Chapter 7 – Dogged Determination
Jack vaguely hoped he hadn't cooked Markov's goose for her, though if she hadn't intended for him to use the information he'd given her, he didn't know why she'd bothered. At the moment, he was more worried about getting Daniel back in one piece than in keeping her fat out of the fire. The introduction of specific detail about Colonel Metzov had turned the trick. Ambassador Wilson had initially objected to Jack's insistence on putting the information forward, but he'd bowed to Jack's insistence.
The video of Daniel in captivity had also done much to persuade both of them that action needed to be taken now.
As a result, a meeting had been set up to introduce Jack to the head of a military investigation unit. If something didn't give soon, Jack was going to cause a diplomatic incident.
Something shook Daniel's shoulder, sending ripples of pain through his back. He opened his eyes to silence and a masked face leaning very close to his. "What are you doing?" demanded the man who'd counted off the blows when he'd been whipped.
"Meditating," he said. "Is that a problem?"
"Are you going to eat your dinner?" demanded the man.
Daniel blinked and leaned around to look at the pile of meat and vegetables under a congealing sauce. "No, I don't think so."
"Fine." The man stood up and turned back towards the table.
"Do you have a name?" Daniel asked conversationally.
"You may call me Piotr."
"Well, Piotr, surely you've got more interesting things to do with your time than deliver food and clothes to me."
"Good night, Dr. Jackson," Piotr said and left.
Daniel watched him go with irritation burning in his soul. The music didn't start up again, for which he was grateful. Daniel changed into pajamas and climbed into bed.
Morning came without the sound of music, for which Daniel was immeasurably grateful. He'd woken later than usual, too. He walked to the window and looked out. Fog shrouded the whole valley below, a sea of fog with islands of green. The sky was overcast, preventing the sun from shining through the eastern window. The air was quite chill. He ran a bath and got in, sinking himself up to his neck in the hot water. Before the water got too cold, he got out again, dried off and got dressed. Breakfast had not yet arrived. Were they going to try starvation after sound had failed?
His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he'd skipped dinner. The door opened behind him and he turned quickly. A masked figure, taller and slimmer than Piotr, walked in with a tray of food. He left again with Daniel's dirty clothes and Daniel sat down to eat. So, starvation wasn't in the cards, nor was torturing him with poor hygiene. What, then?
Hours passed with nothing to do. To help the time pass more swiftly, he sat back down on the bed and began to meditate again.
The door slammed against the wall, and Daniel's eyes snapped open. Four guards again, all masked and dressed in black. The sun was high in the sky, but none of them seemed to have a lunch tray. "What's up, guys?" he asked.
Two of them grabbed his arms, planting more bruises on top of the ones that were already there. They dragged him off the bed and onto his knees. One of them cuffed him, then put leg irons on his ankles with maybe two feet of chain between them. Evidently they didn't want him trying to run away again.
"So, where are we going today? You going to send a video off to the States with me in chains like this?" One of them gave him a smack on the back of the head that made him blink. Okay, talking was apparently not okay.
They dragged him up to his feet and out the door. The chain on his ankles clanged against the steps beneath his feet. He started to feel humiliated, but stiffened his resolve. None of this said anything about him. Even Jack would have trouble getting away from these guys, and he didn't have a quarter of Jack's training.
Back through the narrow room, down the halls, and to the medical room again. When they started through that doorway, Daniel did start to fight, but it was hopeless. They forced him up against the wall, his back towards it this time, bound his wrists to the leather cuffs and unchained his ankles. They didn't remove his shirt, which made him wonder what they were going to do.
Not that a black t-shirt was much protection, but when Lizaveta came in, he was doubly grateful for the thin stretchy cotton. On one of the counters there was a pile of files with a small case sitting next to it. Lizaveta walked in and picked up one of the files. Opening it, she came towards him. "Do you see this, Dr. Jackson?" she asked, holding it out so he could see.
He blinked at the photograph of a tall, square monument with writing on all four sides. She flipped to the next photo, which was a close-up of writing that looked as if it might be Celtic in origin.
"There are half a dozen files here, and more downstairs in the library. All you have to do is work on them. When we have to return you, all the knowledge you gain will still be in your head. It's not really that terrible a proposition."
When she put it that way, Daniel found himself extraordinarily tempted, but then he recalled just what he might be handing this group of violent idiots and he shook his head. "No."
She shut the file and walked over to the counter to put it down. "Very well, Dr. Jackson," she said, coming back towards him with a small back object in her hands. "You're certain of your refusal?"
"I'm not going to –" She pressed the object against his ribs, interrupting him. His muscles twitched violently, and he lost his footing. After a couple of seconds, she drew back and he hung from the chains, utterly disoriented and unable to stand up. She walked over and sat down, and two of the guards came forward to help him back to his feet.
He wasn't clear on how much time had passed before she rose again and came up to him. He was giving her a very apprehensive look, and she smiled. "So, will you reconsider?"
Daniel drew in a deep breath. "No, I won't."
Her eyes snapped with fury and she hit him again with what he now realized must be a taser. She tried to get him to agree twice more, and hit him with the electrical current both times when he refused. He had the impression when she stopped that it was because she was dissuaded by one of the guards rather than because she thought she wouldn't succeed.
They took him back up to the tower room and dumped him on the bed. He lay there thinking that they couldn't know too much about the American program and his part in it if they thought this was going to shake his resolve.
Jack was going to have a conniption. What Daniel wasn't altogether certain about was whether he'd be annoyed with him. Jack might suddenly declare that Daniel should have done whatever they wanted. He shook his head. Worrying about that was pointless. He'd know for certain what Jack thought of his actions when Jack heard about them.
After about an hour, Daniel felt more up to coping with movement. He got up and ran a bath, then went to the bathroom. He felt grimy with sweat and he could smell himself. The one problem was that he didn't have fresh clothes. He walked over to the door while the tub was still filling and pounded. Then he went and sat down. Four sizable electrical shocks in a short time period had played havoc with his motor control. Tasers weren't supposed to do lasting damage, but the short term problems weren't fun.
One of the guards came in and Daniel looked up at him. "I was hoping you could maybe get me some fresh clothes."
The guard tilted his head for a moment, then said, "I will see." Within ten minutes he was back with a pile of garments. Daniel was already in the tub, hoping that the answer would be yes. Not only garments, but fresh sheets as well. Daniel lay, soaking in the hot water, while the man stripped his bed, flipped the mattress twice, examined all the edges, then re-made it. Taking the dirty clothes and bedding away, he left again, and Daniel closed his eyes. If escape had ever been possible, his ill-timed break for freedom had scuttled it.
His mind wandered back to the events of the morning. One of the guards had stopped Lizaveta from applying more voltage to him, whether because he recognized the futility or because he thought that five shocks in two hours was excessive Daniel couldn't be sure. Still, maybe he'd better try and get one or more of them on his side. Lizaveta seemed impervious to any effort he made at getting through to her, and the more time he spent in her presence, the less capable of making such attempts he became. The guards were another story.
In the meantime, he was left alone again with nothing to do. The room was chillier than it had been in the morning, and the sun was invisible behind the screen of dark, threatening clouds. Daniel climbed out and got dressed again. An extra blanket had been left on the bed, folded at the foot. It seemed that the change in the weather had not gone unnoticed by his captors. He picked it up and shook it out, wrapping it around his shoulders.
What was coming next? He contemplated what they'd tried thus far. Boredom. Straightforward beating. Overwhelming noise. Electric shock. Daniel shook his head. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what was coming next. He snorted. No, he was positive he didn't want to know.
The most interesting part of his afternoon was watching the thunderstorm develop and finally break loose. After that, there was just the sound of rain hitting the roof above and occasional bright flashes followed by thunder.
A slight deepening in the gloom was all the indication he got that night was falling. Dinner came shortly after that. Daniel got up and ate. The food was drenched in creamy sauce, but quite edible. It was sad when bland meatballs covered in bland sauce was the highlight of his day.
Once he was done eating, he returned to the bed, wrapped himself in the blanket again and watched the storm until he was too tired to keep his eyes open. Then he crawled under the covers and went to sleep.
The next day passed without incident. The thunderstorm had moved on leaving heavy rain in its wake. It was a singularly depressing day, and Daniel retired early. The next morning dawned bright and cheerful. Daniel grimaced at the sunlight. He got cleaned up and looked at the wounds he could see. There were a couple of red spots on his chest, but nothing particularly noticeable. His arms were rainbow colored. The burn on his leg was healing nicely, the blisters were all gone and though it was sensitive, it no longer hurt. His ankle hadn't bothered him since the first day of loud music.
Overall, he was feeling better than he had in days. Under the circumstances that made him very nervous.
After his morning routine, when he'd finished breakfast, he pulled the chair over by the window and looked out. Birds were flying above the trees. He saw a hawk stoop after some hapless prey animal. There wasn't much more movement than that. The sun rose high in the sky, and still Daniel watched the view from his window.
He pulled off his shirt and looked around the room for something to write with. There was nothing, and he was contemplating methods of accessing his blood when the door opened. He looked up in startlement. He'd spread the shirt, back upwards, across the table and was standing there with his bare skin covered in goose-pimples. The first guard paused on the threshold and they stood frozen, staring at each other. Daniel couldn't tell which it was because he was masked, as they always were. The man was shoved forward by his companions. Four of them, which suggested another trip.
Daniel snatched up the shirt and was about to put it on when one of them grabbed it out of his hands. "You won't be needing that," he said. It was Piotr, and Daniel was not reassured by the slightly amused tone in his voice. He tucked his arms around his torso, feeling considerably more naked than he actually was.
Piotr tossed the shirt onto the bed and grabbed for one of Daniel's arms. Daniel shifted backwards. "Where are we going now?" he asked. Piotr and one of the others seized him and forced him to his knees again. Daniel struggled to free himself. "What's going on now?"
Hands pulled his arms around behind him, gentler this time than before. He wondered who it was. Piotr and his friend were still holding onto him tightly, but the masks made it very difficult to know who was who, particularly since he didn't think they were always the same group of men. Cuffs closed around his wrists, and then a hand squeezed his with what felt suspiciously like sympathy. He didn't know the cause, though, and that made him very uneasy.
They hustled him down the stairs and into the medical room again. The camera was set up in here now, pointing towards the wall with the dangling manacles. He stared at it with more than a little apprehension as they took him to stand in front of that wall. They left his hands bound behind him though, for the moment, and Piotr and the other guard stayed on either side of him.
Lizaveta stood on the other side of the camera. One of the guards picked up a newspaper and brought it over to him. He looked down at the day's New York Times and an article regarding the Federal Reserve. He glanced up when Lizaveta moved. Her hand was on the camera and she was sighting through it. "Good," she said. "Dr. Jackson, read that article when I turn the camera on."
Daniel gulped and, when she started the recording, commenced reading. He was too flustered by the unexpected nature of this particular recording session to think of codes to put into the reading, so he just read it normally. Alan Greenspan was lowering the interest rates again. Before he'd quite finished, the guard took the newspaper away and he faltered to a stop.
There was a brief pause, then Lizaveta said, "Turn him."
They turned him around and unbound his wrists. He didn't believe this was happening. Surely they weren't going to send a videotape of torture to the government. He kicked out sideways and twisted, trying to get away from the hands that were holding him. He got one hand loose and managed to land a blow on Piotr's head, but it was no use. They slammed him against the wall and bound his wrists into the leather manacles. Then they stepped back and, again, nothing happened for awhile. He wondered what they were doing.
Then he heard footsteps moving towards him and he tensed. He wouldn't have believed he could tense any more than he already was, but it was apparently possible. Something whistled through the air behind him, and a blow struck his back like a line of fire. This time it was a whip, and they weren't holding back. He let out a startled cry, then grit his teeth.
It seemed to go on and on, but no one was counting the blows, not even him, so he had no idea how many times they'd hit him when they stopped. More than five. Maybe even more than ten.
When they finally stopped, he was barely holding himself upright. At some point he'd wrapped his hands around the chains above the manacles, gripping them to keep from hanging by the wrists. They released his arms and turned him around. When they let go of him, he collapsed to his knees. Lizaveta was still behind the camera and she pointed it downwards so that the lens was still focused on his face. Daniel glared up at her.
"Dr. Jackson," she said, "do you want to go home?" He didn't reply, he just continued to glare. "Tell your government to give us what we want."
Daniel closed his eyes and marshaled his strength. He wanted to stand up, but he couldn't summon the energy. He opened his eyes again. All the fury and frustration that had built up over the last few days rose up and made it difficult to speak. Forcing his way past the emotional blockage, he ground out three words. "I. Will. Not." A hand came out of nowhere and struck him in the face, knocking him back against the wall. His back struck the hard surface and he let out an involuntary cry of pain. Anger lent him an adrenaline surge that allowed him to get to his feet. Piotr hooked his feet out from under him and he landed on his hands and knees. He lifted his head and glared into the camera lens. "Don't do it!"
They took him back upstairs again and dumped him on the bed, on his face. He lay there, unable to bring himself to move until the door opened again. Then he tried to sit up, to see what was coming, but footsteps came quickly across the room. "Don't move, Dr. Jackson," said a soft voice. His English was a lot more colloquial than any of the others who'd spoken thus far. "I just want to treat your back."
"Come to rub salt in my wounds, huh?" Daniel muttered. Gentle hands helped him to straighten out on the bed, then the man got up and moved away, running water into a basin, from the sound. He returned to the bed and started washing Daniel's back with great care, as if to cause as little pain as possible. "Do the others know you're here?" Daniel asked.
"Of course. They don't want you to get an infection."
Daniel let out a snort, then winced as that shifted the skin on his back. He lay motionless under the ministrations of the guard, wondering what on earth had inspired him to be so gentle. The antibiotic stung when it was applied, and there was no realistic way to bandage whip scores. "How many are there?" he asked suddenly.
"I do not know the exact count," the man said. "I thought it was too many, but they wouldn't listen to me."
"I think one was too many," Daniel said. "This isn't going to gain you people anything."
"Some of us have recognized that, but Lizaveta is stubborn, and she wants to prove herself."
"Well, she's proven herself to be a wacko bitch."
The other man cleared his throat, sounding a bit embarrassed. He finished the treatment of Daniel's back in silence. "Stay on your stomach tonight, and don't submerse these in water. I'll be back in the morning to clean them again. Other than that, you'll just have to settle for a sponge bath, Dr. Jackson."
"Charming." Daniel sighed. "Thank you," he said after a moment. "But don't call me Dr. Jackson, you can call me Daniel. What's your name?"
"Gregor." He rested his hands on Daniel's shoulders, above the highest whip cut. "You are a good and brave man, and don't deserve this," he said. "I wish there was more I could do to take care of you." His fingers moved slightly in what felt like a caress.
Daniel had closed his eyes, but now they snapped open. He couldn't – he didn't –
"Good night, Dr. Jackson."
Daniel took in a deep breath. "Good night, Gregor," he said. Gregor did a few chores like dumping the water, closing the windows against the chill air, and gathering up the supplies he'd brought with him, then he left. Daniel thumped his forehead against the pillow. What more could possibly happen?
Hammond had said nothing more detailed about this video than that it showed Daniel being tortured, which was enough to make Jack want to throw the computer through the window. Unfortunately, that wouldn't cause any damage to the people he wanted to hurt.
Carter was sitting at his shoulder. He didn't turn to look at her, but he could imagine her devastated expression. The video started on an image of Daniel, stripped to the waist with his hands bound behind his back. Masked guards in black clothes surrounded him, and one of them held out a newspaper so that Daniel could see it. He looked up into the lens of the camera, licked his lips, then tilted his head and began to read an article about Alan Greenspan aloud, his voice not entirely steady as he kept glancing up at someone behind the camera. Before he finished the article, the newspaper was taken away, leaving him looking lost and uncertain.
Jack didn't know what to expect. Why they had him stripped, he couldn't begin to imagine, but some of the layers of bruises that encircled his upper arms clearly predated the previous video. No doubt the long sleeves they'd put him in had been intended to cover them.
Carter was a tense presence beside him, practically twanging. The guards grabbed him, demonstrating aptly the exact source of those bruises, and turned him to face the wall. Taking the cuffs off, they forced his wrists into cuffs suspended from the ceiling.
There was a low hiss from Carter when they got a good look at his back. As soon as he was chained to the wall – and Jack wanted to beat on someone for that – they could see that sickening colors covered his back. Someone had given him a thorough beating. Why, Jack couldn't guess. Maybe Daniel had tried to escape, maybe he had mouthed off, whatever the 'reason,' nothing could excuse it.
He was clearly expecting more of the same, the way he'd fought against the hands that bound him to the wall. It made Jack want to wade in and start shooting people, but that wouldn't be an option till they knew where he was.
After the reissue of the ransom demands, a man walked forward and stood to Daniel's side. He had something in his hand, but just what wasn't clear until he swung it back and struck the defenseless man with it. The whip cracked against Daniel's back, and Carter let out an expletive Jack had never heard her say. Jack counted the blows automatically, utterly appalled by the tactic. What did they hope to achieve by doing this, videotaping it and sending it to Washington?
Fifteen stripes. Jack had counted automatically. Fifteen. Finally, they released him from the chains and turned him back to face the camera. When they let go of him, he collapsed to the floor and Jack clenched his fists. The woman's voice spoke from behind the camera, a mocking tone to her words. "Do you want to go home, Dr. Jackson?" Daniel didn't say anything, but his expression was eloquent. Then she urged him to beg for the demands to be granted, just to add to the guilt of whoever might be watching these images. Daniel refused and the man next to him hit him hard enough to knock him back into the wall. Fury seemed to galvanize him, for he rose despite the pain and exhaustion he had to be feeling. The man who'd hit him knocked his feet out from under him.
From his knees, Daniel glared up into the camera and issued a command to the watcher. "Don't do it!" The image froze on that angry determination, and the woman spoke again, urging them not to waste the man's loyalty and self-sacrifice by forcing them to kill him.
It had been sent via the internet to Washington, and then forwarded to the embassy and brought to him at his hotel. Jack wondered just how many people had seen it now, and how Daniel was going to take it. Sam let out a sudden stream of furious epithets, some of which Jack was almost sure she'd learned from Daniel. "Why are they doing that?" she demanded.
"Because they know it will bug us," Jack said.
Robbed of a valid target, Carter turned her anger on him. "How can you be so calm about it, sir? Daniel's out there being tortured, and –"
"I am not calm," Jack said, and she broke off. "I'm controlled. There is a difference."
Carter flushed and nodded, her lips tight. "Of course sir, I'm sorry."
Jack's cell phone rang. He picked it up and said, "O'Neill here."
"Jack, have you seen that video yet?" The general's voice was vibrating with rage.
"Yes sir, Carter and I just finished."
"I have been on the phone with the president and he is champing at the bit. What kind of progress have you made so far?"
Jack grimaced. "We've made enormous amounts of no progress, sir," he said. "Oddly enough, I don't get the slightest impression that anyone in the government is deliberately obstructing us."
"Didn't that Metzov fellow have a daughter?"
"She appears to be the invisible woman, sir," Jack said sourly. "We've questioned everyone who lived in the apartments around her, but no one seems to have known her at all. We're following a lead on an ex-boyfriend, but the investigation is somewhat hampered by my lack of a totally reliable translator."
"Have the Russians failed to provide you with someone?"
"It's not that, sir," Jack said. "It's just that I'm used to the best."
There was a pause while Hammond absorbed the implications of that statement. "Right."
"Well, I need to acquaint the rest of my team with this latest information."
"Do that, colonel. Oh, and I think I've cleared the way politically to send over another operative to help you."
"Really? Who?" Jack was expecting someone from the CIA, or some other intelligence agency. He certainly wasn't expecting what he got.
"Teal'c is on his way already. He should contact you from Germany to meet you wherever you are when he gets there."
"Glad to hear it, sir. He could prove very useful."
"I'm sure he will."
He finished the call and slipped the phone back into its holster on his belt. "Hammond has sent Teal'c."
"But . . . I thought he wasn't allowed out of the country."
"A pretty ridiculous restriction, if you ask me," Jack said. "After all, every time we go on a mission, he leaves the country and goes a hell of a lot farther away."
Carter shook her head with an exasperated look. "Sir, what I mean is, how did the general get permission?"
"I'm assuming it has something to do with that little message we just saw. I gather the president's not a real happy camper."
"He's not alone in that," Carter said. "Are you going to show it to the others?"
"I think I'd better. Not that I think they're lacking in motivation, but this will just cement it."
"You're probably right," she said. "I don't think Daniel's going to like it, though."
"I'm not going to worry about what Daniel will or won't like until Daniel's in front of me," Jack said. "Let's go."
She nodded and they went to share the news. As Jack had expected, the rest of the team was livid. Jack wondered if the ambassador had seen it, and if he'd shown it to the Russian government, and what effect it would have there.
"So, sir, do we have permission to take these guys apart?" Feretti asked. Myers and the others nodded eagerly.
Jack shrugged. "Let's put it this way, the general is sending Teal'c."
Feretti's brows rose. "Then I guess we do."
Jack didn't commit himself, but he was going to play hell holding himself back if they could identify who the bastard was who'd put those stripes on Daniel, and who had authorized it.