum effectiveness. His expertise is invaluable. Please give me the blanket. And bandages."

"One thing at a time." The man in charge handed the blanket through the bars. "Amazing that a man can get as high up as O'Neill and still keep his affair with his little secretary under wraps. Though I suppose it helps that Tilk makes it a ménage a troi. Frustrating for you, isn't it, Major? All those men around, and none of them want you. Idiots."

Sam bit her lip.

"Just goes to show how far this man's army can sink." He looked up. "I used to be in the military, you know. Before I went independent."

Just goes to show how far this man's army can sink. But Sam kept her thoughts to herself, tucking the hard-won blanket around her team mate, shielding him from the view of the kidnappers outside the steel bars. It wasn't much, but it was all she could do at the moment. She bit her lip at the sight of the blood still oozing sluggishly from the ugly black hole in his side. "It's all right, Daniel. The colonel is almost here."

"Good," Daniel muttered. "Here." He handed over the slender pieces of wire that he'd managed to hang onto while being dragged back into the cell. There were several of them, littering the warehouse floor. It didn't look like a weapon, but he had confidence in his team mate. Another O'Neill lesson came to mind: when you're a prisoner, take everything. You never know what will come in handy. "Sam, how many men have you seen?"

"Four, including that bastard out there. He's already shot and killed one of his own people. Why?"

"Next phone call, Jack's going to insist on talking to one of us. Given the circumstances, it's probably going to be you. Tell him fo'ahim to'ol."

Sam repeated it quietly, so that the man in charge couldn't hear. "What does it mean?"

Daniel smiled, and closed his eyes. "That there are four of them, and that they are second-class warriors. Teal'c will understand."

"Give me that!" Red snatched the phone back from O'Neill. "You want to get your boy killed? What was that phrase that the bitch used? What did it mean?"

O'Neill steeled himself. It helped that he didn't know what Sam had told him in Goa'uld. Teal'c would, but Red didn't know that. Red had been told that O'Neill was the dangerous one, the one to watch. To Red, 'Dr. Tilk' was just another hapless civilian scientist geek, like Daniel used to be. "You have very little to threaten me with," he told Red. "Daniel is already as good as dead. And your people won't kill Carter. Shut up and keep driving. Get this over with so I can rip out your other arm and feed it to you with a spoon."

"I give the orders, O'Neill. Remember that." Red pushed on the gas pedal. "Your boy isn't dead yet."

"You go this fast, you'll have another cop breathing down your neck."

"Shut up." Red risked a look away from the dark night road. "I have a license. And we're behind schedule."

"Every cop in this state is looking for this truck by now," O'Neill pointed out. "And they won't be satisfied to simply ask you nicely to pull over. They'll shoot my truck full of so many holes that a full body job and new paint won't touch it."

"In about ten minutes, that won't be a problem." Red refused to let O'Neill get under his skin.

"Look out!"

The three point white-tailed deer that darted out in front of the truck never had a chance. Neither did Red. The truck hit the buck a glancing blow, and the deer went spinning off onto the side of the road. The truck caught a tire on a boulder on the same side, slewed around, and rolled.

"Get her out here!" the man in charge yelled at his two underlings. "What did you tell O'Neill? What damn language was that? Get her out of the cell!"

The dark-haired one yanked on the bars. "It's stuck."

"Un-stick it, idiot."

He swore. "She jammed the lock."

"What?"

"She stuck something in there. She jammed the lock!"

The man in charge added another curse. Sam could see what was going through the man's mind—his plan was going to hell in a hand basket. Fast. O'Neill's party was late with their next call, information was being passed between captives, and now they couldn't extract the one asset that they thought they had in their possession: Carter.

He pulled out his pistol and aimed it through the bars. "I told you not to cross me, major. Your boy there is going suffer the consequences."

Sam knelt in front of Daniel, hands on hips, blocking him from the man in charge and giving him a large target of herself to aim at. "Go ahead. But you'll have to go through me. Literally, buddy. Shoot me, and see your retirement fund go up in smoke. You want that?" And held her breath.

The man glared, then uttered an exclamation of fury. He rounded on his helpers. "You. You've got ten minutes. Get a pair of bolt cutters. O'Neill and Tilk will be here in twenty, and we need to be ready to go."

"Where am I going to get bolt cutters at this hour? It's four in the morning!"

"I don't need them bought and paid for. Just get some. There's a hardware store in town. Hurry."