O'Neill slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. His knee throbbed even more. The rest of him wasn't too great. Stupid kidnapper.
He looked around. He'd been thrown from the cab of the truck, and, by the looks of it, his exit had been through the shattered front windshield. The truck itself lay on its side with the radiator hissing its heat off into the cool of the night. He felt for the sudden pain at his forehead and brought his hand back down with blood. "Crap."
"ColonelO'Neill."
Good. Teal'c was up and around, which meant a big plus for the good guys.
"Over here," he called back. "You okay, big guy?"
"I am well, O'Neill. My symbiote has already repaired the damage. Our 'tour guide' however, is not."
Pit of the stomach time. "He's not?"
"Indeed. He is dead. The deer has run off."
"Best off of all of us. Bully for Mother Nature." O'Neill allowed Teal'c to help him stand up, balancing on one leg and looking around for the crutches. One of them was bent, the other intact. "How the hell are we going to get to where Carter and Daniel are? Where's the damn cell phone?"
Teal'c looked grim, even more so than usual. "Crushed and inoperative. There is no method for contacting MajorCarter's and DanielJackson's kidnappers."
"Crap." Jack could feel this whole scenario sliding off the deep end, taking his stomach and the ice cubes in his blood with it. Then something caught his attention. "What's that I hear?"
"Engines, O'Neill." Jaffa hearing was more acute than a human's. "A number of vehicles are approaching at great speed." He cocked his head, listening further. "As well as an airborne craft. I believe it may be a helicopter."
"Crap again. State police, looking for a murderer. Who is conveniently dead, but they don't know that. How much you want to bet that Colorado's finest will think that we did it?" What else could go wrong? They so did not have time for this, not to mention a very realistic possibility that Colorado's men in blue would be in the mood to shoot first and ask questions later. He wouldn't blame them, but the time needed to straighten this part of the mess out would mean that Carter's and Daniel's part of the mess would get a whole hell of a lot more messy. He made a decision. "Teal'c, don't say a word to them. Let me do all the talking. But first, tell me what Daniel and Carter were saying in Goa'uld. And hurry it up."
"No answer." The man in charge snapped the cell phone shut. "Where is he?" he fretted. "Something's happened." He looked at his watch. "It's been fifteen minutes. Red should have checked in. Or gotten here by now." He glared at Carter. "What do you know about this?"
"Me?" Sam glared back. "I've been stuck in this cell all night. I know even less than you do." She looked down at her team mate lying on the concrete floor beside her. Daniel, if anything, looked paler than before. She'd gotten the wound to stop bleeding, but not before he'd lost too much of his blood. Sam was scared. Daniel needed Dr. Frasier. He needed her now.
But he slipped his hand out from under the blanket, seeking hers and squeezing. Jack will find us, was the non-verbal message. No one left behind.
Sam gave Daniel's hand a return clasp. "Hang on, Daniel."
The man in charge came to a decision. "We're cutting our losses," he declared. "Bolt-cutters, now. Get her out of there. Tie her up and toss her in the van. We're not waiting any longer."
"What about him?"
The man in charge considered. "He's done for. Don't waste the bullet. If O'Neill is coming for us, we may need every slug we've got."
But the other man, stationed at the window, stopped them. "Someone's coming up the drive."
"Is it Red?"
"Can't tell. It's a truck. It's too dark to tell if it's O'Neill. Wait, they're getting out. It's definitely O'Neill; one of 'em's on crutches." He turned back to the other three. "Was Red wearing a hat?"
"He could have picked one up," the man in charge said impatiently. "His arm in a sling?"
"Yeah, and he just took a gun out of the sling. He's got Dr. Tilk with 'im, too. He's got 'em both under control. They're headed in."
"Hurry up with the bolt cutters," the man in charge ordered. "Get Carter tied up. We don't need any last minute heroics. We'll secure O'Neill and Tilk, pack them into the van along with Carter, and move out fast before anyone can track them. Earl, set up something to torch the place after we leave."
Another squeeze of her hand, and Sam looked down. "Daniel?" She leaned over to listen.
"A bunch of last minute heroics sounds pretty good right about now." Daniel coughed, a trickle of blood springing to his lips. Carter wiped it away with the edge of the blanket. "Sam, if you have the chance to escape, take it."
"I'm not leaving you here to die, Daniel. Remember what Colonel O'Neill says: no one left behind. You just stay right here, and we'll get you out of this. I'm sure the colonel has a plan," she lied. He hasn't had time to create a plan. This man here has had him racing to keep up. Even the colonel couldn't arrange things with everything these guys have been throwing at him.
"I'm the weak link, Sam," Daniel whispered. "Don't die because of me. Don't let Jack throw his life away, or Teal'c's."
"No one's throwing anyone's life away," Sam hissed fiercely. "Trust in the colonel."
Clang. The bolt cutters went through the first bar. Two of the men applied muscle and bent the bar back. Sam stood up. If anything was going to happen, it would happen in the next few minutes. Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c would not allow themselves to simply be taken away without so much as a whimper. And neither, Sam vowed, would she.
Trust in the colonel.
The dark-haired subordinate opened the door to allow the trio to enter. O'Neill was first, hobbling slowly on crutches. He spread his hands to the side as he came in, demonstrating that he had no weapons. The man in charge held his own revolver at ready in case it was needed. But O'Neill, after a quick frisk, passed as clean.
"So you're the fellow who's been causing all this ruckus," O'Neill said with a deadly sort of quiet. Sam had heard that tone before, and was grateful that it had never been directed at her. It was the Black Ops voice, the one that said that something very bad was going to be happening very soon, something that would require a great deal of high level cover ups, things that usually happened very far away where covering up was a good deal easier than here in Colorado. "Carter, you okay?"
The man in charge was not unaware of the danger. However poor his information source had been, Sam realized, this part was entirely too accurate. He was treating O'Neill with a great deal of caution. He gestured with the pistol, stationing himself too far away for O'Neill to even think of any sudden moves that wouldn't end up with one or more unintended dead bodies. "Sit down on the floor, colonel, your hands in front of you where I can see them. Do it slowly."
"I'm getting too old for this," O'Neill complained, using the crutches to help him get down. "This cold concrete can't be good for my arthritis."
Still in that Black Ops voice. Sam readied herself. The bolt cutters went through a second bar. The pair working at it tried to bend the bar back. It resisted. Two men weren't enough muscle-power.
Teal'c was next through the door, surveying the scene impassively. His gaze lit upon Sam, then on the blanketed bundle behind her. The frown tightened imperceptibly.
"And this must be Dr. Tilk." The man in charge waved the gun. "Hand cuffs, Earl. Then put him in the van." He glanced around, nodding at the sound of the cuffs snapping onto Teal'c's wrists. He spoke to the pair still wrestling with the iron bars on the erstwhile cage where Sam and Daniel were trapped. "You get her out yet?"
"Almost. These bars are tough."
Red came in through the door last, hat pulled down over his face and arm in the sling. O'Neill chose that moment to speak. "You really ought to consider surrendering right now. Before anyone else gets hurt." He spoke to his shirt pocket. "Now would be a good time, lieutenant."
'Red' pulled a gun out of his sling and steadied it with two good hands. His cap fell to the floor, and the man's hair was anything but red. The little tag on his shirt read, "Urbanecek."
Every window in the warehouse shattered, sprouting a head and a P-90, all aimed at the four kidnappers.
The skylight in the warehouse was wrenched open and four ropes tossed down. Four Marines rappelled to the floor, their own weapons instantly in their hands.
A helicopter poured a high beam from a searchlight through the open skylight, blasting the room with wind and photons. Sam bent over Daniel to protect him from the flying dust.
The man in charge didn't know where to point his weapon. His revolver, so menacing just a short while ago, looked impotent next to the massive display of firepower that had just dropped in unannounced. He pointed it first at O'Neill, then Teal'c, then Red/Urbanecek, then back at O'Neill who was still sitting on the cement floor with icy satisfaction, his sore knee stretched out in front of him, crutches across his lap.
"Don't be a fool," O'Neill told the man who was no longer in charge, his voice harsh. "You have one chance to get out of this fiasco alive. Put your gun on the floor and your hands in the air. That goes for all of you."
The underlings complied instantly. They were out-numbered, out-gunned, and out-flanked. But they weren't stupid.
The man in charge hesitated.
Teal'c lifted his hands. The hand-cuffs that encircled his wrists gleamed brightly in the lights. Muscles bunched; metal screamed in protest. Slowly the links to the chain bent, and elongated into tortured ovals. Then a loop snapped. The weakest link broke.
Teal'c held his arms apart, displaying the broken chain, the look of murder in his eye. There was nothing said; nothing needed to be said.
The man in charge put his gun on the floor and raised his hands.
Major Urbanecek tabbed his radio. "Situation under control. Send down the doc."
It was a sight that Samantha Carter never thought she'd see: Janet Frasier, MD, serenely sailing down on a cable, rapelling to the concrete floor of the warehouse. Two medics followed, a sturdy metal stretcher between them loaded with supplies. One of the marines hastened to assist the doctor with her gear, gallantly releasing her from the ropes attached to her harness.
"Thank you, lieutenant." Frasier snatched up the first pack. "Where's Daniel?" And then: "how am I supposed to make a house call with these bars in the way?" Glaring at the kidnappers being hustled into handcuffs.
It was the signal that Teal'c had been waiting for. Having been deprived of the opportunity to inflict injury on his foes, he availed himself of the chance to demonstrate yet again how fortunate his foes were to have avoided violence. Casting a contemptuous glance at the kidnappers, he took hold of the bar that the two had been unable to twist out of the way even with the assistance of the bolt cutters.
Metal creaked, and bent. The hole between the bars widened to human proportions.
Dr. Frasier stepped through, med pack in hand. "Thank you, Teal'c." She knelt. "Daniel?"
"Really glad you're here, Janet," he whispered.
"I can tell. You're flat on your back—again." She nodded approvingly at Sam. "Nice work, Sam." The doctor raised her voice. "Can we get that stretcher over here? And somebody radio ahead to tell the OR team to scrub up. We'll be coming in hot."
Sam stepped back out of the way to allow the medics to do their job, lifting her team mate onto the stretcher and tucking more bandages where they would do the most good. Frasier got a line started in seconds, pushing in a couple of cc's of morphine for good measure. Sam lifted her foot up to get out of the cage, allowing the Jaffa to give her a steadying hand in clearing the bars that he had bent out of the way.
She stopped briefly to speak to the man no longer in charge. "You're an idiot."
He just looked back at her with malevolent dislike.
"You thought that 'Dr. Tilk' and I were the brains behind the Cheyenne Mountain project?" Sam jerked her thumb at Daniel, being lifted on the stretcher out of the cage, six massive soldiers easily hefting the weight. "Daniel Jackson has done more for the project than any of us. Think about that while you rot in your own cage." She stalked off to where Jack stood.
"Ready to go home, major?"
"More than ready, sir." Samantha Carter took a deep breath, willing the shakes not to start until she was away from here. O'Neill gave a barely perceptible nod, an approving dip of his head. You did good, major.
"Out!" Dr. Frasier insisted. "Dr. Jackson needs his rest."
"Doc—"
"Which word did you not understand, colonel? Out? Or out?"
"But this is my house," O'Neill protested, gesturing at the homey surroundings. "This is my guest room, and this is my guest. They're eating my food. They're drinking my beer. Except for the ones on guard duty," he amended. "They wait until they go off shift."
"And you're making up for it by taking the poker pot every night." Frasier wasn't fooled. "I only let you bring him out here to your house to recuperate, colonel, because he wasn't getting any rest in the infirmary with every blessed Marine in the place coming down to check on him every ten minutes. I didn't expect you to invite the entire SGC complex to your house instead."
"General Hammond insisted that he have someone on guard duty at all times." O'Neill successfully slipped the general's name into the mess. Sometimes name-dropping worked.
And sometimes it didn't.
"And did the general insist that Dr. Jackson continue to work on his translations?" Frasier asked sweetly, indicating the tall mound of paperwork stacked carelessly on the nightstand. "No? I thought not." With a strength far beyond what would be expected from such a tiny woman, Frasier scooped up the heavy stack of paper and dumped it onto the floor of the guest bedroom. In the corner. Far away from the afore-mentioned Dr. Jackson who was propped up on pillows, text book in hand and three more nestled on the bed beside him.
"Hey!" both O'Neill and Daniel said together.
"I can't reach that." Daniel's argument was the first to hit the air.
"Your point being, Dr. Jackson? Does one of us need to be reminded of the definition of the word rest? Here." Dr. Frasier handed over a couple of little white pills.
"Janet, these put me to sleep," Daniel tried to complain.
"And I'm about to change the dressings on your feet. Need I say more?"
"Oh." Daniel looked at O'Neill. "Water, please?"
Frasier appeared at the top of the stairs. "Could I get some assistance up here?"
Three Marines volunteered on the spot. O'Neill shot them down. "I'm pulling rank. He's my civilian. Sorry, fellas."
"I have no rank in your armed forces," Teal'c pointed out. "I will attend Drs. Frasier and Jackson."
"I haven't seen Daniel all day," Sam grumbled. "I just got here an hour ago, and Danzig is taking all of my poker winnings. It's my turn."
Urbanecek put in his two cents. "I don't have much time. I dropped by on my way home, and haven't done anything yet."
"—except play poker and drink beer!"
"What about me? Danzig and I—"
"I was going to fold anyway—"
"Enough!" O'Neill bellowed. "Teal'c, Carter, Urbanecek, upstairs. That should be more than enough to do the job. The rest of you, wait your turns! Sheesh!"
Frasier gave him a tight-lipped smile. "See what I mean, colonel? Either Daniel gets some rest, or I put him back in the infirmary with an honor guard composed strictly of nurses: Lilly, Becky One and Becky Two—"
"Okay, okay, I get the message. Enough! Sheesh!"
Frasier's victim looked thoroughly relaxed, courtesy of a couple of little white pills that would fetch a hefty price on the black market, but Jack had seen Daniel through enough injuries to be able to spot the tell-tale tightening of the blue eyes that belied the oft-repeated, "I'm fine." Teal'c effortlessly shifted the man into a more comfortable position on Jack's guest bed, Sam adjusting the pillows behind his head and Urbanecek tucking in the covers with a gentleness that surprised O'Neill until he remembered the three little golden-haired princesses that called Major Robert Urbanecek 'Daddy' every night that he wasn't off-world.
"Go to sleep, Daniel," Janet instructed sternly, affection for her patient edging the words.
"Um." But there was something worrying at the archeologist, something he hadn't puzzled out yet. "Major Urbanecek?"
"Call me Rob, Dr. J."
"Rob." The smile was drowsy. "I keep meaning to ask: how did you find us so fast?"
"We're Marines, Dr. J. Stargate Marines." He grinned. "All it took was the one call from the colonel, and we had a chopper in the air and half a dozen Jeeps on the ground. We located his truck on the highway north, and tracked him all the way. Piece of cake after that. Oh, and you'll be glad to hear that the cop that got shot is expected to make a full recovery. Bullet ricocheted off a rib."
"Oh. That's good." The pills were taking over fast. "Jack?"
"Daniel?"
"Those men."
"The kidnappers?" It didn't take much to figure out what Daniel was thinking about.
"Yes, them. What happened to them? After, I mean."
Jack exchanged a guarded look with Sam and said fiercely, "They're not coming back after you, Daniel. I don't care what they told you, you're not a weak link in this chain. You don't have to be afraid. Hammond has SF guards posted everywhere, eating up the contents of my freezer."
"I'm not afraid, Jack." Even with eyelids at half mast the indignation came through. "I heard something about a fire in the warehouse. What happened to them? When will the trial be?"
"There will be no trial," Teal'c rumbled, his back to the corner so that he could observe both the door and the window at the same time. Although the likelihood of danger stood near zero with the SF guards downstairs and two more roaming the neighborhood, the Jaffa was having trouble standing down from high alert. "The warehouse was burned to the ground. There is no evidence left of any crime."
"What do you mean, no trial? No evidence? How can there be no trial?"
Sam seated herself on the edge of the bed, taking up the archeologist's hand. "Daniel, this is national security. Despite the fact that those men really didn't know anything, a trial would mean bringing the Stargate program out into the open. None of us can afford that. The world isn't ready." She tried to grin, and gestured at her imposing team mate in the corner. "Can you imagine having Teal'c on the witness stand?"
"No, I suppose not." The words sounded slurred.
Major Urbanecek folded his arms across his chest. "Dr. Jackson, we of the Marines—the entire Stargate Command," he amended, "we honor our debts. You go after one," and he pointed at Daniel, "or you go after four," indicating the entire SG-1 team, "and you'll find a bunch of very pissed off highly trained soldiers on your ass. Believe me, those men are no longer in a position to harm anyone ever again. Ever. The problem has been dealt with. We look after our own."
Daniel looked alarmed, trying to decipher the hidden meaning in the major's suddenly fierce declaration. "What did you do to them?"
"Which means, Daniel," Jack summarized, smoothing it over for the civilian, carefully not answering the question, "that even if others don't, the people around you understand very clearly that you are not the weak link at Stargate Command. We are all a team. A very close-knit team. Each one bringing his or her own skills to the whole. Got that?"
"Got it," The pills were winning.
"Go to sleep, Daniel."
Daniel sighed. "Right."