Chapter 3
Well Met

Sheppard played a bit of word association with himself as he led Reese to the quartermaster's office. Both Reese and Finch were already well enough dressed for the briefing that Gen. Carter was arranging to be held in the SCIF at One Police Plaza, but everyone agreed that while Finch could fly under the radar without further disguise, both Szymanski and Snow (who wasn't invited but was still monitoring Det. Carter) would be suspicious if Reese remained in his "Man in the Suit" guise. Gen. Carter and Finch were working on setting Reese up with a new cover identity as an Air Force Master Sergeant with either the same decorations he'd earned in the Army or the nearest Air Force equivalents, but they hadn't settled on a name yet, and Reese had disclaimed his own ability to choose. That left it to Sheppard to find something distinct from both Reese's real surname and his standard CIA alias.

Reese—peanut butter—Carver? No, with two Carters on the case, that would only add confusion. Rhys—Davies? No, Maj. Paul Davis would be joining them for the briefing as the liaison from Homeworld Command. Ries—Riese, giant—Andre the Giant, or… Samson, Goliath, Jack the Giant Killer… all too obvious… the Brave Little Tailor—too close to Reese's real surname… or there was Wade, the father of… Wieland the Smith. Perfect. Sheppard texted his choice to Gen. Carter and stepped up to the quartermaster's desk to place his order.

"What name, sir?" the quartermaster asked as he finished.

"Wayland," Sheppard supplied.

Reese looked startled for a moment, then apparently backtracked over Sheppard's line of thought and smiled in quiet amusement. The quartermaster, for his part, finished entering the information in the computer and disappeared into the storeroom for a moment, returning with Reese's new dress uniform for the meeting and a duffle containing Reese's Atlantis-standard offworld black BDUs for the rest of the mission, decorations, and laser-engraved nameplate. Reese accepted them with a nod of thanks.

"So do I get to keep these?" he asked as Sheppard led him toward the armory.

"Have to ask Gen. Carter," Sheppard hedged. "'Course, if you wanna come back to Atlantis with us, you'd be welcome."

Reese smiled wryly. "Thanks, but I've got a job in New York."

"So what exactly is that? Obviously, you and Finch work together, but…."

"We hear about people who are about to be involved in violent crimes. We do everything we can to prevent them from happening."

"You hear about crimes? How exactly do you hear about these things?"

Reese's smile turned mischievous. "Trade secret."

Sheppard snorted. "Right. I live in another galaxy, and I'm married to an alien, but your source of information is too classified to tell me."

"You're not the one we don't trust."

Sheppard processed that for a moment, then nodded his understanding. Like it or not, he did still work for the government, and while Reese's reasons for running from the government were clear from the CIA reports, Finch had just as clearly gone to great lengths to erase his true identity from all records and to ensure that his command center at the library couldn't be found. But that brought up another point, one that brought Sheppard up short just before they reached the elevator. "Wait, wait—you were already following us when we checked into the hotel yesterday, which means your source told you we were in danger before we even landed at JFK."

"How many people even knew you were on Earth?" Reese asked, implicitly confirming Sheppard's surmise.

Sheppard shook his head. "We'd have to ask Gen. Carter to know for sure, but not many. We're using cover IDs at the hotel. So either the Trust just guessed that we'd be sent in, or there's a mole somewhere."

"We didn't find out about the threat to the rest of your team until this morning. That tells me the people plotting to kill you didn't know about them until after you'd arrived in New York."

"That narrows it down. If the mole were here at the SGC, or if there were a spy hangin' around outside Cheyenne Mountain, they would have known I wasn't alone by the time our flight left Colorado Springs. As far as I know, Gen. Landry's the only one at Homeworld Command who knew we were comin' in before we left Atlantis, but the mole could be in his office—we had to go through them to get your CIA file."

"Or the mole could be CIA, FBI, NID, or even NYPD."

Sheppard chewed his lip as he punched the down button on the elevator but waited until he and Reese were safely inside and on their way down to 28 before asking, "This have anything to do with why you told your detectives not to trust anyone but each other, Szymanski, and Barrett?"

Reese nodded. "There's a group of corrupt cops called HR. They don't work for Elias, but they're allied with him, even let him try to kill Carter a few months ago."

"That was when you saved her life?"

"It was. We know a few of the players, but by no means all. Finch checked out Szymanski a while back, and he's clean—not that I doubted Carter's judgment on that. But just about anyone else on the force could be on the take, if not actively working for HR or the Trust."

Sheppard nodded slowly as the elevator stopped and the door opened.

Their next stop was the VIP quarters where Finch was preparing his new persona, Dr. Shearwater, for the briefing. As they approached, though, they heard two delighted voices conversing in… Czech? Confused, Sheppard led the way to the lab, only to find Finch and Zelenka chatting and grinning at each other.

Finch caught sight of them as they reached the open lab door, and if anything, he seemed even happier to see them. "John! Come and meet an old friend of mine."

Sheppard and Reese exchanged a look and came into the room, Reese smiling politely at Zelenka.

"Radek, this is John Reese," Finch said in English. "Mr. Reese, Dr. Radek Zelenka."

"Dr. Zelenka," Reese acknowledged, dropping his duffle on a table so he could shake Zelenka's hand.

"A great pleasure, Mr. Reese," Zelenka returned as they shook.

"Didn't know you two knew each other," Sheppard told Zelenka.

"It was many years ago, Colonel," said Zelenka.

Finch was more focused on Reese. "In the '80s, some friends and I were invited to a conference in Prague that included a chance to visit some of the universities. Radek was among a group of students we met at Czech Technical University who wanted a way out of Communist territory. One thing led to another, and my friends and I helped them defect to the West."

Zelenka nodded. "We agreed it would be too dangerous to keep in touch, and then after I finished my doctorate and went back to Prague, I didn't have a way to contact Nathan and Harold again. Imagine my surprise to see him today!"

Finch and Reese both laughed.

Then Zelenka's smile faded somewhat. "I was very sorry to hear of Nathan's death in that ferry bombing."

Finch's own smile faded more significantly. "Yes, that was a difficult time."

"To be honest… part of me has wondered whether he was killed by the Trust or someone else seeking information about Atlantis—about me."

"No," Finch replied quickly. Then he deflated a little. "No, that's not the reason."

Reese put a hand on Finch's shoulder, but Sheppard was sure Zelenka took the same inference from that statement he did: this Nathan, whoever he was, had been the target of the bombing, just not because he'd known Zelenka. Adding that to Reese's statement about not trusting the government… raised some very interesting questions indeed.

"Well," said Sheppard. "I hate to cut the reunion short, but we'd better let you finish preparing for the briefing."

"Yes, of course," said Finch. "It was so good to see you, Radek. Perhaps we can do some more catching up after the case is closed."

Zelenka nodded. "I hope so."

With that, Sheppard herded Zelenka out. He waited until they were around the corner and several dozen feet away before asking quietly, "Who was Nathan?"

"Nathan Ingram," Zelenka answered at the same volume. "Our friend went by Harold Grebe at the time."

Sheppard raised his chin. Atlantis didn't often get stateside news in its regular data bursts from the SGC, but the terrorist attack that had killed Ingram had been big enough news to be passed along, not least because Ingram's company IFT had supplied a portion of the new computer technology that had come to Homeworld Command after 2008, although not the portion based on alien tech. Whatever Ingram and Finch—

"Oh, that's why Ingram never said what the name meant," Sheppard realized. "IFT, Ingram-Finch Technologies! Finch was a silent partner from the start!"

"That would explain a great deal, especially how he managed to encrypt his system so thoroughly."

"I bet that's not the only secret he's keeping, either. It's probably not the secret that got Ingram killed. See what you can find out about IFT while we're working on the Wraith problem."

Zelenka nodded. "At least I can satisfy myself that it wasn't his connection to me that made him a target."

"Yeah." Sheppard smiled and patted Zelenka on the shoulder. "Makes a difference, knowing something really wasn't your fault."

Zelenka gave him a rueful smile, and they went their separate ways.

Joss Carter had her game face on as she rode with Fusco in the back seat of Agent Barrett's car on the way to One Police Plaza, Szymanski in shotgun talking shop with Barrett. (They were in Barrett's car because it was the only one without a cage between the front seat and the back and that didn't have the safety locks engaged on the back doors.) Deep down, however, she was afraid her façade would crack and show not only how badly the case scared her but how nervous she was about going to this briefing with this company—and confused by Finch's order to trust Fusco, of all people. What did he know about Fusco that she didn't? And why did Fusco seem to trust her but not Szymanski?

Stifling a sigh, she glanced over at her partner at the same moment he gave her an identical sidelong look. They both pretended they hadn't and turned to stare out their respective windows instead. That didn't help Joss feel any better. And staring out the window only made her wonder whether Agent Snow and his shadow were still around and how likely they were to turn up at the wrong moment.

There were far too many things she didn't know. High on that list was where Reese was. He'd said he'd be in touch before dark, but where was he now, and what help was he bringing? Would it be enough to stop whatever was going on?

Her thoughts continued along similar lines as the four investigators arrived at 1PP, signed NDAs, and checked their weapons, radios, and phones with two young men in Air Force uniform outside the SCIF. A third man, a Marine, waved a wand over them before allowing them to pass; she wasn't sure why they were using a portable metal detector, but she passed the check, so that went to the bottom of her list of things to worry about. She was distracted enough by everything else that as they were ushered inside by two more Marines, she didn't register more about the people seated at the front of the room than a mix of Air Force officers and civilians in suits. It wasn't until she sat down that she realized that one of the civilians was Finch. When she looked at him again, he made eye contact and then looked across at—at Reese, in a genuine uniform with genuine decorations and a standard-issue nameplate that read Wayland. Oh, Joss knew Finch's ability to get himself and Reese into places bordered on the miraculous, but… how on earth had they pulled this off?!

Reese's "official business" face didn't change, but he did make eye contact with her… and then with Fusco before giving the barest of nods to the colonel with the group, whose nameplate read Sheppard. Fusco gave Joss a startled glance and looked at Finch and then at the screen behind the visitors. So—did Reese and Finch know Fusco? Had they been working together all this time? Did he know Col. Sheppard, too? Was Col. Sheppard the help Reese had promised to bring?

Joss barely had time to wonder when Col. Sheppard nodded to a twitchy major, who introduced himself as Paul Davis and started the meeting. Col. Sheppard and his colleague, a Dr. McKay, did most of the talking; "Sgt. Wayland" and "Dr. Shearwater" sat alongside a Spc. Dex and Mrs. Sheppard and watched the proceedings with polite interest. The briefing boiled down to the fact that a group of rogue government agents had stolen some extremely classified weapons from Area 51 and had brought them to New York to sell to Elias. One of those weapons had evidently been used on their mummified murder victim. Joss could tell there was far more to the story than Col. Sheppard was allowed to reveal, and she suspected Barrett knew at least part of it, but it answered enough of her questions that she could make peace with not having the clearance for the rest.

When Dr. McKay opened the floor for questions, however, it was Szymanski who spoke first. "Wait, wait, wait. From everything we've been able to determine, Elias buys people rather than weapons."

"We don't know what the Trust might have told him, Detective," Reese stated. "They may have offered both the weapons and someone who can use them. We don't even know whether they're dealing with Elias directly. They may be using HR as a middleman. What we're sure of is that the Trust is here with those weapons—and that someone put a hit out on Col. Sheppard and Dr. McKay, most likely to stop them from preventing whatever deal is in the works."

Ah, so the mysterious source that gave Finch and Reese their information had put them onto this case before the murder. That answered more questions, but—

"So if the hit is on them, why kill the homeless guy?" Fusco asked aloud at the same time Joss thought it.

"We don't think it was premeditated," Finch answered, and another puzzle piece about their choice of cases clicked into place. "He may have seen something or picked the wrong pocket, or he may simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the fact that the killer didn't bother to dispose of the body is troubling. It almost appears to have been left as a warning—though a warning to whom is unclear."

Szymanski frowned. "You're sure there's only one group with these weapons?"

Silence.

"If there is a second group," Dr. McKay said slowly (and he had spoken very quickly while delivering the briefing), "that would be very bad news."

"How bad?" Joss asked before she could stop herself.

Dr. McKay looked at her with an expression somewhere between worried and mournful. "It would mean someone had obtained these weapons without stealing them from Area 51."

A chill ran down Joss's spine.

"Then why would they be in New York?" Fusco asked. "You think they're tryin' to outbid the Trust?"

"This is still very hypothetical," Dr. McKay cautioned, "but if there's a second group and if they're in New York…."

"They'd be trying to eliminate the Trust," Col. Sheppard concluded gravely. "And when they're done with that, they wouldn't mess with Elias except maybe to get funding. They'd start trying to take over the world."

The three detectives exchanged a worried look. Then Szymanski cleared his throat. "Hypothetically, would we be able to recognize this second group on the street?"

Col. Sheppard nodded a little. "Yeah, you would. How much they would try to blend in, I don't know; they're smart enough to disguise their features. But they'd most likely look like a bunch of goth guys with long white hair, maybe a white goatee. Hair might look like it hasn't seen a brush in ten thousand years. Or they might be wearing a full-face mask that kinda looks like a bug's eye. Either way… you'll know, deep down, if you see one."

The chill Joss felt spread out from her spine through all her veins.

"Are they a gang?" Szymanski asked cautiously.

"You could call 'em that," Col. Sheppard replied.

"What name—"

"This is exceptionally classified—" Barrett interrupted.

"Wraith," a deep, rough voice cut in, and Joss didn't place it until Dex stood and walked over to Col. Sheppard's side. "They're called Wraith."

Szymanski shifted uncomfortably—whether from accidentally straying beyond their clearance level or from the implicit danger level of what they were learning, or from the intensity of Dex's demeanor, Joss wasn't sure. "Never heard of 'em."

"No," said Dex. "You wouldn't have."

"We still don't know for sure that they're here," Col. Sheppard noted.

Dex shrugged. He seemed to be a man of even fewer words than Reese.

Mrs. Sheppard stepped forward as well, but her attention was on Barrett. "If there are Wraith in New York that are not connected with the Trust, these detectives need to be aware of it. They have already signed non-disclosure agreements, so the information will go no further, but they need to know at least a portion of the nature of the threat."

That seemed to give Barrett pause. Then he leaned forward. "Mrs. Sheppard… are there Wraith in New York?"

"Yes," Mrs. Sheppard answered. "I don't know where or how many—certainly not the full hive. I don't know whether they're allied with the Trust or not. But there is a Wraith presence in this city."

Joss didn't know why Mrs. Sheppard would be the one with the definitive answer to that question, nor why her certainty felt so creepy to observe. She did know that she wished she hadn't woken up that morning… and it helped somewhat that Finch and Reese looked slightly alarmed as well.

Barrett didn't look happy, either, but his only counter was, "Well, you're gonna have to explain to Gen. Landry."

"Story of our lives," Col. Sheppard remarked quietly to Dex, who snorted.

"I really don't wanna be the one to ask this," Szymanski murmured to Joss but spoke up again anyway. "So if there's a chance we're gonna run into a gang of goths armed with beyond-top-secret weaponry… what's our best bet for survival when it comes to making arrests?"

"Odds are, you won't be able to make arrests," Col. Sheppard answered. "They don't recognize any authority except their own, and they also have a beyond-top-secret serum that makes angel dust look like powdered sugar. Your only option for survival is to put as many rounds in their center of mass as possible until either they go down… or you run out of ammo."

"And stay further away than arm's length, if you can," Dr. McKay added before Joss could shoot Reese a look asking to borrow one of his submachine guns. "One of the weapons is on the palm of their right hands."

"Wear your vests," Reese recommended. "Especially if they've got strike plates."

Why do I always wind up needing my vest when I work with you, John? Joss thought but tried not to let it show on her face.

Col. Sheppard passed along some other necessary information, including radio frequencies and phone numbers for reaching his team. Then Maj. Davis, apparently noticing how shell-shocked the detectives were, brought the meeting to an end.

"You all right, Carter?" Szymanski asked quietly.

"Yeah, I just need a minute," Joss answered at the same volume. "I'll catch up with you in the hall."

Szymanski nodded, patted her shoulder, and left with Barrett. Fusco seemed torn over whether to leave or not.

But Reese took the decision out of their hands. As soon as Szymanski was far enough away, Reese came over to Joss and Fusco. "I hadn't planned for you guys to find out about each other this way," he murmured.

"What, you were plannin' another way?" Fusco snarked softly.

"It was safer for you not to know yet," Reese insisted.

Joss gave him a Look.

Reese ignored that. "But we can't talk about it right now. When this is over, we can all go out for a drink together. My treat."

"Define 'we,' John," said Joss.

Fusco's double-take was priceless—or would have been under other circumstances, when Joss wasn't worried about what kind of weapon could cause rapid aging but would be blocked by a strike plate and what kind of substance was so much worse than PCP that just keep shooting was the only option for dealing with someone hopped up on it.

"Well, normally it would just be you two, Finch, and me," Reese shot back, "but Sheppard and his team might be offended if we go without them. And Szymanski's about to get suspicious, so go. We can talk later."

"You're sure Szymanski's okay?" Fusco asked even as he backed out of the row to let Joss pass.

Reese nodded. "Yeah, he's clean."

Joss had never doubted it, but now her doubts about Fusco had been eased. It was just… everything else she had to worry about. Still, she managed to nod farewell to both Reese and Finch before Fusco herded her up the aisle to the door.

No sooner had she received her phone, radio, and weapon back, however, than the voice of one of those worries called, "Det. Carter!"

Joss couldn't help swearing under her breath.

"What?" Szymanski asked softly.

"CIA," she whispered. Then she turned around to find the Marines and Barrett forming the most effective barrier between herself and Agent Snow that they could. That was good for her, but it meant Reese and Finch were both trapped in the SCIF.

Snow's shadow was expressionless as usual, but Snow himself was smiling as amiably as he could manage. "What's going on, fellas?" he asked the Marines.

"Who are you?" Barrett demanded.

"Agent Mark Snow, CIA," Snow replied and flashed his credentials.

"Agent Malcolm Barrett, NID," Barrett returned and flashed his own.

"I didn't ask. I need to speak to Det. Carter."

"Det. Carter is busy."

Snow looked at Joss and then back at Barrett. "She doesn't look busy."

Barrett wasn't cowed. "Appearances can be deceptive."

Joss found herself warming to Barrett.

"You're impeding a federal investigation," Snow told Barrett, getting closer to the Marines than was strictly advisable.

Barrett stood his ground. "No, you are impeding the NID investigation to which these detectives have just been seconded, and you're doing it for the sake of hunting a man you can't even prove is still alive. Leave Det. Carter alone—or you will be reassigned."

Snow looked as sour as an entire lemon orchard… but he turned and glared at his shadow, and they left.

Joss waited until they were out of earshot to turn to Barrett. "Thanks. Never thought I'd see him turn tail and run."

"Rank hath its privileges," Barrett noted with a small smile. "I don't pull rank on the Agency unless I have to, but sometimes they need to be reminded that there are some secrets even they don't have clearance for."

"What was that all about?" Szymanski murmured as they headed out.

Joss grimaced. "Snow's still tryin' to use me to get to the Man in the Suit."

"The Man in the Suit?!" Szymanski echoed incredulously. "I thought the FBI and the department's task force took over that investigation."

Joss shrugged. "Snow says it's the CIA's mess to clean up." And by clean up, he meant kill John—although his shadow had been looking increasingly uncomfortable since the shooting. She wondered whether she was imagining that. (And she really hoped Szymanski hadn't recognized John during that briefing.)

Szymanski scoffed and shook his head.

"You gonna be all right, partner?" Fusco murmured from her other side.

Joss nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Fusco."

Fusco nodded back but still looked a little worried.

The conversation was interrupted when Barrett's phone rang. He answered, listened, and replied, "No kidding. When? … We have to swing back by the Eighth, but we'll be there as soon as we can. Have you informed Col. Sheppard? … Right. Bye." He hung up and looked at the detectives. "Got another one in Red Hook. I'll brief you in the car."

The goosebumps that sprang up on Joss's arms had nothing to do with the weather or the CIA, but she nodded anyway.