A/N: Warnings for strong language.
Chapter 16
Roanoke, Virginia
29 September 1995
They made their way across town, their strides eating up the distance quickly as they neared a middle-class suburb in the Roanoke, pausing behind pillars or the sides of buildings when they thought they recognised a vehicle that looked like the one that had near trapped them on the street. Continuing only they were satisfied that they weren't being followed, they avoided the busy streets where they could, taking parallel roads and some back alleys when the crowds became more of a hindrance than a help in concealment.
It amazed her still how beautiful the city could be when night fell. The glittering city lights came into focus as shadows lengthened, then faded when they finally reached the edge of a suburb.
Sam tried to match her strides with O'Neill's long ones as they made their way through the leafy suburbs, stealing peeks through their windows, observing families living their blissfully oblivious lives.
At the end of the row of houses, a white, single-storey house stood half concealed by the riotous growth of rose bushes that seemed to deter rather than welcome any visitor.
The door creaked open a few inches after O'Neill rang the bell.
"Jack, is that you?" A gravelly voice laced with disbelief came through the tiny wedge of space between the door and the threshold.
"Yeah it is, Tom."
The door opened fully to reveal a hunched, portly white-haired man standing at its threshold, his watery blue-eyes twinkling in delight. "Jacky-boy!"
"Hey, Tom," he tried a casual greeting, and then was crushed in a bear-bug by the old man who seemed to show surprising strength for his age.
"Come in, come in! And who's your lovely companion here, eh, Jacky-boy?" Tom winked at her and grinned.
The one whom O'Neill called Tom seemed to be an unthreatening and friendly man who looked to be in his seventies, emanating a warmth that came from years of navigating the tricky but rewarding waters of familial relations.
She liked him immediately, the same way she had taking a liking to Colin Payner. But her greeting was subdued, tempered by the bitter memory of having to see Col's burnt body too soon after she had been introduced to him.
"Samantha Carter," she said, not waiting for O'Neill's introductions, and stretched out her hand in greeting.
"Pleased to meet you, miss. I'm Tom Reese, but hey, call me Tom, the way Jack does," he replied, still grinning. "Jack never brings the pretty ones here, you know, until Sara, and then you."
"Sara?" That name didn't sound familiar. Could she have been his…ex-wife?
"Tom," O'Neill said a bit too loudly and ignored her question, clapping his hand heavily on the old man's shoulder. "Hey, we need your help."
"What kind of help?"
He looked around them again, as though reassuring himself that there were no threats in the vicinity. "First of all, we need a place to stay."
"Done. The kids have moved out, and ever since Marlene died, the house has been empty," Tom said in a more subdued tone, ushering them in and locking the front door. "Jack's not been here in nearly seven years, but he'll find that the place hasn't changed that much!"
They followed him to the spare room at the back, no longer surprised nor flustered to find a double bed. Being on the run had after all, brought several more important things into focus; the presence of a double bed just seemed too petty an issue in the light of things.
"Look, you kids just settle in. I'll be sure to get you something to eat soon. I'll holler when it's done," Tom said excitedly and closed the door behind them.
"Thanks, Tom," O'Neill called out loudly, then looked at her. "Carter, we've got stuff to look at."
She was already bent over and unzipping the duffel, laying out the contents of the wallets of the hitmen on the bed.
"Richard Tomasson, Chris Barrett, Patrick Kreton, Robert Fields," she said, scanning the names on the cards and the paraphernalia that lined the inside of their wallets. "Any of them sound familiar?"
"No," he replied. "But from the make of their guns and bullets, we already know that they're also Special Forces or have been at some point."
"Why am I not surprised?" Sam muttered in consternation. It made sense that it would and take highly-trained men to take out one of their own and most probably, one of their very best. "It must be big for them to send such people after us."
"Whoever we're looking at, they've got unlimited resources," he agreed, taking out the dismantled rifle parts and examining them. He turned them over in his hands carefully. "It's a newer, Special Ops-only modified model that delivers a better kill-shot."
"Do you think…," she stated hesitantly, torn between wanting to know and willingly keeping herself in the dark, "do you think that they were the ones who might have gotten Catherine?"
"Yes." He answered her without faltering, without uncertainty. "And if they didn't, then it would be someone else with a similar profile. Point is, it could be anyone, from anywhere."
"I could check out their service records using my dad's network," she said after a minute of silence, rummaging through her bag to set up her own laptop. "Something might come up there."
"You do that," O'Neill nodded in approval, walking to the window to look out at the lawn, now darkened by night. The house opposite the road was lit and if he squinted hard enough, he thought he could make out the presence of a large family sitting down to dinner.
For the next few minutes, all Jack heard were the sounds of Carter tapping on the keyboard. He allowed his mind to drift a little, thinking back to the car chase earlier in the day. Wondering just how many more traps they'd set. Or how they'd tracked them.
He and Carter had escaped by the skin of their teeth. Only his training and Carter's surprisingly good sense and abilities got them out of it.
It took him a while to realise that Carter was actually speaking to him even though her eyes were still focused on the screen.
He turned back apologetically. "Didn't hear it, Carter, sorry."
"I was asking if you found it unusual that they've been on to us from the very start? Almost anticipating all of our moves?"
His gaze sharpened as he found her on the same train of thought. "Do you think that-?"
"-there might be a tracking device on us?" She finished his sentence slowly, her fingers moving to shut the laptop down.
She went through one of the duffels for a small toolkit.
Her movements were sure and fluid. The laptop was dismantled in under a minute, the small tracking chip found embedded in its innards.
Carter held it up for his inspection. "It probably only works when either the laptop is switched on, or when it's connected to the military's telnet. Thank goodness I hadn't logged on yet."
"Son of a bitch," he bit out in realisation, "I should have known."
She threw it on the floor, then crushed it with her heel.
The laptop was reassembled in the same time it had been taken it apart.
"I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier," she said with a frown.
Jack stared at that tiny chip that had met its end at bottom of her shoe. "Me neither. But hopefully that makes our lives a bit easier. "
Carter went back to her search and asked casually as she typed, "So, how did you know Tom?"
"Family friend," he simply replied and turned back to the window. "Close friend of my grandfather's. We used to come here couple of summers back in those days."
"Military too?" She asked curiously.
"For a while. Retired a Major a long time ago, then got into the manufacturing business. But he's kept close contacts with his friends in the military."
"Your grandfather was in the military?"
He smiled briefly in remembrance. "Yeah. All his life, in fact. Fought in the first World War then retired a Colonel. I always wanted to be like him, so I joined the Air Force to become a pilot."
The thought of a young, aspiring Jack O'Neill cleaved to his grandfather's side, listening in rapt attention to the stories of war, brought an answering smile to her face.
"I was close to him. My granddad had many friends in the Air Force and he brought me to see them whenever we had family vacations. Tom was one of them. Someone who was about my father's age. He watched me grow up, then said there would always be a place for me here should I ever need it."
There was so much Sam wanted to ask – about his parents, about the mysterious woman called Sara – yet it seemed inappropriate to do so considering their situation unless he volunteered the details. And O'Neill was the total opposite of forthcoming. If he didn't want to make anything known, no one, least of all her, would ever find out.
The laptop screen flashed red.
"We have something," she reported, seeing the relief on his face that appeared for a second before the emotion was shuttered out. "They're Special Forces, as we predicted, all except Richard Tomasson, who was an Army ranger. Mostly scrubbed clean. At one point in time, they shared the same commanding officers: Major General Peter Vandenburg and Major General Adrian Lowen."
"Vandenburg's name keeps coming up," he observed.
"Yeah, him."
"When was Vandenburg their CO?"
"Officially, they were seconded to Area 51 for two years. From the end of 1990 to nearly the end of 1992, under the command of Peter Vandenburg. After that, their records differ. Richard Tomasson was deployed to Mogadishu in 1993 and worked with the Special Forces. Barrett, Kreton and Fields seem to be green berets who went on to join special reconnaissance and counter-terrorism teams under Adrian Lowen after their assignments in Nevada."
He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed next to her, lacing his fingers together on his lap. "So, Vandenburg, Area 51. These two keep coming up together."
"Colin did say that Vandenburg's assignment at Area 51 lasted a long time too," Sam added, thinking about the possible assignments that these hitmen could have been given.
He gave no response as he stared hard at his interlaced fingers, then moving to cross them over his chest.
"Hey, O'Neill," she suddenly said, and turned to him, ignoring the faint look of annoyance that flashed his face when she said his last name. "Do special ops soldiers still get recalled for assignments by their former commanding officers?"
O'Neill's brow was furrowed in concentration. "Possible, but it doesn't happen very often. But it wouldn't be out of the ordinary. Special Forces assignments are varied and often top-secret, so being recalled to duty in another branch of the military would not be questioned."
"If you're right about that, then it's probably logical that they could have been recalled by their former CO while they worked in Area 51. In this case, that would be Vandenburg, who's still there," she said in growing excitement. "And because the requirement for Area 51's level of clearance is one of the highest in the country, Vandenburg could have easily deployed them for other….activities while comfortably shielding his orders through their non-disclosure agreements."
"Got that right, Carter."
"Well, nothing's changed that much, actually," she sighed in return. "Col had pointed us in the direction of Area 51 and Vandenburg's involvement, but this is nothing that we don't know already. These men have just given us confirmation that that we're looking in the right direction."
"They're only pawns for the higher-ups," he pointed out. "The same way we are. It's unlikely that they know anything more other than to do what they're told. We obviously need those behind this whole crap."
"And," she added, "as for West, I have my suspicions that his financial dealings in the Stargate program are not directly related to Vandenburg."
"Did you find anything out of the ordinary with West?" Jack asked.
"Nothing a civilian wouldn't know. Whoever's behind this has got his back."
A sharp rap on the door startled them out of their hushed conversation.
"Jack, Samantha, food's ready!"
There was no mistaking her grin of relief.
The thought of a proper meal made Carter smile like Christmas had come early.
She wore that same expression that Charlie and Sara used to wear each time he came back from some godforsaken assignment abroad, he thought with a pang of longing and guilt.
"God, I'm starving," she murmured.
"Yeah, me too," he admitted, never more glad for Tom's yet-unquestioned and unwavering hospitality.
He saw Carter bracing herself to ask something and wondered why.
Her next few words knocked the breath out of him. "Who's Sara?"
"She's –"
"Jack, Samantha!"
Tom's holler ground his words to a halt.
He looked relieved, almost grateful for the momentary distraction that Tom provided.
She looked furious, then hid the emotion beneath a bland look.
No matter how relieved he felt about Tom's interruption, he knew – and dreaded – that it was something they'd have to talk about some time soon.
Then the urgency of their situation took over. They turned to each other, then moved in sync to keep everything that might look suspicious to Tom. There wasn't a chance in hell they would take for Tom to somehow discovered what they were hiding.
She moved to open the door, her hand already twisting the knob when she felt his hand rest gently on her upper arm.
He leaned in so closely that she resisted the urge to shiver from the warm breath that caressed the fine hairs at her neck. "Tom doesn't need to know anything more than we should give. Provide only the bare minimum if he wants to ask questions. Leave no room for his curiosity," he insisted, dead serious.
She knew what he was saying. It was the least they could do to keep their acquaintances out of the trouble they were in so that the innocent would not suffer any more for their misdeeds than they did.
"The bare minimum," she echoed softly in agreement, meeting his eyes straight on.
Satisfied with her acquiescence, he motioned for her to go.
"Something smells really good out here."
It was the irresistible waft of well-brewed Java that Jack smelled when he emerged from the room.
"It is, if you are hungry enough to ignore the overcooked eggs and burnt toast, which I suspect you are," Reese shot back. "You guys must be starving."
"Wow…this looks really good," Carter said in awe.
Tom Reese carried the coffee pot towards them, eyeing Jack jovially.
"Good guess," Jack replied casually, looking around the cosy room in appreciation. "Tom, I can't thank you enough –"
"You're family, Jack, but you don't seem to know that every time you come here," Reese replied fondly, mockingly patting the younger man's shoulder. "So help me god, if you say that again, son, I'll hit you."
"Got it, Sir."
The large oak table in the small dining room dwarfed even the kitchen cabinets, but Jack's attention was already on the food that lined the table.
Reese had prepared enough toast, tomato soup, grilled cheese and coffee to feed his entire suburb. He cheerfully beckoned them over as he finished laying the table.
A surreptitious glance at Carter's face told him that she probably felt the same way he did. And was trying, fairly successfully, to hide it.
Jack wasn't able to shake off the crawling sensation that had taken up residence at the back of his neck as they crossed the living room into the dining room, a corner of which faced the road.
Then again, it was a rational, expected reaction to the adrenaline-filled moments of the past few hours, he reasoned. Or was it?
The lingering sense of unease refused to depart, and if there was any precious lesson that he'd learnt in his years of service, it was to trust what his gut told him despite what the situation appeared to be. The last time he'd done it, Janet Fraiser had lived to see many more days. More significantly, he wasn't also about to risk Carter's life, not if he could help it.
Jack took a seat that gave him the best view of the small road that led down the row of houses, gently shoving Carter into the seat next to him. It earned him a brief, puzzled look from her.
He hoped that Tom hadn't noticed their exchange.
Reese didn't.
He was talking animatedly about the atypical cold snap that had overtaken the state in the past three days, lamenting the insufficient heating in the house as he moved to the table to dish out the food and pour out the steaming, aromatic liquid.
"Now, eat," Reese ordered. "I never thought I'd see you again, Jack. Now I know there're so many questions to ask but I think…" he trailed off in amusement and shook his head. "Food first, talk later."
Jack wholeheartedly agreed internally and cracked a smile at him. Anxiety aside, the first bite of the toast and grilled cheese was like an oasis in the desert to a dying man. Carter had muttered her thanks to Tom and was now making her way through an impressive amount of soup.
He looked out at the lawn and beyond that, the road, the darkness of the beckoning night pierced by the harsh yellow of the street lamps.
Seeing that Jack had nearly finished, Tom began again rather impatiently. "So what brings you to my door -"
"Tom –" Carter began uncertainly, then stopped when she heard him speak simultaneously when she did.
"Tom," he interjected heavily, before shooting an apologetic glance to Carter again, "I'm not going to…I can't say too much except 'thank you' as many times as you wish to hear."
"Work again, huh?" Seeing Jack's hesitant nod, he continued, "it's difficult these days you know, compared to how different things were in the military back when your granddad was flying planes for them."
"Yeah, he used to talk about that."
Reese turned his attention to Carter. "More coffee, Samantha?"
"I'm good, Tom, thanks," she replied politely, giving him a slight smile. She hardly knew what to say, so she just looked at him for a moment before turning her eyes away. How could she look into his eyes honestly when he could soon be lying dead somewhere because of them?
"Hey, any friend of Jack is a friend of mine," Reese said, then turned to Jack cheerfully. "How's Charlie and Sara by the way? Bet he's growing up too soon, eh? I know saw your own father grow up you know…"
Blindsided by the question, shock, pain and grief jolted him upright in his seat as he struggled to maintain a neutral façade. He looked away from Tom and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
Charlie and Sara had been with him the last time they visited Tom. Charlie had been a toddler and was adorably curious about everything. He and Sara had contemplated having another –
Fuck.
He felt that familiar twinge of guilt rise from his gut. He should have expected it, dammit. Should have expected Tom's and Carter's questions and their curiosity, no matter how innocent they seemed.
But somehow even that difficult topic had been given him some perspective since he and Carter had gone on the run. Their survival had taken first priority and slowly, faced with this…challenge that had seemingly insurmountable odds to overcome, his nightmares that had previously been filled with images of blood stains and ambulance sirens since Charlie's death had started to fade.
Carter was staring at him in puzzlement, then in partial understanding.
Regaining a semblance of emotional control, he looked at them, then at the window where he heard the sound of an approaching car.
The vague sense of uneasiness that had persistently hung on his shoulders a few minutes ago – the niggling thought that something had fucked up somewhere – sharpened into a strong, primal wave of fear and dread.
Which had nothing to do with Carter's or Reese's probing questions of his long-departed family.
There was something amiss, something just not quite right with the situation at hand, despite that long-lost family-gathering thing at which Reese apparently tried his hand.
The host himself was talking too much, too fast. Beads of sweat dotted Reese's forehead as he took shallow breaths, not stopping for their answers to his questions.
A sign of uncertainty and nervousness.
He'd never seen Tom that way…the anxiety, the fretfulness in his demeanour so unlike the jovial and welcoming person he thought he'd known.
Jack looked – really looked – at Reese and saw the man's answering guilty stare then snapped his head towards the window in time to see a black car pulling up at Reese's porch.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Reese said helplessly, spreading his hands in a plea. "They told me you're a wanted man. That you, along with a blonde woman have been evading the MPs for too long. I couIdn't believe it but when you turned up just they way they warned me you would, I had to call them."
Jack didn't bother with a reply.
"Carter," he hissed, nearly toppling his chair in his haste to leave. "Time to go."
Their meal suddenly abandoned, he ran to the guest room, Carter close on his heels as the front door burst open.
Jack thought he heard Reese shouting as he shouldered his duffel. Carter had slung hers over her shoulder before he did, and was already prying the window open.
She climbed out nimbly, already attaching the silencer to her weapon that she had unholstered as he followed her out.
The room to the guest door crashed open just as he had swung his body past the ledge, barely avoiding the sharp edge of the window.
The barrel of a gun slammed against his forehead. He winced in pain and stumbled, dimly realising that those goons must have sent some others out back while the rest stormed Reese's house in search of them.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Carter take aim. The muted shots of a muffled gun caused his attacker to slump against him.
"Fucking hell," he breathed, relieved that the ever-reliable Carter had watched his six.
Then she was roughly grabbed from behind by another hooded figure who twisted the gun out of her fingers and pressed a wad of cloth against her nose. He watched in horror as she collapsed limply in front of the man, who then immediately swung her up in a fireman's carry out to the waiting car out front.
Carter! No!
But before he could react, a fist to his face made him stumble backwards. Momentarily blinded by the pain, he lashed out with his own hands and shoved at his assailant's stomach, then flipped the other man over and kneed him hard in the groin before kicking him hard in the shin and the sides.
Boiling anger and building panic gave his own punches and kicks greater force. It took a great effort to rein himself in, knowing that there were more important things to take care of.
Leaving that goon out cold, he ran toward Reese's front porch, only to see Carter gagged and unconscious in the back seat as the car took off, its tires squealing in the quiet suburban night.
He could give chase immediately, seeing as they've not had gotten too much of a headstart for him to catch up. But Carter's DNA trace hadn't been disabled in his laptop and her whereabouts was thankfully going to be fairly easy to retrieve.
The fallen man, on the other hand, was a potential, and precious source of information. Faced with the immediate choice of getting Carter and the opportunity to glean more about their shadow pursuers, Jack chose the latter, taking the calculated risk in the hope that Carter was too precious a national treasure to be disposed of too quickly.
He swallowed hard and fought the rising panic. In the effort to pull himself together, he squandered precious seconds as he forced the revulsion aside and tried to focus.
There was still one of them left.
He could work with that.