AU: When an exploration mission goes way off the left field, Jack and Sam are left to patch up their lives. Will that door stay open?
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of MGM/Amazon. No copyright infringement intended. I am once again taking my favourite two Gaters for a walk in an Alternate Universe. Takes place after 5.05 Red Sky with some canon episodes skipped (overlooked) and others referenced.
Rating: Mature.
Chapter 42: Preparations
Friday afternoon – St. Christina's, Seattle – Dr Neil Brooks
"Brooks." I answered sharply.
"Plans changed." The familiar voice said. The one that belonged to the man I had never met but knew by reputation.
"What do you mean the plans changed?" I griped back at him. Who did he think he was speaking to? He may be military and used to flinging orders around, but this was my show. I was paying him, not the other way around.
"The takeover didn't stick. The target is on the move. Tonight." He told me, "Be ready." He demanded, then promptly hung up. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I looked at it.
No takeover meant that yesterday's offer from Simmons to head up medical research at the SGC once it was under new management was off the table. I should have known the opportunity to have Major Samantha Carter, the alien Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill as heavily sedated research subjects was too good to be true. But she was on the move. That meant the backup plan of transferring the Major to another location must be underway. Focusing back on Doctor Johnston, I thought to myself that it was a good thing we had everything we needed for our newest visitor.
"Who was that?" He asked while prepping more samples for the centrifuge, his focus never wavering from the little vials in his hands. Behind him, the snake alien thing swimming in its tank made my skin crawl when it stopped and faced me. I swear it was looking at me. I hated that thing. While it was fascinating, the thought that we would 'implant' it into a human being was starting to make my stomach turn, even if he was dying. Well, at least it wasn't going into my head.
"Seems we'll have our patient sooner than expected." I said quickly, going back to reviewing the medical results from the samples I managed to procure from Major Carter. They indeed showed that she was five weeks pregnant. The Naquadah in her blood was steady and strong.
"Good." He replied and looked back to his task. "We need her sooner rather than later." He commented. I shook my head. Her pregnancy was not advanced enough. If we did the amnio now, we ran the risk of an involuntary termination. Hell, if we injected her with too much sedative to keep her under, we ran the same risk. I still believed that the foetus would provide us with a breakthrough regardless of who the father was. The Naquadah concentration in the placenta alone would give us years' worth of research material, but to have a fully developed child would be even better.
"We need to know if the child she carries is from O'Neill, Andrew." I pressed. While he was interested in the foetus, at this point in time he was committed to our client's situation, not the future research opportunities the unborn child potentially provided.
"We need her brain, Neil." He bit off. "We need to know how she survived the death of the Goa'uld symbiote. Our mandate is clear. Put the snake in, get the snake out, use Major Carter in whatever capacity required to facilitate that." He reminded me, his gaze giving off a level of determination not expected from a man wearing glasses who admittedly loved science fiction. It's like he had a switch, able to be a nervous jittery person one moment, then a cold calculated hard arse the next.
"Yes, but Mr. Conrad was adamant that…" I began to defend my reasoning for taking more care, but he interrupted me.
"Her survival is not a requirement of the deal even if Conrad claims he doesn't want anyone to die." His response emotionless and straight to the point. "If she loses the child, we will take what we can get for further research. Happy?" He ground out, his impatience shining through.
I didn't bother answering, instead picking up the small handheld radio and pressing the button. "Doctor Cole, prepare the room for our patient." I instructed before letting go of the button. Looking at Doctor Johnston, I could see the scowl on his face. He had been like this since our last delivery of samples had not arrived, obviously intercepted somewhere along the line. We had not heard from Lieutenant Stevens either. Of course, I knew that he and Stevens had had a thing, it was how we managed to get her on board in the first place. Well, that and money. It was always money.
This was beginning to go too far. My research had always used terminally ill subjects who were willing to 'try anything' or those who already did not have quality of life – such as those of unsound mind where consent could be implied, hence a schizophrenic Major Carter. Unfortunately, as with all things, the offer of funds to continue my research started me down the path to help an insanely rich man with a rare illness. I had taken delivery of the symbiote and recruited doctors who did not mind undertaking medical research via unconventional or unethical means, but to endanger an otherwise healthy pregnant woman… that pulled at what was left my integrity and compassion that made me want to be a doctor. I took a deep breath and let it out just as my radio buzzed and Doctor Cole's voice came over the air waves.
"Yes, Doctor Brooks." The young man responded. Another buzz. "Do you want restraints?" Buzz.
"Yes." I replied without a moment's hesitation. There was no doubt that we would need restraints. Major Carter was formidable, and I had no idea what her lucidity would be like once she arrived here. We had observed that the small amount of Diazepam given to the Major had been mostly out of her system in little over two hours. Depending on how long she had gone without a dose, she may be completely free of the drug by now.
Then the thought struck me. What if Major Carter had been released?
All the little clues – target on the move, the lack of communication from Stevens, the missing sample cooler – could only mean one thing. MacKenzie must have found out. He was an intelligent man with a wide range of experience in the medical field, having spent the first fifteen years of his military medical career dealing specifically with the conditioning and monitoring of soldiers in Special Forces, both in the field and out of it. That meant he was naturally attuned to things that were out of place. A side effect of having worked with naturally suspicious individuals who killed people for a living. I had no doubt that he would have discovered the forged letter in the dispensary.
Suddenly, the brief conversation about Lieutenant Stevens during yesterday's call from Simmons had me curious. What had happened to her?
Reaching for my laptop, I tapped a few keys to get into the encrypted program that I used to view confidential military personnel files to determine if their psychological profile fit with that of a doctor or nurse required in this business. Hitting search on the name Stevens, I found four. The third one being Lieutenant Janelle Stevens. Clicking on her name, I saw her photo, full name, rank, date of birth, address, and service number – all normal – except her current location was listed as 'Unknown' with large red capital letters afterwards that read '** SUSPENDED PENDING ARREST **'.
So, she had been arrested. Scrolling down further, I found additional notes and skimmed over them – 'enroute to Peterson for holding', 'missed check in time', 'location unknown', transponder inactive' – they all pointed in one direction. The van transporting her had disappeared without a trace of the vehicle or its occupants. I still remembered the chilling sound of Colonel Simmons' voice when he told me that she had been taken care of. I wasn't naïve enough to not know what he meant by that, after all, we frequently 'took care of' any patients who had passed away, outlived their medical usefulness, or were plain difficult to deal with.
Leaning back, I let out a breath and returned to the medical results. This was getting out of hand. Maybe it was time to get out, disappear. I had done it before. Doctor Neil Brooks was my third alias after all. The sharp trill of my phone grabbed my attention. Flipping it open, I could see it was him again. Pressing the button, I put it to my ear.
Undisclosed Location – Colonel Frank Simmons
"Brooks." The doctor answered with a less than enthusiastic tone that suggested he was ready to pull the pin on this operation. Well, I had news for him. I didn't earn the rank of Colonel in the United States Air Force before being handpicked by the NID for nothing.
"Doctor. Don't sound so… despondent." I said, noting I did not receive a response. "We have a situation. The target is not alone. Extraction will take longer than expected."
"Everything is ready." He finally replied with even less enthusiasm before hanging up. I smiled at his drole tone and abrupt dismissal. We would have to keep an eye on him. He knew too much about the underlying origins of Conrad's illness. An extremely rare disease attacking one's immune system, leading to a death much like that of a Jaffa without their symbiote. It's name - Berchart's Syndrome - after the NID test subject used to create the disease. A research assistant working alongside Dr Neil Brooks during its creation. Infecting Conrad was a sure-fire way to ensure our research received off the record funding from a private non-government source.
Of course, having a dangerous disease to hold over the heads of the world's leaders was only as good as the antidote. For that, all we needed was Major Samantha Carter.
The report from operatives stated that the enigmatic Colonel Jack O'Neill had followed Major Carter to her house and that, so far, he had not left. One thing that was not a mystery was why he had done so. The Senator had made no secret of the fact that he suspected a relationship between the two officers. He had even had NID operatives investigate them on multiple occasions, but no evidence had ever been found. That didn't mean nothing was happening. Pity my mandate here was not to throw the UCMJ at them. I had no interest in whether the Colonel was balls deep in his Major or not.
Whilst I hadn't worked directly with O'Neill, I knew of him through the black ops grapevine and had vague details of some of his missions in the early nineties. He was the kind of man the commanders sent on missions that other men – trained killers – baulked at. Like all Spec Ops soldiers, he knew how to kill a man in twenty different ways with his bare hands, and he excelled at it. It was his skills in the softer interpersonal areas – seduction, infiltration, playing the target, gaining trust – that was his specialty. Skills that he hid through his use of the gung-ho shoot first, ask later attitude. That was made abundantly clear when he apparently went rogue a few years ago. He played right into that fool's hands. It was a wonder the off-world operation lasted as long as it did with Maybourne at the helm. Unfortunately, he had information on Kennedy which allowed him to stay one step ahead and, in the loop, even now that he was officially on the run.
The point being, that if O'Neill wanted to hide an unprofessional relationship with his Major, he knew exactly how to do it and how to coach her to do the same thing. I had no doubt that he was nailing her to the wall at this very moment.
Lucky man.
It wouldn't last though; these things never did. Though, in this case, it wouldn't be anything either of them had a say in. He would leave her house later tonight, after screwing her blind. Then we would move in and she would disappear without a trace. He would never find her and assume she had fled, especially if someone tipped off Hammond to that effect. Then again, perhaps leaving a small clue would be acceptable, one that would lead her lover in many directions, circles as it were. A merry chase across the galaxy searching for her before casually tipping off the SGC that she had never left Earth. Oh, yes. That sounded like fun. I smiled to myself.
Game. Set. Match.
My team had been hand picked from amongst the best of the best that black ops had to offer. Most of them retired, either by the military or by their own choosing. Some with a darkness that could never be shaken or hidden, others with certain desires that were not considered acceptable by society. Major Carter would certainly fulfil some of those while in transit and perhaps while she lay helpless in the hospital bed. Whilst that kind of thing was not of any interest to me, who was I to deny the needs of my men? As long as they completed their mission to my satisfaction and that of our benefactor. O'Neill would be a perfect addition to our team, if not for his integrity and unfailing commitment to the establishment of the Air Force. Perhaps once we had the Major in our grasp, she could be leveraged to get O'Neill to cooperate? It was worth thinking about. If he truly cared about her like the Senator believed, he would do just about anything to keep her safe.
Just about anything. We would have to see how far we could push that.
Feeling the smile stretch across my face as the familiar sound of my transport touched down on the roof above me. Time to pay a visit to Colorado Springs.