Jack stood in the hallway outside the interrogation room, his expression unreadable as he glanced over at Teal'c and Daniel, who were waiting in the adjacent room, ready to assist. The plan was clear: he would question the two British cartoons separately, digging for the truth without allowing them to collaborate or sync their stories.
He had already decided that Carter wouldn't be a part of this. She was too close to the situation, and Jack didn't want her involved more than she already was. He needed to handle this independently—no distractions or complications.
Taking a breath, Jack signaled for the guards to bring in Philip Danvers. The door to the interrogation room slid open with a metallic hiss, and Danvers stepped in, his hands cuffed in front of him. He looked nervous, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on Jack.
Jack didn't waste time with pleasantries. He gestured to the chair across from him.
"Sit."
Danvers complied quickly, his posture tense. Jack remained standing, looming over him with arms crossed, his expression stern as stone. He was done playing games.
"You know the deal," Jack began, his voice low and controlled. "You give me good information—real information—and your request to stay in the U.S. will be considered. But it has to be relevant, and it has to be true. No more stalling."
Danvers swallowed, his throat bobbing as he tried to steady his breathing.
"I'm willing to cooperate, General."
"Good," Jack replied, his tone cutting like a knife. "Let's start with the attack on Colonel Samantha Carter in Washington, D.C. Who did it?"
Danvers hesitated, his eyes shifting slightly as if trying to find a way out of the question. His hands fidgeted in the cuffs, and Jack saw a hint of panic creeping into his eyes.
"Answer the question," Jack pressed, his voice cold. "You don't get to play innocent anymore. Not with me. Remember the deal. Talk, or I'll send you back to your friends in the UK."
After a long pause, Danvers finally relented. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"It was Davenport's man. Clayborne."
Jack didn't allow himself to react outwardly, though the name resonated internally. He leaned in slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on Danvers.
"Clayborne, huh? Give me a full description. His first name, too."
Danvers shifted uncomfortably in his seat but answered.
"His name is Julian Clayborne. The early fifties, tall—around six-foot-three. Broad shoulders, solid build. He's got short-cropped dark hair and a scar that runs down the left side of his cheek. British accent, but not posh. He's more rough, like someone from a working-class background. He's cold and methodical. A former Royal Marine. Davenport trusts him with... well, everything."
Jack nodded, committing the details to memory. He was dealing with someone with an elite military background.
"And the phone calls Carter received? The threats? Was that also Clayborne?"
Danvers nodded slowly, his face pale.
"Yes. All of it. The threats, the attack—everything involving Colonel Carter came directly from Clayborne. Davenport relied on him for that kind of work. Stroud and I dealt with the smuggling operations and the money. And the contacts with Montague. But Clayborne? He handled the... dirtier aspects."
Jack narrowed his eyes.
"Who killed Colonel Trevor Adams?"
At this, Danvers looked genuinely confused.
"I don't know," he said earnestly. "I swear, I have no idea. I wasn't involved in that side of things. As far as I know, he could have killed himself. I didn't hear anything about Clayborne being involved in that."
Jack studied Danvers for a moment, looking for any sign of deception. But Danvers seemed sincere, his face pale and drawn, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
"What about his father? He died in a car accident," Jack pressed on.
At this, Danvers paled.
"That was Clayborne. One night, after he'd had too many beers, he bragged about it and even threatened to kill Colonel Travis's wife if he didn't hand over the toxin—which he eventually did. It was the only time we ever saw him drunk. After that, he never touched alcohol again, at least not when he was with us. That's all I've got, General," Danvers said.
After a beat, Jack stood up straight and signaled for the guard.
"Take him back," Jack ordered before turning to the door. "Bring in Stroud."
As Danvers was led out, the tension in the room seemed to lift slightly, only to tighten again as David Stroud was brought in. Jack repeated the process, asking the same questions and probing for inconsistencies. But frustratingly, Stroud's answers mirrored Danvers'. Clayborne was the enforcer behind the threats and the attack on Carter, but neither of them knew who was responsible for Trevor Adams' death. The story was almost too consistent, and Jack's patience wore thin.
When Stroud was escorted out, Jack heaved and stepped into the next room where Teal'c and Daniel were waiting. Both straightened as Jack entered, sensing the weight of the interrogation on him.
"Well," Jack said tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck, "what do you think?"
Teal'c was the first to speak, his deep voice calm and steady.
"They are both telling the same story. It is possible they are telling the truth, O'Neill."
Daniel, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, chimed in.
"I agree with Teal'c. There's no indication that either of them is lying. They seemed... afraid, and not of you. If this Clayborne is as dangerous as they say, it makes sense why they would be eager to shift the blame his way."
Jack nodded slowly, processing their input.
"So you think Clayborne's our guy? The one who went after Carter?"
Daniel sighed.
"It's possible. But the fact that neither of them knows who killed Trevor Adams bothers me. It's a loose end, and we don't know if it ties back to Davenport, Clayborne, or someone else entirely."
Teal'c inclined his head.
"Perhaps Adams' death is unrelated to the direct actions of Davenport or Clayborne. It may have been an unforeseen complication. He could have chosen to terminate his life due to his ill actions."
Jack rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him.
"Maybe. Or maybe they're just good at covering their tracks."
Daniel stepped forward, his tone more concerned now.
"Either way, Jack, we need to find Clayborne. He's the key to unraveling this. If we can get to him, we'll have more answers."
Jack nodded grimly.
"Yeah. But finding him won't be easy. If Davenport trusted him to this extent, he's not the kind of guy who'll go down without a fight. If the guy was in the Special Boat Service, he's a mean son of a bitch. Most of them are drawn from the Royal Marines Commandos."
Teal'c's eyes met Jack's, his expression resolute.
"We have faced System Lords and Replicators and are now facing The Ori. We are prepared for whatever comes next, whoever is this person in the Boat Service."
Jack tried not to smile and just nodded.
"You are right, T. After defeating Anubis and dealing with the Ori, it won't be some British guy that will defeat us. Let's get to work. We need to find Clayborne before he strikes again."
Sam had been lost in thought for hours, surrounded by scattered papers and reports in her lab. She stood at her whiteboard, marker in hand, scribbling connections between names, dates, and incidents. The room was filled with the soft hum of the base's ventilation system and the faint sound of her pen against the board. She was so absorbed in her work that she hadn't noticed the door opening behind her.
"Let me guess?" Jack's familiar voice broke through the silence, catching her completely off guard. "You haven't eaten lunch yet?"
Sam jumped, nearly dropping her pen. She spun around, eyes wide.
"Lunch? No… what time is it?" she asked, glancing over at the small clock on her wall. It read 1530.
"Oh," she muttered, cheeks flushing a little with embarrassment.
Jack crossed his arms and gave her a knowing look.
"Come on, Colonel—time to eat something," he said, his tone firm but laced with fondness.
Sam let out a small sigh, realizing she'd lost track of time again. She put down her pen and saved her work, carefully placing her notes aside before heading toward the door with him.
As they walked down the corridor toward the cafeteria, Sam glanced up at Jack.
"So, where have you been all day? Sir," she added with almost a smile.
Jack smirked, his hands stuffed into his pockets as they walked.
"Had the pleasure of overseeing the handover of Sir Charles Davenport to the British Ambassador. The whole dog and pony show."
Sam raised her eyebrows.
"Davenport's gone, then?"
Jack nodded.
"Yeah. Ambassador Langford and his SAS team swooped in, picked him up, and off they went. Probably stirring up trouble on the flight back as we speak. Let's hope they can swim back to England if they end up in the water."
"Must have been quite the scene," Sam said with a soft smile.
She sensed there was more to the day than just the handover, but Jack didn't offer any more details, and she didn't press. She knew him well enough to pick her battles.
When they finally reached the cafeteria, Sam automatically gravitated toward the dessert section. She picked out a blue Jell-O cup and an apple, her mind still partially back in her lab, trying to untangle the web of information they'd gathered.
Jack, watching her choices, sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Really, Carter?" Without waiting for her to protest, he grabbed a fruit salad and added it to her tray. Then he picked out a bowl of soup, a sandwich, and—because he deserved it after the day he'd had—a slice of chocolate cake.
They made their way to their usual table in the corner of the cafeteria, where the bustle of the base felt a little more distant. Jack sat across from Sam, shaking his head as he eyed her meager selections.
"I don't get it. You blew up one sun, but you still forgot to eat."
Sam gave him a sheepish smile as she peeled the lid off her Jell-O.
"I guess I just get caught up in the work. You know how it is. Sir."
Jack took a spoonful of his soup. She was teasing him, but he wasn't taking the bait.
"Oh, I know. But I can't let you starve yourself, Colonel. The paperwork's important, and we have much from this maddening investigation. Still, I'd rather not have to report that the President specially appointed officer to Homeworld passed out from hunger."
She rolled her eyes at his playful scolding and picked up the fruit salad he'd added to her tray.
"Okay, okay. I'll try to be better about it. General, Sir."
Jack gave her a warning look, but she continued to eat, ignoring him. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Sam looked up at him.
"So, what's the plan now that Davenport's gone? Is that situation wrapped up, or do we still have loose ends?"
Jack took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged.
"Well, there are always loose ends, Carter. Davenport's gone, but we're still untangling the rest of the mess. We're working on it."
Sam studied him for a moment, sensing the weight behind his words. She knew him well enough to know when he was holding back, but she also knew that Jack only shared information when the time was right. She decided to focus on what she could control—her work.
"Well, if you need help unraveling anything, just let me know. I'll be in my lab... after I eat," she smiled.
Jack grinned, taking a bite of his cake.
"That's more like it. You keep eating, and I'll make sure nothing blows up while you're at it."
Sam chuckled softly, glad for the lighthearted moment. After the intensity of the past few days, this simple routine—sharing a meal and exchanging banter—was a welcome respite.
As they finished their food, Jack leaned back in his chair and glanced at her.
"You know, I think you're rubbing off on me. I've been thinking about all this paperwork and data much lately."
Sam gave him a teasing smile. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, General."
Jack chuckled. "Don't get too excited, Carter. You're still the brains of this operation."
They shared a smile, and it felt like the world outside the SGC didn't exist for a moment—just a General and a Lieutenant Colonel who had become something more, enjoying a rare, quiet moment together.
The cold, sterile room was silent as Jack sat across from Major Marcus Montague. The single overhead light cast harsh shadows on Montague's face, highlighting the flickers of defiance still clung to him, though they were greatly diminished since his arrest. His BDU was wrinkled, his cuffs gleamed under the light, and despite the weariness in his eyes, there was still a glimmer of resistance. But Jack could tell that his arrogance had been worn down over time. As did his bruises.
Jack leaned back in his chair, casually crossing his arms. He fixed Montague with an even stare, his voice laced with a mix of authority and patience that had been tested many times before.
"So, Major," Jack began, his tone edged darker. "Did you have time to think about what you did?"
Montague didn't answer right away. He held Jack's gaze, his silence deliberate. Jack knew the reason for it. Montague was holding out for a deal, and none had been offered. Jack let the silence hang in the air for a moment before speaking again, his tone a little sharper.
"You know things aren't exactly rosy for you, don't you?" Jack said, watching the subtle shift in Montague's expression—just a hint of discomfort.
Still, Montague didn't respond. The defiance was there, but it was fraying at the edges. Jack could see it. He had dealt with enough hardened soldiers, schemers, and criminals to know when someone was holding onto their last control. Montague was close to cracking but not yet broken. After everything he had done—escaping through the Stargate with Carter, trying to assault her, and getting caught—he still had the nerve to laugh in Jack's face. He was as crazy as Jonas Hanson, if not worse.
Jack sighed heavily, breaking the silence with a sound of frustration and pity.
"Let me guess," he said, his voice carrying a note of sarcasm, "you're only going to talk if there's a deal on the table?"
Montague, finally, nodded. It was a slight, tight movement, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Jack knew he wouldn't get anywhere unless he played this carefully. Punching him had proven useless, except perhaps for easing some of Jack's fury.
But Jack had no intention of offering Montague any deal. Not like he had with Danvers and Stroud. Montague was different. Marcus Montague was an officer in the United States Air Force, and his crimes were not just legal violations—they were betrayals. He had taken Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter hostage, threatened her life, and attempted to assault her sexually. There was no leniency, and Jack wouldn't offer him false hope.
But that didn't mean he couldn't use Montague's desperation against him.
"Okay," Jack began, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "but before we talk deals, let me give you a quick update on the situation so you have a clear picture of where you stand."
Montague's blue eyes flickered with curiosity, though he tried to hide it. Jack suppressed a smile, knowing he had the upper hand now.
"The guy you know as Mr. Gromit?" Jack continued. "He's currently sharing a cozy little cell here at the SGC with his associate, Mr. Wallace. We picked them both up, and they sang like canaries."
Jack watched as Montague stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening.
"We've got everything we need from them. Every detail. Including the identity of their boss—the guy who orchestrated this whole thing. I like to call him the 'Godfather.' You know, like in the movie. Did you see that? With Marlon Brando? What a guy!"
Jack paused for effect, lowering his voice even further.
"And we just sent that 'Godfather' back home. In a nice pair of shiny cuffs, just like the ones you're wearing now."
Montague swallowed hard, his eyes darting briefly to the cuffs on his wrists. Jack could see the fear creeping in now. He wasn't just dealing with the base-level operatives anymore; Montague was realizing that the entire operation was falling apart, and he was still trapped with no leverage.
"We're wrapping this up, Major," Jack continued, leaning back in his chair with a small, satisfied smile. "And time is running out for you. So that deal you're waiting for?" He let the question hang in the air for a moment. "It's not coming."
Montague's face paled slightly. Jack could tell he was running through the possibilities in his mind, calculating his next move. The silence stretched on, heavy with tension.
"You're going to face the full discipline of the military for your actions," Jack said firmly, his voice hardening. "Including taking Colonel Carter hostage and threatening her life. I'll make sure of that. In fact, you have my word."
Montague's eyes darkened, but the fight in them was almost gone. Jack knew he had him. But still, he wasn't done yet. There was one last card to play.
"However," Jack added, leaning forward again, his voice soft but menacing, "if you talk—if you give me something useful—maybe, just maybe, I can see to it that your sentence is… sweetened. You won't walk away from this unscathed, Montague, but you might avoid the worst of it."
It was a lie. Jack did not intend to make things easier for Montague after what he had done. But Montague didn't know that. And in this moment, that's all that mattered.
Montague studied Jack for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. He was weighing his options, trying to find a way out. But Jack could see the truth dawning on him—there wasn't one. Not unless he started talking.
Finally, Montague exhaled, a defeated sound, and nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said, his voice low and resigned. "I'll talk."
Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms again.
"Good," he said, his tone neutral. "Start from the beginning."
Montague took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of his situation settled over him. He had been outmaneuvered, and he knew it. Now, he could only hope his cooperation would lessen the inevitable consequences.
He began to speak, recounting the details of his involvement with Davenport, the smuggling operations, and the money laundering. He spoke of his interactions with Julian Clayborne and the hierarchy of the criminal organization that had infiltrated even the highest levels of British intelligence. He provided details on the covert operations he had been part of and the network that connected them all. To prove his good faith, he even made a list of all the objects smuggled from SGC and sold at several auctions by Mr. Gromit and Mr. Wallace. The auction places were always in fancy European properties, rented for the occasion. He wrote them all.
Jack listened intently, mentally cataloging every detail. He wasn't inclined to offer Montague any sympathy, but it was worth hearing if this information could help wrap up the entire operation. He glanced over the list of items, making a mental note to check if the cartoons would corroborate it—item by item. Montague wasn't much help when it came to the buyers of the items, though. That wasn't his area. His job was simply to smuggle them out of SGC and collect the money. The rest was in the hands of the British.
After what felt like hours, Montague finally stopped talking, his eyes dull with exhaustion.
"Ok. I have one final question. What did you do with Colonel Cameron Mitchell? What is his involvement in all of this?"
Montague chuckled.
"When things started to tighten around here, I realized I needed another operative inside," Montague began, his voice steady as he recounted the events. "I sent out the message and got my orders from Clayborne: drug someone from SG-1 with a specific drug that he told me we had in storage. Carter was the primary target, but Mitchell became the fallback since she was in D.C.."
Montague's lips curled into a faint, twisted smile.
"At first, I didn't need him for anything specific, so he just experienced some blackouts—had no idea what was happening to him. But when the need arose, I started sending him detailed instructions. Orders for when I couldn't get my hands on certain artifacts they wanted. He'd unknowingly retrieve them for me, hand them over, and I'd deliver them to Gromit."
He paused, clearly savoring his small victory.
"The beauty of it all was that Mitchell never remembered a thing afterward. That was the brilliance of the drug," Montague finished with a trace of pride still evident in his voice.
Jack studied him for a moment, then stood up from the table. The information that it could be Carter lying in the infirmary bed instead of Cameron Mitchell created havoc in his stomach. He should have killed him on the planet.
"You did the right thing," Jack said, though the words felt hollow. "We'll see what we can do."
With that, Jack turned and left the room, leaving Montague with his thoughts and fading arrogance. Outside, Daniel and Teal'c were waiting. Jack gave them a nod, signaling that the interrogation was over.
"So," Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck as he joined them. "Any thoughts?"
Daniel folded his arms, his expression thoughtful.
"He's desperate, but I believe he's being truthful—at least for the most part. We need to verify everything he's said. Have Danvers and Stroud look into the list and see if it matches. Dig deeper into the buyers and the places. It would be beneficial if we could identify more individuals, Jack. We've only managed to name a few from those we spotted at the auction. Most of them acted on behalf of bigger players, and so far, no one has spoken up. Lawyers, very expensive lawyers, and multiple jurisdictions are involved. It's a legal quagmire. Things would be a lot easier if Mitchell woke up."
Teal'c nodded in agreement.
"Indeed. His fear is genuine. He believes there may still be a way to salvage his situation."
Jack snorted softly.
"Not a chance. Not after what he did to Carter. But at least now we have what we need. Let's get this wrapped up. Show the list to the cartoons, and let's hear what they say about it. Tell them we need names, or we must reconsider the offer of a deal. That would make them think twice before answering."
With that, they left Montague to face whatever justice awaited him, knowing that while they had closed one chapter, there were still many more ahead.
Jack walked briskly to his office, the long day of interrogations weighing on him. Closing the door behind him, he dropped heavily into his chair, letting out a deep sigh before reaching for the phone on his desk. It was time to update the President—something he wasn't looking forward to, but duty called.
He dialed the direct line to President Hayes and waited. After a few rings, the familiar voice of the Commander-in-Chief came through.
"Jack," President Hayes greeted him. "What've you got for me?"
"Mr. President," Jack began, straightening up in his chair. "I've got a full report for you, and it's a doozy."
Jack launched into a detailed rundown of the day's events, starting with the handover of Sir Charles Davenport to the British delegation. He recounted the tense meeting with Sir Michael Langford, the SAS escorts, and Davenport's less-than-graceful exit from the SGC. Jack could almost feel Hayes smirking on the other end of the line when he mentioned Davenport's threats and how rattled the once-powerful MI6 head had been.
"Good to see him squirm a bit, eh?" Hayes commented dryly.
"Yeah, well, the guy had it coming," Jack replied, his voice laced with satisfaction.
Then Jack moved on to the day's interrogations. He walked Hayes through his sessions with Philip Danvers and David Stroud, highlighting how they had finally cracked and revealed Julian Clayborne as the man responsible for the attack on Colonel Carter and the subsequent threats she had received. He provided physical descriptions, locations, and operational details as best as Danvers and Stroud had given. Jack could tell that Hayes was pleased with how things were progressing, especially when Jack described how Montague had finally come clean after Jack had applied some strategic pressure.
By the time Jack finished his account, he could hear the President's voice expressing satisfaction.
"Sounds like you've done some good work cleaning this mess up, Jack. I'm impressed."
Jack leaned back in his chair, relieved to have the President's approval.
"Thank you, Sir. It was teamwork, and we've still got a few loose ends to tie up, but for the most part, the situation is under control."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Hayes asked, "When do you plan to return to D.C.? Seems like the bulk of this is wrapped up."
Jack hesitated momentarily, his mind racing with the personal question he needed to ask. This might be his only shot to bring it up.
"Actually, Mr. President," Jack began carefully, "I was hoping we could have a private conversation when I return to D.C. There are… a few things I'd like to discuss."
Hayes' tone shifted, laced with intrigue.
"Private conversation, eh? Now you've got me curious, Jack. But sure, I can make time for that. When do you think you'll be back?"
Jack relaxed a little, relieved that Hayes hadn't pressed for details.
"As soon as I check in with General Landry and ensure everything's buttoned up here, I'll head out. Probably tomorrow morning."
"Good," Hayes said. "Call my secretary when you arrive."
"Thank you, Mr. President," Jack replied.
"One more thing, Jack," Hayes added. "How's Colonel Carter doing? I've been reading over her reports on the investigation, and I have to say, as usual, I'm impressed with her work. She's been doing a stellar investigation, I'll say. Above and beyond duty, if you catch my meaning."
Jack's heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly felt nervous. What was the President implying? That he wasn't doing his job?
"She's at the SGC right now, Sir," Jack said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Still working on the investigation, connecting the dots, as you requested."
Hayes' tone was decisive.
"I'd like her to return to D.C. as well. I want to speak to her personally about this investigation. She's done remarkable work, and I want her insight firsthand. We have much to talk about."
Jack swallowed hard. His mind raced, and he could feel the sweat gathering at the back of his neck. The idea of Carter being called to the White House about the investigation made him uneasy for reasons he didn't fully understand. She was working by direct orders of the President, so this should be normal, right?
"Of course, Mr. President," Jack said, doing his best to keep his cool. "I'll pass that along to Colonel Carter."
"Great," Hayes replied, his voice bright. "I'll be expecting you both. And Jack, don't worry too much about that private conversation. We'll get it sorted out."
With that, Hayes hung up the phone, leaving Jack staring at the receiver in his hand. He placed it back on the cradle and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. He had hoped for a smoother return to Washington, D.C., but now things were getting more complicated.
A private meeting with the President was one thing. Having Sam involved was another. The two of them couldn't meet at the same time. He needed time alone with the President.
Jack took a moment to collect himself before standing up. He still needed to contact Hank and inform Carter about the President's request. As much as he didn't like it, he couldn't avoid it. It was time to let her know she was also being summoned back to D.C.
With a resigned sigh, he headed out of his office, wondering how complicated things would get once they were both back in Washington. And what was all that about Carter's work being 'above and beyond duty'?
