Chapter 123: Cultural Exchange Part 5
Alliance Headquarters, Brussels, Belgium, December 5th, 1999
"...and we need to counter these accusations. This cannot stand!"
Catra snorted when Glimmer hit the table with her fist to emphasise her words. She was taking this hard, but then, she had been quite concerned about her own reputation, back during the Horde War. Back before - and after - Queen Angella had… sacrificed herself to save the world. From Catra's folly.
She pressed her lips together and tried to ignore the guilt she felt as the others continued to talk.
"They aren't accusations - not in the formal sense. It's just rumours," Daniel said.
"Then we need to counter those rumours!" Glimmer spat.
"Yes!" Adora agreed.
"Why? Let them talk. Soldiers complain about their leaders all the time," Sha're said. "What can they do? You're the Supreme Commander, Adora. Unless you turn against Jack, there is nothing Smith or anyone can do."
"Ah, that's not exactly how this works, dear," Daniel said. "Adora isn't supposed to abuse her power and protect criminals."
"I am not a criminal, Daniel."
"Well, of course not. I'm just saying Adora can't order the Alliance around like that if you were a criminal."
"I think that means you aren't supposed to do that," Catra commented, grinning at her lover. "You totally could do it, and Priest and the entire Third Fleet would follow you." And that was the backbone of the Alliance at the moment.
Adora scowled at her. "I'm not going to abuse my position!" Then she blinked and smiled at Jack. "Not that protecting you from such accusations would be abusing my position since you haven't done anything wrong!"
"Nothing that not everyone else did as well," Catra added.
Everyone frowned at her. "What do you mean?" Glimmer asked. Rather sharply, in Catra's opinion.
"Using the shuttle nominally attached to his command for private purposes," Catra replied. "Apparently, you're not supposed to do that."
"Why not?" Glimmer asked. "He's in charge of the Special Operations Command. He can use the shuttle as he pleases."
"It's more efficient that way," Entrapta added. "Of course, we could give you another shuttle, but then at least one of them would always be standing around and not used since you can't use two of them at the same time. Of course, it would be a spare shuttle for emergencies…"
"Ah, I don't think adding another shuttle for Jack's personal use would help with battling the rumours of corruption," Daniel said. With a glance at Jack, he added: "Sorry."
"Don't worry, one shuttle is enough for me." Jack grinned widely.
Catra snorted, but not everyone found Jack's joke funny - Sam glared at him.
"Wait! You're not supposed to use your equipment?" Adora asked.
"They're not meant for private use," Sam told her. "Although there are exceptions for personal vehicles."
"And a shuttle is a vehicle!" Jack grinned again, but not for long. "Anyway, everyone hops on an Air Force plane if they can - it saves time and money. And if you're a pilot, you also take any stick time you can get. But not everyone has a shuttle they can use for that."
"General Naird was quite unhappy that his command wasn't assigned a shuttle," Sam added.
"And he wasn't the only one, I bet," Jack said. "They're jealous."
"So, should we hand them shuttles as well?" Entrapta asked. "It would set our projected production back a bit, but if that will solve our problem, we can do it!"
"I fear, at this point, it would be seen as an attempted bribe," Sam objected.
"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Once they start talking about how you shouldn't use a shuttle like that, they can't go back and get one of their own - well, they could, but it would make them the next target."
"Then what can we do?" Adora asked.
"What can Wilkinson do?" Bow asked. "He's in Washington, and Jack's usually here or in Germany. Or in Etheria."
"He can snoop around in Washington and ask all my fellow generals," Jack said. "And he can hop on a plane and travel to Europe as well."
And just dealing with the spy wasn't on the table, Catra knew.
"But he wouldn't have any authority in Europe - or outside the USA in general," Daniel pointed out.
"This isn't an authorised investigation, so he doesn't have any authority to begin with," Jack said.
"Ah, right." Daniel winced. "Still, that means he is limited in what he can do."
"Never underestimate a lone wolf. Whether it's an assassin or a spook." Jack bared his teeth.
Catra nodded. A single spy like Double Trouble could cause a lot of harm.
"So, what can we do?" Daniel asked.
"We could try to speak to him?" Entrapta suggested. "Explain the situation?"
"That would make him even more suspicious; I know the type," Jack said. "He'll already suspect foul play - you've heard him. He probably thinks I'll ask some old Black Ops contacts to silence him."
"Or us," Catra added. She grinned. "But if he suspects foul play, what if he finds something worse than corruption? An attempt to frame a brave hero?"
Jack blinked. "You want to set him on Smith?"
Catra nodded. "We can set up Smith. Give him a taste of his own medicine."
"Yeah, we could. It won't be easy, but we could do that."
"But what if Smith is honestly mistaken?" Adora asked.
"I doubt that," Jack said.
"But we can check that first, I think," Bow said. "Well, you can - we still have to deal with the Asgard."
"Don't remind me," Glimmer muttered.
Catra grinned. She could do something interesting and avoid something boring - perfect.
Above the Pentagon, Washington D.C., United States of America, December 5th, 1999
This is a waste of time, Jack O'Neill thought as he leaned back in his seat in his stealth shuttle. Smith was a four-star general - you didn't reach that rank by being naive. Or by being so honest and by the book, you couldn't tolerate the usual rules-bending by the brass. Smith's own command would have sabotaged him if he had been that kind of hardass because no one wanted to serve under such a commander.
So, Smith had to know what he was doing. But the Etherians would need more than that to use slightly less-than-honest means to deal with him. Well, most of them - Jack was sure that Catra would be fine with framing Smith for any crime. But they didn't have to go that far, anyway - Smith must have some skeletons in his closet; they only needed to find them.
But still… Jack couldn't help feeling that he was missing something. Smith wasn't dumb. Did he really expect a drummed-up charge of misuse of a service vehicle - which everyone did to some degree - to bring down Jack? Smith was aware that Jack was a close friend of Adora and the other Etherians. Too close to be hurt by such accusations - especially since the Etherians considered using his shuttle for anything perfectly fine and dandy. Hell, the government was counting on Jack and the rest of SG-1 to use their friendship to influence the Etherians, and that cut both ways.
No, even if Jack were corrupt - and he wasn't - this wouldn't be enough to get him cashiered. They needed him too much. Not just because he was friends with Princesses, of course, but also because he had the most experience fighting the snakes. And he was good at it.
So, why was Smith sending a rogue FBI agent after Jack? What did he hope to gain from this? Was he actually counting on the disgruntled conservatives and religious nutcases to push the government into dropping Jack? The government had made it clear that it valued the Alliance far more than what influence those people had left. Even with the presidential election coming up next year, no candidate - none with a serious chance at getting a nomination in either party, at least - was campaigning on a platform that would piss off the Etherians.
Wilkinson was right that a lot of people were unhappy with the changes the Alliance with Etheria brought to the United States, but the country was in the middle of a war, and that meant people were closing ranks and rallying around the flag.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Anything?"
Carter shook her head. "No, sir. Smith hasn't left his office or called anyone since you last asked."
Which had been… fifteen minutes ago. That explained why she looked a little annoyed.
"Alright." He suppressed a sigh. Maybe he should take a nap - Catra and Melog were sleeping in their seats. In such weird positions, Jack's back hurt just from looking at them. They really were like cats in that regard.
But he couldn't sleep. He was missing something, he knew that. Why was Smith doing this? And what was he hoping to gain? A promotion? He was already a four-star general, and even - or especially - if he managed to get Jack cashiered, he wouldn't get a promotion out of it. He would have pissed off the government too much with his meddling. Unless he thought his involvement would remain a secret.
Did he? Jack frowned. Wilkinson might keep the secret. But Wilkinson alone wouldn't be enough to hurt Jack. That would need a lot of influence. So, others would have to get involved. And Smith would have to move very carefully to benefit from this. Too much caution and others would take over. Too little, and he would be sacrificed to appease the Etherians while someone else got promoted.
Would Smith really risk that? He didn't strike Jack as reckless - quite the opposite, actually. Not a coward, but quite a bit more cautious than Jack or the Etherians. Anger or desperation might change that, but envy or spite?
No, there was something else. Someone else was involved. Which, Jack admitted to himself with a grin, means that this isn't a waste of time.
If only Smith would copy Wilkinson and invite a co-conspirator over. Or start monologuing in his office! But it seemed Smith didn't want to cooperate with this investigation.
Well, Jack already knew the guy wasn't an idiot. Then again, Smith was picking a fight with Jack and his friends, and that was a really dumb move.
Something Jack was looking forward to demonstrating.
Factory Complex, Scorpion Kingdom, Etheria, December 5th, 1999 (Earth Time)
"...and these are our bot factories. They used to produce bots for the war, then we - well, Entrapta and Hordak - repurposed them for agricultural bots, but now they're producing war bots again. And spy bots." Scorpia pointed with her pincers at a massive and - to Adora, at least - familiar factory complex.
Sure, they had prettied it up - and, more importantly, cleaned it up; it wasn't leaking acid into the water any more, and they had better filters for the exhaust pipes, as Entrapta had explained - but underneath that, it was still the same factory Adora and Catra had climbed as cadets. She could see the very spot they used to watch the Fright Zone from here. Ah… She was smiling widely, she realised, and quickly schooled her features. This was a diplomatic event!
"You switched from agricultural equipment to arms?" Thor asked. "How did that impact your food production?"
"Not at all," Scorpia replied. "Well, not much - Perfuma worked on the plants we use so they produce more for less work." She beamed at Perfuma, who blushed a little, Adora noticed.
"I only changed the rate at which they absorbed sunlight and the efficiency of their chlorophyll. And I made them a bit more resistant to pests - not too much, or that would have meant they couldn't be cooked in the traditional way," Perfuma explained.
"Well, we could have just used them to produce Horde rations, but those factories were dismantled entirely," Scorpia said. "I kind of miss them, from time to time."
Adora stared at her friend. She missed the Horde rations? After tasting real food? Unbelievable!
Glimmer looked like she was feeling sick, and Bow grimaced. Perfuma, though, smiled at her lover.
"You ended your capability to produce rations for your soldiers?" Thor sounded incredulous as well. "In the middle of a war?"
"We did that before we knew about the Goa'uld. And only once we had better food to disperse," Perfuma said, sounding defensive.
"And if we tried to feed those rations to our soldiers, they'd probably revolt!" Scorpia chuckled. "Anyway, that's about it for our kingdom's factories. We mostly rely on Horde designs for weapons, though Entrapta has improved the models since the war."
"Oh, yes!" Entrapta piped up. "I had so many ideas I couldn't try out during the war because Hordak said the loss of production would be worse than the gain of capability, but with the war over, I could implement them. Some of them, at least. And now, they can be field tested!"
Adora winced a bit at the enthusiasm her friend showed at this prospect. She knew Entrapta didn't think that the war against the Goa'uld was a good thing - well, defeating them and liberating their slaves was a very good thing - but the way she talked made her sound like she did.
But the Asgard didn't seem to react to that as they looked at the factories.
"You make heavy use of bots, then?" Thor asked.
"Oh, yes," Scorpia said. "Bots can be repaired and replaced - most of them," she added with a glance at Emily, "while people can't."
The Asard exchanged glances. "But you also field artificial intelligences." Penegal cocked his head. "What do they think of this?" He wasn't looking at Emily directly but glanced in her direction.
Emily beeped.
"Emily knows that we need to free the slaves of the Goa'uld," Entrapta translated. "And she also knows we can replace the dumb bots."
"So, they are willing to risk their existence for the war?" Penegal asked.
"Yes?" Entrapta looked puzzled.
"Everyone is aware of the need to defeat the Goauld," Perfuma said. "Though we won't force people to fight them if they don't want to. But we learned harsh lessons during the Horde War." She looked at the factory complex. "And we're going to do things better in this war. We won't make the same mistakes."
If Catra were here, she'd say that they were going to make all-new mistakes. But she wasn't. Adora cleared her throat in the sudden silence. "Anyway, this is where most of the weapon production on Etheria happens," she said. "We've adapted the former Horde factories." And staffed them with former Horde soldiers.
"And you're showing us your key weapon factories?" Thor turned his head a bit to glance at the factories again.
"Yes?" Entrapta looked confused again. "Why wouldn't we?"
"It's not as if we have something to hide here," Scorpia added.
"Aha." Thor didn't seem very impressed, though. Well, the backbone of Etheria's military in this war were the Horde fleets, and those were built and maintained in space, which the Asgard would know.
Freyr, who hadn't said much so far, suddenly addressed Perfuma. "You mentioned adapting the plants you grow for food. As I understand, you used magic for it. How exactly did you do that?"
Perfuma perked up. "Oh, let me show you!" She spread her hands, and vines grew out of the ground, quickly sprouting colourful fruits. "I altered the fruits, for example, to be more efficient and less appealing to the birds that usually eat them, so we need fewer people to tend to them. Then I spread the plants." She smiled. "I also altered the colour of the fruits, but that was just for variety." As she spoke, the fruits changed colours back and forth.
The Asgard were staring. At the plants and at Perfuma.
"Genetic manipulation on such a level…"
"And at that speed!"
"Without any tools at all. Pure magic."
Adora wasn't quite sure if their reaction was a good thing or not.
Alliance Headquarters, Brussels, Belgium, December 5th, 1999
I might be getting a bit too comfortable with this, Samantha Carter thought as she ran another search algorithm on files she officially didn't have access to but could easily download with a bit of effort that could barely be called hacking. Being involved, and in a significant position, with building the Alliance computer network had its perks.
But the General was correct - too much about this case didn't make enough sense to dismiss the possibility of an outside element influencing or manipulating Smith. And since Adora had signed off on the investigation, it was legal anyway. Only technically, though, and only because of the Etherians' influence on the Alliance regulations - NATO regulations wouldn't have allowed such interference on the Supreme Commander's say so. And whether that authorised her to break into civilian databanks without a warrant by a judge was unclear.
She didn't expect much from this particular data analysis, anyway. Smith hadn't been very active in Brussels. The man had done a stint at NATO headquarters, but it hadn't been anything more than another mark in his file to push his career at the Pentagon. And when he got his new post with the Alliance, he hadn't even bothered with getting a flat in Brussels despite having an office here.
With someone else, that might have been explained by caring too much about his home and family in Washington D.C. to bother setting up a new home here, but Smith wasn't spending enough time with his family. Sam wouldn't call him a workaholic, but only because the man still didn't work quite as much as she did, and she wasn't a workaholic either; she merely had a sound sense of priorities.
On the other hand, she would have expected Smith to focus on his career in the Alliance. He should have realised that the most important decisions were being made here, not in the Pentagon or Washington.
Shaking her head at the inconsistencies, she checked the computer. Almost done. And Catra had already finished bugging Smith's office here. Sam didn't expect much from that either, but you had to cover all bases in such an investigation. Literally, in some cases. At least Smith had been posted to the Pentagon for the last few years, or they would have had to investigate even more places. If Sam had to root through another inefficiently organised computer system just to…
A beep interrupted her thoughts. Her algorithm had flagged something… no. It was from the stealth bot monitoring Wilkinson. The man was moving.
"What's happening?" Catra walked over. Apparently, the noise had caught her interest.
"Wilkinson is leaving his office," Sam told her.
"With Paris?"
"No. He seems to be alone. He might be going for a lunch." According to his filed expenses, the man liked to eat out.
"Hm. Good idea. It's lunchtime there - and dinner time here."
Sam raised her eyebrows at her. Catra thought about eating while their suspect was moving?
The other woman flashed her a wide grin. "Do you want something as well?"
"Are you going to Noordzee again?" Sam asked.
"Of course!"
The place didn't have a constant menu, but they always had fresh seafood. And trying to get Catra to go somewhere else was an exercise in futility. And often frustration. "Get me a sandwich."
"Alright." Catra got up and left their office.
Sam checked her computer again. Wilkinson was still driving. He had passed his favourite diner already. She quickly ran a short check on his expenses. There wasn't another restaurant in that direction that he had frequented in the last year. She brought up Smith's data. No, nothing there either - and Smith hadn't left the Pentagon.
A few minutes later, she watched Wilkinson's car park next to an old Italian restaurant. If the General were here, he'd make a joke about the mob, but this didn't have to mean anything. Odds were, the food wasn't even authentic Italian.
The stealth bot flew a bit down to get a better line of sight into the restaurant. Wilkinson didn't take a table at a window - he was headed to the back. If he entered a private room… No, he sat down at the bar, gesturing to the bartender.
The bot's sensors were good but not good enough to listen in from that distance. But the mirror behind the bar meant Wilkinson's face was visible.
Sam wasn't a lip-reader, but she had a program for that. A few clicks got it up and running on the feed from the bot.
"… Pastrami?"
"Yes. And a coke."
Well, that wasn't a very important conversation. Sam shook her head with a smile.
Then another man sat down at the bar, next to Wilkinson. And they looked at each other in the mirror, Sam noticed. She ran a search for a match for his face while he ordered a sandwich as well.
"What do you have for me?"
"You're being used."
"Tell me something new."
"Your source has contacts with us."
"Again, tell me something new."
"The kind of contacts that involve the kind of business you hate."
"Is he involved?"
"Hard to say. But someone's covering up whatever he is involved in."
"Can you uncover it?"
"Not without risking more trouble than this is worth."
"I see."
Sam frowned. What did that mean? Were they talking about the General? Or Smith? Smith was Wilkinson's source, wasn't he?
Her laptop beeped again. She had a match for the other man. Oh. Kevin Miller. CIA.
Things got just a little bit more complicated.
Langley, Virginia, United States of America, December 5th, 1999
A whole building full of spies! Catra grinned as she studied the CIA headquarters on her screen. "I can't believe that's just one of your spy agencies."
"We're a big country," Jack replied.
"And you spy on everyone. Even yourselves."
"As this mission demonstrates, we got reasons for that."
She snorted at that without taking her eyes off the target. "Now, this is a challenge."
"The FBI wasn't?"
"They're not really spies," she told him. "They're cops who also hunt spies. But the CIA? All spies. And it takes a spy to hunt a spy."
"I think the FBI disagrees."
"Of course they would. But we infiltrated their headquarters easily. This, though…?"
"We do not need to infiltrate their headquarters," Sam commented from her seat. "We just need access to their data."
"For which we need to sneak into the building." Catra grinned again.
Challenge.
"Melog agrees," she added.
"The FBI has a magic program. The CIA undoubtedly has one as well," Sam pointed out. "You will have to deal with this."
Of course, they would. But they weren't facing experienced sorceresses. Hell, the FBI witch hadn't even known what her spells would do. The CIA ones would be a bit better - they would probably not shy away from testing their spells against evil magic, according to everything Catra had heard about the CIA - but they were still beginners. And Catra had spent years fighting princesses and sorceresses trained at Mystacor while Melog was, well, Melog. "We can do this." All they had to do was to sneak in and get into Miller's office and his computer.
"Don't get caught," Jack said. He sounded as if he wanted to sneak in as well.
"I won't."
"Scans still show no advanced technology," Sam reported.
"And that's suspicious," Jack repeated himself. "If anyone should have managed to get some of the good stuff for themselves, it's the CIA."
"They would be aware that we can detect such technology, sir."
"Won't stop them."
They had gone over his before. Catra shook her head. "Let's go. It's almost midnight here." Not that that bothered her - she could nap whenever she wanted on this mission - but close to midnight on a Sunday meant the building would have the least number of spies in it.
"Alright."
She grinned and walked to the shuttle's back, followed by Melog. Just hovering over the building and rappelling down, like they had done with the FBI, was out. The CIA had improved the security on their roof - and on their office windows. Not with advanced technology, and not with magic, according to Melog, but the sensors they had were annoying enough. Unlike the FBI, the CIA had not ignored how they had broken into Iran's prisons. Or the CIA was just more concerned about their own allies breaking into their building than the FBI.
It didn't matter. They were using another way into the building anyway.
Ready.
Catra nodded. "Melog has the illusion up. Drop the ramp."
The ramp started to lower with a very faint hissing sound, and Catra sniffed the air. Langley wasn't as bad as the Fright Zone had been, but it was bad enough. And the sewers - or storm drains, as Sam called them - would be worse.
She pulled a mask on as she stepped out of the shuttle, then quickly rushed over to the grate covering a shaft leading down.
Stinks.
"Yeah, I know."
But she had smelt worse. The Horde hadn't really bothered with environmental regulations. She grabbed the grate and easily lifted it up. A moment later, Melog, changed into a slinkier form, sneaked past her and vanished down the shaft.
Clear.
She followed, closing the grate behind her. With the mask, she could ignore the smell of rotting matter. She would still need a long shower after this - the smell would linger otherwise, and to imagine her fur having even a hint of this…
She shuddered as she quickly followed Melog, back in catform, down the tunnel. A few sensors were easily fooled by illusions, and the sensors covering the exits were not a challenge either if you were used to dealing with Horde and Alliance security. The CIA apparently hadn't gotten around to covering the underground areas as well as they had covered the roof and windows.
And now they were inside the complex. Not yet inside the target building, but close enough. And past the guards who might or might not have been sorceresses and their dogs.
She recalled the layout of the place and quickly made her way over to the building Miller was working in. The security there was a bit trickier, but Sam had her back. All Catra had to do was climb a wall until she could stick a device to the sensor covering the entrance, and Sam would hack the whole system.
Easy. They just had to…
Catra froze for a moment, her ears swivelling as she caught steps headed their way. So close to the last patrol? It seemed the CIA took care to have their guards actually patrol at random.
Dog.
And they had a dog with them! Catra hissed under her breath. "Come on!" she whispered, then quickly climbed the wall again, with Melog hanging on her shoulders.
From a windowsill on the second floor, still covered by an illusion, she watched while a guard with a damn dog walked past on the ground below. The animal even seemed to catch her scent, but a quick illusion of a squirrel dashing past distracted the dog and made the handler curse.
By the time the patrol had gone to the next building - actually random patrol patterns were a pain to deal with - Sam had dealt with the security, and Catra and Melog slipped into the building with no one the wiser.
But halfway to Miller's office, her hackles rose. Someone - no, something - was nearby. She could hear faint steps. Very faint steps. And she felt the temperature drop a little.
Magic.
The CIA seemed to be a bit more ahead of the FBI than Catra had thought.
"Back!" she hissed - even though Melog would already know what she was doing - and whirled around, quickly darting past two closed doors to the corner behind them. Rounding it, she glanced at the rows of doors there, ears twitching. She hadn't heard anything on the way past them, so they should be empty. But if whoever - or whatever - was coming had a magical way to check through doors, they would be spotted anyway. Risk it?
No.
She nodded, and they kept running. She had to remind herself to keep her claws sheathed, so she didn't make any sound - or leave scratches and gouges on the floor. It was much easier to run all out with her claws digging into the ground.
Another corner. She remembered the layout. Stairs to the right, lift to the left. And around the next corner was a little nook with a window that was too small to keep the stench of cigarette smoke from lingering and seeping into the plaster.
But it was big enough for Catra, and Sam had dealt with the sensors covering the windows at the source. She opened it, hopped on the windowsill, then turned around. "Go on!"
Melog flowed past her, changing shape to avoid jostling her, while she fixed a small thread to the window's frame. A moment later, she jumped, grabbing the edge of the roof above them, then pulled the window closed with thread.
Normally, she would have slid onto the roof, but the sensors there were still working. So she had to wait, hanging from the roof, until the coast was clear again.
Melog changed shape again, this time into a snake.
Hold you.
She didn't need his help. Hanging from a branch had been standard training - and punishment - back as a cadet; she could do this all day long. Almost. She slid onto their back anyway.
Magic close.
She shouldn't be doing this, but…
Scoffing, she bent down until she could spy through the window. She heard the steps clearly, coming closer, but there was nothing. Then she felt a cold shiver run down her spine - and saw the small window fog over slightly.
A moment later, she had pulled herself up.
Magic.
"Earth magic," she whispered. "That's not a human patrol."
The CIA had summoned a spirit or something to patrol their headquarters.
Alliance Headquarters, Brussels, Belgium, December 6th, 1999
"...and then we waited a bit longer and went back inside. Miller's office is bugged, and Sam is already hacking his data."
Jack O'Neill nodded. Catra might make a point of slouching so much that she looked as if she'd flow off her seat any moment, but her report was concise and to the point - as good or better than he was used to from his own people. And she didn't make him feel guilty for involving them in a slightly illegal mission. "So, the CIA got ahead of the FBI. Probably recruited outside talent."
"To guard their headquarters?" Catra shook her head. "That doesn't sound like a good idea."
"The spooks aren't nearly as smart as they think they are," Jack agreed. That didn't mean they were dumb, of course, even if some were. But recruiting sources and turning spies was one thing, trusting the security of your headquarters to some hired help was another. And God help the spooks if they tried to get some leverage on a sorceress while they were still hurting for magical assets.
"And they're competing with the Alliance for recruitment," Catra added.
"That, too." Jack nodded again. The Alliance needed every sorceress they could get. And while not every sorceress who would get hired by the CIA would be a good fit for the Alliance, Jack knew that the overlap between the requirements for his command and the CIA was considerable.
"So, gonna squeal on them? I bet they kept their magic program hidden from your government." Catra grinned. "Sam would have found it otherwise."
Jack made a noncommittal noise. Of course, Carter would have found it, but admitting even in private that you thought your Second-in-Command hacked the government wasn't something you made a habit of. "Well, I'll think about it. We would have to explain how we found out about the CIA's spooky spirit program." Oh, damn - he missed an opportunity to make a spooky spook joke. Well, Carter wasn't here, so he could use the line on her later. Although it was early morning here in Brussels already, and he had stayed up the entire night…
"Right."
"And the CIA might have kept it off the official records, but I bet the NID knows about it. And that means Kinsey knows about it. And since the man is so tight with the president…"
"Ah, yes. Democracy at work." Catra nodded with a sage expression that was obviously faked.
Jack snorted in return. "Anyway, we need to…"
A beep on his computer interrupted him.
"Huh?" That wasn't a mail announcement. That was… an alert from Carter. "Someone's hacking into Smith's computer. Someone else, I mean."
"Oh?" Catra cocked her head, then grinned.
She probably thought this was getting more interesting. Well, she wasn't wrong. But Jack would prefer things to get boring instead.
A few coffees - Navy style, but Jack would bite his tongue off before acknowledging that to anyone - later, he was talking to Carter and trying to act as if he had any clue what the stuff on her screen meant. "So, what do you have for us?"
"I'm tracking the intruder. They have tried to obfuscate their location, but their tools, while good, are no match for ours."
"Ah." That was… good. Jack stifled a yawn and took another sip from his coffee. "Any idea who they are?"
"This cannot be said with any certainty at this point, sir."
He grinned. "So, you have a pretty good guess."
For a moment, her mouth twisted into the hint of a pout. "They are using exploits that have been fixed in the Alliance systems and are scheduled to be fixed in the Pentagon systems next week. Highly-classified ones."
"Ah. Definitely the NID, then." Wilkinson didn't have that kind of resources.
"Or any other agency or person with access to this information," Carter pointed out.
He shrugged, then finished his cup of coffee. "And how many of them would hack a general's computer in the Pentagon? That's illegal!"
She frowned at that. Right. Right, they were doing it as well. "The CIA?"
He snorted as he nodded. "Good point. But I still say it's the NID."
She tilted her head in what he knew was cautious agreement.
"So!" he went on, putting his cup down on her desk. "The NID is snooping around. Did you find out what they were looking for?"
"They downloaded the entire content of his private computer, sir."
And Smith was too smart to keep anything classified there, which the NID would know. They weren't going for military secrets, then. Of course, with Kinsey having the president's trust, they didn't need to break the law for that. "Blackmail?"
"It would have been unsuccessful then."
Carter hadn't found anything in Smith's files either. Although, sometimes, innocent information turned into compromising material when combined with something else. He blinked as he had another thought. "Did they plant anything?"
"No, sir."
He caught the unspoken 'I would have noticed and told you that already, sir' clearly despite the late or early hour. "Right."
Her computer decided that the slightly awkward silence that followed was the perfect moment to announce something. The numbers that appeared on the screen meant garbage to Jack, but Carter perked up. "Oh! The trace went through. The hacker is located at…" Her fingers flew over the keyboard, and a map appeared. "...here."
He could read maps in his sleep. "Washington D.C. Not Kinsey's address, though?"
"No, sir. Redirecting the spy bot for a close look."
Right. If they'd had such bots during the Cold War… Real-time recon on demand, without risking anyone, was a game changer. A few minutes later, they were looking at a house so average and devoid of anything unique, it almost seemed to stick out even in its boring suburban neighbourhood.
"I think we found a NID safehouse," Jack said.
"If this is a NID operation, sir. We haven't confirmed that yet."
"No, we haven't." He grinned. "But I'm betting a month's supply of jello that I'm right."
"I'm not taking that bet," Carter replied. She waited just a moment before adding: "I have no interest in jello."
He snorted, then had to stifle another yawn. "Anyway, go to bed now. We've got a long day ahead of us. And it's a Monday to boot."
"Technically, it's already Monday here, sir."
His chuckle turned into a yawn, and he could feel her raised eyebrows on him without having to look at her.
Damn, the Navy pukes couldn't even brew their coffee right any more. No wonder their ship-building program was lagging behind the Limeys' so much.
Alliance Base Lübtheen, Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Germany, December 6th, 1999
"Good morning, General!"
Jack O'Neill narrowed his eyes at Lt. Brown's dig. It was past noon, but he had gone to bed at half past six in the morning, and only if you counted napping in a shuttle flying on autopilot. But saying anything would acknowledge a hit. So he nodded at his aide. "Good morning, Brown. Anything urgent?" His communicator would have woken him up if anything had come up, but old habits died slowly.
"Senator Kinsey called, sir."
Jack tensed. Kinsey? "He did? What was it about?"
"He didn't say, sir. Just that it was important but that he could wait until you were in the office."
Jack silently cursed. The NID hacking last night, and now Kinsey was calling him? The timing wasn't suspicious, it was obvious!
And he had a bad feeling about it.