"This evidence is rock solid, doctor?" The question was a formality. General Hammond knew that neither Dr. Frasier nor Colonel O'Neill would have called him down to the lab unless it was.
"Yes, sir." Frasier took the lead. "The coffee in Dr. Jackson's office was not only high in caffeine, but laced with additional caffeine so that each serving had the potency of several cups of expresso. Because Dr. Jackson has been drinking so much coffee for so many years, I doubt he recognized the symptoms. In fact, it's entirely possible that once the additional caffeine is removed from Dr. Jackson's system, he may not need any medication whatsoever. His heart will very likely revert back to its usual healthy state."
"And we can have our favorite archeologist back," O'Neill announced, chin lifted high.
"That's a relief." Hammond looked at O'Neill. "What evidence do you have that Airman Deavers is the person responsible? There have been a number of malicious pranks being directed at Dr. Jackson for which Airman Deavers has borne the primary responsibility for cleaning up. Why would he make extra work for himself? I won't accuse a man unjustly, colonel."
"Deavers was the person who brought this supposedly de-caffeinated coffee on the base for Daniel," O'Neill countered. "No one else had their hands on the percolator."
"That we know of."
"Yes, sir. I could ask Lt. Baker to dust the coffee pot for fingerprints."
"You do that, colonel. How could Airman Deavers or whoever is responsible get their hands on extra caffeine that you found in the beans? It's not something that you get at the local drug store."
"Afraid it is, General," Frasier contradicted. "There are several brands on the market. College students use them to stay awake for all-nighters, truckers when they're driving through the night. There's even a prescription strength liquid used for premature infants. That would be a little harder to get hold of, but not impossible." She indicated the solution they had just tested. "The quantity of caffeine in this pot leads me to suspect that it is the stronger prescription variety, General. That should make it a little easier to narrow down the suspects. Whoever it was had to have access to a pharmacy."
"And Deavers was in a position to play all those practical jokes on Daniel, sir," O'Neill added. "He's been around him almost twenty-four/seven for the last two months. If he were trying to get Daniel grounded, and he knew that stressing Daniel out was the way to push the issue, he might have decided to take advantage of the situation."
"Even though he ended up cleaning up most of the messes he made," Hammond agreed. "But it worked. Not only did he participate in SG-1's missions, he even replaced Dr. Jackson on the last two with identifying and then photographing the data for retrieval. Your reports spoke favorably of his performance, Colonel. Helpful, cautious, and you never had to ask him twice for anything. He did a good job of looking after Dr. Jackson."
"He may have been there physically, General, but he did not, and I repeat, he did not replace Daniel. I heard from Carter a little while ago, and an attachment to the last report will be forthcoming. Deavers screwed up the flying translation on her doohickey that she brought back. It was broken. Warning signs all over that Deavers missed. Believe me, General, he's no Daniel Jackson."
"No argument there, Jack. Let's get to the bottom of this." Hammond picked up the phone. "This is General Hammond. Locate Airman Eric Deavers and escort him to my office immediately." He set the handset down, considering. "Let's see what he has to say, people. There may be a simple explanation for all of this. But just to be on the safe side, Jack, I'm going to suggest that you ask Teal'c to go assist Dr. Jackson with his translations and keep a close eye on the good doctor while we sort this out. Just in case it isn't Airman Deavers causing all the ruckus, I want a man I can trust at Jackson's side."
Deavers leaned on the desk at the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain. "Now, Clancy, you know me," he cajoled. "Would I be taking Dr. J. out if I didn't have permission straight from General Hammond himself? That would be a one way ticket out of here, and a fast end to a short but brilliant career. Besides, look at him. The guy hasn't left the base in almost two weeks. Wouldn't you need some R & R after so much time?"
"I don't know…" Sgt. Clancy hesitated. "Some pretty weird things come up from the twenty-third level."
"Tell me, does Dr. J. look weird to you?" Deavers waved at the linguist who was blowing on his hands to warm them in the cold of the winter-kissed air and dancing from one foot to the other. "Clancy, give the guy a break. It's cold out here! Hammond is only letting him out for the evening. He has to be back by midnight, or he turns into a pumpkin. You're wasting our time, guy!"
"Okay, okay," Clancy grumbled. "But I swear, Deavers, if you aren't on the level…"
"Think no more of it," Deavers grinned. "Listen, I'll bring you back something. Dr. J. was talking about that pub in town, the one with the Irish name, what was it?"
"Scotty's. And it's not Irish."
"Whatever. We'll bring you back some their ribs, the stuff with the barbeque sauce."
"You do that. Bring enough for two; Schmidt is joining me at eleven and you're going to have to bribe him, too."
"You got it. C'mon, Dr. J. We've got places to be." Deavers drew the scientist off in the direction of his car, hustling him into the leather-interior sedan and roaring off along the base road toward town before the guard at the gate could have second thoughts.
"Hammond hadn't notified the gate that I'm sprung?" Daniel asked, blowing again on his hands. "Nice car, by the way. You can afford this?"
Deavers cranked up the heater in the car, expertly taking the curves down the mountain. "Guess he hadn't had time. Or maybe he expected Colonel O'Neill to. Or they thought they'd told me to do it. In any case, I didn't want to waste the time. The colonel is expecting us."
"At that pub you were talking about?"
"Sure, doc."
"I mobilized the entire Security force right after Teal'c called me from Daniel's office," O'Neill told the General, tight-lipped. "Deavers talked his way through the Base gate with Daniel not thirty minutes ago. Baker alerted the local police to set up a road block, gave them the details of Deavers' car. It's cutting it close, but it's the best we have at the moment. Maybe Deavers won't get beyond town before the road block goes up." Jack looked away. "Sgt. Clancy at the gate said that he didn't notice anything wrong. Daniel seemed to be leaving of his own free will."
"Deavers must have Daniel as fooled as he did us," Sam put in. "Ready to go, sir," she added, tucking a small pistol into a shoulder holster under her leather jacket.
"As am I," Teal'c rumbled. He tugged a black knitted cap further down over his forehead, not only to keep himself warm but to hide his emblem of shame from outsiders. One Security man had had the foolishness to suggest that the Jaffa stay behind, but had not spoken loudly. The suggestion was not repeated.
"All right, do we have any idea where Deavers was headed with Daniel?" O'Neill was mentally checking his tally of personal weapons. Deavers was big and fast with his hands, and O'Neill wished that he'd had more of an opportunity to assess what he was up against. A half-dozen sparring matches under the watchful eye of a drill master wasn't much, but it would have to do. And O'Neill had a big advantage; he'd been in life and death situations, on Earth and on other planets, on more than one occasion. He doubted that Deavers could say the same.
"Sergeant Clancy stated that Airman Deavers voiced the desire to partake of the nourishments served at an establishment known as Scotty's," Teal'c offered.
O'Neill grimaced. "We'll check it out, but I don't hold up much hope. Deavers is too smart to announce his plans. In fact," and he turned to Lt. Baker who was assembling his own squad, "Lt. Baker, I hereby bequeath the checking out of Scotty's to you and yours. You're welcome."
Lt. Baker saluted wryly. "My stomach, and the stomachs of my men thank you, sir. The rest of our parts, the parts that wish to nail this—" he eyed Major Carter and General Hammond, and adjusted his language accordingly, "—suspect do not. We would rather trail after you. Sir," he tacked on.
"Understandable, lieutenant. Rank hath its privileges. Keep me posted and after clearing Scotty's I'll let you head in our direction. Move out."
"Sir." Baker saluted again, spit and polish, and took off with his squad.
"Sir?" Carter approached Colonel O'Neill. "Sir, do you know something that we don't?"
"No, Carter, I don't. But we have to have a place to start, and right now there are only two possibilities: Scotty's Bar and Grill, and Deavers' place. I don't feel much like eating. Do you?"
"Your place?" Daniel asked as Deavers pulled into the apartment parking lot. "Can we hit mine next? I know you've fed the fish, but I'd kind of like to go through the mail and pay the bills. It's a bit embarrassing for the lights to be turned off. Had that happen, once. One of the 'dead' times."
Deavers pasted a grin on his face. Oddly, it looked slightly forced to Daniel. "C'mon, Dr. J., where's your sense of adventure? I'll bet the colonel knows all the hot spots."
"Probably." Yeah, he knows 'em. Doesn't go to 'em much, just prefers to hang out with a few friends and a few cold ones. Pizza, beer, football; that's off-duty Jack O'Neill. "Listen, I'll call him, let him know we'll be a few minutes late. He'll understand." Daniel reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone.
Deavers caught his hand. "Don't bother. The reception is lousy in this neighborhood. 'Can you hear me now?' Nope." He grinned warmly. "Wait until we get upstairs, to my place. You can use a land line to get through. C'mon, it's cold out here. Come inside and get warm for a second."
Daniel shrugged. Obviously Deavers knew his area better than Daniel. The apartment building looked higher class than what Daniel would have expected to find for a man with Deavers' pay but, he thought, maybe Deavers had another source of financial income; an inheritance or some such. Daniel himself had had a trust fund from his parents' estate that had paid for almost half of his schooling. Scholarships and part time jobs had done the rest. He trailed after Deavers, huddling into his coat against the winter cold.
He felt immediately warmer upon entering the building. Deavers hustled him into the elevator, taking him up several flights. Daniel, ever the anthropological scholar, looked around. Damn nice place. Maybe I should look into what the rents are like. If Deavers can afford this on an airman's salary, maybe I need to think about moving. Deavers would probably appreciate it, next time I'm confined to the base and he gets volunteered to water my plants.
Deavers had his coat off before he got to his front door, and Daniel followed suit. Even the hallways were well heated, with a nod to a solarium type area at the end of each hall. The windows looked nice, and Daniel suspected that the view would be attractive if he could see anything through the dark. Damn nice place. He folded his coat over his arm and walked into Deavers' apartment.
Two things happened simultaneously. The first was that Deavers stepped to the side to demonstrate that his apartment already contained an inhabitant. The second was that the inhabitant's eyes glowed. Daniel stopped short.
Deavers anticipated the reaction. Daniel jumped back, but Deavers grabbed his wrist and yanked. "Come in, Dr. J. My lord Teknet has been waiting for you."
It wasn't for nothing that Daniel had spent hours in the gym, working out with O'Neill and Teal'c. It wasn't for cheap jokes and laughs that he endured, over and over, O'Neill saying, "for Pete's sake, Daniel, listen!," and Teal'c rumbling, "that is a unique response to my challenge but ineffective, DanielJackson."
Daniel's brain went on sabbatical and his reflexes into overdrive. He cross-reached, grabbed Deavers' thumb, and wrenched it backward.
It worked. Deavers' grip came off in a trice, and the big man went down to one knee with a yelp. Daniel turned to flee.
Unfortunately for him, Deavers had learned to fight in the same schools that O'Neill had, and had been practicing for many more years than Daniel. Deavers swung around, sweeping one long leg in a wide circle, and tripped Daniel up neatly. Deavers pounced.
He hauled Daniel back up to his feet, keeping one arm in a careful half-Nelson. He crooked another arm around Daniel's neck. The Goa'uld allowed his eyes to glow once again, knowing that it would send shivers of fear into his latest captive.
"I understand that you've run across my 'shopping list', Dr. Jackson," he purred.
"C'mon, c'mon," O'Neill snarled quietly, cell phone to his ear. He pulled the SUV into Deavers' apartment building parking lot. "Pick up, Daniel. You can hear me now, Daniel."
"Is the reception good enough here, sir?"
"I'm getting four bars, Carter. Daniel ought to have the same if he's in this neighborhood. We use the same company."
"If he is indeed in this area," Teal'c rumbled, "and if his phone is turned on."
None of them voiced what they all were thinking: that Daniel wasn't in any condition to turn his phone on.
"This is the address listed for Airman Deavers, sir." Carter pointed to the apartment building.
O'Neill turned over plans in the twinkling of an eye. "Alright, let's play it this way. We are in the neighborhood and want to see if our teammate and good buddy the Beaver wants to come out for a beer. Who wants to act drunk?" He looked from the Jaffa to the razor-straight military scientist, both of whom stared back with a blank expression. "Okay, forget the drunk. We're just on our way out to have a good time. Have your guns ready but out of sight."
"Yes, sir." "A wise plan, O'Neill."
O'Neill checked the lobby directory, saw Deavers' name next to apartment 412, just as his files had said. He almost opted for the stairs, but reconsidered. Why? Stairs were for people about to make an arrest. SG-1 was just here to invite Deavers for a romp. And Jack had his bad knee to consider. Decision made: the elevator. He punched the button for up.
"Nice place," Sam commented, looking around at the lobby.
"Yeah. Real nice, for a guy on an airman's salary. Anybody else think that somebody ought to do a financial background check on the Beaver?" O'Neill kept his voice low, leading the team out of the elevator toward Deavers' apartment. "All right, let's play this by ear."
Teal'c lifted an eyebrow in puzzlement, but Jack ignored him and rapped on the door. "Yo, Deavers," he called, keeping his tone jovial. "It's O'Neill. You in there? It's Friday night. Drinks are on me."
"Sir, it's Wednesday," Sam hissed.
"Carter, someplace, on some world, it's Friday." He knocked again. "Yo, Deavers. Get a move on."
More silence. O'Neill plastered his ear to the door, and heard nothing. It didn't sound as though Deavers was home, with or without Daniel. Tightening his lips, O'Neill delved into his coat pocket and brought out a small kit. A couple of hand signals sent Carter and Teal'c watching for onlookers, and O'Neill set out to pick the lock.
It took more than a few moments; Deavers had done an above average job of bolting the front door. But no one peered around any corners, and O'Neill accomplished the task with a minimum of noise. He eased the door open and slipped inside, gun in hand and team watching his six.
The place was empty. More than that; the place was a dump. The apartment complex was upscale, but Deavers apparently kept all his cleanliness and neatness for off-world and on base and looking after his assigned archeologist. Clothes were littered everywhere, and the remnants of food and wrappers were heaped helter-skelter over the floor and on the chairs and crammed into the cracks of the furniture. One peek at the kitchen showed the sink to be overflowing with dirty dishes. Sam winced. Jack hoped not to have to introduce Teal'c to an Earth cockroach.
"Gone," O'Neill reported to the other two.
"But they were here." Sam picked up Daniel's overcoat from where it had been dumped on the floor. "Come and gone. Where to? And without Daniel's coat?"
"Good question, Carter. Answers would be better. I'll report in." He pulled out his cell phone to call the General. Before he could flip it open, the little box cheeped at him. Jack had it to his ear in a flash. "O'Neill. You find him?"
It was Hammond. "No, but we may have a lead, colonel. One of the state police just ticketed Deavers for speeding on Route 73 north out of town about an hour ago."
"Daniel with him?"
"Not clear. He had a passenger, but the officer remembers the man as dark-complected with black hair. We're faxing a stock photo of Dr. Jackson to the officer's station house as we speak. We'll be able to tell whether Dr. Jackson is Deavers' passenger in a matter of moments—yes, sergeant?" When the general's voice returned, it had overtones of disappointment. "The word came back from the police precinct. The man that the officer saw in Deavers' car was definitely not Dr. Jackson."
"Damn." It couldn't be easy for once. But—"Deavers and Daniel left together, and by this time Daniel is not going willingly without his coat. Deavers wouldn't simply dump him anywhere. Deavers has to have a plan." O'Neill was thinking out loud, hoping that someone would jump in with additional information to solve the problem. "Maybe the passenger was someone who put Deavers up to this. Some agent of a foreign power looking to acquire one slightly used linguist with off-world experience. The Russians, for example. They have their own Stargate. They could use Jackson. And Deavers could have stashed Daniel in the trunk of the car." How big was that trunk? Probably not large enough to stretch out comfortably in. O'Neill didn't like it.
"That's one possibility," Hammond agreed, "and there are more. I won't mention any other groups as of yet, but we need a lead, colonel."
"We've got one," O'Neill said grimly. "We know that he's heading north. What's north of here?"
"Not much," Sam informed him. "That route heads straight through the mountains for a lot of miles. Why would he go there? The next town, West Covington, is at least four hours from here. It's not a good escape route if he has Daniel, sir."
"Exactly, Carter. He wouldn't go in that direction if he were trying to escape. So there has to be an overriding reason why he's taking that particular route. Why?"
"He's meeting someone in West Covington?" Sam suggested.
"Would you meet someone in West Covington? At two AM, which is when Deavers will arrive?"
"Perhaps Deavers' companion is the motivating factor," Teal'c offered.
"Sounds better than a meet in West Covington," O'Neill thought, "but where's Daniel?" He glanced around one last time. "C'mon, kids. Back to the car. We're heading north."
Daniel stood swaying on his feet, shivering and trying to will his head to clear from Frasier's medications. The stiffness didn't help; Deavers had dumped him into the trunk of the car, wrists tied behind him and trussed like a chicken waiting for slaughter. Not a good comparison, Jackson. And it was cold in that damn trunk without anything more than a flimsy tee shirt. Daniel had gotten a small glimpse of the outside of the log cabin, nestled in the woods in the snow, before Deavers had hauled him out of the trunk and dragged him through that same snow into the cabin. Deavers flung him inside, and Daniel landed face down on the rough wood floor.
Teknet examined his new acquisition with interest, lifting Daniel's chin with his toe so as to better observe the archeologist's features. "He is an attractive human. Almost as attractive as you, First Prime. He will be a valuable addition once trained." He bent over and took Daniel's jaw in his hand, trying to see into his mouth to check his teeth like a wily horse trader.
Daniel wrenched his face away. "Go to hell."
Teknet smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "Spirited, too. We can train that out of him. Not too much, though; I enjoy a bit of wildness, and bringing him to heel periodically intrigues me. I will keep him as a scribe, First Prime."
"We had best start the training soon, lord." Deavers glanced anxiously out through the window. "No one knows of this place, but they have good investigators. O'Neill himself is no slouch when it comes to tracking people down. The couple of missions I've seen him in action, he's been very effective."
"Then we will use the resources of this planet to speed up the process," Teknet said. "First, the tuvatka're." So saying, Teknet removed a box covered with carved symbols. Despite his danger, Daniel couldn't help but be interested. The symbols were Goa'uld, but so faded that he could barely make them out. It was clear that the artifact was old—and deadly. There was a symbol for 'mind', and another for 'Jaffa', and then Daniel couldn't see any more. Maybe it didn't work on humans, only Jaffa? By the looks of Deavers, Daniel didn't hold up much hope. Teknet opened the box and took out a slender golden crown with two small rectangular boxes on either side of the circlet. Daniel struggled, but to no avail. Deavers held him fast, and Teknet applied the device to his temples.
The buzzing started at once, vibrating directly into the bones of his head. It wasn't painful, though Daniel thought that if this buzzing continued for too long he might go mad with boredom. He could barely make out the thoughts being transmitted into his skull: Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god.
Damn. If Deavers gave in to this, Daniel himself would toss the airman out of the Stargate program. He'd had professors whose lectures were worse. Daniel could put up with this all day and all night, with or without caffeine. Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god. Annoying, sure, but hardly unbearable. If this is the best you've got, then let me tell Jack O'Neill to take his time getting here. 'Can you hear me now, Jack?' For there was no doubt in Daniel's mind that Jack and the rest of the team would be hot on his trail as soon as he realized that Daniel was missing from Cheyenne Mountain.
Teknet continued to survey him thoughtfully. "We must diminish the quality of the scribe's thoughts," he decided. "That will hasten the work of the tuvatka're. If what you say is correct, First Prime, we do not have a week in which to work as we did for you."
"How will we do that, lord?"
"Cold," was the answer. "That is the resource that this region of my realm has in abundance. We will place the scribe outside until his mind begins to shut down. Then the tuvatka're will be able to work more effectively."
Okay, Jack, I take it back. Hurry. It's damn cold outside.
I'd really, really like it if you could hear me now.