Chapter 11
Colorado state border
18 September 1995
Jack figured that a mug of steaming coffee held under her nose would stir her to wakefulness.
He was right. Carter hadn't moved from her position since falling asleep last night. As the steam wafted towards her nose, she rolled onto her back, then blinked awake wincing as she immediately tried to stretch out her stiff muscles.
As she stumbled into wakefulness, he saw the exact moment she realised it wasn't her bed that she'd woken in.
"Mornin'," he greeted amiably as her eyes snapped to his in a split second of panic. Then recognition flooded her face as she slowly reached up to take the proffered mug.
"Thanks," she tried, looking absently at the quilt cover at a loss for words. Realising that he was dressed to go and she was…still in the previous day's stale clothes, she winced. "Think I have time for a shower?
"I don't see why not," Jack shrugged, handing her the duffel that had fallen to the floor some time in the early hours of the morning. "Unless they've figured us out already."
"Are we leaving immediately?"
"As much as I like to stay, I find the room service lacking."
She conceded, the faint beginnings of a smile tilting the corners of her mouth.
When she emerged from her bath ten minutes later, he tossed her a muesli bar that he had packed as part of his emergency supplies. "Breakfast."
He got a raised eyebrow from her. "Really."
"I told you room service is nothing to crow about."
She smiled this time, but it didn't reach her eyes, opening the breakfast bar to take a bite.
He turned to her and sat at the edge of the bed, his face serious. "There is something else I didn't tell you last night."
She saw his hesitation and felt her breath leave her. "What?
He exhaled harshly. "I don't know if Langford's death is an accident."
He watched her now. Her bewildered eyes were fixed on the floor, struggling to absorb that he'd just said.
"Catherine died of multiple organ failure, a complication that resulted from her fall," she steadily repeated Janet Frasier's words to her at the hospital, daring him to contradict the official cause of death. It was all that she could muster right now.
He was silent a moment, weighing his next words. "I knew that Langford had taken a fall. I followed you that day you visited her house. You left in a hurry that day. I stayed and walked up the steps that led to her house. But I didn't go in."
"And?"
He changed tack. "How long had Catherine been living in that house?"
Thrown off track by his non-sequitur, she frowned in confusion. "I don't know, a pretty long time I guess."
"Did you go there often? Was the house newly refurbished, or recently painted?"
"I…I really don't remember," she stammered. "We never visited each other much, but just hung out a lot in the mess hall at the base."
He continued his line of questioning. "When you were there, was there anything out of place in her house? Indicating a search of some kind?"
"I didn't notice," she admitted. "Her house had been left as though she'd expected to be back for dinner. O'Neill, you're not making much sense with –."
"There were scratches on the railings," he cut in, "I don't know what that means, but it looked like a struggle had taken place."
For the second time that morning, Sam forgot to breathe. If Catherine had been killed because of her own research in advancing the Stargate project, then whoever had been planning this had been keeping tabs on its progress for a substantial period of time. And if what O'Neill said was true, then Catherine had died tragically…and unaccountably. But with little evidence to prove otherwise, she was just another elderly patient who had suffered the devastating consequences of a fall and had been treated as such.
Unexpectedly, she felt tears well in her eyes and she bit them back hard, feeling the loss anew.
"I want to know who's behind this."
Jack watched her jaw tighten in determination. She was casting her lot with his, in a move that was entirely too stupid or too brave. They were going to run like the fugitives they were, hunting down a trail that may or may not exist, while being hunted by the very same people they were pursuing. A very dangerous game of cat and mouse leading to an outcome that he wasn't too sure about yet. Not for the first time in his life, he felt off-kilter, like a ship with an anchor that had come loose, adrift in the turbulent waves.
Still, she had to know what she was in for. "It's far from a piece of cake, Carter," he warned. "It's not a camping trip. There's no turning back, no stopping, no definite time frame."
"I know," she said quietly.
Jack stared at her hard, and she did not withdraw her gaze from his. Finally, he acquiesced, trusting her to make her own decisions.
"OK," he nodded. "Then pack your bags. It's time to go."
"Where to?"
"Ferret out information on West and Vandenburg, my supposed CO," Jack said and stood up. "What have you got with you?"
"My classified work and my laptop," Sam replied and looked at his duffel bags speculatively. "But you probably have more sophisticated stuff in there, given how you've managed to penetrate the highest military security barriers."
"I'm locked out, remember? No access to the internal network anymore to do any mischief."
"We'll see what we can do about that," she answered wryly. "And since it's not too secret anymore, could I have a look?"
He waved a hand vaguely in that direction. "Knock yourself out."
She was onto the equipment like a child who thought Christmas had come early, rummaging through the wiretaps, his laptop, the broadcast and surveillance hardware and software, marvelling at their non-standard issue sizes and sophisticated make.
Her sudden laugh spilled over, strangely warming his insides.
"I think we could do something with these," she said, and pulled out the dark wig he'd used when he had first arrived, her eyes shining in excitement.
Jack shrugged. "Makes the damn scalp itch."
Who knew that Carter would have gotten such a kick out of this?
She was still busily rifling through the technology. "This is amazing. I never knew that some of these even existed."
"Carter, when you're finished playing with my doohickeys, we really ought to go."
"Right," she said, snapping the lid of the laptop shut. "You know someone we could visit, you said?"
He nodded. "He's a couple of hours away. Or at least he owes me one."
"Special Forces too?" She made a guess.
"Nope, a farmer," he grinned slightly and took a swig of his own coffee.
The journey eastwards was spent mostly in silence. O'Neill was in the driver's seat, pushing the car as fast as he could just slightly over the speed limit. Watching him take a particularly steep corkscrew turn too quickly, Sam braced herself for the force that would push her against the door.
She thought of Catherine's funeral, and the house and the job she'd left behind. Suddenly she was fifteen again, walking into the funeral parlour in a dark dress, laying a rose on her mother's coffin, unanchored to reality as she numbly accompanied the pallbearers down the aisle of the local church.
She sullenly willed the image away and stared at the flattening landscape as they crossed the state boundary into Nebraska.
They made a stop midway at Stratton to pick up a few essential supplies and to use the public facilities. He wore a cap pulled low over his head and dark glasses shaded half his face from scrutiny, his hands tucked low into his baggy pants. She had pulled the hood of her sweater over her head, large sunglasses shielding her eyes. Together, they made an odd-looking pair, like grown-ups who never outgrew the moody teenage fashion phase that favoured hoodies and low-slung baggy jeans.
An hour later, he stopped the car at a woody rest area that looked out into the farmlands. She grabbed their take-outs and lay them on the bench.
"I've been thinking," she said between mouthfuls.
He gave her a sideways glance and bit into his sandwich. "Let's hear it."
"We're heading east, aren't we?" She asked and saw his answering nod. "I know a few friends who might know more."
"And where would this be?"
"I've got several places in mind. California or Iowa to start with."
"Carter, we're still quite a distance away from either."
"I know. But these people can help us."
He stood and cleared the remains of his meal. "We'll see what we can do," he promised.
North Platte, Nebraska
18 September 1995
Jack knocked on the large wooden door, hoping that the man was in and not out traipsing in one of his large fields somewhere.
It swung open, revealing a frazzled, plump lady of about sixty, her frizzy grey hair curled around her ears and her floral apron liberally stained with tomato sauce.
"Mrs Payner?" He pulled off his cap and sunglasses, and saw her smile in delighted recognition. "Is this a bad time?"
"Jackie? Jackie O'Neill? Come in! I see you've brought a guest! I've got pizza in the oven so I'm sure you'll want to stay for dinner," she said, ushering them into the living room.
He grimaced in mild alarm at her pet name for him, and stepped into the welcoming interior with Carter in tow, trying to ignore her barely-suppressed grin.
"Mrs Payner, this is Samantha Carter," he started out. "Carter, this is Mrs Rosalind Payner."
"Pleased to meet you, dear," she greeted warmly. "Now sit first, talk later."
She sat them down in the dining room that looked out into the patio, then hurried into the kitchen, promising to be back with tea and biscuits.
"So, Jackie, huh?" Carter grinned, enjoying his discomfiture.
"Not now, Sammie," he snapped, then smirked when he saw her smile fade.
The afternoon sunlight shone through open patio doors, casting a golden hue on the dark wood flooring and the creamy white walls. Rosalind Payner returned bearing a tray with a large ceramic teapot and blue onion teacups placed on matching saucers and a plate of cookies.
"So, Jackie," she winked. "What brings you to my door this fine autumn day? And with a lovely young lady too! Are you two –?"
"Er…Ma'am…Cart – I mean, Sam is just a friend," he stuttered, caught out by her erroneous assumption. "Actually, I'm hoping to speak to your husband."
"The last time I remember, I told you to call me Rosie," she admonished lightly, her gaze turning slightly wary and knowing. "So you're here for that sort of business. Colin's in the fields actually, talking to one of his farm hands. He'll be back soo– speak of the devil!"
Footsteps sounded across the hardwood floor.
"Rosie? Do we have company?" A jovial voice called out.
A tall, redheaded man wearing a reddish-brown plaid shirt and faded jeans strode into the dining room, putting a face to the voice. A huge grin split his face, partially obscured by the bushy red beard he sported when he saw his guests.
"Jack O'Neill! It has been hell of a long time!" He crossed the space much quicker than a man of his advanced years could and pulled him into a hug.
"Good to see you too, Sir," Jack greeted.
"Retired, son. And your lovely companion is …?"
"Samantha Carter," she put in quickly before any more embarrassing remarks could be made, stretching out her hand to shake his.
"Colin Payner."
"They're here to see you, actually," Rosie Payner said quietly.
The air turned sombre. Husband and wife exchanged guarded looks.
"We'd better go behind," Payner said in a soft tone. He looked at his wife and she nodded.
"I'll go check on dinner."
He watched his wife leave, and sighed.
"Come, let's go."
He brought them to his study, a sanctuary constructed with solid Indian Rosewood furnishing. A sole lived-in couch lay in the corner in front of a cabinet of files with a small coffee table next to it,.
"So, what do you need?" Payner asked without preamble. "I told you all those years ago that if you needed help, I'll do everything I can."
"Yeah, well, about that…"
"Spit it out, son."
"We'll need a place to stay for the night."
"That can't be all."
"And some information. On two people. General Winston Orville West and General Peter Vandenburg."
"You in trouble?" The question was asked too casually.
"Best you don't ask."
"Don't you give me that, son. I won't be helping a felon," Payner warned.
"Col, please."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"I know exactly what I'm asking," Jack pleaded. "Please, Col. Just this once. I've never asked you for anything like this before. We need to know."
The old man sighed and slumped in his chair. "I'll make some calls," he conceded. "But don't get your hopes up."
"That's all I'm asking, Col," Jack said. "Thanks."
Payner looked mildly appeased. "You'll stay the night, won't you?"
"Er…well…we," Carter started out, the rest of what she'd intended to stay cut off by his wagging finger.
"No arguing, young lady."
"But we –"
"Col, we shouldn't exactly be out in the public eye," Jack said finally.
There was no mistaking what Jack meant. Payner fell silent, considering Jack's words. His mouth tightened into a thin line and he looked up at the younger man standing in stoic determination, and then at his beautiful companion who seemed to radiate anxiety.
"Jack, if I didn't know better, I'd think that –"
"Sir, we'll stay the night," Carter hurriedly interrupted, drawing a hard look from Payner.
"The less I know the better," he exhaled sharply and announced with emphatic finality. "There's a smaller ranch about seven miles north of this land. It was actually meant for Kenneth. When he came back after serving his time."
"Kenneth? Carter asked curiously.
"My son. Jack didn't say a word?" Payner snorted when she responded in the negative. "Nine years ago, my son was involved in Operation El Dorado Canyon. The F-111 that he was flying was shot down over the Gulf of Sidra. Our own government wouldn't even admit that the aircraft had been shot down. Gave some excuse like systems failure or piloting error. My boy wasn't careless. He had a good record, took his work seriously. I went after those who I knew but no one had anything for me for a long, long time."
"Accidents do happen, sir," she said softly. She could commiserate; she knew what it was like to lose someone in the family.
His eyes misted over in remembrance. "It took many, months. Negotiating with the Libyan government. I was sure he was alive, and held for ransom. And then…" he shook his head sadly. "Then he was gone. Just like that. Wasn't the rescue team's fault that he died before they reached him. But Jack…Jack brought his body home to us. I'll always be in his debt. You know, no father should ever have to outlive his son and Jack –"
"Col," Jack interrupted sharply before the old man could go any further.
Payner fell silent and eyed the younger man speculatively, not missing the small shake of his head.
"Hostage negotiation?" Carter said after a long minute and turned to him, her eyebrows raised.
Jack wasn't surprised when Carter felt the need to disperse the tension. That intuition of hers would get her further in this than he'd originally thought. He glared at her then addressed Payner gratefully, thankful that Payner hadn't the chance to mention Charlie. "Thank you, Col."
"Don't thank me yet," the elder man said irritably. "We now use it for guests who come to stay. But our last ones were some cousins of Rosie and they've probably left the place in a bit of a mess. The bed's clean but many things aren't in place."
"That's all that we ask, Col."