A/N: hAvng trbl typng cz f bndagez... I'm not gonna tell ya who is in the dungeon. Or what John is, yet, (though I know someone has figured it out already) Jeez, that would totally ruin, like, chapter --! ;) And yes, Lorne is very, very pissed...

Chapter 13

Lorne barreled into the library, and the first thing he noticed after the techie fixing the door controls was his two men on the floor. One was sitting up and bracing his jaw with a hand, the other still lying on his back, and Sgt. Stackhouse was kneeling next to him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at him and nodded – he had been on monitor duty and called Lorne the second Sheppard took the two men out. Lorne nodded back as he breezed past and joined Johnson and Ford by the gaping hole in the wall. Ford was standing on the back of the chair and shining the light from his P90 down the air duct. He turned when he heard Lorne approach. "Sir," he said and hopped off the chair. "He has a ten minute head start at the most. I think I can fit …."

Lorne waved him silent and climbed up on the chair until he could see down the dark hole. "You stupid God damned sonuvabitch!" he yelled into the vent. It echoed faintly and he hoped he was heard. He glanced down at Ford and Johnson and noted the young lieutenant was smirking. He frowned and looked past him. "Stackhouse – I want to know where this thing leads."

"Bates is getting the schematics from control as we speak, sir," the sergeant replied.

Oh, shit, Lorne thought as he jumped down to the floor. I'll have both of Kolya's lackeys here. The only thing that could make it worse would be ….

The doors opened spastically and it was Bates followed closely by Ronon and Keller. Lorne let out a quick breath. "What do you have for me, sergeant?" he said to Bates.

Bates stood next to Lorne and called up a diagram on the tablet he was holding. "This air vent connects up with the main fresh air intake for this level," he said. Ronon came over and loomed over Bates and crossed his arms while Keller knelt down next to the prone guard and opened her emergency kit. She checked the man's pupil response and frowned.

Now how in the hell did he know that? Lorne thought as studied the plans. "It comes out to a hell of a drop here." He may not have been able to get dressed in his proper BDU's when they woke him up, but he did have his radio earpiece. He tapped that and ordered a team to the east side of the complex immediately.

"Sir, I can follow …." Ford started to say but stopped suddenly when the doors to the library opened a little smoother and Kolya stormed in.

"Major, report!" he snapped, and everyone, including Ronon, came to immediate attention. Keller let out a startled sound and flinched away from the colonel.

"Sir! At approximately oh-one-fifty Sheppard came to the library with his guards, overpowered them, and escaped into the air ducts. It doesn't appear he took any weapons with him, and I've sent a team to intercept."

Kolya stopped and stared at the hole. The muscles along his jaw bunched and he turned to Lorne. "This is the sort of thing that happens when you neglect your duty and decide to get chummy with them instead of treating them like the animals they are."

Lorne kept his expression neutral and his eyes forward, and only through a force of will kept from grinding his teeth. He wanted to bring up the fact that it was Kolya's idea to have him running around in the first place, making friends, but decided silence was the smarter course of action at the moment.

Ford jumped into the silence. "Sir – I know I can fit in there. Do you want me to follow it?"

"Go," Kolya said and jerked his head toward the vent. "Keep in radio contact. And I want it alive."

"Understood, sir," Ford replied and flashed a triumphant grin at Lorne. He flipped his cap around, and after quick consideration, removed his tac vest. He climbed up and with his P90 leading the way was soon out of sight.

"Sir, that might not be a good idea," Lorne said. "If he feels cornered, Ford could get hurt."

"You said yourself it was unarmed," Kolya said. "I'm sure the lieutenant can handle anything it throws at him."

"Sir, may I point out that he had no problems pulling that vent cover out of the wall."

The said cover was lying near Ronon's feet, and he casually crouched down to flip it over. It was three feet across, maybe eighteen inches high, and was bowed out considerably in the middle. Only two of the eight four-inch metal screws were still attached – the rest were broken off completely. "Ford may bite off more than he can chew," Ronon said and stood back up. He openly met Kolya's gaze.

Kolya made a quiet little grunt and fixed his gaze on Lorne. "Then, major, I strongly suggest you be in a position to give him back-up."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep me apprised of the situation," Kolya said and marched from the library.

Lorne's expression changed for the first time since Kolya showed up – he drew his lips in and barely kept a snarl in check as he drew in a very deep breath. He turned to Bates and held his hand out for the tablet. Bates handed it over and as he started scrolling through various displays Ronon came over. After a few seconds he said, "Bates – I want you and Johnson to go here." He pointed to a room down the hall and closer to the atrium. "If Ford gets into trouble, this will provide a relatively straight shot for extraction." He handed the tablet back to the sergeant.

"Yes, sir," Bates replied, and a second later he and Johnson were gone.

"You know, if he does get out, and figures out this place is an island, there's only one place he'll head."

"Yup," Lorne replied. He glanced at Stackhouse. "We still have a full supply of darts?"

"Yes, sir," Stackhouse replied.

"Good." Lorne glanced at Keller. "You need help, doc?"

"I'll need to call for a stretcher – he has a concussion," she replied. Then she tapped her own radio ear piece and did just that.

Lorne tapped his ear. "Ford – how's it looking?"

"I can hear banging from somewhere up ahead, sir, but that's it," came Ford's slightly hollow sounding reply.

"All right. Proceed with caution." He glanced at Ronon and Stackhouse. "You two – with me. Let's go retrieve that stupid sonuvabitch." Both men nodded in reply and they were on their way to the armory a heartbeat later. They passed the two medics with a gurney in the hall as they headed for the library.

-oOo-

John was fifty feet down the air duct when he suddenly thought, Oh, crap. I hope there aren't any fans in this thing. He could just picture some big old thing whirring away, ready to chop him into bitty pieces. He froze and listened hard, but didn't detect anything. He even laid his cheek on the cold metal of the duct and tried to feel any vibrations that might indicate equipment operating in the small space. There was something, but it didn't raise any hairs along his neck so he continued his crawl. The sheathed knife he took from the one guard was shoved down the back collar of his shirt within easy reach, and the hilt kept jabbing him in the base of his skull. He didn't want to push it down any further for fear of not being able to reach it in the confined space, so he tried to keep his head down.

It was dark in the duct, but not pitch black like he expected. Enough ambient light came in from other smaller ducts that shot off at angles from the main one that he could even count the number of bolts holding the heavier seams together. But then, his night vision was exceptional, anyway, and the little bit of light worked better than any flashlight for him. He came to a major junction that was capped by a big intake fan, but it didn't impede his progress as he crawled steadily onward, the smell of pine and salt spray pulling him along.

When he came to another junction he did pause briefly. The air was coming from several directions, and he parted his lips slightly as he took in several deep breaths through his nose and mouth. There, that way, his senses told him, and he took a side duct. It was a little narrower, and after a few yards came upon what appeared to be a filter of some sort. He felt around its edges, and a moment later found the release that let it slide up out of the way. Ten feet beyond that was another grate and fresh air hit him full in the face.

He closed his eyes and inhaled and wasn't ashamed of the little whimper he let out.

Then he backed up to the last junction, turned around, and before he headed back to the grate feet first he heard Lorne's faint and slightly echoing yell. John couldn't help flinching guiltily. "Sorry, major," he whispered and started scooting himself backwards on his stomach. When his feet connected with the grate he pushed back until his knees were slightly flexed and his toes were the only thing touching, then rolled onto his side and wedged his shoulders and hands against the floor and ceiling. His right shoulder complained at the pressure as he made a test kick with one foot. The vibration travelled all the way up to his shoulder and made it throb even more. Then John pulled both feet back and began pounding in earnest. Each hit brought out other little aches and pains, but after a half dozen he felt the grate start to shudder. Eight more popped the thing free, and for a moment it hung by one abused screw before it tumbled away into the night.

A few seconds later he heard it ring loudly as it hit stone.

Okay, that's not good, he thought as he flopped back over onto his stomach. He was about to crawl back again and turn around when he felt a faint vibration along the floor and walls of the duct. Crap, someone's coming, he thought and grimaced. He didn't have a choice and started scooting backwards again.

First his feet, then legs were hanging in mid-air. Once he got his waist even with the lip of the opening he let his legs dangle. Rough stone met his knees and he grinned as a moment later his toes found some purchase on the outside wall. He carefully reached back with his right arm, his shoulder really putting in its two cents worth now, and after a few tentative tries found a decent grip above the hole. The angle was incredibly awkward, but after he slid out a little more, he repositioned his feet and carefully eased his torso out.

The stone facing on Atlantis was very rough, with lots of gaps and ledges, and John had no problem clinging to it as he glanced down. It was probably a storey and a half to the ground below, and it was jagged sloping rock. Then he glanced upwards and grinned. There was maybe ten feet at the most between him and the lip of that roof he could see from his room. He was a pretty decent rock climber, and it took him no time at all to reach that since the facing was damn near like a ladder. The knife started to slide down his back at one point, but thankfully it stopped up short in the waistband of his pants. Once he got up over the lip and was standing on the roof he shoved it further into his waistband and took in his surroundings.

There were enough gaps in the clouds currently that it allowed the light from the nearly full moon through. John could clearly see the trees maybe twenty yards from the wall, and just beyond them was what looked like a small sheltered bay. He could see a dock jutting out into dark water, and what appeared to be the edge of the roof of a boat house that way as well. To his right and probably fifty yards away was the top of a huge greenhouse, its glass panels glowing as softly as the intermittent moonlight. To his left and a little farther was another storey of the building, and above that the main 'tower' of Atlantis. But what got his attention was the windsock attached to one corner and lightly fluttering in the breeze.

John made a beeline right for it. He was pretty sure he was brought here by air – when he tried to wake up after his abduction he remembered the heavy, unmistakable whap of helicopter rotors. He hadn't flown for several years, but he knew he'd never forget how to do that. He came up to the corner formed by the wing and the main tower and jumped. He saw the move in a Jackie Chan movie once, and by God it worked. With the rough stone and momentum he just kind of hopped up the corner in three steps. It was far enough he was able to get his arms and chest on the edge, then hoist himself over.

He decided Jackie Chan had to be a Pretender, no doubt about it.

His elation was quenched when he saw the helipad was empty. "Crap," he muttered. So much for that idea. Then the door in the tower opened and two armed men came out. They spotted him immediately and yelled at him to freeze. John just turned and dropped back over the edge of the roof. He landed easily on all fours, then sprinted for the edge of that roof. He glanced over quickly – the ground here wasn't as rough and seemed a little closer than it was further down. A shot and a bullet ricocheting off the ledge a foot from his right hand made up his mind for him and he dropped over that edge as well. This is gonna hurt, he thought, and sure enough – when he landed on all fours he felt the impact all the way up through his shins and into his hips. Then he was off at a staggering run for the tree line.

Another shot whizzed past him before he got into the trees. He paused a moment under their cover to get his bearings then headed for the bay. He'd stop every once in awhile and listen for pursuers, but as far as he could tell, he and the wind were the only things moving through the woods right now. When he came to the forest's edge he studied the dock and boathouse. He also noticed a section of Atlantis that was previously blocked by the trees seemed to come out of the low cliff face at the base of the bay and had a couple of large garage doors and short docks of their own. Delivery area, maybe? he thought to himself as he made his way for the boathouse. It was a lot larger than he realized, and had four huge berths.

And the side door was unlocked.

"Halle-fucking-lejah," he muttered as he ducked inside. He remained motionless for a second, listening, sniffing the air. The place was empty. He could make out four boats inside – two were pretty decent sized, too, and reminded him a little of police rigs because of the large spotlight mounted on the roof of the cab. He would have liked to have taken one of those, but he was pressed for time and had no idea where the controls to open the bay doors were. And the doors looked solid enough that punching his way through with a boat would probably hurt the boat worse than the doors.

Besides, he could see eight sea kayaks sitting in cradles along the back wall, along with paddle jackets and paddles and an assortment of other gear neatly stowed away. That would work. He had been canoeing before, lots of times. "How hard can it be?" he said to himself and grinned in the dark.

John grabbed a jacket and a paddle, then ran up to the first kayak – it was a big red thing with black hatch covers and rigging and had the word Kodiak stenciled on its side. A reflective emblem near the cockpit that had three slits like shark gills winked at him in the dark as he slid his arm into the cockpit and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. It surprised him – he expected it to be heavier than it was considering it had to be close to eighteen feet long. He continued to the far end of the boathouse and another door. He had to set the kayak down to get the door open, but then he had it back up on his shoulder and was outside again.

The paddle jacket was a little big for him once he got it zippered up, and it took him a moment to find the straps that would cinch it down tight to his lean frame. Then he was dragging the kayak into the water. He got wet up to his knees before he attempted to climb in, and just that brief time it took to straddle the boat had his teeth chattering. He dropped his butt down into the seat, then damn near tipped the thing over just getting one leg into the kayak. He froze, his eyes wide, and slowly got his other leg in. Then the little waves of the bay were rocking him and it took another minute to find his center of balance before he pushed into deeper water with the paddle. He found that once he got the nose of the thing pointing into the waves, it felt a whole hell of a lot more stable.

"Okay. I can do this," he said and started paddling. He was used to the canoe stroke, but it didn't take him long to get used to the double bladed paddle. His shoulder didn't like it, but tough shit.

He was nearly to the end of the little bay when he heard one of the big doors on the boathouse open and the burbling roar of a big diesel engine coming to life. "Shit," he muttered and glanced back. The motion nearly capsized him. "Okay, don't do that, John," he said and focused his attention forward. He broadened his paddle strokes and headed for the open water. Maybe two, three miles away he could see the coast of what he hoped was the mainland in the shifting moonlight.

Once he cleared the relative shelter of the bay John realized he had probably made a very big mistake. Three foot swells came in from the side – in a bigger boat they would have been no problem. Fun, even. But until he got the kayak pointed into them he was nearly capsized several times and water came in over the cockpit's side. By the time he felt somewhat in control again he was sitting in nearly six inches of very cold seawater, his balls were trying to crawl up somewhere near his sternum, and his teeth were constantly chattering. But damned if he was going to stop now, and he bulled his way through the waves with a determination born from desperation and a good old healthy dose of fear.

He was a hundred yards from shore when the boat roared out of the bay, its searchlight stabbing through the night. John couldn't help glancing back again as it settled on him, then the boat came right at him. At the last moment it veered away and the wake flipped him just slick as snot. He didn't have to worry about holding his breath when he went upside down – the shock of the water froze the breath in his lungs and made his eyeballs feel like they were going to explode. He bobbed to the surface only a few seconds later – it felt like a minute – and sucked in a stuttering, painful breath. He had no idea where the paddle went, but the kayak was only a few feet away. He got to it and tried to flip it back over, but the thing was so full of water and he was getting so cold he just couldn't do it.

So John just held onto the side of the cockpit, the feeling in his arms and legs quickly receding as he slowly treaded water, and watched the boat slowly come around and head right for him again. By the time the spotlight picked him out and blinded him, he was contemplating just undoing the straps to his paddle jacket and sinking. If he could have felt his hands, he would have.

End Note: And I've taken that little spark of hope, and squashed it down flat like the annoying little insect that it is! Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!