Chapter 12
Area 51, Department of Science and Engineering
South Nevada
18 September 1995
"Report, Dr. Michaels."
Never fully at ease in the General's presence, Michaels fidgeted and shifted his feet. "Sir, further study showed that for the brief period of time that the extraterrestrial craft was here, it had actually emitted an electromagnetic pulse that is not dissimilar to the kind of radiation waves that Earth is subject to when sunspots occur. From our assessment, the EM-radiation isn't strong enough to impact even a fifth of an acre of land."
"Is there anything else?"
"The teams are now studying the visual manufacture of the craft that our security cameras captured. Unfortunately, the EM-pulses that it emitted had slightly affected the quality of the video feed. Our initial reports place the craft as an object never before reported in Earth's history, after exhaustive cross-references with historical reports of civilian sightings."
The General turned from where he was overseeing the preparation of another top-secret test flight.
"I'm afraid that's not good enough, Michaels," he reiterated. "Six days ago, an unidentified craft entered Earth's atmosphere undetected, and became visible only when it reached Groom Lake. I want to know why."
"With all due respect, Sir, the technology is beyond us."
He nodded and turned back to the airfield. "Do what you can, Michaels. Keep me apprised."
North Platte, Nebraska
18 September 1995
The grey clouds hung low in the sky, moving over the sun that cast its yellow last rays on the prairie landscape. The extensive sea of grain shimmered golden against the dark sky, trembling in the winds that swept through the rows of neatly planted corn.
Payner's truck was the sole vehicle speeding down the uneven side road, his wheels flinging the sand into the air as he sped towards the guest ranch.
Jack tilted his head out of the window and sniffed. "Smells like rain to me."
"About damn time too," Payner nodded in satisfaction. "The prolonged dry spell's got everyone strung-up. Normally we don't like it much during harvest, but it's been too dry so any moisture is welcome."
He did a sharp left, accelerated up a gentle incline and squealed around another corner onto a barely visible dirt track.
The old ranch was a low-ceilinged building built at the southern, hill edge of the Payner's farm overlooking the skip-rows of corn. He unlocked the door and stepped into its slightly musty interior, drawing the curtains and opening the windows.
A burst of the fresh autumnal air rushed in, carrying the smell of Earthy grass and sunshine.
"Nice dig." Jack whistled his appreciation, looking around.
Bark-coloured paint strategically covered several walls and contrasting white ceilings enlarged the breadth and height of the place. A unified roof-line extended over the back deck and enlarged upper and lower elevated level windows peered into the small backyard. Lacquered white cabinets lined the walk-in pantry, sharing the large open space with the family room.
The place was tastefully decorated, expensively and thoughtfully furnished.
Sam couldn't hide her astonishment. "You really did this up."
Payner grinned at their compliments and gestured to the furnishings. "All Rosie's work. Don't you for one moment think that I actually had a hand in it. Only provided transport and the cash. I keep telling her we should run a bed and breakfast." He gestured towards the back of the house, winking conspiratorially at them. "Now, the bedrooms face the back, but I'll leave you to find them yourself. I'm going to leave you folks to do whatever it is you do. We'll be back bringing your meals. And we're just down the road if you need us. Can't get as safe as this place."
"Yeah, thanks again, Col."
"Thank you, Mr Payner."
"None of that," Payner faced her sternly. "If Jackie here calls me Col, you will too."
Sam flashed him a brilliant grin. "You bet. And I'm Sam."
"Nah, Samantha for me. Call me old school, but my momma didn't raise a gentleman to call a woman by a man's name," he said and wagged a finger at her. "Now, Jack. I'll have something for you by morning."
"Yes, Sir."
Payner let himself out. They stood together at the window watching the tail lights of his truck fade into the distance. Sam crossed her arms and turned to Jack.
"How would a farmer have such contacts?" She asked, puzzled.
Jack chuckled. "Don't let the whole farmer get-up fool you. Col's ex-military. Family tradition. Only resigned his commission in the USAF when his son went missing. He's got feelers far and wide."
"That explains it. His family's wealthy?"
"Didn't know that too. The last I saw him, he told me he was going to retire as a small-time farmer. Said I'd always be welcome in his home. This whole rich farmer thing is a surprise."
"I've never visited a ranch, let alone lived in one. This is pretty incredible to me, if you can forget our circumstances for a while," she admitted ruefully. "I grew up as an Air Force brat. We moved so frequently that our home never really had the time to look like this."
Her sudden openness surprised him. He knew the bare facts about her personal life when he read her file. Now, she was now providing voluntary emotional insight into those events, adding a piece to another part of the complex jigsaw that was Samantha Carter.
It made him feel less like a voyeur, and more like a friend.
Fascinated, he watched her face closely. "Dreamed of a life like this?"
Her sudden laugh was harsh. "I imagine I'd be bored out of my mind before breakfast's done."
Jack had no doubts that she was right. From what he'd seen, her work kept her on her feet. She lived on adrenaline, and would probably never adapt to the slow, routine life of a farmer whose life went through the seasons steadily and surely as the rains came. Their current situation kept her off-balance and if he didn't know better, he'd bet a part of her craved these moments of spontaneity.
"Not the air force wife type then?" He quipped, trying to lighten the moment and then realised all too soon that it was exactly the wrong thing to say.
"I don't think so." Her gaze turned sad but she didn't elaborate.
He was under no illusions of the pressures that Sara had faced. Months of agonised waiting, the burden and the joys of the Charlie's upbringing falling solely on her. Carter's mother probably faced the same difficulties Sara had – and she'd lost hers a long time ago.
"Carter, I know that your mother had a hard time," he said carefully, not wanting to sound too presumptuous about her musings.
"How do you know abo–," she shook her head in exasperation. "I keep forgetting that you've read my file."
He shrugged apologetically. Yet another line that he'd crossed – never to look up the familial details of the target. It humanised them, shaped them into people who had lives to lead and dreams to strive for. In her file, her mother's death was just a printed sentence in a document. Too often, the military brass forgot that tragedy and heartbreak often lay behind the typeface. Now he felt like a bastard for even mentioning it.
"It was a long time ago. But you don't ever forget," she finally said. Then looking up, she boldly asked. "You know all about me. What about you? Any Air Force wife?"
Now he really regretted bringing it up. Not when the thought of Sara led to the thought of Charlie…don't go there again, O'Neill, he told himself.
"Not anymore. Separated."
She sighed. "Sorry."
He was relieved when she didn't pry, afraid of what she would think if she knew the whole truth. "Yeah, me too, Carter."
"Let's see what's on TV," she suggested awkwardly and grabbed the remote, passing over the sports channels.
He nodded in gratitude and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He didn't think he could handle very much more of that line of questioning. Not when the pain still felt like stabbing knives in his gut. Not when he couldn't even deal with it himself.
"Want anything?" He called out.
"Diet coke, if there's any."
Jack didn't expect the fridge to be stocked. And it wasn't. He was filling another glass when he heard the sudden, excited squawking of a female reporter on CNN, or thought he did. A burst of static froze her image on screen, which then blinked out totally.
"What's that?" He walked out into the living area where Carter watching the news in rapt attention and placed her glass on the table. "Sorry, all out of diet coke."
The TV flickered on again, jumpy with upward scrolling horizontal grey lines. This time he caught part of the news flash, straining to hear what the reporter was saying.
" –bring you breaking news…affecting parts of…but in the case of...lacking….satellite communication…down…At the time of this report, we have confirmed the interruption of electrical power in–"
He looked at Carter, who was frowning at the screen thoughtfully. "You got any of that?"
"I think so," she murmured, taking a sip of her drink. "Apparently Earth's short-range sensors and satellite probes have been affected by a kind of geomagnetic or electromagnetic disturbances. The consequences of which especially on bulk power systems can be severe. God, that could probably mean – "
"Carter?" Jack interjected softly, "there are some of us here who, you know…don't really know…" he trailed off, the implications clear.
She sighed. "Geomagnetic disturbances – maybe you've heard of them as geomagnetic storms – are significant and abnormal fluctuations in the magnetic field near the surface of the Earth caused by space weather. Solar flares occurring in active regions around sunspots, powered by the sudden release of magnetic energy stored in the corona tend to be responsible for causing these disturbances. When these reach the Earth's surface, they are called geomagnetically-induced currents. These would send surges through human-built infrastructure like electrical power transmission grids, undersea communication cables, telephone and computer networks. It's probably what you're seeing now. The resulting outage in parts of the Northern hemisphere."
"So that's the official thing they're feeding us."
Her eyes whipped to his. "You think it's a cover-up?"
He shrugged. "After learning about the Stargate program, I figured anything's possible."
"If only I could just go through NASA's documentation on this," she huffed in frustration. "I feel like an ignorant civilian who ca-"
A knock on the front door. The knob turned and Payner stepped in to their surprise.
"I come bearing gifts," he said meaningfully, and strode straight into the kitchen to put down a large pizza. "Rosie's handiwork. For dinner. For what it's worth, I think you guys should lie low."
"Stating the obvious, Col," Jack drawled.
Payner waved at them to stay in their seats and took the single couch opposite them. He pointed at the screen and exhaled noisily. "Strange news, ain't it? Never did quite have these things back in the day."
They nodded mutely.
"Jack, Samantha, there's something you should know," Payner said, his tone turning low. "My sources are pretty tight-lipped on your names. They only have the official run-down on Vandenburg. He's a highly-decorated general, has impressive field experience, fought in 'Nam, then worked for an extended amount of time in Area 51, including being deputy head of defence and strategy in the Pentagon. What's unusual about it is the length of time he spent there."
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
"Vandenburg in Area 51?" Jack asked in disbelief. "As far as I've known, he was only in charge of defence and strategy."
"Maybe it's a cross-posting, or maybe he holds a separate portfolio that is not known to many people," Carter suggested.
"How long has he been at Area 51?" Jack asked.
"Fifteen years."
"Fifteen! But that's impossible –" Carter objected. "Military reassignments happen every few years. Not only that, it affects promotion opportunities –"
"There's obviously something there that's keeping him," Payner pointed out. "But there's nothing more I can give you on him. Scrubbed clean. My guy can dig, but his clearance isn't the highest, well, not as high as I'd like anyway. West, however, is a different story. He'd been in two corruption probes, once in 1985 and another, in 1990. Blew over quickly, apparently the case against him didn't stand. Found him clean as a whistle after the last, extended court hearing."
Carter had leaned forward, her arms folded tightly in her lap. "What was he up for?
"Fraud. On both counts. Nothing came out of the investigation, so he carried on as usual. Dropped off the radar since."
She sat back stiffly and nodded once. "Thanks, Col."
"Any word on Vandenburg's sidekicks?" Jack pressed.
Payner shook his head. "I didn't ask. Sniffing names like Vandenburg was enough to raise several hackles."
"No, it's alright. Not your job."
"I don't know what the hell you people have gotten yourselves into and I don't wanna know," Payner warned. "But think very, very carefully before you act." He paused, deliberating his next words. "There is someone who could help you. At least when it comes to Area 51. But it might be a long shot. Mention my name and she'll do whatever you ask."
"We'll take anything, Col."
"I know someone, but he lives in Kansas City. Seven hours drive if you're up to it."
Jack turned to Carter, but already found her looking at him.
"Might be worth a shot," she said aloud.
"But he's been out of touch for a while," Payner cut in mildly, hesitating. "And, look, I didn't want to say this, but well…there's another person you could look up. Helped in the investigation for my son, just like you did," he continued, missing Jack's look of surprise. "Also in the CIA, still active. Name's Agent Kerry Johnson. Has her fingers in many pies. If you ask me, Johnson's your girl."
He held out a well-worn piece of paper that looked as though he had crushed it repeatedly. Jack reached out and took it carefully from Payner's hand and the quick intake of breath that Jack took didn't escape Sam's notice.
"Washington D.C," he breathed quietly.
Payner huffed and mistook O'Neill's quiet contemplation as distaste for the distance that needed to be covered. "Most active CIA agents operate there. You'll get there. Eventually."
Sam looked at O'Neill speculatively, then turned to Payner, trying for reassurance. "Col, we'll do our best to be careful."
"Yeah," Payner said, gesturing to the front. "I brought your car around. Also tanked her up for you."
"Thanks again. And technically, not ours."
Payner didn't look too pleased with Jack volunteering that piece of information. "Didn't I just say I really don't wanna know?" He stood up and regarded them both steadily. "I'll be back tomorrow with more food and whatever you'll need. Assuming you're still here."
He didn't wait for a reply and let himself out.
"O'Neill."
He turned to her irritably. "The name's Jack by the way. I'm not your superior, not your boss, nothing, so quit acting like it."
She rolled her eyes but chose not to respond to his annoyed reply. "We have two options. Check out the contact in Kansas, or head to Des Moines en route to Washington D.C.. Six- to seven-hour drive each way."
It got her a raised eyebrow and a curious look. "Des Moines?"
"Some friends I'd like to visit. So then, north or south?"
Jack ran through a mental checklist. One, he could follow Payner's lead; his sources have been tried, tested and reliable. For most part. Until he ran into an insurmountable roadblock like he did with the Libyan case and Kenneth Payner. Two, they went to her contacts. Only she knew about the reliability of her sources. Three, they went to both, and waste a bit more time and money on the road. But where exactly, was their end point? They were heading east only because his own contacts lived on the other side of the North American continent.
As for Kerry Johnson, he hesitated. She was no stranger but it had been years since they had last seen each other and –
"What about D.C?" Carter was asking him.
He made a snap decision. "We could do that too. But it'll have to wait as we make our stops slowly."
"So what now?" She asked curiously.
"How trustworthy are your sources?"
"Pretty good. But how much they can really get is the unpredictable bit."
"Yeah, that's always the thing, isn't it?" He grimaced at the thought of chasing down dead ends.
"Whatever it is, at least we've got some leads now."
Area 51, Underground Facility
South Nevada
18 September 1995
He paced the confined spaces of the room as he waited for the call, picking it up after the first shrill ring, answering merely in grunts of affirmation and approval as his caller spoke.
Footfalls sounded in the corridor and entered the room that he was in. He waved his visitor in and gestured to the chair, then quickly ended his call without pleasantries.
"I don't like getting innocent civilians involved in this," his visitor announced curtly. "The last thing we need is an investigation by the JAGs and the civilian police."
"Has gotta be done, Vandenburg," he replied amicably. "It's what this is all about. This is what we're about."
"Granted, Senator, but –"
He turned suddenly and rounded on the other man fiercely. "I warned you that Jack O'Neill was a wild card. Now he's screwed this damn thing up!" Pleased to see the protest dying in the other man's throat, he continued in a softer voice, "We took that chance on O'Neill. Just you recommended. Your best black-ops soldier. And now Carter's reportedly with him, so my sources say. And they both know too much. Join the dots, General."
"We agreed from the start that we were going to fly under the radar, William," Vandenburg spat. "No alerting the local cops, no harm to the civilians."
"Collateral damage," Curtis responded easily. "For god's sake, Vandenburg. You've seen the evidence of what we've been trying to deny. The damn press is all over the statement that we've fed the meteorology department. Major Samantha Carter's got valuable information that can undo all this hard work in seconds. And if O'Neill's really with her, he'll do anything to disappear along with her. And trust me when I say he'll do it quite easily. We need to flush them out before the trail gets too cold."
Vandenburg nodded stiffly. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
"No one's asking you to."
Lexington, Nebraska
18 September 1995
The rain never came. The smell of ozone in the air dissipated after the clouds dispersed, leaving a clear night blanketed with stars.
Sam's fretful sleep was interrupted by the sound of a distant roar. Puzzled, she rolled out of the guest bed and ambled to the window, peering out the back lawn only to see the silvery sheen of starlight on the grass enveloped in a foggy haze lit by a strange orange glow. Gradually, she became aware of the smell of charred leaves and twigs reaching her nostrils.
Her bedroom door burst open and O'Neill rushed in, already dressed. "Crop fire. Gotta go."
She wasted no time. She packed what she could, ignoring her shabby state of dress and ran out of the guest ranch with him.
The roar of the flames was deafening when they emerged at the front porch. In mute fascination they froze as the heat enveloped them, watching the fire mercilessly consume everything in its path. Payner's sprawling corn fields was disappearing an acre a minute under an invading force of cackling flames which had crossed the crop line that joined this property to his.
Sam sure as hell wasn't going to wait for the flames to lick her feet before she moved.
"O'Neill, come on!" She yelled and grabbed his arm, turning to run for the car.
They ran to the side of the ranch, feeling the blistering heat on their backs. She threw her stuff roughly on the backseat and climbed in as O'Neill revved the engine and reversed out into the dirt track.
"Col and Rosie. We need to check on them," he said grimly.
"Yeah, I know," she agreed breathlessly.
O'Neill kept looking into the rear-view mirror as he drove, watching as the fire crept steadily up the road. He took the turns more quickly than the car could handle, nearly tipping them over in his haste to escape the heat and the flames.
Finally, the last stretch of the journey that would bring them down the road to Payner's place.
He accelerated, then screeched to a stop when a burning house came into view.
"Oh my god," Sam breathed in horror. Without thinking, she had flung the car door open and was now running towards Payner's once-beautiful farmhouse. The first storey was engulfed in angry orange flames but the fire was barely touching the second storey where the family bedrooms must be located.
There was no time to lose.
Before O'Neill had a chance to say anything, Sam had rushed into the burning building, choking on the heavy fumes that clogged her lungs when she stepped into the destroyed living area. She stumbled around blindly for a second, forcing from memory the layout of the house as she remembered as the heat from the fire singed her bare shoulders and arms.
The memory surfaced.
The stairs! Down the passageway, hidden in the corner to the right. She took them two at a time, determined to reach the Payners. Not for a moment had she considered her way back out, or how she could bring them both down the stairs and out alive. Dimly, through the falling beams and the sharp crackles, she thought she heard O'Neill's angry shouts.
She looked up at the ceiling. The flames were creeping up the second floor.
She kicked the first bedroom door open, and then the adjacent one. Then she saw them.
Two figures locked in an embrace, a grotesque parody of eternal love immortalised. Their nightclothes had been burnt in several places, suggesting that they had tried to escape, and found that they could not. Retreating to the bedroom, they must have waited for the end to come as they choked to death on the thick smoke. The windows had been smashed, but neither of them could climb down any more safely than they could have survived a fire.
God, she was too late.
Sam didn't know how long she stood there, staring at them. But it couldn't have been more than a few seconds when her sense of preservation kicked in. Back down the stairs, a step at a time, not wanting the fragile, burnt wood to give way beneath her weight. The ball of her foot touched the wood almost timidly, followed by her heel. One after another until she was past half the flight of stairs.
Her next step caused the next beam to buckle and collapse beneath her feet.
With nothing to hold onto, she crashed through the remainder of the disintegrating steps, uselessly scrabbling for the banister that had splintered and fallen apart like the rest of the wood. Landing hard on her side, the sharp edges of the wood fragments pierced her bare arms and she yelled in pain, coughing hard when a burst of wood dust and ashes exploded in her face. A sharp pain shot through her foot when she tried to lift it.
The fire was raging out of control. She couldn't walk. Just as she thought there was no way out, a hand clamped around her arm and hauled her to her feet.
She looked up and saw that it was O'Neill, his face stony with resolve, betraying not an inch of anxiety.
He kicked off the debris around her, ignoring her wince of pain. She looked up into his flinty eyes, then felt the floor tilt as she was swung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
They burst through the front door, but he continued running until they hit a spot where the fire had not yet ravaged. Then he dropped her unceremoniously to the hard ground, panting hard from the recent exertion and the smoke inhalation.
The blessed, cold night air filled her nose.
Sam took huge gulps of it, trying to regain her balance and her composure, still coughing violently.
But O'Neill wasn't done. He pulled her upwards again and grabbed her shoulders, unknowingly pressing the splinters deeper into her skin.
"Goddammit, Carter! What the fuck were you thinking?" He shook her hard as he shouted into her blackened face that was streaked with tears. "Are you fucking crazy? Why the hell did you do something like that? What kind of game do you think –" He trailed off in anger and relief, swiping his hand over his face that was also blackened with grime and soot.
She winced again. And wondered if she looked as bad as she felt. A quick glance down told her that it was probably the case. Her once-white night singlet was torn in several places and smudged black with soot. Her pyjama bottoms were in the same state and she was sure the fire had most likely singed a couple of inches off her hair. Her ankle was either sprained or broken. The angry welts forming on the sensitive skin near her shoulder blades were likely to get infected if she didn't clean them out thoroughly.
His anger didn't quite register. Only the charred bodies that lay in a room engulfed by flames. Overwhelming regret was all she knew.
"Jack, please," she murmured helplessly, her eyes wandering to the burning ranch's broken bedroom windows.
Robbed of strength, all she could do was to put her arms around him and hold on when her legs refused to support her any longer.
Against his own better sense, he hesitated a fraction of a second, then pulled her into his arms tightly.
"You could have been killed, Carter." His voice was low and serious, whispering into her ear, his fingers threading through her dirty blond hair.
"I know," she said hoarsely, a hitch in her voice. She pushed her unruly hair off her forehead carelessly and swiped the tears off her face. "But I didn't want anybody to die because of me."
Her whispered confession caused him to shut his eyes in regret. He tightened his arms around her. "Come on," he said quietly. "Time to go."
Taking her hand, he gently helped her hobble into the car and drove down the road that would lead them to the interstate highway. He pulled a water bottle out of his duffel and handed it to her.
Sam sipped the water gratefully, turning to look at him. "Thank you. For doing this."
She had not managed to save Colin and Rosie Payner. But he had helped save hers. Surely that had to count for something? He debated his next words and found that he didn't know how to respond.
A few minutes passed in silence. She was now looking out of the front window pensively and he would give a million dollars to know her thoughts.
"Yeah," he finally nodded in acknowledgement, briefly placing his hand over hers. "Let's get you cleaned up."