Passages of Time
By Elaine Stouse - Elaine.Stouse@Virgin.Net 

RATING: PG-13

CATEGORY: Action/Drama 

SPOILERS: Minor ones for Children of the Gods, Cold Lazarus, 
Singularity, Within The Serpent's Grasp, Thor's Chariot, A Matter of 
Time 

TIME FRAME: Set in Season 2 

SUMMARY: When an international conspiracy against the Stargate program 
leads to a cry for help from Daniel, Colonel O'Neill goes against orders 
in a bid to save him, finding himself plunged into a nightmare captivity 
in the heart of Egypt. Unable to trust anyone but themselves, Daniel and 
Doctor Fraiser must race against time to find him, whilst Jack is forced 
to relive his tormented past, threatening his sanity, his survival and 
the future of the entire SGC. 

DISCLAIMER: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of 
Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret 
Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment 
purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is 
intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the 
property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without 
the consent of the author. 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one's for the RDADs. With special thanks to KD, who 
pushed me and O'Neill to our limits, provided so much inspiration and 
corrected my typically British phrasing. (Not to mention spotting my 
deliberate mistakes and turning a short fanfic into a very long one!) 
And to Mac1 for offering to look after Jack whilst I was at work and 
then insisting he spend a lot more time in recovery!


                         *******************

Passages of Time - Part One:

"You have new mail!" Samantha Carter's computer screen displayed, her 
mail manager downloading several items before disconnecting the modem 
and hanging up the call. The Captain smiled to herself, she loved 
receiving new post and the regular nightly messages from Daniel Jackson 
were fascinating reading. She clicked open the inbasket and scanned down 
the new arrivals, scowling slightly when she couldn't see his e-mail 
address listed among the various items of junk and mailing list updates.

This was the first night Daniel had missed since his arrival in Luxor 
six days earlier, his initial notes being full of the excitement of a 
new discovery. Doctor Jackson's attendance in Upper Egypt had been 
specifically requested by one Roger Blackwood, an eminent British 
archaeologist, following the surprise uncovering of a new tomb, hidden 
for thousands of years until the simplest act of nature. A violent 
sandstorm had ravaged the area for several days, eventually revealing 
the secret entrance.

The writings at the mouth of the tunnel leading to the burial chamber 
were unusual to say the least. A few blurred photos were enough to pique 
Daniel's interest and get him flying into the General's office, begging 
to be temporarily released from his duties at the SGC. They displayed an 
idiomatic combination of Ancient Egyptian and cuneiform that the learned 
historians at the Cairo University had been unable to decipher, so they 
had called for Doctor Jackson's help, along with a formal request backed 
by the Pentagon, leaving General Hammond little choice except to bid 
Daniel a safe journey.

After arriving at the offices of Roger Blackwood in the Cairo Museum, 
they had travelled into Upper Egypt together, to the dig site on the 
west bank of the Nile, near Luxor. The newly discovered tomb, hidden 
high above the Valley of the Kings, was situated a few feet below the 
pyramidal outcrop that towered over the river delta like some vast 
omnipotent force.

Soon after, Daniel had e-mailed some encrypted digital stills back to 
Captain Carter, revealing a large cartouche. There appeared to be 
pictograms of the gods Ra and Sokar embroiled in a fight to the death 
with a third unidentified being who was apparently entombed in this 
burial chamber. The photos had certainly heightened Sam's interest and 
she was eagerly awaiting the next instalment.

Disappointed, Samantha Carter decided that Daniel had probably got too 
busy to catch up with his e-mail today, perhaps he would have time to 
send something tomorrow. She switched off the computer and stretched 
tiredly before rising from the chair and heading to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later there was still no word from Daniel, no response to e-
mails, nor the messages Sam had left at the reception desk of his hotel. 
Finally, the Captain became sufficiently worried to speak to her 
commanding officer.

"You know what Daniel's like, Carter. He's probably so engrossed in his 
rocks he doesn't even know what day it is!" Colonel Jack O'Neill made 
light of her concerns with a reassuring smile, convincing enough to 
illicit a more relaxed response.

"I guess you're right, Sir. I'm sure we'll hear from him in the next day 
or so," the blonde woman nodded, turning to leave the Colonel's office. 
Closing the door quietly behind her, she didn't see the deep frown that 
replaced his unconcerned facade.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, Colonel O'Neill and Doctor Jackson 
had been having regular telephone conversations themselves, every night 
since his arrival in Cairo. O'Neill had made the younger man promise not 
to mention it to Carter, he didn't want to be accused of acting like a 
mother hen over the team, but their last call had been four days ago and 
repeated messages to Doctor Jackson's hotel and the Cairo Museum had 
turned up nothing.

"C'mon Daniel, where are you?" Jack murmured to himself, even more 
worried than before, now that he knew Sam had not heard anything from 
the Egyptologist either.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was late by the time O'Neill pulled his mud splashed Cherokee Jeep 
into his gravel driveway the following night. It was the first chance 
he'd had to leave the base for several days since General Hammond had 
suddenly been called to Washington DC, leaving him in charge. Now the 
commander of the SGC was back and Jack had a whole weekend off.

The sight of home was usually a welcome one, but this time it was met 
with a strong sense of foreboding, which Jack knew was directly related 
to the continued absence of communication from Daniel. Letting himself 
in through the side door, he dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter, 
grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and popped the bottle top off, 
taking a few thirsty gulps as he made his way down the dark hallway into 
the den.

Reaching to turn on a small table lamp, Jack noticed the red light on 
his answering machine flashing. He pressed the play button, hearing the 
tape rewind as he slumped exhaustedly onto the worn, comfortable sofa. 
Downing more beer before placing the bottle on the floor, he loosened 
his boots to kick them off and stretched out his long legs to perch his 
feet on the coffee table. 

Jack rubbed his face with his palms tiredly, listening for the first 
message. It was three days old, from Cassandra, Doctor Fraiser's adopted 
daughter, warning Jack that she hadn't forgotten his promise to take her 
to a hockey game this weekend, whilst her Mom had to work. O'Neill 
smiled at the sound of her voice, she was such a great kid, he got a 
real kick out of showing her how American kids 

enjoyed themselves and it certainly never felt like babysitting. It was 
always a pleasure to hear her laughter and see that look on her face 
when she debated whether he was telling the truth or simply teasing her 
again. Yeah, a day with Cassie could be just what the doctor ordered, 
Jack thought to himself as the machine beeped and began to play the 
second message.

"Jack!" The sound of Daniel's frightened whisper next to his ear 
startled O'Neill. He sat up abruptly, shifting his feet back to the 
floor and knocking over the half full beer bottle, oblivious to its 
contents spilling onto the polished hardwood, as the voice continued 
anxiously, "I know you're going to say I'm just imagining it, but I 
think I'm being followed." 

Daniel paused as if for effect, but suddenly Jack could picture him 
checking over his shoulder for any sign of eavesdroppers, before 
continuing his panicky message, "I'm telling you, Jack, there's 
something really weird going on here, there's more to this than just a 
new tomb discovery." Another nervous breath, "Look, I'm getting out of 
Luxor tonight, I don't think it's safe here, I'll contact you tomorrow 
when I know where I am." With that he hung up, the loud click of the 
receiver being replaced and the monotonous tone of the disconnected line 
only serving to compound the growing fear in the pit of Jack's stomach.

He stared at the machine, unaware that he was holding his breath, 
waiting for the last message to play, waiting to hear whether Daniel 
Jackson had managed to find a safe haven. But the final recording on the 
tape was dead air, something not important enough to warrant leaving a 
message, probably someone trying to sell him something, after all, that 
was why he'd bought the answering machine in the first place. As the 
closing beep sounded with a dreadful finality, Jack felt sick with 
worry, Daniel's message was three days old and there was no sign of his 
promised follow up call. Something was seriously wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shortly before dawn, Colonel O'Neill arrived back at Cheyenne Mountain, 
out of uniform and unshaven. He had been up all night, calling hotels 
and hospitals throughout Egypt, trying to establish Daniel Jackson's 
whereabouts, knowing his attempts would be futile as much as he knew he 
had to try anyway. Now he was none the wiser for a sleepless night of 
frustration and anxiety.

Jack waited impatiently to see General Hammond, forcing himself to sit 
calmly in the mess hall. Sipping a cup of strong black coffee as he 
watched the hands of the big wall clock slowly tick around to 0730 
hours, when he knew the General, a creature of firm habit, would arrive 
in his office, ready to face whatever the day would bring, blissfully 
unaware of what was about to hit him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Even after Jack had played the tape to him a third time, General Hammond 
was still adamant about his decision, "No, I'm sorry, Colonel. No matter 
what it sounds like, I believe Doctor Jackson can take care of himself 
on this one for a change. I can't afford to have you or any other member 
of the SGC chasing halfway across the world to rescue a man who probably 
isn't even lost!"

O'Neill stared at him incredulously, "But you haven't given us a new 
mission in ten days! With all due respect, Sir, I think we can be 
spared."

"On the contrary, Colonel," Hammond said coldly, "That meeting I've just 
come back from has landed us with a lot of extra work. We're all going 
to be extremely busy over the next few weeks and with Teal'c still off 
planet, you and Captain Carter will have to take up the slack."

"But, Sir, Daniel is.......," Jack's protest landed on deaf ears as the 
General cut him short.

"Daniel Jackson is experienced enough to look after himself. Egypt is 
like a second home to him, I'm sure he'll be fine," Hammond tried to 
reassure his subordinate. "Now, I suggest you go home and get some rest, 
I want you here bright and early Monday morning to help sort out all 
these new assessment requirements the Pentagon has given us." He held up 
his hand to cut off any further argument, "Dismissed, Colonel!" With 
that he lifted the first report from his inbox and immersed himself in 
its contents, ignoring O'Neill's continued presence.

Jack stared at him for a long moment, his dark brown eyes filled with 
hurt and nagging doubts. How could Hammond not believe Daniel was in 
trouble? How could he refuse to let Jack go to his aid? Why was he 
suddenly so unsupportive? O'Neill was at a loss, instead he retrieved 
his tape from Hammond's dictaphone and stalked angrily from the room.

Heading straight for his own office, Jack closed the door behind him and 
sat at his desk. Unlocking the drawers, he opened each one in turn and 
rummaged with growing irritation. In the very last one, buried at the 
back under various dead files, he finally found his own seldom used 
dictaphone, pulling it out and pushing it into the pocket of his leather 
jacket.

He was about to shut the drawer again when he stopped short, his gaze 
falling on a presentation box lying near the front atop the files. He 
ran his hand over it thoughtfully for a moment, eventually lifting it 
out and opening the tight lid. Fixed on the velvet liner within was his 
recently awarded medal of honour, given for his part in the destruction 
of Apophis' ships several months before. 

Jack stared at it for awhile, then he closed the lid with a snap and 
shoved it back into the bottom drawer, his decision made. Reaching his 
hands to his neck, he fingered the chain of his dogtags and lifted them 
over his head, feeling suddenly naked by their absence, but he could not 
in all conscience leave the base with them on, knowing what he was about 
to do. 

Opening the top drawer of his desk, he dropped the ID tags in on top of 
a pile of paperclips, slowly lowering the chain in a snaking pattern 
beside the imprinted metal. With a deep breath, Jack pushed the drawer 
closed and locked his desk, before leaving his office and heading 
towards the elevator with a determined stride.

By the time he had reached his car, Jack knew exactly what he had to do, 
driving home to hurriedly pack a bag and book a flight. On his way to 
the airport he detoured via Janet Fraiser's house, knowing he owed one 
little girl a proper explanation.

"Jack!" Cassie came running up the drive as soon as he pulled his Jeep 
in, jumping up and wrapping her arms around his neck before he barely 
had a chance to get out of the car.

"Hey, sweetheart! How ya doin'?" He smiled, grabbing her waist to spin 
her around in the open space of the front yard, the sound of her 
laughter expelling some of the pent up tension building inside him.

When her feet were firmly back on the ground, she turned around to slam 
his car door, yanking him by the hand to lead him into the house. She 
stopped short when she saw the holdall on the front passenger seat. 
"You're going away!" The young girl turned to him disappointedly.

Jack shrugged wearily, "I have to Cass, I have no choice. I'll only be 
gone a few days, I promise. I'll make it up to you next weekend. Okay?"

Cassandra stared at him, pondering his words with mock seriousness, one 
hand on her hip, "Okay," she agreed reluctantly, adding with a cheerful 
smile, "but I get to choose what we do!"

"Er, maybe that's not such a good idea.......," Jack grinned when he saw 
her accusing glare, "Okay, okay, you win! We'll do whatever you want. 
Just remember, I'm already going grey, I don't want it to get any worse! 
Come on," he pulled her towards the front door, "I need to talk to 
Janet."

Ten minutes later, Jack and his favourite SGC doctor were sitting in the 
lounge, silently sipping coffee. Having listened to Jack's vague 
explanations that he wouldn't be able to look after Cassie because he 
had to go out of town, Janet had tactfully despatched the girl to the 
back garden to check on her pet rabbit, currently suffering an ingrown 
tooth.

"Okay, Jack. Cassie's out of the way. Now what on earth is going on? 
What are you hiding?" Janet came straight to the point, her curiosity 
piqued by his sombre mood.

"I can't say. I don't want Hammond accusing you of being an accomplice," 
Jack squirmed uncomfortably. He wouldn't lie to his friend, but he also 
did not want to get her involved in his mess.

"Come on, Jack, you know I can take care of the General any day. Tell me 
what's wrong," Janet said insistently, studying his brown eyes, "Is it 
something to do with Daniel?" She added, recalling a conversation she'd 
had the previous day with Samantha Carter, who was worried about the 
loss of contact with her team mate.

Jack regarded the woman for a long moment, she always could read him 
like a book and he knew that, once she set her mind on something, he 
would never get out of the door without telling her the truth. Maybe it 
would help to talk to her about it, a quick sanity check on the illegal 
action he was about to commit. 

Reluctantly, he pulled the dictaphone that he'd borrowed from his office 
desk out of his pocket, "I found this on my answering machine last 
night. It's from Tuesday. Listen," he pressed the play button and felt 
his stomach tighten again at the sound of the now familiar frightened 
words of Doctor Jackson.

When the tape finished, Janet looked about as worried as he felt, "And 
you haven't heard from him since?"

"No. Neither has Sam," Jack grimaced. "Hammond won't let us go after 
him. He's adamant."

"Why?" She asked incredulously.

Jack shook his head, "I don't know. He gave me some excuse about having 
too much work to do and said Daniel could look after himself. I don't 
understand it.......," Jack trailed off and Janet could see the hurt and 
betrayal darkening his eyes at the uncharacteristic lack of support from 
the General.

"What are you going to do?" She asked softly, knowing the answer even 
before the look of guilt flashed across his face. He was going after 
Daniel, against Hammond's orders, that much was clear, even though he 
would not admit it, he would not implicate her in his actions. Janet 
nodded in understanding, "What about Sam?"

"I haven't told her. I don't want Carter jeopardising her career as 
well. By the time she finds out she'll be back on base. Hopefully it'll 
be too late for her to do anything foolish." Jack frowned, reluctant to 
involve the doctor, but faced with no other choice, Carter did have a 
right to know about Daniel, "Can you talk to her on Monday?"

"It's okay, Jack. I'll explain everything to her, don't worry. Just find 
Daniel and bring him back safe." She squeezed his arm gently, "Look 
after yourself too, Colonel."

"Soon to be 'ex-Colonel' if this doesn't work out okay," Jack tried to 
make light of his predicament, but he couldn't quite pull off the smile. 
He shrugged wearily, "I'm really sorry to leave you in the lurch today."

"It's not a problem! Cassie can go and stay with a friend tonight while 
I'm at work, it's no big deal," Janet assured him, "And she knows you 
wouldn't let her down unless it was really important."

"Thanks Janet." Jack put his coffee mug down on the table, "I'd better 
go and say goodbye to her." He stood up and headed out into the back 
garden, down to the shed where Cassandra was tending to her growing 
menagerie.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Colonel desperately needed to sleep on the long flight, but instead 
found himself staring aimlessly at the white clouds drifting past the 
plane, trying to decide where to start looking for his missing team 
member. The image of Hammond's uncaring expression kept coming back to 
him and he couldn't figure it out. What could possibly have gone on in 
Washington that would bring about such a dramatic change in his 
attitude? O'Neill shook his head, trying to forget about it, that was in 
the past, now he needed to concentrate on what was ahead.

By the time his flight touched down at Luxor Airport it was early on 
Sunday morning. The air was already hot and dry. Jack had heard that May 
was a good time to visit the country, the weather wouldn't be too 
unbearable yet, however, as the aircraft captain cheerfully explained 
over the PA system, they were in the midst of a heatwave and the 
temperature was likely to reach the mid forties by lunch time. 

Declaring the nature of his visit to be tourism, Jack was convincing 
enough to be given a visa and pass through immigration uneventfully, 
glad he had kept his holdall in the overhead compartment as he pushed 
between crowds of floundering new arrivals fighting to get their luggage 
off the belt.

Checking into the same hotel where Daniel had been staying on the 
eastern bank of the Nile, Jack immediately contacted the Cairo Museum to 
establish the whereabouts of Roger Blackwood, the archaeologist who had 
asked for Daniel's help with their discovery. It turned out he was also 
staying at that hotel and, although he was out of touch at the dig site 
during the day, he would return at dusk, O'Neill would be able to 
contact him then.

In the meantime, Jack decided to do a bit of digging of his own, heading 
two flights up to check out the top floor room that Daniel Jackson had 
been allocated. A lock picking talent that went back to his misspent 
youth quickly got him past the poorly secured door. He was shocked to 
find the room still contained most of Daniel's belongings, evident by 
the number of Egyptology books lying on the dresser and the luggage tag 
on his battered suitcase. He must have left the city in a hurry if he 
hadn't even stopped to grab his gear. 

Jack was even more surprised when he opened the closet to find a padded 
satchel containing Daniel's laptop and mini camcorder. The fact that he 
hadn't even returned to collect those precious items confirmed how 
desperate his rapid departure had been.

Three hours later, the Colonel returned to his own room, carrying the 
computer bag with him. He was none the wiser for his search and even 
more worried. He had spoken with the hotel reception and found that as 
far as they were concerned, Doctor Jackson was booked in for another 
week and was probably just too busy to collect the stack of messages 
that was piling up in his mail dip. Since his bill was being charged to 
a US Government issue credit card, the longer he stayed, the better for 
them.

With a pounding climate headache to go with his jet lag, Jack slumped 
resignedly onto the bed, rubbing his face wearily. He looked at his 
watch, trying to work out what time his body thought it really was, but 
in the end he simply set the alarm to go off at six that evening and 
closed his eyes. The last thing he remembered was wondering whether he 
would ever be able to get to sleep or not.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, I understand you and Doctor Jackson met during a trip to Abydos a 
few years ago?"

A glass of chilled mineral water to his lips, Jack choked reflexively at 
that simple statement from Doctor Roger Blackwood, spluttering the clear 
liquid down the front of his black t-shirt. Mopping his chin with a 
napkin, the Colonel stared speechlessly at the eminent British 
archaeologist, but fortunately, the man was too engrossed in his meal to 
notice O'Neill's look of astonishment.

"Of course, as you know, it's not all that far from here," the plump, 
dark haired gentleman in his fifties continued, glancing up from his 
dinner plate. He realised the American sitting opposite wasn't quite 
following, "The Temple of Seti the First, I mean, the site at Abydos. 
It's only a few hours north of Luxor." He frowned slightly as Jack's 
face melted into a picture of relief.

"Oh! Yes, of course, the temple at Abydos! I'm sorry, it must be the jet 
lag!" O'Neill grabbed his beer bottle and gulped rapidly, trying to calm 
his nerves. He should have known that Daniel wouldn't give away 
something like that, but sometimes he just never knew what the man was 
capable of.

The burly Englishman examined him carefully, noting the close cropped 
greying hair and obvious athletic physique, the American didn't look 
like any scholar the archaeologist had ever come across. "So, what do 
you do for a living Mr O'Neill?"

"Me? I work for the US government. You know the usual pencil pushing, 
dot the I's and cross the T's sort of thing." Jack gave him that 
ingenuous smile he usually reserved for politicians and three star 
Generals.

"What brought you to Abydos originally?" The doctor continued the polite 
small talk as he shovelled another fork full of food into his mouth.

"Tourism!" Jack smirked to himself at that idea, lowering his eyes to 
the half eaten meal in front of him and pushing some unidentifiable half 
cooked vegetable around the plate.

"Really," the archaeologist murmured dubiously, "Well, Doctor Jackson 
certainly thinks highly of you, he mentioned you frequently when we 
dined together each evening. I got the impression he looks up to you 
like a brother."

This time Jack managed to avoid splashing water all down himself, but he 
was still surprised by Doctor Blackwood's comment. He shook his head in 
amazement and decided to get to the point of his dinner invitation. 
"Doctor Jackson is a very close friend, that's why I came out to see 
him, but I seem to be having trouble getting in touch with him."

"Yes, Daniel headed back up to Cairo last week. He said something about 
doing some research in the Museum library." The Englishman carefully 
placed his knife and fork side by side on his now empty plate and wiped 
his mouth with his napkin before folding it neatly and laying it on the 
table.

Jack casually matched the older man's ritual before asking, "Have you 
heard from him since?"

"Not directly no, but your Embassy in Cairo told me he'd been called 
home suddenly and that he hoped to return in a week or so. That's why I 
was surprised to receive your call," he frowned slightly, "I thought he 
would have been in touch with you."

"No, I haven't spoken to him in almost a week," Jack tried to hide the 
concern from his voice. "Do you have the name of the person at the 
Embassy? Maybe I should check with him before I go back to the States."

"Yes, of course. It was Philip Marshall, he's the new Assistant to the 
US Ambassador. In fact, he was the one who recommended we ask for Doctor 
Jackson's involvement in the first place," Blackwood admitted, 
signalling the waiter to bring a dessert menu.

Jack stared at him in surprise, "I thought the request came from you and 
the Cairo Museum."

"It did, but the idea was Mr Marshall's. He had found out about the 
discovery from the British Embassy. I guess they all talk to each other 
nowadays," the archaeologist shrugged his broad shoulders. "Anyway, he 
said that Doctor Jackson had been specialising in this field for the 
last two years, so he would be a valuable asset in translating such 
unusual ideograms. It was also Philip who ensured that our request got 
backing from the Pentagon."

The Colonel absorbed this information with a growing sense of unease. He 
disliked coincidences at the best of times and these were overstretching 
the realms of plausibility. I guess I'm going to be taking a trip to 
Cairo, Jack thought to himself as he settled back resignedly to listen 
to the archaeologist describe the significance of his latest findings, 
imagining just how at home Daniel must have felt in this country, being 
able to actually have an intellectual discussion about his favourite 
"rocks" for a change.

At the earliest polite opportunity, Jack signed for the restaurant bill 
and excused himself to head back to his room, not needing to fake 
exhaustion as the reason. Before turning in, he contacted the reception 
desk to enquire about a trip to Cairo in the morning, finding there were 
regular flights throughout the day. "Or, Sir could take a more leisurely 
train journey if preferred, with wonderful views of the Nile delta along 
the route. All first class carriages with air conditioning, of course!" 

He thanked the overly helpful clerk and arranged an early alarm call 
before replacing the handset and checking the doorlock was fastened. As 
an afterthought, Jack jammed the room's only chair under the door 
handle, to block any attempt at forced entry, drifting off to sleep 
wondering whether he was just being cautious or paranoid.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

That Monday morning, Janet had only been on base forty minutes, before 
the dreaded call came to attend General Hammond's office. When she 
arrived, Captain Carter was already waiting patiently, standing to 
attention in front of his desk.

"Come in, Doctor Fraiser," Hammond signalled without so much as a 'Good 
morning'. "I want to know whether either of you saw Colonel O'Neill over 
the weekend!" He looked from one face to the other, his pale blue gaze 
boring into them as if he could detect a lie at thirty paces. And he 
probably could, Janet thought to herself grimly, he didn't get to be a 
General by having the wool pulled over his eyes.

"No, Sir." Sam Carter responded first, a look of blank puzzlement on her 
face.

Janet took a deep breath, "I did, Sir. He came to see Cassie on Saturday 
morning," she admitted reluctantly, choosing her words carefully.

"Did he tell you what his plans were?" Hammond demanded.

"Plans for what, Sir?" The doctor replied guilelessly.

The General placed his hands firmly on the desk and leaned towards her, 
his anger clearly bubbling just beneath the surface as he spoke slowly 
and deliberately, "Did Colonel O'Neill give you any indication that he 
would not be reporting for duty here this morning?"

Janet met his stare fearlessly, belying the nervous butterflies in her 
stomach, "Well, Sir, Cassie did see a holdall in the Colonel's car, but 
apart from that.........," she shrugged, "He just said he would have to 
postpone their hockey game that afternoon," she finished with the 
sweetest, 'I'm only a woman, what would I know' smile she could muster.

Hammond stared at her for a long moment until it dawned on him that the 
normally curious doctor hadn't asked why he wanted to know. "I take it 
Colonel O'Neill played you the tape!" Janet flushed guiltily, proving 
his assumptions correct.

"What tape?" Carter asked, slowly realising that something was going on 
here that she didn't have any inkling about.

Before the General could open his mouth, Janet interjected, "Daniel left 
a message on Jack's answering machine last Tuesday. He said someone was 
following him. The Colonel hasn't heard from him since."

"Then we've got to go over there and look for him.......," Sam trailed 
off as she stared between the doctor's look of discomfort and the storm 
brewing on Hammond's face, the truth slowly dawning, "That's where 
Colonel O'Neill is?" Janet shrugged silently. 

"It certainly looks that way!" The General snapped.

"Then, permission to join him, Sir?" Sam requested innocently, still not 
getting the whole picture.

"Denied, Captain!" Hammond reacted angrily, "I cannot have SG1 running 
off on some wild goose chase halfway around the world simply because 
Doctor Jackson has an overactive imagination."

"But, Sir!" Sam protested.

"Captain Carter!" Hammond was practically yelling now, his face flushing 
red with anger, "I told Colonel O'Neill the same thing and he has now 
gone AWOL. In order to save me having to process two court martials in 
the same week, I will instead revoke your passport, so don't even 
attempt to leave the country. Now both of you, get out of my sight. 
DISMISSED!"

Carter stood there gaping at him, until Janet grabbed her arm and pushed 
her out the door, leading her along the hall and into an elevator before 
she regained the ability to speak. "What the hell was that all about?"

Janet shook her head, pursing her lips and pointing to the security 
camera in the top corner of the elevator car. "Let's go and get some 
fresh air, shall we?" She asked, feeling the weight of Jack's 
dictaphone, still containing the tape, practically burning a whole in 
the pocket of her white lab coat.

~~~~~~~~~~

"This doesn't make any sense!" Sam had listened to the tape of Daniel's 
last message twice and heard about Jack's conversation with Janet. "Why 
is the General stopping us from going after him?"

"I don't know and neither did the Colonel," Janet sighed heavily, "But 
it must be something serious if Hammond is prepared to court martial him 
for it."

"But that's ridiculous! He knows that Colonel O'Neill had no choice but 
to go after Daniel. Why court martial him? It will mean the end of the 
Colonel's career and the end of SG1. All Hammond needs to do is give the 
Colonel a few days leave." Carter shook her head, pacing up and down the 
forest clearing a short distance from the base car park, where they had 
come to distance themselves from prying eyes and ears. "It just doesn't 
make sense.......," she repeated miserably. Finally, she stopped and 
looked across at her friend, "So what do we do?"

Janet shrugged, "For now all we can do is keep trying to contact Daniel. 
And stay out of the General's way," she said soberly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Checking into the highrise city centre Sheraton Hotel, just across the 
river from the Cairo Museum, Jack only stopped long enough to dump his 
gear and Daniel's laptop, before heading out into the sweltering heat of 
the day. The mini camcorder in his hand and a large city street map in 
the back pocket of his beige chinos, he looked for all the world like a 
genuine American tourist. 

The hotel reception had been correct in their statement, it definitely 
was cooler here, nearer the coast, than it had been up at Luxor. The 
temperature was more a steady 38 degrees, several centigrade lower than 
the mid forties of Upper Egypt, much to Jack's relief.

Heading across the busy road bridge, the Colonel stopped occasionally to 
practise with the camcorder, being unused to it himself. He wanted to 
see how effective the zoom was, preferring not to get too close to his 
subject, assuming he could track him down at all. 

Still his first port of call would be the Museum, to check that Daniel 
hadn't been there recently. Secretly, Jack held out hope that his friend 
would be found there, buried in a pile of books and rocks. The 
alternative was too uncomfortable to contemplate, but the cynic in him 
said he would have to face up to it soon enough.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was Tuesday morning when Sam downloaded her personal e-mail onto one 
of the base computers and found an encrypted message from Colonel 
O'Neill. It was brief and to the point and insistent that his request 
for help was on a strictly voluntary basis, he did not want her getting 
into hot water with the General because of him. 

Attached was a grainy digital still of a man stepping from a pristine 
white Ford Maverick, obviously taken at some distance with the use of 
full digital zoom. The man was described as Philip Marshall, an American 
embassy worker. Brown hair, thirtyish, medium height, medium build, in 
fact, a very average looking man, the sort who would blend in anywhere 
and go unnoticed. 

Sam quickly absorbed the few details the Colonel had gathered on the 
subject and the possible connection to Daniel Jackson. Detaching a copy 
of the picture, she started feeding it into all the government databases 
that she could access, trying to find as much information as possible, 
looking for anything that might help.

~~~~~~~~~~

For three days they exchanged e-mails, with Jack's pictures becoming 
more professional and more bold, until Carter couldn't help worrying 
whether he was getting just a bit too near to the subject, concerned 
that sooner or later the Colonel was going to get caught. Sam knew the 
pictures were becoming more daring out of frustration, he had been 
following the man for three days solid and seemed no closer to 
determining the whereabouts of Daniel than when he had started. 

Carter had also come up empty, with nothing more incriminating in Philip 
Marshall's background checks than the fact that he had a rich father who 
had quite possibly helped him obtain his prestigious new job overseas 
with a large donation during the last presidential campaign. In fact, 
his career details were so vague and innocuous that Sam was unable to 
find any reason at all why this man would have access to enough 
information about Doctor Jackson's recent work that would have led to 
his recommendation to obtain Daniel's help with the new dig.

In the meantime, Carter was having increasing difficulty avoiding 
General Hammond and suddenly, on Thursday morning, he appeared in the 
thirteenth floor lab she was hiding out in that day. If Sam had been the 
superstitious sort she would have blamed herself for choosing that 
particular level in the first place.

"Captain, have you heard anything from Colonel O'Neill since he went 
AWOL?" Hammond demanded peremptorily.

Carter jumped at the sound of his voice. Flushing guiltily, she quickly 
flipped the screen to a graphical representation of some time consuming 
planetary assessments she was supposed to be carrying out on his orders. 
"General! I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't hear you come in." She paused, 
playing for time as she tried to come up with a suitable response to his 
question, "I haven't spoken with Colonel O'Neill since last week, Sir."

Hammond eyed her dubiously, "And what about other methods of 
communication, Captain?"

"Well, yes, Sir, he has sent a couple of e-mail messages," Sam was 
forced to admit.

"Has he found anything?"

"No Sir, no sign of Daniel yet, Sir." Carter watched him closely, trying 
to read beyond his blank expression. She couldn't tell whether she saw 
relief or worry, or maybe even both. Either way the General wasn't 
acting his normal supportive self and she still didn't understand what 
had happened to change that. It was hard to believe it might have been 
something that Daniel had done, after all, he hadn't been here to do 
anything recently.

"Well, when you contact him again, kindly tell the Colonel that I'll be 
processing his court martial papers on Friday afternoon if he isn't 
back." Carter lowered her head towards her computer screen and scowled 
deeply. "Oh, and Captain? If I find you've been doing anything to aid 
Colonel O'Neill in his ill conceived endeavours, I will have no choice 
but to put you up on charges of aiding a fugitive. Understand?"

"Perfectly, Sir," Sam didn't bother to turn around, instead making a 
show of inputting more data into the file Hammond had ordered her to 
compile, waiting tensely for him to leave the room again, before she let 
her shoulders slump miserably. 

With a heavy sigh, Carter flipped her screen back to the e-mail she had 
been typing to Colonel O'Neill and added a brief, bitter note on the 
bottom, "BTW, Hammond's posting your court martial papers tomorrow. 
Don't suppose you know what the penalty is for tampering with the mail?" 
With that, she sent the message and went back to see what else she could 
dig up, praying that sooner or later their joint efforts would turn up 
something before they both got thrown out of the Air Force. All the 
while, she wondered what on earth could have happened to their team 
mate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel Jackson had been hanging around Karnak Temple for six days now, 
occasionally playing tour guide and finding safety in numbers. He was 
extremely relieved to see the increasing crowds of tourists that were 
slowly returning to the region following the terrorist troubles that had 
all but destroyed the livelihood of his favourite terrestrial people a 
couple of years before.

The temple was once again a bustling place to be from dawn until dusk. 
Discreetly populated by the Tourist and Antiquities Police with their 
crisp white uniforms and gold braid, contrasting with the Kalashnikov 
rifles slung unceremoniously over their shoulders. At nightfall, Daniel 
could easily slip out in the darkness among the throngs of visitors 
attending the popular Son Et Lumiere shows, which ran daily in several 
different languages.

He knew the sprawling temple grounds like the back of his hand and could 
continue to hide out there for days if necessary, until it finally felt 
safe enough for him to again try to leave the country. Initially he had 
headed up to Cairo by train, travelling in the heavily crowded carriages 
with the general populace, hoping he could catch the first flight out 
from the busy international airport. But he had found the terminal 
already being watched, remaining that way throughout the entire two days 
he had risked waiting around before heading back into the city.

Wandering aimlessly around the streets of the densely packed Khan el-
Khalili bazaar, his manner of dress ensured he was not bothered by the 
street hawkers who mistook him for a local dweller in his long 
traditional robes. A grubby scarf was wrapped around his brown hair like 
a turban and several days of beard growth obscured his tanned features.

Daniel had eventually concluded that the place it was least expected for 
him to go was Luxor, a reluctant decision considering the feelings of 
paranoid terror the shadows of that small city now provoked. He recalled 
the growing sense of being watched that had gradually crept over him 
within a few days of arriving at the dig in the Valley of the Kings. A 
feeling of being followed which he had initially dismissed until a 
combination of coincidences had made him reconsider.

At first he had noticed the odd strange occurrence, items in his room he 
assumed the housekeeper must have moved, the pocket on a pair of khakis 
in his wardrobe that had been turned inside out, until he had found 
positive proof in a smudged fingerprint on the latest written page of 
his journal. It was a clear thumb print, too big to be his own, let 
alone belong to the petite housekeeper who always had a smile when she 
cleaned his room each day.

He had stared at that page for a long time, considering its 
implications, imagining the circumstances. A large man, Egyptian 
perhaps, a drop of sweat from his brow as he peered at Daniel's 
illegible scrawl, an accidental smudging of the ink it had dampened. And 
at some point amidst Daniel's contemplations, he had realised he finally 
had something tangible, hard evidence to go with his paranoia, but what 
use would it be?

If this was positive proof, it served to affirm his recent suspicions. 
The hackles rising on the back of his neck with a feeling of being 
watched throughout the last few days, when he travelled across the Nile 
by ferry or wandered past the street hawkers at night, shopping for 
necessities or simply browsing for anything that caught his eye. And on 
the previous evening, he thought he had narrowly given a mugger the slip 
by cutting through a dark alleyway into the rear exit of the hotel, but 
what if it wasn't his wallet the man had been after?

Daniel shivered involuntarily, making the decision there and then to get 
out of Luxor that night and go back to Cairo where he could immerse 
himself in the safe haven of the museum. He had plenty of research he 
could do there and the dig was turning out to be a lot less promising 
than he had originally hoped. The decision made, he left his hotel room 
and strode down the hall towards the elevator.

Two floors down, Daniel knocked on Roger Blackwood's door, entering the 
room at the older man's bidding and joining him on the small veranda as 
the sunset over the Valley of the Kings turned the sky dusky pink, 
gradually darkening through orange into deep blue.

"If it's all right with you, I thought I might go back up to Cairo to do 
some research on the pictograms we've found inside the tunnel so far," 
Daniel explained to the archaeologist.

"Yes, that's not a bad idea, it does look like we'll find little more in 
the way of writings or artefacts now," Blackwood agreed, frowning 
slightly. "Such a shame that the tomb appears to have been robbed so 
thoroughly all those centuries ago. With the mint condition of the 
entrance, I really thought we might have another Tutankhamun on our 
hands."

Daniel shrugged, "I still believe you'll find another tunnel when you 
finish unearthing the inner chamber. Another exit where the tomb robbers 
escaped with the treasure. You may still find something they left 
behind."

"Perhaps," Doctor Roger Blackwood nodded. "So, when will you leave?"

"I thought I might travel up tonight," Daniel suggested. "I'll contact 
you if I find anything."

"Excellent!" The Englishman shook his hand, "Well, have a safe journey, 
Doctor Jackson, and thanks for your help at the site. I do hope you find 
something useful in your research to enable deciphering those 
pictograms."

"So do I," Daniel agreed, "If you do unearth anything else, send me 
details. You have my e-mail address."

"Yes, of course."

Daniel left the hotel room and stood beside the elevator for a long 
moment before he realised both cars were still stationary on the lobby 
level. With a shrug, he turned towards the stairwell and headed up the 
two flights to pack his things before departing on his journey to Cairo.

Pushing open the exit at his own floor, Daniel stopped short, noticing a 
dark shadow moving into the entrance to his room, the wooden door slowly 
closing behind the stealthy figure. Without a second's hesitation, 
Daniel turned and hurried back down the stairs, all the way to the 
basement, ducking out amidst the piles of laundry and maintenance 
trolleys that were strewn along the passage. 

With a sense of urgency, he rummaged in one of the laundry carts and 
pulled out a long gallabiya robe. In another bag he found a white scarf, 
used by the Egyptians, turban style, to protect their heads from the 
sun. Pulling the stolen items on over his American clothing as he went, 
Daniel hurried for the emergency exit, breathing a sigh of relief as he 
burst into the deserted alleyway.

Now as he wandered the temple grounds at Karnak several days later, 
Daniel reflected on that frightened dash through the dark streets of 
Luxor, when he was desperately wondering what anyone would want with 
him, who could be after him. Frantically he had tried to figure out what 
to do and who he might turn to for help. Finally, he had stopped at a 
cafe and used the telephone in the back, charging the call to his visa 
card and waiting with a growing sense of panic for the phone to connect 
through and the other end to be answered.

When Jack had eventually spoken, for a second Daniel thought it was 
actually him, then he recognised the words he had heard a dozen times 
before, an abrupt but friendly "I'm not home, leave a message" taped 
voice. And so Daniel had, watching the crowded room behind him nervously 
as he attempted to explain his suspicions to the Colonel's home 
answering machine.

After just three days in Cairo, it seemed incredible to be returning to 
the city in the shadow of the tomb he had originally come to excavate. 
Still he had hopped on the overnight train back into Upper Egypt, 
heading straight for Karnak Temple upon his arrival in an effort to find 
a big enough crowd to hide in, since Luxor was considerably less 
populated than Cairo.

Two nights in a row he had slipped out and headed for the smaller 
airport at Luxor, but each time he had spotted the now recognisable 
bored looking Egyptian men dressed in their traditional gallabiya robes, 
who displayed far more interest in each passing foreigner than was 
normal for a local. Daniel was positive they were looking for him and 
could only hope they wouldn't recognise him dressed as he was. Still at 
least his trips to the airport had given him a chance to get cleaned up 
in the public washrooms, he was beginning to smell like a camel and it 
wasn't pleasant for him, let alone anyone who got too close. For someone 
who was trying to keep his head down, stinking up public areas was not a 
good way to hide.

Even so, it was frustrating to be within spitting distance of the 
departure lounge and not be able to make it through, but he knew the 
second he attempted to get through passport control, his watchers would 
be alerted immediately. If only he had the money and contacts to get 
some fake papers made up, he could be out of the country in a flash and 
put an end to this insane game he had been forced into. He had got a 
superb exchange rate for his much valued American dollars, but it was 
still not enough to get him out of the country, smuggling and forgery 
were expensive options, even in this poor nation. 

Instead, he was left to flit from one crowd of tourists to the next, 
constantly on the move to avoid any of the suspicious looking local 
characters that his increasing paranoia were quite possibly conjuring up 
out of thin air. Although, Daniel was certain he had seen several of 
them making a move over the last few days. If he hadn't been on his toes 
and known the area equally well, so that he could slip passed them 
before he was trapped, the consequences didn't bear contemplating. If 
only he knew what the hell they wanted with him.

Now he hadn't left the safety of the temple since Tuesday and he was 
growing increasingly jumpy whenever he saw any Egyptian milling around 
without the usual group of tourists. It also worried him that he hadn't 
been able to contact Jack again since his initial panicked phone call. 
By now his commanding officer was probably convinced he had come to a 
sticky end. 

Appreciating the shade beneath the columns stretching either side of the 
obelisk of Tutmose I, Daniel overheard a couple of Italian tourists 
discussing a new Internet Cafe that had opened up in the town centre, 
next to the MacDonald's that had caused such an uproar by its presence 
in the shadow of the ancient Luxor Temple. Storing that gem of 
information, he resolved to sneak out with the next large group of 
tourists and make his way up there. An e-mail message would be as good a 
method of contact as any he could hope for right now.

~~~~~~~~~~

General Hammond was grimly pacing up and down in his office. All of his 
spare people were busily working to complete the Pentagon's new reports 
in time for the next Senate Committee hearing. He had met their specific 
request for non-intervention in the current operation. He had followed 
his orders to the letter. Then why did he feel so guilty? 

He sighed deeply, he had just prepared court martial documents for 
Colonel Jack O'Neill, one of his most valuable people, how else did he 
expect to feel? Hammond shook his head despondently, "This is wrong, 
George, and you know it!" He said to himself.

Coming to a decision, Hammond stopped pacing and sat down behind his 
desk, reaching for the red hotphone resting on the polished surface. 
"Get me the President!" He barked into the receiver as soon as a voice 
responded.

Fifteen minutes of frustration later, the General slammed down the phone 
and slumped back into his padded leather chair. The President was 
unavailable, in some kind of crisis meeting, and would be incommunicado 
for at least the next twenty four hours, so unless it was 'earth 
shattering'.......

Hammond rubbed a hand across his chin nervously, if he couldn't plead 
with the President's sense of loyalty, he would have to find some other 
way to avoid processing those court martial papers. They may have him 
over a barrel as far as Doctor Jackson was concerned, there was nothing 
he could do to help the young man's situation, but he wasn't going to 
see the leader of SG1 go down right along with him.

Hammond lifted a small silver key from his belt and unlocked the top 
drawer of his desk, lifting out an envelope stamped with the official 
Presidential seal. He opened up the orders and read the details again. 
There was only one thing for it, he would have to get in touch with the 
Operational Contact and discuss the situation. If he warned them about 
O'Neill's presence in Egypt, they could take steps to ensure it did 
nothing to hinder the mission, perhaps even revoke his visa and send him 
back to the States. Then, maybe, Hammond could avoid having to court 
martial the Colonel for interfering with an official government 
operation.

Checking his watch, he quickly calculated the time difference, it would 
be late evening over there by now, still he should be able to track him 
down on the emergency line. Lifting the grey standard issue telephone, 
Hammond began to dial the overseas number listed on his papers, drumming 
his fingers on the desk impatiently as he waited for the call to go 
through. "I urgently need to speak with Philip Marshall," he told the 
female switchboard operator who answered.

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday morning found Captain Carter ensconced in Doctor Fraiser's office 
with the door locked behind them and the blinds closed. She impatiently 
downloaded her latest e-mails, rapidly scanning the list, looking for 
Jack's id. Instead she spotted one she had least expected to see. "Oh my 
god!" Sam pointed speechlessly.

Janet followed her finger to the entry on the list, from 
DJ.abydos@aol.com. She turned to Sam, "Is that Daniel's id?"

Carter nodded, hurriedly dragging her mouse around the table and double 
clicking to open the message. It was short, but sweet, "Having a 
wonderful time, wish you were here! My guests are still with me. Please 
pass this greeting on as I don't have everyone's address."

"Is that it! What does it mean?" Janet asked in amazement.

Sam grinned in relief, "Well, for a start, Jack has only just changed 
his ISP, so I guess Daniel couldn't remember his new e-mail address. The 
rest of it is just his way of telling us that he's okay at the moment, 
but he's still being followed and could do with some help. All we have 
to do is figure out a way to get Jack and Daniel together in one place 
without giving the game away to anyone else."

"And we should tell General Hammond that we've heard from Daniel. Maybe 
that will stop him from going ahead with the Colonel's court martial," 
Janet pointed out.

"No!" Carter said emphatically.

Janet stared at her incredulously, "What do you mean 'No'?"

"We should wait until Daniel is safe. Right now I don't trust Hammond. I 
don't think we should tell him anything yet." She gazed at the note from 
Daniel and then back at her friend, "Colonel O'Neill would understand."

"Okay," the doctor agreed dubiously, "But I sure hope you know what 
you're doing."

"So do I," Carter muttered, composing a new message to send to her two 
fellow SG1 members.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nine hours ahead of them, Egyptian time, the heat of the sun was finally 
waning. Jack watched Philip Marshall exit the main door of the American 
Embassy and exchange loud and cheerful Friday evening pleasantries with 
another member of staff. 

From his hiding place in close proximity amidst the dense shrubs 
bordering the Embassy walls, O'Neill could hear everything the younger 
man said. That included the useful fact that he was attending a VIP 
reception at the Pyramids in Giza that evening, for a viewing of the 
Sound and Light show at the site of the Sphinx.

Jack watched the Ambassador's assistant drive away in his clean, white, 
and probably bullet proof, four wheel drive before carefully extricating 
himself from his hiding place. He headed back into the city centre, 
aiming to catch a taxi up to the plateau at Giza. A thirty minute drive 
away in the light traffic of this quiet evening, already halfway through 
the Egyptian weekend.

O'Neill arrived with enough time to grab a fast meal in the local Pizza 
Hut, situated almost opposite the Son Et Lumiere entrance booth. The 
restaurant was another of those strange shared franchises that seemed to 
have sprung up all over Cairo's sprawling city, population sixteen 
million and rising. This particular one shared shop fronts with a 
Kentucky Fried Chicken, although the golden crumbed pieces they were 
serving in cardboard buckets looked like nothing Jack had ever seen 
Colonel Sanders eat. Instead he settled for a nice safe, but meagre, 
cheese and tomato thin 'n' crispy accompanied by a litre bottle of cold 
mineral water to replace some of the dehydration he had suffered lurking 
outside the US Embassy all day.

Less than an hour later, O'Neill had purchased a ticket for that 
evening's English language version of the show and headed along the dark 
tree lined path towards the open ground where the rapidly filling rows 
of chairs were situated in front of the Sphinx. The red glow of a 
spotlight shone on the regal statue where it had crouched patiently for 
millennia, below the crest of Giza plateau and the three vast pyramids, 
the tombs of kings.

Even Jack had to admit that the sight of the Great Pyramids silhouetted 
against the darkening sky was something to behold, but he couldn't help 
recall images of the Abydos pyramid with Ra's ship settled on top. He 
casually wondered whether these structures had anything quite so 
elaborate inside them as the chambers and pillars leading to the 
Stargate in the one on Abydos. Daniel would know, maybe if he ever 
caught up with him, he would remember to ask.

The Colonel took up a discreet position a few rows from the back, where 
he could watch the diplomatic rituals being played out at the front. 
Philip Marshall was greeting a group of complete strangers as if they 
were old friends, shaking hands with exaggerated enthusiasm and kissing 
the cheeks of female members of the party. He settled them all into 
their seats with bare seconds to spare before the spotlights dimmed. 

The laser show began with a disembodied vocal accompaniment, 
reverberating eerily against the massive sandstone pyramids and across 
the open ground surrounding them. O'Neill kept his eye on Marshall 
throughout, watching him across the crowded rows separating them, 
knowing that it would be very easy to lose him after the show with this 
many tourists wandering around in the dark. He would have to be on his 
toes.

An hour later the last laser light petered out and the air fell silent 
for a brief moment. Then the Egyptian guides began to corral the crowd 
back along the dark roads, anxious to clear the stragglers as quickly as 
possible, so that the next attendees might take their seats for the 
repeat showing in Japanese or French or whichever language was next on 
the schedule that night.

In the mad scramble of hurrying tourists, Jack lost sight of his target 
and was beginning to panic when he spotted the man heading away from the 
main throngs, across the open stretch of ground between the Sphinx and 
the rows of ramshackle housing that bordered the area. With a quick 
glance around to ensure noone was watching, O'Neill hurried across the 
empty space to follow Marshall into the narrow passages leading between 
the old mud and brick housing that had grown up over the centuries.

The sudden silence was tangible. The receding noise of the crowds 
muffled by the densely packed buildings, which surrounded him 
claustrophobically. Jack hid in an unlit doorway to watch Philip 
Marshall stop beneath the rare sight of a brightly lit electrical 
porchlight outside one of the tiny homes, greeting the occupants in 
their guttural native tongue. His voice was low and indistinct, but the 
Colonel knew it would have done him no good to hear the words, only 
Daniel could have helped him there.

Fortunately, it appeared to be a simple passing courtesy call. A brief, 
friendly conversation, before the Ambassador's assistant went on his 
way. Avoiding the circle of light surrounding the house, Jack pressed 
himself into the shadows and continued to follow through the maze of 
streets, praying he wouldn't lose the man before they reached the main 
thoroughfare again, or he might never find his way out in the dark.

Seeing Marshall turn another corner, Jack stepped up his pace, eager to 
get him back in view, almost slamming head on into a large heavyset 
Egyptian with a bushy moustache approaching from the opposite direction.

"Excuse me," O'Neill murmured quietly, attempting to duck around the 
moving obstacle. The man shifted sideways to block his path, placing two 
large hands on Jack's chest to stop his forward momentum. With his prey 
rapidly disappearing around the next corner, Jack glanced up in 
surprise, his breath catching in his throat at the look of dark 
malevolence on the face of the stranger.

O'Neill stepped back, quickly recognising the downturn in the situation. 
He turned rapidly to duck down a different dark alleyway, pulling up 
short at the sight of another equally immovable force coming towards him 
from the shadows. Whirling around Jack attempted to head back the way he 
had come, preferring flight to fight given the odds, but his circle 
continued a full 360 degrees as he found himself surrounded by eight 
large figures appearing out of nowhere and closing in menacingly.

Jack swallowed dryly, seeking a way out, and did the only thing he 
could, running for the biggest gap in the encroaching circle. He feinted 
left, away from the lunging arms of the nearest assailant, and barrelled 
into the next one who had stepped across to block his path. O'Neill 
smashed his right fist into the man's solar plexus, as he doubled over 
in pain, Jack grabbed his thick black hair with both hands, yanking the 
Egyptian's head down to meet O'Neill's rising left kneecap, feeling the 
crunching bone of the man's nose from the forceful impact. 

The Colonel rammed the dazed and bleeding heavyweight against the next 
man, knocking both off their feet like nine pins. He turned to head 
through the narrowing gap, but his arms were grabbed from behind, 
dragging him backwards as a dark shadow loomed into view and punched him 
in the stomach with a fist like concrete, forcing all the oxygen from 
his lungs and leaving his head swimming sickeningly.

Winded and gasping for breath, Jack gritted his teeth, trying to focus. 
Summoning his remaining strength, he leaned his weight back onto the man 
holding his arms and lifted both feet to kick out flat booted against 
the chest of the one in front. Taken by surprise, the bulky opponent was 
propelled backwards over the sprawling legs of Jack's first victim to 
join a heap of entangled bodies, all yelling and cursing unintelligibly. 

Momentarily gaining the upper hand, O'Neill tipped forwards suddenly 
and, with all his force, flipped the man still pinning his arms. Caught 
off balance, he went straight over the Colonel's head to land on the 
growing pile, leaving Jack free to turn and run.

But his escape was cut short, the fight over within seconds when the 
remaining four attackers moved in for the kill together. It took two to 
hold Jack's arms, twisting them behind his back painfully until he was 
unable to move without dislocating a shoulder. The other two taking 
turns to use his body for a punching bag, keeping him subdued until 
their leader could extricate himself from the other half of the gang 
still lying on the ground, to rejoin the fray and exact his revenge.

Jack's head lolled forward as he fought to stay conscious, the coppery 
taste of blood in his mouth, his lip split open, jaw aching. An unseen 
man yanked his head back by a handful of his short cropped hair, forcing 
him to face the leader. He gasped for breath raggedly, his chest and 
stomach aflame from repeated pounding by the two Egyptians. 

O'Neill tried to focus his blurring vision, wanting at the very least to 
etch the gang leader's face into memory should he ever get the chance to 
meet him alone on a dark street when the odds would be more evenly 
matched. His double vision narrowed onto a single pair of glaring eyes 
and Jack knew that was one face he would not forget. The evil leer 
caused him to brace himself, knowing instinctively that the worst was 
not yet over.

A gleam of malicious intent stared back, a malevolent smile twisting the 
face beyond human as he barked an order in their native language. To 
Jack's surprise his arms were suddenly released and his legs buckled, no 
longer able to stand unaided. He sank to his knees, thrusting out a hand 
to stop his fall, and felt sheer screaming agony as a heavily booted 
foot slammed down onto his outstretched fingers, grinding nerve against 
bone, before knocking his arm out from beneath him and kicking him 
violently to the ground. The last thing Jack remembered was the cold 
steel toe of a boot impacting his left temple.

~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday morning shone sunny and clear over Colorado. Samantha Carter 
pulled down her sun visor to shield the bright rays as she turned 
eastwards, making her way along the quiet, tree lined street towards 
Doctor Fraiser's house. Pulling her car into the driveway, she climbed 
out and headed up to the front door, slinging a laptop computer in its 
leather carry case over her shoulder.

"Sam!" Cassie exclaimed in delight when she opened the door in response 
to the Captain's knocking.

"Hi kiddo, how're you doing?" Sam greeted the girl, following her into 
the kitchen where Janet was sipping at her first cup of coffee of the 
day, attempting to wake herself sufficiently before heading off for 
another long weekend shift at the base.

"I'm fine. Jack's taking me out this afternoon!" Cassie sat back down at 
the table to finish eating her breakfast cereal.

Carter flashed a startled look at Janet, who sighed deeply, "Now Cassie, 
you know I told you that Colonel O'Neill was still out of town, I don't 
think he's going to be able to make it back this weekend, after all. 
That's why Sam's here, she's going to look after you while I'm at work," 
she explained to her daughter patiently.

"But, Jack promised he'd be here!" Cassie pouted sulkily, slumping her 
shoulders in disgust.

"I know, honey!" Janet gave her a quick hug, "And you know that he'd be 
here if he could, but he's doing something very important at the 
moment." 

Cassie stared at her, weighing up the validity of what she had said 
before nodding unhappily, "I s'pose," she said, turning her attention 
back to the bowl in front of her to shovel another spoonful of cereal 
into her mouth hungrily.

Janet poured a cup of coffee for Sam and topped up her own mug before 
turning to the Captain, "So what did he say?" She asked simply, keeping 
the conversation as vague as possible within Cassandra's earshot. 

Sam grimaced worriedly, "Nothing!"

"What do you mean nothing?"

"He didn't send anything. He hasn't e-mailed me since Thursday!" Carter 
explained, "That's why I brought this with me," she patted the case 
still hanging on her shoulder, "so I could check again when I got here."

Leaving Cassie in the kitchen to finish her breakfast, the two women 
headed into the living room where Sam unpacked her laptop, perching it 
on the coffee table and connecting the telephone lead to check her e-
mail again.

A few minutes later, Janet and Sam stared at the still empty inbasket, 
waiting for someone to have a bright idea. In the end, Janet said the 
only positive thing she could think of, "Well, it is the middle of the 
Egyptian weekend, I expect Jack's busy chasing around after that embassy 
fellow on his hectic social schedule. We'll just have to be patient, 
maybe there'll be something tonight or tomorrow morning," she shrugged, 
forcing a cheerful smile for the sake of the Captain.

"What's Jack doing in Egypt?" The curious young voice behind them 
startled both women.

Janet turned around, wondering how long Cassie had been standing there, 
"He's gone to see Daniel." She patted the chair beside her, indicating 
for the girl to come and sit. "You remember? Doctor Jackson went to 
Egypt for a new archaeological dig."

Cassie frowned dubiously, "But Jack hates rocks!"

Janet suppressed a smile, wondering if her adopted daughter had been 
spending too much time in the Colonel's company. "Well, I don't think he 
was planning on helping Daniel dig for them, Cass!"

The young girl looked across at Samantha, "Why didn't you go too, Sam?"

Carter hesitated uncomfortably, searching for a reason that would not be 
a lie. Fortunately, Janet saved her, "Sam's having a bit of a problem 
with her passport at the moment."

"I could go, my passport is fine!" Cassie piped up eagerly.

Sam looked surprised, "What are you doing with a passport?"

Janet shrugged resignedly, "It came as part of the identity papers they 
issued Cassandra when she moved here. Typical government! They tell me 
I'm not allowed to let Cassie leave the country, not even a trip across 
the border, yet they issue her with a full valid passport!"

The doctor was still annoyed by the whole affair, it had been so hard to 
explain to the disappointed girl that she wasn't going to be able to see 
every corner of this wonderful new world she had come to live on. Not 
for a long time yet, until the US Government, in their infinite wisdom, 
decided that she was trustworthy enough to roam the planet without 
spilling the beans on where she originated from. Now it looked like that 
discussion would need repeating a few more times before it finally sank 
in, "Cassie, you know you're not allowed to use that passport. It's just 
for show, to prove who you are, remember?"

Cassie sighed deeply as only a troubled twelve year old could, "I know! 
It's just that I'd so like to visit Egypt." She turned to Sam, "We've 
been studying it in school, you know!"

Janet smiled to herself, listening to Sam and Cassandra get immersed in 
discussions on the mythology and archaeology of Egypt. She got up from 
the chair and went back into the kitchen to grab some more coffee before 
heading to work. The grin slipped from her face as she found herself 
alone to contemplate their missing friends, wondering how many more 
sleepless nights would pass before they heard something more positive.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack awoke to darkness and silence, his head pounding and fuzzy, unable 
to focus, it took awhile to distinguish which way was up. He was lying 
on one side, his body curled protectively, so he slowly rolled onto his 
back. Uncertain whether his eyes were even open, he reached his right 
hand to his face and that simple movement provoked a scream of agony 
that awoke all his senses to every painful injury the length of his 
body. 

Gasping, he gingerly lowered his busted hand and tried with the other, 
probing his left eye with long, dirt ground fingers. He found it swollen 
shut, blood encrusted across the cut on his temple. His other eye was 
definitely open, but when Jack waved the hand in front, he could see 
nothing, wherever he was it was pitch black. There were no stars to be 
seen, no moon or clouds, he had to be somewhere enclosed.

Bending his knees, O'Neill struggled to sit up, vaguely noticing his 
boots and socks had been removed. His chest and stomach were one mass of 
aching bruises and a throbbing pain flared in his side. Gritting his 
teeth, Jack pushed with his feet, edging backwards slowly, only moving a 
few yards before he hit something solid. He leaned against it, breathing 
in ragged heaves.

The wall felt warm, probably sandstone, and the floor was sandy beneath 
his fingers. The air was still, dry and dusty. Jack forced himself to 
stand, leaning against the wall for support, his head pounding 
nauseatingly. His fingers slid along the wall, feeling for a change of 
texture, an opening, anything that might identify where he was and how 
he could get out. 

Six feet forward, he felt a join, where one stone slab ended and another 
began, tightly laid side by side. Counting his steps in the darkness, 
Jack continued along the wall, moving clockwise slowly, careful not to 
jar any of his injuries. He came to another join, and another, each one 
exactly the same distance apart. Reaching a corner, he turned, still 
counting, until he had covered all four walls in full. Each wall was 
exactly five slabs long and nowhere had he found a door. One single 
nightmarish thought pushed to the front of his mind, he had been 
entombed, buried alive.

"We're not in Kansas, anymore!" Jack murmured to himself shakily, 
startled by the sound of fear in his own voice and spurred into action 
by it. He went around the walls again, this time reaching down to the 
ground and as high as he could, which wasn't far. The bruising on his 
chest had him bent over and he held his right arm stiffly against his 
side to avoid moving the damaged fingers. Somewhere in the back of his 
mind, Jack wondered if he'd ever be able to pull a trigger again, but he 
realised that was the least of his worries if he didn't find a way out 
of this tomb.

"HEY!" The loudness of his shout surprised him, "GET ME THE HELL OUTTA 
HERE!" He yelled angrily, listening closely to the returning quiet for 
any tell tale sound of reaction. A slight scuffling of boot against 
dirt, an uncomfortable cough, anything that might indicate he hadn't 
been left alone to suffocate and die. He heard nothing except his own 
heartbeat and in the ensuing silence Jack began to wonder how much air 
was left in the room, imagining he could feel it slowly getting thinner 
until he was practically hyperventilating.

Calm down, O'Neill, he thought to himself. Slow breaths. You'll find a 
way out. And if you don't....... Well it's not like you're gonna be 
stuck here for the next four months. Four months! "Shit!" He said out 
loud, feeling a sudden cold sweat break out on his forehead as he began 
to tremble, bile rising in his throat. He swallowed, clenching his left 
hand to his pounding temple and trying to control the onset of shock. 

"Come on Jack, you know it's not gonna be that bad, it's nothing to 
chuck up over," he told himself soothingly. Besides, an inner voice 
pointed out helpfully, that pizza you ate last night could be the last 
food you'll get for awhile. And that was that, a vision of what was 
probably about the worst meal in recent history came rushing into Jack's 
head and he could no longer contain his stomach contents, retching 
convulsively until all that remained were dry heaves that left him 
coughing painfully and gasping for breath.

Kicking up loose sand with his bare feet to cover the disgusting pile, 
O'Neill stumbled away to the far wall and sank down against the warm 
sandstone dejectedly. He slammed his left fist against the ground, the 
movement jarring his aching chest. His face contorted in a fierce 
struggle of emotions, fighting desperately to suppress the mind numbing 
terror of being trapped and enclosed again. 

"Damnit, Jack, you can do better than this. For crying out loud, get it 
together," he shouted at himself angrily, concentrating on bringing his 
breathing under control. "One step at a time," he murmured faintly. 
Closing his eyes, he tried to push away the unforgettable images which 
dragged him back inexorably, trying to imagine he was somewhere else, 
wide open countryside, clean air and a cool breeze. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday had been a strange day for Doctor Jackson, it had started out 
much the same as any of the previous seven days. He had woken from a 
fitful sleep in the safest place he had found to hide for the night. 
This particular time it had been curled up beneath the seats high in the 
grandstand overlooking the manmade lake in the grounds of Karnak Temple, 
from where a part of the Sound and Light show was broadcast each 
evening. Saturday nights were particularly crowded and Daniel had found 
it easy to lose himself from his pursuers in the throngs of tourists 
flooding into the rows of seats. At the end of the final show, it had 
taken little skill to hide at the top level until everyone had left and 
the grounds were plunged into darkness once more.

Since daybreak, he had wandered the length and breadth of the temple 
grounds, mixing with the Sunday morning visitors, but had not seen any 
of the suspicious looking Egyptians that had been in his shadow for the 
last week and a half. He was almost beginning to wonder whether he had 
imagined their presence, but he knew that all of a sudden there were 
noticeably fewer locals hanging around the place and all the ones he had 
seen were surrounded by noisy groups of tourists, all eager to get 
information from their expert guide.

Even so, Daniel waited until after dusk before he dared venture out into 
the city, exiting under cover of darkness with the rest of the crowds 
and heading quickly across the busy evening streets to the Internet 
Cafe, hoping to make contact with Captain Carter again. Maybe this time 
he could actually risk waiting on the premises for an answer, assuming 
that Sam was checking her mail often enough to respond that fast.

Occupying a seat near the back of the cafe, where he had a good view of 
both exits, Daniel logged on to his AOL account for the first time since 
he had e-mailed Sam the previous Thursday. He was relieved to find a 
reply and even more pleased, once he had deciphered her weird coding 
system, to see that Jack had come after him and was currently in Cairo. 
Now all they needed to do was meet up and they could head home together, 
assuming Daniel's new found "loneliness" wasn't simply a way to lull him 
into a false sense of security.

Quickly Daniel typed a message back to Sam, copying Jack's userid on it, 
which he obtained from the note Sam had sent to them both. It was a 
short message, the important fact being that, as Daniel put it, 
"Suddenly it's like my visitors have found something better to do with 
their time!" Mailing it off, Daniel ordered another cup of coffee and 
sat back to wait, wondering how long he should risk staying.

His mug was still half full when the computer in front of him started 
flashing a "You Have Mail" sign. He opened it eagerly, relieved that he 
had obviously caught Sam at the right time of day for her to be online. 
He scanned down her brief message, rapidly absorbing the simple 
sentences, this time no decoding was necessary:

"Happy to hear from you. Looking forward to seeing you 
soon.......Daniel, have you heard from Jack?"

He frowned at those last words, typing off a quick negative response, 
"No, should I have done?"

~~~~~~~~~~

In the shadowy cool living room of Doctor Fraiser's home, the curtains 
were closed against the bright sunlight of early afternoon. A blue white 
glow shone from the laptop computer screen, making the shocked faces of 
the two women sitting in front of it appear even more pale. The open 
boxes of a barely touched Chinese take out lay discarded and congealing 
on the table, next to an empty coffee pot, the remaining contents 
currently going cold in two forgotten mugs resting beside the computer.

Janet and Sam stared at the brief contents of Daniel's second message. 
"Where the hell is he?" The doctor murmured worriedly.

Sam glanced at her, a dreadful idea slowly forming in her mind as she 
repeated Daniel's earlier words, "They suddenly found something better 
to do with their time!" She paused, swallowing dryly as she contemplated 
the screen with wide blue eyes. Her voice shook when she spoke again, 
"What if Daniel is right?" She turned to stare at the doctor, "What if 
they did find something better to do?"

Janet gazed at her, a look of shock shadowing her exhausted face when 
she realised what Sam was implying, "Then to hell with security!" She 
exclaimed, "We have to tell Daniel. We have to see if he can find out 
what's happened to Jack."

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack couldn't tell how long had passed, it might have been hours or 
days. He was suffering almost complete sensory deprivation and had been 
sleeping fitfully. All he knew for sure was that he was still dying of 
thirst, but no longer hungry, and he was beginning to get used to the 
constant presence of pain. His body was beginning to shut down, that 
much was clear. It did occur to him that at least the air had not run 
out, there was obviously some oxygen entering the room, if only he could 
identify the source. 

More worrying though was the fact that the temperature had not varied 
discernibly throughout any of his moments of consciousness. It had 
remained constantly warm, he had to be somewhere deep or underground for 
it to be so unaffected by the fierce desert variations, assuming he was 
still in Egypt, of course. Maybe he had been buried alive after all. 
Jack shivered involuntarily and considered his options. 

A feeble attempt to scale the wall in search of a higher exit, ended 
painfully. With one hand out of action hanging uselessly at his side, 
Jack tried wedging himself into a corner, using his elbow, back and feet 
to work his way up. He dug his toes into the join of the second layer of 
stone blocks about two yards above, but when he tried to move along the 
wall with only his left fingers to grip, his precarious hold was 
shortlived. He slipped and fell backwards, landing on the solid floor, 
stunned and screaming in agony when his broken hand thudded against the 
ground beside him.

He could still feel the smashed bone and nerves tingling from the impact 
as he sat cross legged on the floor, his wrist resting on his thigh. 
Contemplating other methods of climbing the walls, mentally Jack 
realised that was pretty much already happening. He snorted ironically, 
the noise loud to ears that had nothing else to hear except his own 
breathing.

The Colonel forced himself to review the situation analytically. 
Firstly, he was trapped in an enclosed tomb, but there was air coming in 
from somewhere. Logically, if they wanted him dead, they would have 
blocked the ventilation off. Therefore, if they wanted him alive they 
would probably turn up sooner or later. At that point he would at least 
find out where the exit was.

Assuming the way out was high up, what were his chances for escape? His 
right hand was useless and his left eye swollen shut, then again it was 
pitch black, so sight was not exactly a priority. His other injuries 
were debilitating, but so far did not appear life threatening. Jack 
wondered about internal bleeding, his chest hurt whenever he so much as 
breathed, but he had experienced worse. He pulled the tail of his grubby 
t-shirt out of his khakis and raised the front, pressing the long 
fingers of his left hand against his stomach, wincing as he gingerly 
probed the bruising for any sign of other damage.

Jack wished he'd taken more notice of Doctor Fraiser's all too frequent 
physical examinations, maybe he'd have a better clue of what he was 
looking for. Even so, he basically knew that if he pressed hard enough 
in the right place, any damage to his internal organs would hurt, a lot. 
The trouble was, he was so badly bruised it was almost impossible to 
discern superficial agony from a deeper problem. In the end, Jack 
decided that if he was bleeding internally, he would probably have more 
definite signs by now than an ever present painful ache. Still, they had 
really messed him up well the other night, he thought ruefully, if only 
he could figure out who 'they' were.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel sat back in his chair, astounded. He had waited an hour for this 
new e-mail from Captain Carter. Sunday evening had turned into night and 
the cafe was near closing time, but now he stared at the long, 
devastating message from Samantha Carter, his blue eyes wide. 

Jack had gone AWOL to come and find him, risking his career by going 
directly against General Hammond's orders, and now, unbelievably, 
Hammond was actually court martialling him for it. To top it all, Jack 
hadn't made contact in three days having spent the last week following 
around some guy who worked for the US Embassy who may be involved, only 
noone knew how. "What the hell is going on?" Jackson murmured in a low 
voice, "None of this makes any sense!"

Mentally getting a grip on himself, Daniel began to type rapidly, 
sending another message back to Sam. He would head up to Cairo and see 
what he could find out. Now that the heavies had been called off, he 
should be able to move around easily. Egypt was like home, he could 
blend in, maybe even find out why they were after him in the first 
place, or why they might have gone after Colonel O'Neill. Jackson shook 
his head at that last thought, feeling a heavy burden of guilt that Jack 
had jeopardised his career and could now be in danger because he had 
come after Daniel. 

"Come on! Jack's probably just busted his computer or something. I'm 
sure he's fine," Daniel told himself unconvincingly, feeling his stomach 
tighten as fear began to take hold once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

A six foot square Iraqi prison cell. Not even enough space for O'Neill 
to stretch out horizontally and certainly no room for a bunk, but after 
three months it could be called home. A single tiny ventilation grille 
shed dim light on his simple abode, a solid concrete floor, with a 
rusting bucket in one corner. Once a week the guards took him outside to 
bury its contents, an outing he looked forward to for the chance to see 
daylight, to feel the sun on his face and imagine he was somewhere else. 
Walking in the surf on the beach with Sara during their honeymoon in 
Maui. Or their last camping trip to the rockies, an unforgettable 
picnic, basking in the summer sun in total sheltered isolation from the 
world, where one thing had led to another and their son had been 
conceived. Memories like that could keep him alive for days at a time. 

Withdrawn into the past, Jack regarded his familiar surroundings, 
sweltering during the daytime, freezing and shivering in the dead of 
night. Listening to rodents and insects scurrying around the floor, 
praying they might pause long enough to provide him with food. The 
muffled cries of suffering men carried on the still air and O'Neill 
thanked God for ensuring his captors had chosen a different victim to 
prey on that evening. He didn't know how many more beatings his own 
aching body could take from the sadistic prison guards.

A cramping in his legs forced Jack to struggle to his feet. Leaning 
against the warm sandstone wall he pushed up with his hands, screaming 
in agony as bolts of fire shot up his right arm, forcing him abruptly 
back to the present. He was surrounded by complete darkness, there was 
no sound, no movement of air from a ventilating breeze, no rustle of 
potential nutrition scurrying across the floor. 

This was Egypt, not Iraq, and he hadn't been here nearly so long, but he 
was already suffering from dehydration just like before. Jack didn't 
know how much time had passed, but his body told him it had to be at 
least a couple of days already. If he didn't get fluids into his system 
soon, he would be dead in another forty eight hours. And this time he 
knew he wasn't as strong, the same things that got him through those 
four months no longer applied. He had no family to return to, his career 
was over, and he had failed his friend. Wherever Daniel was, he would 
not be able to help him now. 

~~~~~~~~~~

By Monday lunch time, with a convincing story and a dazzling smile for 
the housemaid, Daniel had managed to charm his way into Jack's hotel 
room at the Sheraton in the centre of Cairo. He found the laptop 
computer that O'Neill had borrowed from his own room in Luxor, but no 
sign of his favourite camcorder. Chatting further with the maid, he 
found that the room had not been used since Friday, the towels and 
sheets still as crisp and clean as when the girl had changed them three 
days before.

Daniel never thought he'd be glad to be wearing western clothes again, 
but it felt so good to be freshly showered and dressed in a set of clean 
clothes from Jack's holdall. It wasn't the first time he'd had to borrow 
from the Colonel's predictable, but comfortable wardrobe, and, as usual, 
the pair of khakis he selected were a little long in the leg, but at 
least they shared the same waist size. 

Armed with a visual image of Philip Marshall that Sam had e-mailed, 
Daniel had no choice but to head for the US Embassy to try and track him 
down, planning on acting in much the same way as he imagined Jack would. 
But after five hours of hanging around in bushes that set him sneezing, 
without having seen any sign of the man from the picture, Daniel gave up 
and went in through the front door, flashing his American passport to 
the Egyptian security at the gate.

"Good afternoon," he smiled broadly at the female receptionist seated 
inside the cool marble hall of the Embassy lobby. "I wonder if it might 
be possible to speak with Mr Philip Marshall?" He beamed even more 
disarmingly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sir, but Mr Marshall is out of the country," she looked 
genuinely apologetic, adding helpfully, "He only left this morning, he 
went back home for a couple of days. Is there anyone else who can help?"

"No, it was a social call, actually. Never mind, I'll try and catch him 
next week." Daniel's final smile was rather forced as he rapidly made 
his exit, his mind whirling over the news that his only link to Jack's 
disappearance was gone.

At a loss, Daniel headed back to Jack's hotel room and used the laptop 
to e-mail Samantha Carter. Explaining what had transpired, he concluded, 
"We need help, Sam. Maybe General Hammond will change his attitude when 
he hears the Colonel is missing? I think we have to at least ask, we 
have no other options. What do you think?"

He sent the message and sat back to wait, unable to prevent himself from 
drifting off to sleep, the first time he had been on a comfortable bed 
in almost two weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was Monday morning in Cheyenne mountain when Captain Carter knocked 
timidly on the door of General Hammond's office, voluntarily approaching 
him for the first time in a week.

"Come!" The voice sounded gruff through the closed door. Swallowing 
nervously, Sam reached for the handle, chiding herself for getting so 
worked up about a conversation with her base commander. Only this was no 
simple chat, she reminded herself, the Colonel's future was quite 
possibly riding on the outcome.

"General Hammond, Sir!" Bracing herself, she strode into the room and 
stood to attention, smartly saluting the General and holding it until he 
had acknowledged her.

"At ease, Captain. What can I do for you?" He asked without looking up 
from the apparently riveting report he was perusing.

"General, I have to report that yesterday we successfully made contact 
with Doctor Jackson, Sir," Carter continued to speak in her most formal 
military tone.

"That's good news, Captain," Hammond said, finally looking up from his 
seat to study her grim face, "By 'We', I presume you mean yourself and 
Colonel O'Neill?"

"No, Sir," Carter paused briefly, gathering her resolve, "General 
Hammond, Sir. I regret to inform you that we lost contact with the 
Colonel last Thursday. We haven't heard from him since." The Captain 
took a deep breath, staring straight over his head, "Colonel O'Neill is 
missing, Sir!" The fact spoken so definitely for the first time, 
Carter's strength fled and she looked at him miserably, "He's gone, 
Sir."

A look of confusion flickered in Hammond's eyes as he absorbed these new 
developments. Finally, he said, "I'm sure there's a simple explanation 
for this, Captain. I'll see what I can find out." 

And with that, Sam was dismissed, leaving the General's office wondering 
how he was going to find out. Who was he going to talk to? She stepped 
into the elevator and glanced up at the security camera in the opposite 
corner, an idea beginning to form. Now might be a good time to carry out 
the weekly inspection of base security that the Pentagon specified in 
their latest list of new requirements, she decided, punching the control 
panel with a vengeance.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack had been in Iraq for over three months and it seemed like an 
eternity. He was beginning to think his eyes would never see colour 
again amidst the drab beige desert scenery, broken only by the brown mud 
brick prison camp filled with the dirty hardened faces of his companions 
in this misery. He felt like he had been experiencing the same waking 
nightmare for years.

Even so, it was a rare sight to see each and every surviving prisoner 
lined up in front of the barracks, standing like crooked wooden soldiers 
awaiting their orders. O'Neill surveyed the row of broken men, wondering 
why he was not among them, why he had been singled out from the crowd. 
>From recent experience, he knew it could only mean one thing and that 
truth seemed assured as he watched three guards approach in the wake of 
an officer, the camp commandant, striding towards the centre of the 
yard, bristling with self importance.

Jack stood as straight as he could manage, prepared to face his death in 
the way he had ultimately planned he would. In the months of his 
imprisonment, it was one thing he'd had time to come to terms with, 
knowing that one day the possibility would become all too real. Of 
course, he had prayed for an alternative outcome a million times over, 
even imagined the happy ending where he was released into the arms of 
his loving wife, returning to his family and his home. In fact, he had 
dreamed of the event on a nightly basis, but hope was never enough and 
reality now intervened. He stood steadfast, awaiting his death, his 
peace long since made. His apologies resolved into thoughts he would 
never be able to voice, but somehow felt sure Sara knew. He just wished 
he could have told her himself, one final time.

The Iraqi officer stopped before him, a sadistic smile crossing his face 
as he barked an order. O'Neill braced himself for the imminent end. 
Instead, his rope bound hands were released and he felt the cold metal 
of a semiautomatic weapon being pressed into his palm. 

"One bullet, two choices," the Iraqi leered cruelly, signalling for his 
men to drag forward one of the other prisoners, randomly selected from 
the row of insignificant enemy faces watching the proceedings intently. 
"Him or you!" The officer held up a single .45 calibre cartridge between 
his fingers, adding in clear Oxford-educated English, "One shot to the 
head!" He grinned widely, clearly enjoying his latest game.

Calling his men closer, he handed Jack the smooth cartridge, a single 
lead bullet in a full metal jacket. O'Neill slowly loaded the dusty old 
Colt with trembling fingers, releasing the clip and struggling to insert 
the single shell. One of the guards pressed the barrel of his 
Kalashnikov rifle against the base of Jack's skull. There was no way 
out, he had to make a choice.

Shakily, O'Neill slotted the clip back into the handgun, retracting the 
bolt to draw the cartridge into the firing chamber. He lifted his head, 
staring at the cringing prisoner in front of him. Their eyes met, and 
for a moment he saw a reflection of himself in that pale blue gaze. A 
dim, distant recollection of how life had once been, before this war, 
how he had hoped it could someday be again. But now, for one of them at 
least, that would no longer be possible.

Thinking once more about the family he had left behind, Jack raised the 
weapon, his arm extending before him, pointing straight at his fellow 
prisoner as he released the safety. Slowly, reluctantly, he tightened 
his finger around the trigger, his hand beginning to shake 
uncontrollably from the tension and exertion upon muscles that had been 
neglected for months. Tears of regret shone in his eyes, but no matter 
how desperate he was to see Sara again, there were some things he just 
could not live with. In one fluid motion, Jack bent his elbow, aimed the 
barrel directly at his own temple and pulled the trigger.

The click of the falling hammer was shockingly loud to his ears, but he 
heard no subsequent explosion of cartridge, felt no deathly impact 
against his skull. The badly maintained collector's piece had failed. 

Jack sagged to his knees in horrified relief as the Iraqi officer began 
furiously yelling orders in his guttural native tongue. Obeying 
unquestioningly, the guard with a Kalashnikov still aimed at O'Neill's 
head, raised the barrel slightly and fired a single round at point blank 
range.

Cringing at the sound, Jack waited to feel the excruciating blossom of 
pain in the moments before death, but he felt nothing. Instead he heard 
a soft gasp of surprise, a final lungful of air suddenly expelled, and 
the scuffle of feet against dirt. 

O'Neill gingerly raised his head in time to see his fellow prisoner fall 
to the ground, a bright red circle spreading across his chest from a 
bullet to the heart. Screaming in outrage, Jack found some hidden 
strength in his broken body and lunged towards the smug officer, but his 
hands never reached the throat of his target. He was grabbed from behind 
and dragged away, kicking and yelling obscenities. The two guards could 
barely hear their leader's furious commands above the noisy American 
airman.

They hauled Jack's writhing body to one corner of the prison yard, where 
an isolated packing case sized steel box was suspended on wooden stilts. 
O'Neill could smell the dark steamy stench of the enclosure before they 
even removed the padlock to open the door. He would have begged for 
mercy if he didn't already know it would only serve to double the 
duration of his stay. He had seen it happen before, but never in his 
worst nightmare had he expected it to happen to him.

As the door was sealed on his new cramped living conditions, Jack tried 
to shift his thin, six foot plus frame into any vaguely comfortable 
position, desperate to relieve the pressure on the half healed sores 
covering his badly beaten back and legs. The tips of his bare toes were 
already burning against the overheated metal, his knees pressed into his 
chest and his shoulders sandwiched against the opposite side. Jack began 
to sweat profusely, the salty fluid ran down his face and into his 
mouth, mixing with the taste of fear as he contemplated certain death 
within this ready made coffin, realising his valiant efforts to save a 
fellow prisoner had been for nothing. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Two:

Captain Carter's inspection of the security system had been extremely 
thorough, enabling her surveillance of Hammond's movements right up 
until mid afternoon, when he took a phone call in the conference room 
that left him visibly agitated. At that moment, Sam decided to take a 
lunch break, surreptitiously sneaking out a video tape of the recording 
beneath her jacket and heading down to Doctor Fraiser's office to test 
her lip reading abilities.

The rapidly improvised, but perfectly executed, plan was coming to 
fruition. So successfully in fact that Sam was sat in her car, thirty 
hours later, on a dark Tuesday night in Denver. The zoom lens of her 
camcorder directed at two figures seated opposite each other in a window 
booth of the coffee shop across the street. 

As the picture came into focus through the viewfinder, Carter gasped in 
horror as it became apparent that the man whom General Hammond had 
arranged to meet during that phone call was none other than Mr Philip 
Marshall, still displaying his Egyptian tan and dressed in his light 
beige suit, wholly unsuitable for a rainy night in Colorado.

Struggling to keep the camcorder steady, Sam's mind raced with 
possibilities at the sight of the SGC's commander having a clandestine 
meeting with the man Colonel O'Neill had been following before he 
disappeared. The conversation did not appear to be going smoothly, both 
men were gesturing madly, their faces getting closer together as they 
appeared to be arguing in heated whispers. If only she could hear what 
they were saying, but instead Carter prayed that Janet would be able to 
read their lips just as well as she had been able to decipher General 
Hammond's words during the previous day's phone call. The doctor's year 
of training to work with deaf children was certainly paying off, even if 
her original career plans had become somewhat sidetracked of late.

The meeting did not last long and soon the Captain was following a 
rented vehicle driven by Philip Marshall. After a few miles he pulled 
into the underground car park of a large hotel and she watched him head 
for the elevator. It looked like he was turning in for the night. 
Rapidly, Sam turned her car around and headed back out onto the dark, 
damp streets, flooring the accelerator to drive to Janet's house.

~~~~~~~~~~

A strange thud, more felt than heard, dragged the Colonel back to harsh 
reality, the grip of his recurring nightmare slowly relinquishing him to 
the present. Somehow he thought something had changed, but he was 
gradually deteriorating into delirium, he could no longer be certain of 
anything. 

Jack knew he was dying, however many days he had been imprisoned there, 
his captors had either left him for dead, or were really pushing their 
luck. His fitful sleep had become almost comatose as he began to slip in 
and out of consciousness, the dehydration too severe for him to survive 
much longer. His whole body trembled continuously and the cramp 
previously confined to his stomach and legs had spread throughout, 
spasming every tiny muscle he hadn't even known existed.

The Colonel tried to focus on the noise, if only to determine whether 
any hope remained, but it did not repeat. He shifted painfully, 
stretching his legs slowly in an attempt to find a vaguely comfortable 
position in which to curl up and die. His bare foot brushed against 
something cold and he caught his breath. Something had changed, either 
he was hallucinating again or there was a foreign presence in the room. 

Gradually, Jack pushed his toe out again, feeling a chill damp surface 
of plastic make his foot cramp up painfully. He shivered uncontrollably, 
positive that his mind was playing cruel tricks on him. O'Neill knew all 
about mirages in the desert, now it seemed he was suffering the same 
excruciating experience himself. Still what did he have to lose? To 
imagine a drink of cool clean water was as good a way to die as to 
ignore the false presence and return to his most unpleasant thoughts of 
a death in captivity.

O'Neill struggled to sit up, his chest aching and heaving with the 
effort. He inched sideways across the sandy floor and reached out his 
left hand in the general direction of the unknown object. If this was an 
hallucination, then it was certainly a convincing one. Beneath his dirt 
ground fingertips, Jack felt solid plastic, a square shape with rounded 
edges. Damp with condensation rapidly evaporating into the dry air of 
the tomb.

With shaking fingers, Jack shifted the container across the floor 
towards him, feeling and hearing the fluid movement within. Perhaps they 
didn't want him dead yet after all. He had been given a lifeline, 
temporarily at least. The Colonel moved his legs around the small 
bottle, gripping it between his knees as he struggled to unseal the 
tightly fastened cap, panicking slightly when he couldn't get the lid 
off at the first attempt in his weakened state. He held his t-shirt over 
the top and tried again, the extra grip providing sufficient torque to 
open the container.

Jack held the bottle in his trembling hand, placing it to his lips for a 
single disciplined mouthful. He had been through this before, he knew 
the exact consequences of drinking too much too soon. It was a risk he 
was not prepared to take and he could not afford to waste a single drop 
of what he gauged to be a litre of water. Instead he took a small sip 
and resealed the cap, not too tightly this time. Then he licked the 
condensation from the outside of the bottle before replacing it on the 
floor and doing the same with his hand, ignoring the dirt amidst the 
heavenly dampness.

The Colonel could not understand why his captors had waited this long, 
but one thing he felt for sure, now they had made him aware of their 
presence, a prolonged visit would soon be forthcoming. At least then, he 
might finally discover the purpose of his imprisonment. 

In the meantime, he had something to keep him busy and a reason to mark 
the passage of time. If he could control his intake of the life giving 
liquid, he might be able to replenish some of his failing strength in 
preparation for what was surely still to come.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was gone midnight by the time the two women sat back to examine the 
transcript of the video recording, scarcely able to believe what they 
had just 'heard'. Janet picked up the yellow legal pad and read it 
again, her eyes fixing on the height of the conversation when the anger 
between the two men had been visible:

Hammond: "Taking Colonel O'Neill was never part of the plan!"

Marshall: "The opportunity came up, so I grabbed it!"

H: "But the agreement was to question Doctor Jackson, to find out what 
he knew. Either way, that would be the end of it."

M: "Doctor Jackson was extremely evasive, he managed to slip through our 
fingers."

H: "The fact that you couldn't capture him means that we passed your 
little test. What right do you have to continue this ridiculous scheme 
any further?"

M: "As you well know, General, my mandate is to obtain clear results to 
enable the Senate Committee to make a decision. So far that has not been 
possible."

H: "I am ordering you to release Colonel O'Neill now, or I'll go 
directly to the President."

M: "General, you can't order me to do anything. This operation is not 
under military jurisdiction. And I think you'll find any conversation 
with the President is futile. His hands are completely tied in this 
affair."

Janet visualised the snide smile that came over the face of the US 
Embassy employee with those words. "Well, I guess it explains why 
Hammond was so adamant the Colonel shouldn't go after Doctor Jackson, I 
wonder if he'll still try to court martial him," Janet wondered, staring 
at the written words and going over their implications in her mind. "I 
think Daniel's going to need some help," she eventually murmured.

"What?" Sam looked at her, "But how? You heard them, this is a 
government run operation, we can't interfere!"

"Samantha, look," Janet patted her arm, "I know you've been raised to 
think of the government and the military as the good guys, the guys in 
white. Yeah?" Sam stared at her blankly, "Well, I hate to tell you this 
kiddo, but sometimes they're not! The fact is, for whatever misguided 
reasons, they are holding Colonel O'Neill against his will and we have a 
duty, as his friends, to help him."

The Captain looked about as miserable as if she'd just found out that 
Santa Claus didn't exist, "But how? I can't even leave the country, my 
passport is revoked, remember?"

"No, but I can!" Janet exclaimed emphatically, "And I won't have to go 
AWOL to do it, I just worked nearly 130 hours in the last eight days, 
I'm rotated off for the next six. Besides," she added with false cheer, 
"I've always wanted to see the Great Pyramids."

"And what can I do, stuck here in Colorado?"

"I recommend you confront General Hammond!" Janet looked at her watch, 
"I'd better book a trip and start packing. I hope Cassie doesn't mind 
staying with a friend for a few days." With that she stood up and left 
the room, leaving Captain Carter to contemplate the uncomfortable task 
of how to talk to the SGC's commander without outright accusing him of 
lying.

~~~~~~~~~~

When General Hammond arrived on base that Wednesday morning it was still 
dark, but it was with a sense of relief that he sat down in his office 
chair to face the huge pile of paperwork that appeared each day like 
clockwork. He needed something to immerse himself in and maybe 
temporarily forget why he hadn't gotten any sleep that night.

He knew Jack could look after himself, he had proven that in combat 
countless times. But this was different, this was enforced captivity and 
if ever there was a chink in the Colonel's armour, this was it.

Hammond had only known Jack O'Neill for two years, but he had read the 
report in his personnel file. He knew what had taken place during the 
Gulf War and how the man had struggled to overcome the trauma. Now 
everything was riding on how O'Neill coped in a similar situation. At 
least this time there would be no violence, the mandate was clear on 
that, these were Americans not the enemy. There were other methods, 
deprivation for instance, and it may take longer that way, but it would 
suffice. 

The General frowned, the whole operation had him deeply concerned. The 
reasons behind it were purely political and the threats that had been 
made in order to gain co-operation only served to increase his suspicion 
of its legality. As for the moral and ethical issues, they seemed to 
have been completely ignored and it worried Hammond even more to think 
that the President of the United States of America had signed off on 
such an exercise. But, as Philip Marshall had said, the man's hands were 
apparently tied by the power of the Senate Committee.

To top it all, Hammond believed that he was to blame for the capture of 
Colonel O'Neill. It was far too coincidental that Jack had disappeared 
less than twenty four hours after the General made contact with his 
operational liaison, Philip Marshall. The younger man had not actually 
admitted it during their meeting the previous evening, but the truth now 
seemed patently obvious.

The one thing that remained unclear was an answer to his dilemma. What 
could Hammond do to help protect his people? He could keep trying to 
speak with the President, it was only a matter of time before he would 
be available to take the call. And then General Hammond could argue the 
case for Jack's release, before things had a chance to get out of hand. 
But what if the President's hands really were tied, what then? 

~~~~~~~~~~

The first shock of Janet Fraiser's day came in the first class departure 
lounge at Denver airport early that Wednesday morning. She was reading a 
romantic paperback novel as part of her ditzy, rich American tourist 
act, in preparation for the flight to Cairo. When she glanced up over 
the top of the page, she spotted Philip Marshall walk in dressed in a 
crisp beige suit, carrying an overnight bag and a black leather 
briefcase. He surveyed the scene before choosing a suitable spot and 
relaxing into one of the comfortable padded chairs.

When the flight was called, Janet gathered up her wide brimmed hat and 
huge floral canvas bag and grabbed her boarding card, heading out onto 
the tarmac to board the plane. The second uncomfortable coincidence came 
when she was directed to her seat and found the US Embassy worker 
already sitting in the one next to it, having to wait for him to stand 
up out of her way, so that she could get in by the window. She took a 
disliking to him immediately, when he simply huffed impatiently as she 
struggled with her bag and hat before eventually settling into her 
place.

As the plane took off on its long journey, Janet pretended to immerse 
herself in the paperback novel, conscious of the fact that the man next 
to her had opened his briefcase and was working through some official 
looking papers. She glanced across nervously, trying to catch sight of 
anything that might prove useful and noticed he was now reviewing the 
diary pages of a battered filofax. In the midst of the pencil scribbled 
notes of meetings and reminders, one entry stood out under Friday's 
date. Two simple words written in red ballpoint as though they were 
important and irrevocable. "Bark, 4pm."

Janet didn't understand their meaning, but perhaps Doctor Jackson would. 
She stored the details in her mind and turned back to her book, 
wondering how Captain Carter was faring.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Sir, regarding our conversation on Monday about Colonel O'Neill, I 
thought you should see this," Carter pressed ahead before she lost 
courage, handing a grainy print across the desk to General Hammond. She 
had chosen the worst photo of the bunch Jack had taken, a long range 
shot, slightly out of focus, so that her story would be more convincing. 
However, to anyone that knew Philip Marshall, the image was still 
clearly identifiable. "The Colonel e-mailed me this. It was someone he 
was following, someone he thought might have something to do with 
Daniel's disappearance. I was wondering if you might recognise him or 
know who he is."

Hammond took the picture from her and stared at it for a long time, 
fixing a blank look on his face. "No, Captain, I don't recall seeing 
this man before." He glanced up at her, "Had Colonel O'Neill been able 
to identify him?"

Sam decided that so long as a senior officer was going to lie to her, it 
would be okay for her to respond in kind, "No Sir, the Colonel didn't 
know who he was."

"Then why was Jack following him?" The General asked curiously.

"I think he was just going on a hunch, Sir. He really didn't give me any 
details, just that one photo," she shrugged uncomfortably.

Hammond pondered her words, "Well, Captain, leave this with me and I'll 
see if I can find out anything."

"Thank you, Sir," Carter turned and left his office, feeling suddenly 
very alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alone and awake, lying in the dark, Jack slowly became aware of a 
scuffling sound and tried to focus his senses on pinpointing the source. 
He had long since been expecting something to happen. The bottle of 
water had been empty for at least a couple of hours, despite his almost 
excruciatingly drawn out enjoyment of such a simple pleasure. The best 
part of a day must have passed since its arrival, as far as he could 
guess with no way to mark time.

The noise grew inexorably louder, like footsteps on a gritty floor, but 
coming from above. His head automatically turned upwards. His good eye, 
trying to focus in the darkness, was blinded by a ray of bright light, 
which suddenly shone from the ceiling high above. 

Scrambling backwards to escape the painful spotlight, Jack felt the 
sandstone wall firmly beneath his spine. He blinked rapidly, trying to 
adjust to the light, shielding his good eye with his left hand. He 
tilted his head down to scan the interior of the room, committing the 
walls and floor to memory while he had the chance.

A shadow appeared in front of the light, enabling him to look directly 
at the ceiling to see a square hole, about three feet across. An 
indeterminate shape dropped to the floor, dangling and twisting, and 
Jack realised it was a rope ladder. He pushed up, forcing himself to 
stand, his back pressed against the wall, ready for fight or flight, 
whichever desperate opportunity presented itself.

"Colonel O'Neill, I suggest you remain absolutely still," a heavily 
accented voice, originating from the hole in the ceiling, sounded loud 
in the sandstone tomb. "You have a 9mm Browning semiautomatic pistol 
aimed at your chest and my men have orders to shoot to kill should you 
make any move."

Jack peered upwards, trying to decide whether the voice was bluffing, 
shifting sideways to get a better view beyond the spotlight. A shot rang 
out, the noise explosively loud in the close quarters of the room. Stone 
chips hit his left cheek, gouged from the rock by a single warning shot 
that left his ears ringing concussively. O'Neill froze, his question 
answered, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched a man begin to 
descend the ladder.

~~~~~~~~~~

Early on Thursday morning, Egyptian time, Janet finally arrived in 
Cairo, disembarking the airport bus to join the immigration queue inside 
the airport terminal, praying fervently that she would have no problem 
obtaining an entry visa. She noticed Philip Marshall ahead of her, 
flashing his diplomatic pass to head straight through the gate, quickly 
disappearing into the crowds beyond.

Once she had finally passed all the security checks and recovered her 
luggage, Janet headed straight for a phone. She called the number for 
the Sheraton Hotel and asked them to slip a message beneath the door of 
Jack O'Neill's room, knowing that Daniel would be there at some point to 
pick it up. Then she headed out into the already dazzling sunlight and 
hunted down her courtesy minibus to the hotel.

The ride to the expensive tourist hotel in the shadow of the Great 
Pyramids took over an hour in the busy morning traffic of Cairo's 
overpopulated streets. As they neared Giza, Janet caught a tantalising 
glimpse of the tall sandstone structures between the rooftops of the 
densely packed housing. By the time she checked in at the hotel's 
reception desk, a message was already waiting for her. It simply read, 
"Son Et Lumiere, 7B, 14L." 

Before heading to her room, the doctor arranged an evening trip with the 
hotel tour guide. She decided to spend the rest of the day sleeping by 
the pool, astounded by the view from her balcony window of Kheops 
Pyramid peeking over the treetops behind the palatial main wing of the 
hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three men had descended into the tomb through an opening in the ceiling. 
They now stood in a row in front of a rope ladder, their faces shadowy 
caricatures, backlit by the spotlight's beam. The accented voice barked 
a loud order and the light swung across the floor, dazzling the Colonel.

Jack moved his hand to shield his working eye and another shot rang out, 
this time so close he could feel the wind whistle past his head, 
practically parting his tousled hair. He forced himself to stand 
absolutely still, concentrating on the voice to get a fix on the accent. 
When the man spoke again, O'Neill realised it was Russian, which only 
confused his addled mind even more. What the hell did the former Soviet 
Union have to do with anything he or Daniel were involved in? And what 
did they want from him?

"You're probably wondering what you're doing here, Colonel," the Russian 
spoke in clear, precise English, "And equally why I am here." He 
murmured an order in Egyptian to the two men standing either side, who 
lowered their weapons marginally. "I am here to release you.......just 
as soon as you have answered a couple of simple questions to my 
satisfaction."

"Now if you will please replace your arm by your side, I should like us 
to see eye to eye on the matter, so to speak," he smiled at his own pun, 
the objective of his order being simply to detect a lie on the face of 
his opponent.

"You might have to pry one open yourself if you really want to see eye 
to eye," Jack quipped reflexively, his voice dry and hoarse, but still 
he lowered his arm as ordered, if only to get a good look at the face 
before him. He blinked rapidly against the bright light until he could 
focus on the thinning blond hair and pale skin of the middle aged man 
belonging to the voice.

"Ah yes, most unfortunate," the Russian smiled again, weighing up the 
injuries inflicted on the Air Force Colonel. "The Cairo mafia will do 
anything for money, although this was beyond their call of duty. You 
must have angered them badly."

"Always did have a habit of ticking people off. Guess they didn't like 
my shortcut through their territory," Jack decided to feign ignorance 
until he knew where this was going.

"Come now, Colonel, you are too modest," the Russian continued his false 
charm, "Mr Marshall felt that you were very good at your job. He didn't 
find out you were following him until Friday morning. Our sources 
indicate that was four days after you started."

O'Neill's mind reeled, how the hell did they know that? Then the truth 
dawned, someone had to have been following him just like they were 
following Daniel, only he had been too stupid to consider the 
possibility or notice he was being watched. Great covert op, Jack! He 
mentally berated himself.

The blond man regarded him closely, reading his mind like a book, "Of 
course, my dear Colonel, you had no way of knowing we were tracking 
you." Jack stared at him, trying to make his face a blank page. "After 
all, who would suspect your own commanding officer would give you up?" 
The Russian laughed as Jack's mind reeled, wondering whether he had 
heard correctly. What reason could General Hammond have to betray him to 
the same people who were after Daniel?

"Now, onto those little questions we wish you to answer, then you can be 
on your way." He paused to signal one of the guards standing beside him, 
who pulled a mini camcorder from his pocket and prepared to record the 
conversation, focusing on the spotlighted Colonel. "What can you tell us 
about the Stargate program?"

Jack stared at him blankly, but his heart fell, "The what gate?" He 
managed hoarsely.

"The Stargate. You know, large round ring, provides travel between 
planets," the Russian knew the art of sarcasm almost as well as O'Neill.

"Sounds like science fiction to me," Jack smiled through cracked, 
bloodied lips.

"And what about Abydos?"

"Oh, you mean the Temple of Seti One? Yeah, that's not far outside of 
Luxor," O'Neill recalled quickly. Daniel would be proud of me, he told 
himself, but was suddenly struck by a horrible thought. What if his 
friend had already been through this exact same scenario? What if he was 
still going through it, imprisoned in his own tomb. He could even be 
somewhere nearby.

~~~~~~~~~~

At the Sound and Light show in front of the Sphinx, Daniel Jackson felt 
someone take the seat beside him, seven rows from the back, fourteenth 
seat on the left. He glanced sideways surreptitiously, feeling immense 
relief when he recognised the face of the American tourist who was just 
removing her wide brimmed floppy hat in the evening sunset.

"Doctor Fraiser," Jackson whispered happily, "Am I glad to see you."

"Rest assured, the feeling is mutual, Doctor Jackson. Sam sends her 
love," Janet hissed, keeping her eyes straight ahead. "Seen any 
unfriendlies lately?"

"Not since Saturday. You?"

"Only in as much as I flew in with Philip Marshall, would you believe?" 
Janet whispered ironically, "So he's back in country already."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully, "Tell me what room you're in and I'll meet 
you after the show."

Janet gave him the number and then announced in an extremely loud 
American drawl that she really couldn't see a thing from this seat, she 
would simply have to move. Gathering her large floppy hat and floral 
canvas bag, the doctor rose from her seat, excused herself all the way 
back along the row and went in search of a better view.

Daniel smiled to himself, relaxing a little now that he had seen his 
first friendly face in two weeks. He stared up at the Great Pyramids, 
their huge sandstone structures silhouetted against the still red tinged 
dusk sky. The planet Venus slowly rose beyond in the deepening blue 
night, the only bright star as yet visible.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unbeknownst to anyone outside, deep within the bowels of Kheops, the 
first and largest of the Great Pyramids, a somewhat one sided 
interrogation continued on into the dusk of that Thursday evening. 
Slowly deteriorating into exhausted one word answers, the questions 
revealing more about what the Russian already knew, which was proving to 
be a substantial amount of names, but apparently little actual data.

In between his increasingly belligerent responses, Jack tried to 
consider possible sources for their knowledge, pushing away the obvious 
conclusion that they had obtained all this information from Doctor 
Jackson. He didn't believe for one minute that Daniel would give up such 
facts, even under extreme duress, and there was no indication so far 
that they even had him in their hands. 

No, there had to have been a major leak, someone at the SGC itself, or 
an outsider with access to the data. Maybe someone working at the Area 
52 complex, where any technology brought through the Stargate was 
eventually sent. Or the Pentagon, or even someone in the political 
arena. There were members of the Senate Committee and the Joint Chiefs 
of Staff who had access to such information. Hell, why not include the 
President, while you're at it, Jack? In fact, when he thought about it, 
there were an awful lot of people that had knowledge of this so called 
highly classified program. And what about General Hammond? But if he had 
wanted to pass secrets to the Russians, why would they need Jack? 

"Who is Klorel?" The Russian's next question startled Jack from his 
reverie and prompted a surge of harrowing images of the Abydonian boy 
Skaara dying in the Colonel's arms. A temporary release from being held 
captive inside his own body, controlled by a Goa'uld larva.

"What's Chloral? Some kind of mouth wash?" Jack responded in an 
exhausted whisper, wondering how much longer this could go on for, not 
noticing one of the guards suddenly glance at his watch and murmur 
something to the Russian.

"Time passes quickly, my dear Colonel," the man smiled cheerfully, 
looking as if he had thoroughly enjoyed firing questions at the arrogant 
American for most of the day. "I am afraid we will have to continue this 
conversation later, I have a dinner engagement to attend! I do so look 
forward to a good meal, maybe a glass or two of wine," he gloated.

Jack was unable to hide his relief at the end of this futile 
interrogation session as he watched the Russian turn away to climb up 
the ladder. Swiftly followed by the two armed guards, one training a 
weapon on the captive at all times. The rope was removed and the 
entrance sealed, before the light extinguished, plunging him into 
darkness once more.

Safely alone, Jack's knees buckled beneath him stiffly. Weak from 
exhaustion and lack of food, he slid to the floor, vaguely wondering 
what had been achieved by either side in this battle of wills as he 
drifted into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

The tour bus delivered Janet Fraiser safely back to the hotel lobby 
barely fifty minutes after the show had finished. But it was another two 
hours of pacing and fretting before she heard a soft knock on her hotel 
room door and found Daniel Jackson standing outside, his head bobbing 
nervously from side to side as he checked and rechecked the empty 
corridor.

"Thank God," Janet hissed as she stepped aside for him to enter, "I 
wondered where you'd gotten to. It's nearly midnight!"

"Sorry, but I figured the main roads would be safer than cutting through 
the old housing beside the plateau. And it's a long way round on foot, 
especially when you're trying to stick with the crowds," Daniel 
explained, checking the curtains were completely closed before sitting 
in the armchair beside the window.

Janet handed him a bottle of water from the minibar and sat down on the 
bed opposite, updating him on what had occurred since his original 
disappearing act. She finished by describing the clandestine meeting 
between General Hammond and Philip Marshall.

"None of this makes any sense," Daniel concluded. "What information can 
a Senate Committee possibly need that they don't already have access to? 
And why can't they just ask for it, instead of authorising what is 
tantamount to kidnapping?"

"I don't know, Daniel," Janet frowned. She had been pondering that 
thought since first transcribing the conversation in the Denver coffee 
shop. "Besides, right now that's not important. For whatever reason, 
they now have Colonel O'Neill and we have got to get him back."

Daniel nodded, the worry lines creasing his face, "I can understand 
Hammond not being concerned about them going after me, I am only a 
civilian. But I thought he would fight for Jack a bit harder. The 
Colonel is too valuable to risk in some stupid political manoeuvring."

"I know," Janet agreed. "It's like, all of a sudden, General Hammond 
isn't running things any longer. Like someone else is in charge."

"Philip Marshall, maybe?" Daniel wondered aloud.

"No," she shook her head dubiously, "There has to be someone else behind 
this, someone higher."

Jackson gazed at the doctor, "So where do we go from here?"

"Daniel, is there anything around here called a 'Bark'?" Janet asked 
thoughtfully, recalling the diary appointment she had seen in Marshall's 
filofax for that Friday.

"Yes, there's a Solar Bark by Kheops Pyramid, the one you can see from 
here," he explained. "It's an ancient sail boat belonging to the king. 
It was discovered on a recent dig. They built a canopy around it because 
it was too delicate to move and turned it into a museum." Daniel threw 
her a puzzled glance, "Why do you ask?"

"Because Philip Marshall is due to meet someone there, tomorrow 
afternoon at 4pm. I read it in his diary." She smiled at the astonished 
look on Jackson's face, "I was sat next to him on the plane! Anyway, it 
looked important."

"Then I guess we'll be visiting the Pyramids tomorrow," Daniel agreed. 
"Mind if I bunk down here for the night?"

"Well I didn't expect you to sleep outside!" Janet laughed, "Help 
yourself to the other bed, just promise you won't snore!" She glanced at 
the clock, noticing it was already two in the morning and she didn't 
feel at all tired yet, "God, I must still be jet lagged!" She said out 
loud. "That reminds me, I promised I'd give Cassie a call after she 
finished school. You don't mind if I stay up another hour until she gets 
home, do you?"

Daniel shook his head, "No carry on, I'm not particularly sleepy yet 
anyway, but I am hungry! You got anything edible in that mini bar?" 

Janet gestured for him to check it out, so Daniel got up and opened the 
cupboard door, rustling around to find a packet of salted peanuts. He 
also took two bottles of beer from the fridge and opened them, "Just 
what the doctor ordered!" He grinned, passing her a drink before opening 
the peanuts and offering her some. Janet smiled gratefully, for once 
agreeing with his prescription for a way to relax.

Daniel savoured the flavour of the Egyptian beer before continuing the 
conversation, "Does Cassie know where you are?"

"No, she thinks I'm in Washington on business," Janet grimaced 
unhappily, "I hate lying to her, but she already suspects something is 
wrong. Jack's been gone so long without calling her, he's never let her 
down like that before. I couldn't tell her I was coming to Egypt without 
confirming her fear that he's in trouble."

"She really dotes on him, doesn't she?" Daniel smiled softly, knowing 
from the way Jack talked about the youngster that the feeling went both 
ways.

Janet nodded, "In Cassie's mind, Jack is her substitute for the father 
she lost. If anything happens to him.......," she trailed off, unwilling 
to follow that train of thought.

"Janet, we'll find him," Daniel assured her. "We have to," he added, as 
if to convince himself. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it didn't feel like 
nearly long enough when someone kicked him in the stomach to rudely 
awaken him. Another bruise to add to the collection, he told himself 
ruefully, trying to clear his head and sit up. He blinked in the sudden 
brightness, feeling a familiar cramp in his legs and the quaking of his 
body. 

He studied his visitors, recognising the same two guards as before. They 
were joined by a third, rather bulky, shaven headed man who looked 
vaguely Eastern European. However, the Russian was conspicuous by his 
absence. Maybe he didn't like to get his hands dirty, Jack thought, 
somehow he didn't think these guys were here to ask questions. 
Instinctively he pushed his back up against the wall, bracing himself 
for what was about to follow.

There was an ominously loud click as the hammer pulled back on a 9mm 
Browning wielded by one of the guards. He glanced in that direction in 
time to see it rising to train on his head. Jack froze, not even daring 
to breath, staring straight down the barrel. The only movement being the 
reflexive blink of his right eye, doing the work of two all the time his 
left remained swollen shut and untended.

The other guard had a Kalashnikov assault rifle slung over his shoulder. 
Moving to Jack's right side, he gripped an arm tightly to haul him up 
off the floor, leaning him against the rough sandstone wall. The gun 
barrel knocked against O'Neill's damaged hand, setting the nerve endings 
screaming again and the Colonel had to clench his teeth, until he could 
feel them grinding together, to stop himself from crying out. At least 
he was too dehydrated to sweat or it would be pouring down his face. He 
knew any sign of weakness would be jumped upon by these three men who 
had apparently been given a job to do, on him. 

Jack weighed the odds of what chance he might have to grab the AK47 from 
his captor's shoulder, flick off the safety, rack the bolt and fire, one 
handed, before he was shot by the other guard who already had him in his 
sights. Less than zero, the Colonel thought to himself, wondering if he 
ought to try anyway, it might be a better way to go. But he knew he 
wasn't ready to die yet, not until he at least knew why.

The third man slowly and deliberately approached, examining him 
carefully in the bright spotlight. He barked an order in stilted 
Egyptian and the guard gripping Jack's arm pulled up his t-shirt roughly 
to reveal the extent of bruising already colouring his chest and side. A 
rainbow of purples, browns, yellows and reds mixing together to mark out 
the weakest, most tender spots.

The bald headed Slav moved in, raising his fists and choosing his 
target, slamming one solid fist into O'Neill's side to connect with a 
boot shaped bruise from his earlier encounter, before pounding his chest 
with a southpaw punch that knocked the air from his lungs to leave him 
gasping. Jack slumped forward, head lolling, and the armed guard shifted 
round in front of him slightly, reaching across to pin him back up 
against the wall. 

Gambling that most likely they had orders not to kill him, since 
presumably they hadn't given up asking questions yet, O'Neill made his 
move. Grabbing the stock of the weapon slung over the guard's shoulder, 
Jack rammed it upwards to smash the butt against the man's chin. 
Quickly, he hauled the limp body in front as cover against the bullets 
from the second guard, who was already firing warning shots, before Jack 
even had time to remove the safety on the AK47.

O'Neill couldn't hold his human shield and ready the weapon at the same 
time with only one good hand and he could see the baldheaded man already 
moving in for the kill. That left him the choice of flinging the stunned 
guard at the Slav and exposing himself to gunfire or throwing the body 
at the source of the bullets and getting into an all out fight with a 
man who would probably be a match for Mike Tyson in any dark alley. 

The option of dying by bullet or beating was no easy choice, but in the 
end, Jack decided even championship boxers sometimes had glass jaws. He 
gasped a lungful of air, then shoved the body as hard as he could 
towards the second guard still showering the sandstone around them with 
gunfire. The body danced in the air, hit repeatedly with bullets, as 
Jack lunged towards the third man, knocking them both over in a crashing 
dive. Only this time perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew. 

Dropping onto his back, the bulky man simply grasped the toppling 
Colonel by the shoulders and tossed him over his head like a rag doll, 
allowing a small smile at the bone crunching sound of the body hitting 
the opposite wall. Not quite finished there, the Slav leapt to his feet 
with tremendous agility for his size and strode across to where Jack lay 
groaning, momentarily stunned.

Leering at him cruelly, the heavyweight kicked O'Neill in the testicles 
and watched his face come alive, contorting with pain as he curled up 
foetally. He noticed the outstretched hand, fingers already swollen and 
crooked, and stamped down on it. He mashed hard with his boot until, at 
long last, he got his ultimate satisfaction from the American, a blood 
curling scream that Jack could no longer hold in. 

The last thing O'Neill was aware of was the approach of the remaining 
armed guard, the need for vengeance compelling as he reloaded his 
Browning, pulling the hammer back with an ominous click. He trained it 
on the fallen Colonel, his finger on the trigger as he aimed and fired.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel awoke with a start, his heart beating hard in his chest. 
Wondering what had disturbed him, he glanced around in the dim light of 
pre-dawn. He had only been asleep a couple of hours, but now he was wide 
awake, his senses alert, searching for the source of his unease, but 
finding nothing tangible.

Quietly, he rose from the bed and crossed to the curtains, checking 
outside for any unwanted presence on the balcony, but there was noone in 
sight. He walked to the door, his bare feet padding softly across the 
carpet, and undid the flimsy latch, pulling the door ajar to peer into 
the corridor. Still seeing nothing, Jackson opened the door fully and 
stepped out, checking up and down the empty passageway before he was 
satisfied. He walked back into the hotel room, locking the door behind 
him again.

Janet sat up in her bed as he came back inside, "Something wrong?"

"No," Daniel shook his head, standing in the middle of the room looking 
lost, "Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

The doctor stared at him for a moment, blinking in the grey light, "Bad 
dream?" She asked with a look of compassion.

"More like a bad feeling," Daniel admitted shakily.

"Jack?" Janet understood immediately, knowing she had guessed correctly 
when he shrugged feebly, swallowing hard. He gazed at her with shining 
blue eyes as he sat back down on his bed. "We'll find him," Janet said 
softly, repeating his own earlier assurance. "Try to get some more 
sleep." 

~~~~~~~~~~

Cassandra had been busy since she got home from her friend Natalie's 
house that evening. She still felt guilty about lying to the girl's 
mother and was fervently hoping that the woman wasn't sufficiently 
suspicious to actually telephone Samantha Carter to check whether Cassie 
really was staying with her for the weekend.

Fortunately, school was closed on this Friday, so it wasn't like she was 
going to have to skip classes, she had never done that and wouldn't want 
to. Cass still enjoyed the novelty of school far too much to play 
truant. She was also intelligent enough to realise that without the 
lessons, and some extremely informative television shows, she would 
never have learned enough to know how to book an airline flight with her 
Mom's spare credit card, or how to give a convincing story about why 
such a young girl was travelling alone. Not to mention how to urgently 
obtain currency and travellers cheques over the telephone.

Now she had picked the lock on the desk drawer. Obtaining her forbidden 
passport using the Swiss army knife that Jack had given her as a gift, 
gladly teaching her all the different ways she could make use of its 
numerous tools. Her rucksack was packed with any items she deemed 
essential, including something to read on the long flight, and all that 
remained was to arrange a taxi cab to take her to Denver airport in the 
morning.

Finally, she ensured her menagerie of animals had sufficient food and 
water to last until Natalie came to make her promised check on Saturday, 
then she headed for bed. Setting her alarm clock for an early call, 
Cassie lay down tiredly, too excited by the thought of her trip to fall 
asleep quickly. In twenty four hours she would be landing in a foreign 
country, although it would be Saturday morning there. That would take 
some getting used to, she thought to herself.

She had once read that sometimes the end justified the means, never 
understanding that statement until now. Cassie had accessed Captain 
Carter's laptop computer, during her stay last weekend, simply to find 
out where Jack was. She had planned to ring him to hear the sound of his 
voice, to reassure herself that he was fine, just like her Mom had told 
her. But late on Tuesday night, she had accidentally overheard Janet and 
Sam talking and their tone had scared her. 

When she found out her Mom was leaving town for a few days, it didn't 
take much to put two and two together and it wasn't difficult to detect 
the underlying worry in Janet's voice when she had rung Natalie's house 
earlier that evening. It had been even easier to simply dial the number 
she had given in case of emergency, listening to the person on the other 
end of the long distance call announcing the name of the hotel. So 
Cassie had decided to take a trip herself, she owed Janet and Jack so 
much, now it was time to repay them. Besides, she smiled happily, she 
had always wanted to see the Pyramids.

~~~~~~~~~~

The shock of cold water splashed against his face and a Russian voice 
shouted harshly into his ear, "It's morning! Time to wake up, Colonel!" 
His eyes still shut, O'Neill felt himself being hauled roughly to a 
sitting position, every inch of his body screaming for release. Another 
bucket of cold water was thrown over him and Jack shivered, licking his 
lips and wiping his hand over his face to catch the drops and push them 
into his mouth before they evaporated in the dry air.

"I'll let you have another bottle of water if you answer one question to 
my satisfaction," the Russian taunted, smiling in amusement at the sight 
of the Colonel ringing liquid from his filthy green t-shirt into his 
mouth. He noted the livid bruises on his chest and side, wondering how 
much more punishment the stubborn American could take.

"You might as well kill me now, I don't know anything," O'Neill retorted 
grimly, sucking the remaining drops from the grubby material.

"Oh, I don't think so, Colonel." He signalled the armed guard who had 
seen his comrade die accidentally by his own hand barely hours before. 
Prevented from killing their captive by the Russian's untimely 
reappearance, now he was finally released to vent his anger. The 
Egyptian unslung the Kalashnikov, which had belonged to his fallen 
comrade, and gripped the barrel, swinging the butt through the air to 
impact Jack's stomach with a solid thwack.

O'Neill doubled over in pain, collapsing onto his side, trying not to 
cry out. He really was beginning to wish they would just kill him and 
get it over with, but he knew that was simply beyond hope, they weren't 
finished with him yet. As he lay there, coughing and gasping for breath, 
he noticed another new participant awkwardly descending the rope ladder, 
a tool bag slung over one shoulder and a square box in his hand, its 
distinct shape heralding a dreadful new ordeal for the suffering 
Colonel.

"Ah, the electrician is here," the Russian smiled blithely, welcoming 
the latest arrival and exchanging a few words in Egyptian before 
stepping aside. The timid looking man set up his equipment, powering on 
the portable generator to warm up and attaching jumper cables as the 
engine settled into a steady hum.

If it were anymore possible, Jack would have paled at the sight, but he 
was already a ghastly shade of white and the thought of electric shock 
simply set his body quaking in advance. He tried to scrabble away from 
the menacing machinery, but his retreat was halted by the armed guard, 
who gave him a solid painful kick in the back with a steel toed boot.

The Russian watched raptly as the specialist continued to prepare for 
his work. Taking a heavy mallet and a solid metal spike with a needle 
eye tip from his tool bag, he surveyed the room, selecting an 
appropriate site. At a point less than three yards from the nearest 
corner, he bent down to hammer the spike into the ground, the clanging 
sound of metal against metal echoing frighteningly around the tomb.

Jack viewed the scene with an attempted detachment, until the man 
returned to his bag and withdrew a length of rope, handing it to the 
Egyptian guard with several words of instruction. The native language 
was unintelligible to O'Neill, but it was not difficult to guess what 
had been said and he fought gamely to stop the guard from securing the 
rope around his legs. 

Kicking and scrambling, Jack tried to escape from his grasp, wriggling 
away until the Egyptian grew impatient. Handing his Kalashnikov to the 
electrician, he moved around the body and brutally stomped down on 
O'Neill's damaged left side. Jack gasped in agony as the guard ground 
his studded boots against bruising the Egyptian knew already existed 
after the encounter the previous night. Pinning the Colonel painfully 
into place, he bent over and bound his ankles tightly. 

With a long loose end of rope left free, the guard used it to drag the 
body into the corner of the room, looping the cord through the needle of 
the spike that had been driven solidly into the ground. Securing it with 
a firm knot, the Egyptian guard collected his Kalashnikov back from the 
electrician and took up position near the Colonel to watch the fun 
begin.

All preparation complete, the electrician pulled on a pair of thick 
rubber gloves and lifted the now hot cables. Helplessly trapped, Jack's 
gaze was fixed on the sparking heads of the approaching leads. In 
growing panic, he writhed and jerked his legs, but the harder he 
struggled the tighter his bonds grew, every desperate tiny pull of his 
feet only serving to ensnare him even more. 

Cornered like some terrified animal, Jack braced himself as blue sparks 
jumped from the metal ends, his face contorting in ghastly anticipation, 
watching his torturer move them inexorably closer to the trapped soles 
of his bare feet. His mind numbed with terror, O'Neill heard the 
sizzling and smelled searing flesh before recognising the jolt of 
electricity coursing through his body. He clenched his teeth, biting 
back a scream of agony for an interminably long moment before he passed 
out from the excruciating pain.

Cold water awakened him and this time he barely had the strength to 
retrieve any drops that didn't hit his mouth. As his senses became more 
alert, Jack noticed the guard place the half full container almost 
within reach on his right. When the sparking cables touched his feet 
again O'Neill writhed on the floor, his face contorted in horrific 
distress, but desperately trying to stay focused. He managed to edge 
sideways, closer to the bucket, but it was too far away from his left 
hand, his only chance was his right. 

Bolts of agony shot up his arm as he grasped the handle with broken 
fingers, bone and nerve grinding together as he forced them to clench 
tighter. Releasing a blood curdling scream of pain, Jack hauled the 
bucket off the ground, launching it with all the strength of his upper 
body, and flung it at the generator. Sparks and flames shot out as the 
menacing hum of electricity ceased with a sputter.

The owner of the equipment was positively distraught by its untimely 
demise, while the Russian allowed an evil smile to replace his anger, 
realising the extent of possibilities in that broken hand. He ordered 
the electrician to leave and take his smouldering box with him, then 
signalled the guard to grab O'Neill's right arm.

"Now, perhaps you will answer some of my questions a bit more civilly?" 
The Russian leered at his prisoner, enjoying the agony contorting the 
American's features as the guard twisted and ground broken bones 
together.

"Not in your lifetime!" Jack hissed through gritted teeth, his breath 
heaving raggedly.

The questions continued for what seemed an eternity, but in reality 
probably measured no more than hours. The agony increased in direct 
proportion with O'Neill's insolence, underlying his growing certainty 
that he would never be using that hand again, so in that respect he had 
nothing left to lose.

Four times Jack passed out and each time he was revived by the splash of 
a seemingly endless supply of water. Until finally, as the American's 
head lolled forward yet again, the Russian checked his watch and ordered 
the guard to release him.

Finished for the moment and with a more pressing engagement to attend 
to, the blond man headed up the rope ladder, closely followed by the 
armed guard. The entrance was resealed behind them and the room fell 
into darkness once more. The only sound remaining was the shallow 
rasping breath of one unconscious Colonel. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel and Janet had been wandering around Giza plateau since lunch 
time, acting like a happy tourist couple who thought the Sphinx was 
"just wild, man!" Doctor Jackson had wrapped a long white linen scarf 
around his head to cover his hair turban style like one of the locals 
and donned a pair of very dark glasses. He still hadn't shaved, sporting 
quite a decent beard growth, and he wore a gaudily bright Hawaiian style 
shirt that he had purchased from the hotel gift shop, hoping that the 
eye catching sight would be the best distraction for anyone who knew 
what he looked like, including Philip Marshall.

The afternoon heat was beginning to pass its peak, when the figure of 
the Assistant to the US Ambassador eventually appeared on the shimmering 
horizon. He climbed from his, now dusty, white Ford Maverick, sun 
glinting off the dark tinted windows, and walked across the stretch of 
open land in front of Kheops.

The American couple slowly wandered to the entrance of the boat museum 
and bought tickets from an Egyptian vendor dressed in traditional light 
grey gallabiya robes, a grubby white scarf wrapped around jet black 
hair. Heading inside just in front of the Embassy worker, Janet removed 
her wide brimmed sunhat and withdrew the camcorder, that Sam had loaned 
her, from the large floral canvas bag. She feigned all the right sounds 
of amazement as she drifted away from her partner to take a myriad of 
shots of the Solar Bark.

Daniel gazed around the high airy museum, noticing a man leaning against 
a pillar on the upper level, dressed in a business suit and seemingly 
disinterested in the museum's contents. Jackson walked along to the 
stairway, stopping occasionally to show fascination in the fabulous 
craftsmanship of the vessel as he headed for the top floor. He took up 
position on the railing above the bark, waving and calling loudly to 
Janet about how marvellous the boat was and did she want him to get a 
picture from above.

"Stay there, darling, I want to get some of you," Janet drawled, 
understanding his hidden meaning.

He watched her walk around the structure and climb the stairs to the 
middle level. She aimed the lens across the open gap, focusing on the 
two men now deep in discussion a few feet behind Daniel. With the full 
zoom on, she could clearly identify Philip Marshall, talking with an 
older, pale man with thinning blond hair. As the conversation grew more 
animated, Marshall shifted, turning his back to her and obscuring the 
face of the other man. There would be no chance of reading their lips 
this time.

However, the curved structure of the museum roof afforded excellent 
acoustics, the sound of heavy debate travelling clearly across to Doctor 
Jackson, neither man seeming to care as their voices rose. The reason 
was obvious when Daniel recognised the language being spoken. The two 
men apparently felt certain there would be noone nearby who could 
understand Russian and know what they were talking about.

"How much longer?" Marshall asked irritably.

"He is proving extremely stubborn," the other man replied defensively, 
"Apparently he is not the type to beg for mercy, no matter how far he is 
pushed."

"What did you expect? He's a seasoned Air Force Colonel! You knew he'd 
been through this before," the American exclaimed angrily.

"All the more reason why I expected him to break after a few days of 
such claustrophobic imprisonment and deprivation." He paused 
thoughtfully, "I will need to find another weak spot."

"Well, do it soon," Marshall ordered, "I don't know how much longer I 
can hold them off. Hammond's starting to ask questions. He's threatening 
to go to the President."

The older man looked puzzled, "What good will that do him, your 
President knows nothing?"

"Exactly! It will tell him that the President doesn't know anything 
about an operation that was supposedly given his seal of approval!" He 
explained, shaking his head in exasperation. "This would have all been 
over by now if your men in Luxor had just done their job properly."

"Doctor Jackson proved to be an extremely elusive and capable opponent, 
as would O'Neill have been had he not been more concerned for his friend 
than for himself. I believe it is you who underestimated them," the man 
said coldly, "And now we will have to take drastic steps to finish 
this."

Marshall held up his hands defensively, "I don't have time for the 
details, copy me in on your written reports, just get the job done and 
do it fast. We have to be out of here by mid week at the latest. "

"Do not worry, my dear Philip," the man smiled chillingly, "in his 
current state the Colonel will already be dead by then!" That ended the 
discussion and he turned to stride along the upper walkway and down the 
stairs.

Janet watched him leave, moving to follow him to the lower level, 
leaving Daniel to keep an eye on Marshall. The Russian disappeared 
through a door marked "Authorised Access Only". She tried the handle to 
find it locked. "Damn," Janet muttered under her breath, turning around 
to head for the exit, out into the sunlight to wait for Doctor Jackson.

Philip Marshall appeared soon after, striding back across the rough 
rocky plateau towards his four wheel drive. Daniel took a few more 
minutes before following him out. He rejoined her in the sun a few yards 
from the base of Kheops pyramid, looking pale.

"Did you hear anything?" Janet asked with some concern when she saw his 
face.

Daniel nodded, deciding to save explanations for later, instead he 
asked, "What happened to the blond guy?"

"He went through an access door in the bottom level. I tried to follow 
him, but it was locked," Janet admitted unhappily. "I figured I'd wait 
out here until he reappeared. You did say there's no other way out of 
that building, right?"

"Yeah, I went all around the outside earlier, there's only one entrance. 
I guess there must be some offices in the basement or something." He 
eyed two members of the Tourist and Antiquities police seated nearby, 
dressed in their crisp white shirts, gold braided epaulets, AK47s 
resting in their laps. "Let's head down nearer the Sphinx and watch from 
there. The museum closes in a few minutes, he'll have to come out soon."

"Okay, then you can tell me what you heard inside," Janet said 
insistently.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Dmitri Alesandrov returned through the tunnels into the depths of 
the ancient pyramid, he headed directly for the makeshift supply store 
on the upper level. Unlocking the decidedly modern wooden door, he 
stooped low to clear his head within the confined space, lighting his 
way with the powerful gas lamp he had collected at the entrance from the 
burial chamber of the Solar Bark. 

Selecting a number of glass vials from their protective polycarbonate 
container, he stashed them inside a hard shell medical case and headed 
for the inner sanctum, gathering his men from the temporary bunk room 
along the way.

Leaving one as the usual backup in the tunnel above, the Russian 
followed the remaining guard down the rope ladder into the concealed 
chamber. Imagining for the umpteenth time the riches of gold and jewels 
that may once have resided there, hidden from all except a few well 
informed tomb robbers. How ironic that once more it was being used to 
secrete something of great value, only this time it was a wealth of 
knowledge that was contained within.

Stationing the well armed Egyptian within a few feet of the unconscious 
prisoner, whose ankles were still tied to the spike in the ground, the 
Russian bent down to examine the Colonel's condition. He knew from the 
weak, thready pulse that he would have to take this slowly if he was to 
succeed in obtaining information rather than killing him too soon. It 
was going to be a long night, Alesandrov thought to himself, opening his 
case and extracting a hypodermic needle to insert into a carefully 
chosen glass vial.

"Untie him and wake him up," he told the guard, who grinned viciously 
and stepped forward to do the honours. 

Jack's head snapped to one side with the impact of a punch to the jaw 
that split his cracked bottom lip open. Tasting the blood in his mouth, 
he tried to come to his senses, his heart racing and his body 
complaining horrendously from the multitude of suffering. Reluctantly, 
he squinted up at the unwanted sight of one well armed guard and the 
leering Russian. 

O'Neill was slow to realise his legs were free once more. Scrambling 
backwards, he tried to avoid the follow up swing he could see coming, 
but his shoulders hit warm sandstone, coming to a halt in time for the 
Egyptian's fist to meet his jaw. His head banged against the wall and 
fresh blood spurted from his mouth, spilling down the front of his t-
shirt as the guard moved in to grab his arms and haul him roughly to his 
feet. Jack's head lolled forwards, dazed and bleeding, his legs buckling 
beneath him, but the man held him upright, pinned against the wall. 

Feeling a stabbing pain inside his instep, the Colonel tried to recall 
when he had received such an injury, but before he came up with any 
coherent answer, he heard the Russian bark an unintelligible order. He 
shook his head to clear it, a look of confusion crossing his face as he 
slowly focused on the hypodermic needle in the Russian's hand. Then he 
spotted a hard shell container lying open on the floor to reveal an 
array of medical vials and supplies and O'Neill fought to suppress the 
sudden panic that gripped him, writhing and wriggling in a futile effort 
to escape the guard's vice like hold.

The Russian smiled cruelly, recognising the emotions crossing the 
American's bruised and bloodied features. He held up the syringe in his 
right hand, signalling his henchman to grab an arm. "Well, my dear 
Colonel, we have come to a crossroad it seems. The decision is now 
yours. Do you tell us all you know readily, or do you suffer horribly 
and reveal all to us later anyway?" 

Jack remained silent, glaring at the man as he attempted to swallow his 
fear. He didn't know what the vial contained but he was certain in the 
knowledge that he could not outwit a chemical. It seemed that all of his 
effort to suppress even the slightest thought of the Stargate and its 
secrets might now be undone under the influence of drugs.

"You're probably wondering what is in the syringe," the Russian 
observed. "It is nothing complex, just a simple but decidedly painful 
dose of a synthetic concoction your own government came up with. It's a 
form of lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD as you may prefer to call 
it."

"Hey, I was around in the sixties. Been there, done that!" Jack quipped 
hoarsely.

"Nothing quite as special as this, I guarantee you, Colonel," the 
Russian gloated. "This particular variety has been greatly enhanced to 
produce rapid results, it will effect the seratonin receptors of your 
brain, produce vivid flashbacks, loss of impulse control, wild mood 
swings. Your government uses it in brainwashing techniques," he paused 
for effect, "And it is much faster acting. Within minutes you will begin 
to feel the initial symptoms. Increased heart rate, temperature and 
blood pressure, a loss of appetite, sweats, tremors, dry mouth and 
ultimately, as your senses are overcome, intense pain."

"No change there then," Jack's feeble attempt at humour sounded grim to 
his ears.

"It is your choice, Colonel O'Neill," Alesandrov pointed out, "As I 
said, you can tell me now and avoid more suffering, or you can test out 
the effectiveness of this chemical and be powerless to avoid revealing 
the truth while under its influence."

Jack stared wordlessly, refusing to give them the satisfaction of 
hearing the quiver of fear in his voice. The guard tightened his grip 
and the Russian approached with the needle, a drop of the chemical 
escaping down the shaft as he readied the injection. O'Neill shied away 
from it, tensing his muscles, his hand clenched. His face contorted in 
the futile effort of escaping their grasp as he watched the needle point 
draw inexorably closer to the crook of his trapped right elbow. 

The Russian was clearly enjoying himself, a brutal, twisted smile 
highlighting his face as he saw the Colonel's reaction. The needle 
plunged expertly into a vein and Jack realised without a doubt that the 
man had done this before, sometime in his abhorrent past. 

Jack gasped, he could almost sense the chemical coursing through his 
veins. Helplessly he felt his heart rate quicken and his body begin to 
shake in reaction to the toxic dose. He heard a voice, dim and 
indistinct, and his arms were released. He dropped to the floor onto his 
hands and knees as his vision began to swim. Numbly he recognised the 
pain in his fingers and lifted his right hand without thinking, tipping 
the balance of his swaying body. He toppled onto one side, his 
equilibrium no longer functioning. 

The light before him began to dissolve, unreal colour vividly crowding 
his view in an excruciating crescendo that he could feel and hear. The 
sound mixed with the rasping noise of his heaving breath and a strange 
distorted laughter that faded in and out as his sensory perception 
became clouded.

Alesandrov stepped back to watch and wait, recognising all the classic 
symptoms he had seen so many times before in victims long since 
deceased. Tinged with a feeling of nostalgia for the good old days of 
his cold war exploits, he had forgotten just how rewarding this work 
could be given a challenging enough adversary. Now he knew it was only a 
matter of time before the severity of pain and hallucination increased 
and the Colonel would finally be broken. He resolved to enjoy it whilst 
it lasted.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel and Janet were finally forced to leave Giza plateau when the 
police secured the site for the evening in preparation for the sound and 
light show. Despondently, they walked the mile down the hill to the 
hotel, trying to absorb the implications of the eavesdropped 
conversation along with the fact that the Russian had failed to emerge 
from the boat museum during the length of their vigil.

"It could mean one of two things," Daniel suggested eventually, "Either 
he's still inside, or there's a passage leading into the pyramid and he 
went out that way."

"But we had a good view of the whole plateau all that time, surely we 
would have seen him leave?" Janet argued logically.

"Unless he stayed inside the pyramid, but why would he do that?" Daniel 
thought aloud, a light slowly dawning in his eyes.

Janet gazed at him with a growing feeling of unease, "Daniel, are there 
rooms inside the pyramids?"

He nodded, the idea already occurring to him as well, he just couldn't 
bring himself to say it. "Then that's where they're keeping Jack," she 
realised worriedly. "What the hell do we do now?"

Daniel was silent for a long moment, struggling to keep a clear head 
amidst his rising panic. Eventually he spoke, "We should head back to 
Jack's hotel room in Cairo, download the film into my laptop and send it 
to Sam to see if she can identify the blond man. Then tomorrow morning, 
we can go to the Cairo Museum and check out the blueprints for Kheops."

"Do you think that guy was really Russian?" Janet asked after a long 
pause.

"It might explain a few things if he was, I guess. Oh, I don't know," 
Daniel shook his head, "It all seems a bit cliché, doesn't it? I mean, I 
thought the cold war was over?"

"Maybe, but there is talk of the Soviet military trying to make a 
comeback. They need power and information to do that," Janet mused, 
"What better way than to obtain knowledge of the Stargate program?"

Daniel looked puzzled, "But what good would it do them?"

"Well, for a start, they'd have quite a hold over any US President who 
was still hiding the secret from the voting public! Maybe that's all 
they need," Janet pondered, the ideas still forming, "Or to re-establish 
their supremacy in the space race, that is the next unconquered 
frontier, after all."

"It still doesn't explain how they found out about it in the first 
place," Daniel pointed out, "Sam couldn't find any ties between Philip 
Marshall and the Stargate program. They must have obtained the 
information from a leak somewhere."

"Yes, and if we're going to stop this from succeeding, we need to know 
who the leak is." Janet recalled the General's lack of support in the 
matter, "Or, at least, who it isn't!"

"You don't think Hammond would knowingly.......," Daniel trailed off, 
analysing all the possible explanations. He shook his head, "No, I don't 
believe that. From what Marshall said, it sounded more like the General 
was being duped into thinking there had been Presidential approval on 
the operation. I think, as far as Hammond is concerned, he's simply 
following orders."

"But what an order!" Janet's tension exploded angrily, "Hey General, 
we're just going to kidnap, torture, and possibly murder, a member of 
your best team for our covert information gathering operation! Oh, and 
by the way, here's the Presidential approval, but whatever you do don't 
check the signature!"

Suddenly realising that Daniel was no longer beside her, Janet turned 
around. He had stopped a few yards back up the road, staring at her with 
painfilled eyes. The doctor's rage deflated as she realised what she had 
said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. This whole business is just making 
me edgy, not knowing who we can trust." She stepped towards him, placing 
a hand on his arm, "Jack is going to be all right, we'll make sure of 
that. Come on," she steered him down the path, "We need to make some 
plans. Figure out how we're going to get him out of there."

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam Carter was spending Friday morning in one of the labs, tediously 
inputting data to a spreadsheet for another of the Pentagon's new 
reports. She was bored out of her mind and more concerned about her 
colleagues than she cared to admit. Sam had not heard anything since 
Janet flew off two days earlier and she was now permanently online to 
her personal e-mail account just in case one of them sent a message.

All the sleepless nights were catching up with her and she was just 
contemplating heading out for yet another cup of black coffee, when an 
alarm on the computer pinged. Hurriedly, she checked her inbasket to 
find an e-mail from Daniel, opening it and rapidly scanning the text. 
She reread it several times in disbelief, deciding the only way to 
verify his theories would be to get an identification on the man in the 
picture he had attached.

Expertly Sam called up a government database, using codes belonging to 
the security detail at the SGC, a rotating post that she herself had the 
misfortune of being assigned to once every two months. Still it provided 
her with access to all sorts of files that would otherwise be 
unobtainable. 

Surprisingly, given the subject of her search, it did not take long to 
put a name to the face. Formerly known as Dmitri Nikolayevich 
Alesandrov, he had been a Soviet KGB operative who defected to the 
United States over ten years ago, towards the end of the cold war. All 
the information on him was historic, with nothing new available since 
his relocation and change of identity. Although, it was apparent, from 
what Daniel had heard, that the man was still actively pursuing his 
chosen career.

It also seemed that Philip Marshall's new position as Assistant to the 
US Ambassador in Egypt was a convenient front for work in the 
intelligence community. The fact that he could speak fluent Russian made 
it far more than a coincidence for him to be chosen as Egyptian liaison 
for this particular operation. Especially since that piece of 
information had been left out of the Embassy personnel file that Carter 
had originally accessed for Colonel O'Neill.

Sam sat back and absorbed the data on her computer screen. So everything 
pointed to this whole affair being run by US intelligence, but to what 
possible end?

Doing her best to disguise her words so that only Daniel would 
understand their meaning, Sam quickly composed a message regarding her 
findings, praying he was still online to receive it and would know what 
to do.

An hour later, she was staring at his response, wishing to God that 
there was some other way. She knew Daniel was right, if they really were 
holding the Colonel inside one of the pyramids, they would never be able 
to slip in undetected and track him down in the maze of passages and 
chambers. She had to confront Hammond, explain to him that he was being 
mislead regarding the supposed Presidential approval, and try to find 
out what the purpose was of this covert operation.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dmitri Alesandrov had been waiting several hours, but the moment had 
finally arrived as the American Colonel began murmuring deliriously. The 
screams of agony had abated, much to the Russian's relief. Delightfully 
satisfying though the suffering had been, the effects of the sound in 
the close confines of the tomb, coupled with a lack of sleep, were 
giving him a headache.

Now he concentrated hard, listening intently for valuable pieces of 
information in the disoriented mumblings of the heavily drugged man, but 
so far he had only heard names. Mainly ones which he recognised from his 
study of O'Neill's personnel file, thoughtfully provided the previous 
week by Philip Marshall when the information that the Colonel was in 
Cairo had been received, altering their plans to something much more 
fascinating and infinitely more of a challenge for the Russian's skills.

Alesandrov had learned some useful details about his captive from that 
file, especially with regard to potential weak spots. A harrowing 
incident during his imprisonment in the Gulf War had provided the entire 
backdrop for his current confinement. Certainly, the tomb was not as 
small as he would have liked, but it was an ideal location to cause as 
much sensory deprivation and claustrophobia as possible, whilst ensuring 
the resourceful man had no hope for escape.

"Sara!" O'Neill murmured again, clearly in the grip of a frightening 
vision. His fist clenched tightly, his whole body tensing. "No!" He 
screamed suddenly, rolling onto his side and trying to stand in his 
delirium, his open gaze helplessly watching events unfold. Jack saw his 
wife Sara and son Charlie, captured and bound by Apophis to be used as 
hosts. His drug induced disorientation mixing together tragic realities 
into one desperate grief filled moment of defeat and loss.

Charlie stared in terror at the mature Goa'uld larva that was crawling 
over his shoulder, preparing to burrow into the back of his neck. He 
looked at his father, "I hate you! I hate you!" The young boy shouted 
fiercely, "Look what you've done to us! This is all your fault!" His 
voice was cut off with a gasp of agony and his eyes suddenly glowed as 
if to emphasise his point.

"No!" Jack whispered hoarsely, his pain filled voice barely audible. He 
gazed at his wife as she was forced to endure the same fate. Her eyes 
lit up with a chilling blaze, her mind and body overtaken by an alien 
presence. He watched her loving smile die, replaced by a cold blank 
unrecognising stare. Jack screamed again, stumbling backwards in shock 
at the loss of his family to an enemy he had spent so long fighting. The 
Goa'uld had finally won and O'Neill had suffered the ultimate defeat. 

Suddenly, he heard a voice close by, a strange accent, "Who is it, 
Colonel? Who are you fighting?" O'Neill looked around trying to find the 
source of the voice. "Tell me, Colonel. I can help you! Who is it?" The 
Russian whispered urgently in his ear.

"Apophis!" Jack gasped in desperate sorrow, "It's Apophis!"

"What is he doing?" Alesandrov eagerly tried to pry the information from 
the delirious Colonel before the moment passed.

"He's taking my family!"

"Why?" The Russian asked excitedly, his anticipation high at finally 
getting answers to some of his questions.

"Revenge!" Jack hissed, still staring into the distance at the 
hallucinatory sight, watching his wife and son as they left him. 
Transported inside golden rings which first lowered and then retracted 
through the ceiling of the pyramid, the glow of the very real spotlight, 
helping to turn the vivid image into reality for the deluded man.

"For what?" The Russian shouted, but Jack did not answer, he was looking 
for a way to help his family, a way to prevent them from leaving him. 
Alesandrov grabbed his shoulders, desperately shaking him to regain his 
attention, "Revenge for what, Colonel?"

Jack finally turned to face him, the image dissolving, his gaze slowly 
clearing to focus on the man and Dmitri knew the moment was gone by the 
sudden look of recognition on his face. 

The Colonel stared at his nemesis in shock, trying to grasp the last 
fleeting moments of imagery, fighting to recall what he might have told 
him, suddenly afraid by the excitement reflected in those cold eyes. 
Fearful that he had revealed something of value without realising, 
without having any control over his words, Jack felt completely 
powerless. For the first time in this whole affair, he knew with 
absolute certainty that not only was his fate in this Russian man's 
hands, but so were the actions of his remaining life from this point 
forth.

Silently Jack watched his torturer, struggling supremely to keep it 
together. The man reluctantly released his shoulders and calmly stood, 
walking across to the hard shell case still resting open on the floor, 
watched over by the remaining Egyptian guard who had been covering 
events intently.

Alesandrov reached a hand into the case, selecting a second container of 
the drug. One more dose should do it, he decided, the added pain 
quotient alone would suffice, with the increased density of toxin in his 
system. The Colonel's life would be his, to control as he saw fit. 

With a fresh hypodermic and the vial, he approached the American, 
watching in amusement as the weakened man feebly attempted to scramble 
away from him. Dmitri made a show of inserting the needle into the 
container and filling the syringe with the clear, colourless, innocent 
looking fluid. Turning, he signalled the guard for his help and stood 
waiting until the Egyptian had the Colonel pinned by the shoulders, his 
right arm forcibly outstretched, so that the Russian could insert the 
needle.

Jack gasped, his chest heaving, too effected by the drugs poisoning his 
system to fight anymore. The hypodermic plunged into a vein, forming a 
new pinprick sized hole not far from the first. He tried to jerk his arm 
away, but the guard held it in a vice like grip, a smile on his own face 
to reflect the Russian's as he noticed how exquisitely slowly Alesandrov 
injected the fluid, vengefully drawing out the agony as long as possible 
for the tormented Colonel.

~~~~~~~~~~

General Hammond had left early for the day, so Captain Carter was forced 
to go to his house. She found him surrounded by family, apparently it 
was somebody's birthday, there were balloons and brightly wrapped 
presents strewn on the back lawn. The General's grandchildren were 
running around excitedly, while his son helped him with the barbecue and 
his daughter-in-law prepared dishes of salad inside a kitchen that 
looked out across the happy scene.

When General Hammond saw the look on Sam's face, he excused himself and 
led her into the study. The sound of children playing without a care in 
the world drifted through the window and Carter couldn't help see the 
irony as she confronted their grandfather, wondering what his response 
would be once she had finished telling him everything she knew. 

"So you have no proof of any of this, just the hearsay of an overheard 
conversation in a foreign language which could have been mistranslated!" 
Hammond argued forcefully.

"With all due respect, Sir," Carter exclaimed indignantly, "Irrespective 
of whether the President has approved this operation, how could you 
allow them to do this to the Colonel? He looks up to you like a father, 
you wouldn't allow this to happen to your own son!"

"My son is not in the military, Captain!" Hammond snapped, angry at 
having to justify his actions to her.

"Well, I don't believe Colonel O'Neill signed up for the sort of 
military you seem to be taking orders from at present!" Carter was 
trying her best not to be insolent to a superior officer, but it was 
becoming a real struggle. How could he be so blind?

"Colonel O'Neill would understand. You'd be surprised at some of the 
things he has been forced to do under orders," the General said 
defensively.

"I'd be surprised if any of them included betraying his own men!" Carter 
yelled, no longer able to control her rage.

"Captain, I have my orders," Hammond explained placatingly, "There's 
nothing I can do."

"What orders could possibly make these actions legal?" Sam shouted, "You 
know they're wrong. What do they have on you to make you roll over and 
die like this?"

Hammond took a deep breath, deciding to come clean, "The SGC, Captain. 
That is what's at stake here. The future of the Stargate program and, 
consequently, the future of this entire planet."

"And that's worth Jack O'Neill's life?" Sam's voice was suddenly soft, 
as though to say the words too loud would make them reality.

The General looked at her confidently, "I have their word that he will 
not be harmed."

"And you believe that?" Carter cried in astonishment, "What else would 
they be doing with him!" Sam bit her tongue, trying to calm her anger, 
knowing reasoning with him was her only chance. "Sir, Colonel O'Neill 
has been missing for a week. Do you think he can endure that kind of 
confinement again? You know how antsy he gets being cooped up on base 
for too long." She placed a pleading hand on his arm, "If Daniel is 
right about where they're holding him, it would be worse than any Iraqi 
prison cell. It could push him over the edge and this time he might not 
recover."

"That's the whole point of the exercise, Captain." Hammond explained 
uncomfortably, "They want to see what a key member of SG1 will do under 
pressure. They want to know how much he will reveal to the enemy."

"Under duress?" Sam flushed red as things slotted into place in her 
mind. Up till now, she herself had trouble believing the full contents 
of the conversation Daniel had overheard, but now it was beginning to 
appear all too true. "They're torturing him! And you're letting them get 
away with it!"

"They promised it wouldn't be done that way. There are other methods 
nowadays, Captain."

"So you think chemical or psychological abuse is acceptable? Since when 
did you come to trust the government more than you trust your own gut 
instinct, Sir?" Carter tried desperately to reason with him one more 
time, "General, you know the Goa'uld have far different methods of 
extracting information. What is this 'exercise' going to prove?"

"It's not about how we hold up against the Goa'uld. It's about how we 
would hold up against other nations," Hammond explained. "You know the 
Russians are attempting to regain power. Then there's the Chinese and 
any number of Asian and Middle Eastern governments who would kill to get 
their hands on this technology."

"You've really bought into their brand of paranoia, haven't you, Sir?" 
Carter said sarcastically. "Don't you think Jack's done enough, fighting 
the Goa'uld and saving this planet, to prove his loyalty?"

"They weren't supposed to take Jack!" The words were out of Hammond's 
mouth before he could stop them.

Carter remembered what had started this crisis, her face showing renewed 
shock, "Daniel! It was meant to be Daniel? My god, Sir, he's not even 
military. What about his civil rights?"

"The fact that Doctor Jackson is a civilian who was not even living on 
this planet for a year is what prompted their concern," the General 
explained. "Somehow he eluded them. I guess they underestimated him."

"And I believe they've underestimated the Colonel if they think he's 
going to give them anything, no matter how long they are allowed to 
continue this insane charade," Carter attested to the limitless strength 
she had seen in her own CO.

"They have assured me he will be back by the end of the month," Hammond 
told her.

"But that's another week! What if he can't hold out that long?"

"Then the Stargate program will be shut down and buried forever rather 
than run the risk of another nation obtaining the knowledge," Hammond 
sounded like he was quoting from a political pamphlet.

"Has it occurred to you, Sir, that might just be the aim of this whole 
operation?" Carter asked, "That this entire scenario was setup to ensure 
the closure of an expensive and highly secretive project? Or at least to 
put its control into the hands of people who might not be so benevolent 
towards the populated worlds we visit?"

Hammond paled at this new, overwhelmingly plausible, reasoning, "And how 
do you suggest we confirm this?"

"Well, Sir, if they say they aren't going to harm the Colonel, which I 
strongly disbelieve, or what else can they do in two weeks that they 
haven't already tried in one, ask them for proof of his healthy 
condition. If it's not immediately forthcoming, then.......," Sam 
trailed off uneasily.

"Then we've got a big problem," Hammond finished her statement shakily, 
finally realising just how misguided the whole operation might be.

Sam nodded gravely, her heart sinking at the thought of what Colonel 
O'Neill could be going through while they debated his disappearance. To 
wait for confirmation from the people behind this covert objective might 
be to wait too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Colonel O'Neill was in deep trouble and knew it, but that didn't stop 
him hoping for even the briefest moment of opportunity. His three person 
team had been captured and imprisoned shortly after their arrival on 
Chulak, thrown into this dark stone walled tomb by the Serpent Guard of 
Apophis, forced to bide their time as they awaited their fate.

SG1's misfortune did have at least one bright side. As Jack continued 
his examination along every inch of the seemingly inescapable fortress 
walls, he had stumbled across Skaara, his young Abydonian friend, whom 
O'Neill had felt sure was lost to him following the surprise raid by 
Apophis against Skaara's home planet. 

Jack hugged the boy with a feeling of immense relief, he really had not 
wanted to face the thought of losing him again and now it seemed he 
would not have to.

Together they continued to search for a way out of their captivity, 
turning towards the sound of a low rumble to see the entrance slowly 
unseal and a gaily decked procession come forth into the chamber. The 
Colonel watched Apophis arrive to present his new bride, a pretty blonde 
with dead blue eyes that suddenly glowed with a hidden controlling 
presence as she took her husband's hand and stepped forward proudly.

Jack gasped in horror at the sight of his wife Sara, her body taken over 
by a Goa'uld larva. He wanted to rush headlong into attack, to feel 
Apophis' thin neck crushed beneath his grasp, but he could not endanger 
the rest of his team, or his young friend. They were looking to him for 
leadership, trusting him to get them free safely.

He felt Skaara's hand place light pressure on his shoulder as they were 
forced to kneel before the gods. "O'Neill, it will not help," he 
murmured, reading Jack's thoughts by the tensing of his body, "It is too 
late for her." His attention was caught by a shouted order and a clap of 
hands as several servants stepped into the crowd. "They are seeking 
hosts," Skaara's voice was a revolted whisper, "For the Children of the 
Gods."

Jack watched helplessly, powerless to intercede on behalf of these 
unfortunate people without giving up the chance of his team's escape. 
Near the edge of the throng a young girl, dressed in the traditional 
robes of the planet she had been stolen from, cried out as she was 
grabbed by a large Jaffa, who inspected her roughly before presenting 
her to the waiting gods.

Suddenly a Serpent guard stood tall before O'Neill and Skaara, making a 
beeline for the young Abydonian, whose strength of character shone forth 
brightly to complement his perfect physical appearance. A specimen good 
enough for promotion to deity if ever there was one. 

"Skaara!" Jack cried out as the boy was grabbed by the powerful Jaffa, 
leaping to his aid as Skaara struggled with the hulking guard, but the 
barrel of a staff weapon smashed O'Neill across the chest, knocking him 
off his feet, winded and gasping. He was kicked to the floor, the point 
of the weapon hovering over his heart, so close Jack could feel the heat 
of the primed tip, all set to administer a fatal energy bolt if he made 
any move, or if Apophis gave such an order.

Helplessly, the Colonel was forced to watch Skaara being hauled away and 
presented for approval to the gods. Jack gasped in anguish, instantly 
recognising the fair haired boy leading the ritual introduction of 
larvae into their new hosts.

With a flash of glowing eyes, Charlie gloated at his former parent as he 
placed a mature Goa'uld larva onto the shoulder of the captured 
Abydonian, watching with glee as it burrowed into the neck. Jack 
screamed Skaara's name in grief and rage as his friend's shining eyes 
went dead and then suddenly glowed with the new power of evil within.

Apophis smiled triumphantly at the human's ultimate defeat, then 
gathered his family around him and signalled the Serpent Guard to kill 
the remaining prisoners.

Realising he was going to die anyway, O'Neill made one last ditch 
attempt to fight back. He swiped his leg sideways to knock over the 
Jaffa and then rolled, grabbing the end of the staff weapon to yank it 
from the guard and turn the tables on his captor. But the Jaffa's grip 
was strong and he quickly fired an energy bolt, blasting the Colonel 
directly in the hand.

Overcome by the searing pain in his fingers, Jack peered at the mangled, 
burning mass at the end of his right wrist with a numb detachment, 
feeling his consciousness slowly being dragged away from him.

The last thing he saw was a new family, made up of former members of his 
own, leaving the tomb in a regal procession. Darkness and grim silence 
returned to the stone walled prison as Jack slipped deeply away, 
wondering vaguely why the rest of his team had been unable to help him. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It was the middle of the night, Egyptian time, when Daniel Jackson's 
laptop computer began to sound a warning for receipt of new mail, waking 
him from a fitful doze. He had left it logged onto his server for 
several hours, regardless of the telephone cost. 

Janet was already moving, years of practising medicine having 
conditioned her to respond instantly to any sudden beeping noise. She 
sat on the edge of the bed and watched the young man open the message 
from Sam, reading its grim contents over his shoulder.

"Looks like we're on our own, then," Janet concluded despondently, 
thinking for a long moment about how they might obtain entry to the 
pyramid. "Can we get in as tourists?"

"Kheops Pyramid isn't open to the public at the moment," Daniel told 
her.

"Then what about this Cairo mafia bunch? I heard they'd sell their own 
grandmother for the right price," Janet suggested.

"That's true, but the trouble is nothing happens around here without 
them knowing about it. We have to assume they know what's going on 
inside already. It would be difficult not to arouse their suspicions," 
he explained with a grimace.

"Daniel, I think that's a risk we're going to have to take," the doctor 
urged gently. "What time does the museum open?" She added, eager to 
examine the layout of their objective.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dmitri Alesandrov was famished, he had been waiting throughout the 
night, with an increasing degree of frustration and could no longer put 
up with the sound of the Colonel's incomprehensible screams in that 
confined tomb. The second dose, it seemed, had dragged him down so deep, 
that he was still far within its grasp, such that the Russian had 
decided there was no great risk in taking a well deserved break. He had 
ordered the two Egyptians to stand guard above, resealing the tomb to 
leave the Colonel in impenetrable darkness.

Alesandrov headed up to the makeshift bunk room to get some food and 
coffee, perching on a storage chest to eat his meal with as much decorum 
as he could muster. He was surprised by the appearance of one of his 
men, a guard he had left stationed in the passage leading from the boat 
museum.

"Just received an urgent message from Mr Marshall, Sir," the man 
reported in Egyptian, "He wants you to meet him up on the plateau in one 
hour."

The Russian frowned, wondering what the inexperienced American was 
panicking about this time. Still he could use some air and the excuse 
for an extended break from his trials and tribulations with the 
irritating Colonel. He let the guard return to his post and settled down 
to enjoy his breakfast at leisure before heading outside to await the 
Embassy vehicle.

When the dusty four wheel drive drew up, Marshall opened the front 
passenger door and told him to get in. Continuing on past the pyramids, 
towards a more isolated back road, he parked on the verge to explain his 
unscheduled appearance.

"I've got a gift for you," the American pointed to the back seat, 
smirking at the confusion on Dmitri's face when he saw a terrified young 
girl, gagged and bound, squirming on the leather upholstery.

"I do not understand," the Russian stated needlessly.

"The Egyptian authorities caught her trying to enter the country this 
morning, without a visa," the younger man grinned smugly. "Turns out she 
came to see Jack O'Neill! I figure she must mean a lot to him if she 
flew all this way alone just to find him! Thought you might be able to 
use the leverage!"

Dmitri Alesandrov smiled his understanding, sometimes his charming 
colleague could be even more venal than he was.

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Three:

Hammond knew he had no hope of sleeping, so he had returned to his 
office in Cheyenne Mountain after his son's over exuberant family had 
finally left late that evening. Now he sat in the dim light of his desk 
lamp with his guilt ridden thoughts. The briefing room beyond his window 
was dark and silent on this late Friday night. 

The General was contemplating the consequences of action and inaction. 
And of bowing to threats. When he had first received notification of 
this operation he had argued strongly against it, through all the proper 
channels. His complaints had been ineffective, he should have spoken 
with the President then. 

Instead he had listened to the reasoning of a young operational liaison, 
Philip Marshall, who had told him in strictest confidence of the current 
thinking of the Senate Committee for Special Activities, revealing that 
not only was the future of the entire Stargate project under threat, but 
equally was the continued freedom of certain non-military members of 
Hammond's best team. 

Marshall had told the General that if his co-operation was not 
forthcoming and the loyalty of Doctor Jackson could not be proven to the 
Senate Committee, even if they decided to keep the program open, Daniel 
would be ousted, along with any other non-military members of active 
teams. That meant the Jaffa Teal'c as well. Their privileged status 
would be rescinded and they would be forced to vacate the SGC. Only, of 
course, they would not be allowed to leave the planet because of what 
they knew, instead they would be detained long term in a 'suitable 
facility'. And since Daniel Jackson was officially declared dead after 
his first mission, having decided to stay on Abydos, noone would be able 
to do a thing about it without committing treason by revealing 
classified secrets. 

Hammond knew he should have contacted the President as soon as he had 
heard of such a plan, even if only to verify its authenticity. After 
all, how could it possibly have met with the Head of State's approval. 
The General rubbed his weary face, sighing deeply. Wasn't hindsight a 
wonderful thing? Maybe he had been in this job too long if he had been 
so ready to believe such an immoral and unethical operation might have 
received the approval of the United States President.

The way he saw it, he had one of two choices. He could attempt to wake 
up the President in the middle of the night and risk him being too angry 
to listen reasonably. Or he could attempt to verify Captain Carter's 
theory first and then call up the President in the middle of the night, 
but with some proof to support his story.

Hammond opened his desk drawer and found the telephone number he 
required, picking up the grey handset to contact Philip Marshall. 
Feeling very much like a fly trapped in a spider's web.

~~~~~~~~~~

The timing had to be perfect, Dmitri realised as he dragged the bundled 
child down the tunnel from the Solar Bark entrance. It was most 
fortunate they had been able to smuggle her in through the basement as a 
blanket wrapped 'antiquity', the threat of harming her beloved Colonel 
sufficient to keep her quiet and still. The Embassy worker's privileged 
credentials never failed to help in such tricky situations, gaining them 
unconditional access to the museum outside the normal Saturday opening 
hours.

Now he would wait, the Colonel must be coherent, to fully understand 
that the Russian had won. He glanced at his watch, a couple of hours 
should do it, he estimated. That would be adequate time for the current 
dose to wear off just enough for his new plan to be put into place. By 
then Colonel O'Neill would be lucid, but powerless. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel and Janet spent the Saturday morning downloading a copy of the 
pyramid blueprints from the museum's public database onto Jackson's 
laptop and were now poring over the results in the privacy of the 
Colonel's city centre hotel room.

"Okay, so there are only three possible places they could be holding him 
in," Daniel concurred.

"Assuming that they are using an enclosed tomb and not one of the open 
chambers," Janet reminded him.

"Yeah, but it makes sense, don't you think?" Jackson pointed out 
reasonably, "It would be easier to guard and require less manpower if 
they had a ready made cell that they could seal and unseal at will."

"Okay," Janet agreed, "But on that note, I still think we should 
discount the third one, I mean if they want ease of entry, surely they 
aren't going to use a room that is only accessible from above?"

"I disagree," Daniel was forcing himself to remain detached in his 
analysis, "What better way to ensure no escape? There is no door to go 
through, no partition wall to tunnel through. He would be surrounded by 
tonnes of solid rock everywhere except up and the ceiling of that 
chamber is too high to get out without a ladder or rope of some kind."

"Okay, so what we have to do is find someone who will take us inside. 
Lose him somehow. Find the right room, get past any guards and rescue 
the Colonel. Then we find a way out of the pyramid and get him back to 
the hotel in Giza to fix him up, before going home!" Janet finished 
breathlessly.

"Pretty much," Daniel winced at the list of endless ways that things 
could go wrong.

Janet's attempted smile was grim, "Piece of cake!"

"I think we might need some guns," Jackson admitted.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack came down to Earth slowly and painfully, taking a long moment to 
orient himself, struggling to decide whether this was a continuation of 
another horrifying hallucination. His head throbbed and his mouth felt 
like it was filled with cotton. He was shivering in a pool of cold sweat 
and his own stench was even worse than before.

He tried to sit up, but he was too weak. The chemical in his body left 
him helpless, his function greatly impaired, out of control. Instead, he 
settled for gradually rolling onto his less painful side, wondering how 
much more he would have to take before the Russian finally gave in, or 
made a mistake, and killed him.

Jack was ready to die, somewhere along the line he even vaguely recalled 
praying for such blessed relief. Not that he ever expected one of his 
prayers to be answered, he didn't believe in giving himself false hope. 
He just wished the Russian would accidentally overdose him or something. 
Admittedly, it was hardly one of the ways he had expected to die over 
the years, but right now, any method would suffice. He just couldn't 
take anymore, but he was too inherently stubborn to break. 

Unfortunately, Jack knew this man was enjoying his work too much to put 
his victim out of his misery before he had successfully completed his 
task. And, despite everything the Russian had done to him, possibly even 
because of everything the Russian had done to him, Jack had no intention 
of giving him such satisfaction. He would rather die, the sooner the 
better, than give in and reveal any information. He could only hope he 
had not done so already. He had been hallucinating, out of his mind, how 
could he possibly know what he had said? But he was still alive, surely 
that must mean they had not finished with him yet?

As Jack's mind tried to process all possibilities, he heard a noise from 
above. He looked up to see two guards returning down the ladder, unusual 
in itself that one was not staying up top to act as backup. But the 
reason soon became clear as one of them stopped part way down, waiting 
for something to be passed through the hatch. Jack tried to focus on the 
indistinct bundle to determine what fate held in store this time.

He was slow to recognise the truth, his mind refusing to accept even the 
remote possibility that it was Cassie standing before him. Her mouth 
smothered with tape, her slim wrists and ankles tightly bound, held 
upright by the hands of his nemesis. It had to be another hallucination, 
the product of Jack's increasing delirium.

The Russian reached down and tore off the tape, leaving a red mark on 
her cheeks where the adhesive had been stuck. Her frightened eyes gazed 
tearfully into his own and she opened her mouth to speak his name 
pitifully, "Jack!"

The Colonel stared speechlessly, struggling to reconcile her presence 
into this reality, unable to believe his eyes or trust his 
interpretation of the vision before him. This was the image of a young 
girl with long, light brown hair and a questioning smile in her eyes, 
only now she looked different, terrified and distraught, trapped in here 
like a cornered animal.

She studied him, the fear in her eyes replaced by anguish as she saw his 
horrific condition. The injuries to his face and hand, the gaunt look in 
his cheeks and the blood on his shirt. Her eyes blazed angrily and she 
lifted her bound hands into fists beating them against the Russian's 
chest as hard as she could. "What have you done to him?" She screamed, 
"Why have you hurt him?"

And with those fiery words, Jack knew without a doubt that it was her. 
Only Cassie would be so indignant in the face of such a terrifying 
situation, completely unconcerned for her own safety. Her courage had 
been proven many times in his eyes and now she was doing so again.

"Cassie!" He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse, showing his recognition 
even as his mind raced to determine what she was doing here. But he 
couldn't begin to imagine and it hurt too much to consider the 
consequences of such a turn of events. What choice could he possibly 
have now?

The Colonel tried to focus on the Russian, struggling to contain his 
anger at the sight of the man's hand moving to Cassie's mouth to smother 
her furious cries. "If you hurt her, I will kill you," Jack whispered.

The Russian laughed, purposely tightening his grip on the girl. "Tell me 
what I want to know or you can watch her die now!" He pulled a syringe 
from his top pocket. "It's your choice, Colonel."

"A dose that large will kill her," Jack objected feebly, knowing from 
experience what it was doing to himself.

"Exactly!" The Russian grinned, "But first she will suffer terrible pain 
and nightmare delusions." Suddenly his face screwed up in a grimace as 
Cassie bit down hard on the hand he was using to cover her mouth, 
forcing him to release her.

"Don't tell him anything, Jack!" She shouted, jumping away from the 
Russian and trying to hop over to reach her friend. 

One of the guards grabbed her, lifting her off her feet as she screamed 
and struggled, kicking him firmly in the shins. He slapped her face hard 
and Cassie's head snapped to one side, Jack cried out her name, 
tormented by her suffering as he watched her eyes roll up into 
unconsciousness.

Watching his reaction, a new idea sprang to the Russian's mind and his 
sadistic smile grew even wider, "Alternatively, Colonel perhaps you 
would prefer to suffer in her place?" Dmitri weighed up the advantages, 
even a reduced dose of the drug was guaranteed to finish him off, break 
down any remaining resolve he might have gathered at the unexpected 
appearance of his young friend, he could just about push it given 
O'Neill's current condition. And he was so enjoying the man's torment, 
he wanted to prolong it as much as possible. The Russian knew he was 
letting his enthusiasm get the better of him, but he was certain he 
would meet his objective that day, he may as well make the most of his 
fun while it lasted!

Jack gazed at the bruise already shadowing Cassie's unconscious face, 
his eyes filled with guilt. He had failed to protect her, he had no 
chance of getting her out of this. He could do nothing except to remove 
any reason for her to suffer. If they were lucky, another dose would 
kill him and then maybe, just maybe, Cassie might be released. He could 
only hope and pray. 

Taking a slow ragged breath, Jack reluctantly offered his arm to the 
Russian, a gesture of defeated submission that the Russian relished with 
a vengeance. Jack was vaguely aware of the pinprick in his arm as he 
numbly gazed at his friend, watching her chest rise and fall steadily as 
he waited for the chemical effects to hit him once more.

Glancing at his watch, Dmitri calculated the time delay until he could 
commence the second part of his exciting little game. "Bring her with 
you," he ordered the guards, "We've got awhile to wait and I need to 
collect a weapon from the supply store." He stepped up to the rope 
ladder and began climbing out of the tomb, leaving the Colonel to 
succumb to the increasingly horrific effects of the powerful 
hallucinogenic drug.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shortly after eleven that Saturday night, the last show crowds were 
dispersing as three shadowy figures surreptitiously made their way along 
the outside of Kheops Pyramid toward the widened entrance open for 
tourists during certain months of the year. The fact that it had been 
closed for several weeks, made the American couple's story all the more 
convincing to the Egyptian they had persuaded to guide them inside. For 
a satisfactory fee, of course.

Stooping low, her own flashlight matching the path of the one ahead, 
Janet walked in front of Daniel along the sloping passages towards the 
King's tomb, the normal pilgrimage for all pyramid visitors. The 
uncomfortable weight of a SIG-Sauer P230 9mm auto-pistol pressed against 
the small of her back, hidden below the loose denim shirt she wore over 
her tank top. She had been amazed at the speed with which Daniel had 
procured the illicit weaponry. It was incredible how far a familiarity 
with the local language and customs got you in this bustling capital 
city.

When they reached the vast royal burial chamber, Daniel pretended to be 
absorbed in studying the graffiti on the walls. Janet perched on the 
edge of the open sarcophagus, fanning her face with her hand and loudly 
complaining how warm it was as she slipped off her overshirt to reveal 
bare shoulders. 

She leaned over to pull a bottle of water from her bag and attempted to 
open it, "These things are so tight," she pouted, holding it out for the 
Egyptian guide to try. He moved closer and reached for the container, 
his eyes fixed on Janet's low cut tank top as she leaned back in what 
she hoped was a seductive pose. Suddenly a look of startled surprise 
crossed his face and he crumpled against her.

"That's enough of that, thank you very much!" Daniel exclaimed from 
behind him, lowering his heavy flashlight again and hoping it hadn't 
caved in the man's skull. He hauled the unconscious Egyptian off of 
Doctor Fraiser and rolled him inside the ancient stone sarcophagus.

Janet stood up, brushing herself down reflexively and putting her denim 
shirt back on. "The things I do for SG1," she muttered, pulling some 
lengths of rope from her bag to tie up the guide. "God, I hope noone 
else is planning on paying this place a visit tonight, or they'll be in 
for a nasty surprise when they find the King's tomb is occupied again 
after all these years!"

They headed back down the entranceway and took the first cross tunnel on 
the right, matching the maze of corridors to the plans they had 
memorised. They had to stoop low beneath the tight ceilings, Janet 
remaining one turn behind Daniel at all times, both modifying their 
flashlights to a short narrow beam, in case they met resistance along 
the way.

They planned to check off the three possible rooms in order, on a 
circuitous route that would require prolonged backtracking to return to 
the entrance from the furthest chamber. Both could only pray they would 
find their quarry in the first place they looked.

It was difficult to mark the passage of time in these confined tunnels, 
but it seemed like an eternity before they eventually drew close to the 
first room. Daniel slowed his pace and extinguished his torch, creeping 
towards the final turn, peeking around the corner carefully to listen 
for any human presence in the utter darkness. It was almost impossible 
to hear anything over the sound of his own thudding heart, but as far as 
he could tell, the corridor appeared empty. 

Pulling out the Beretta 92F that he had armed himself with, he slowly 
edged along the tunnel, weapon ready, making his way in the darkness all 
the way to the end as they had agreed when planning their mission that 
afternoon. If he found no obstacles along the way, he would shine his 
flashlight back to the beginning to indicate to Janet that all was well. 
She would then proceed along the tunnel and check out the room, which 
should be located halfway down the passage, assuming they had not taken 
a wrong turn somewhere in the confusing maze. 

Predictably, since it was the first place they looked, the room was 
unguarded and empty. With a deep breath, Daniel headed out to find the 
next possibility. After the second one also proved vacant, the tension 
was getting to them. They had been wandering these dark passages for 
hours, stooping almost double in the tight confined spaces and beginning 
to feel defeated and disoriented. So confused that they almost missed 
the third room, its entrance hidden in the tunnel floor, until Janet 
stubbed her toe against something. 

"Daniel!" She hissed at the man already around the next corner, shining 
her flashlight onto a half buried padlock concealed in the floor, before 
training the beam around the walls. 

Resting in an alcove on her left was what looked like an ancient bundle 
of knotted rope, but lying next to it was a distinctly modern portable 
battery pack connected to a powerful inspection lamp. Carefully placing 
her flashlight on the sandy tunnel floor, Janet knelt down, her fingers 
detecting the edge of a wooden trapdoor as Daniel reached her side.

"This has to be it, but why aren't there any guards?" She warned 
meaningfully. If they found it empty, they had no fallback plan, all 
would be lost. "Maybe we're too late."

Daniel regarded her silently, the same thought crossing his own mind, 
but he had to know for sure. "Maybe they're just positive he has no way 
to escape, after all it's a long way down," he shrugged uncertainly. 
Then he pulled his Swiss army knife from his pocket and extracted a long 
metal pin, working the lock skilfully until it popped open.

Janet stared at him in amazement, shaking her head and deciding that was 
a conversation that would have to wait. She watched Daniel remove the 
padlock and lift up the heavy trapdoor, a layer of sand drifted lazily 
down the wood grooves, falling through the open metal grille embedded in 
the centre as it raised. She stood to hold it steadily upright, whilst 
Daniel laid down on the floor and shone his flashlight into the chamber 
below, taking a deep breath before he scanned the room with some degree 
of trepidation. 

She knew his findings before he said anything, the colour draining from 
his face. He flinched, turning away from the stench of death wafting on 
the still air below. Swallowing bile, Daniel took another lungful of air 
and mouthed a name, clearing his dry throat to repeat it. This time the 
sound came out, "Jack?" Daniel whispered towards the indistinct heap, 
curled up in a corner of the tomb, but there was no response. 

He looked at the doctor worriedly and she quietly rested the wooden 
cover all the way open before turning to the hidden alcove and gathering 
the bundle of rope. One end was already anchored to the wall, so she 
passed the rest to Daniel who untangled it to drop through the hatch, 
watching as it unravelled in the form of a ladder down to the floor 
several yards below.

Handing Janet his flashlight, Daniel began to descend into the tomb, his 
path lit by combined beams as she trained them on the rope, keeping them 
one step ahead of him all the way. At the base, he crossed the dirt 
floor and crouched down, reaching out with a trembling hand to feel for 
a pulse, reluctant to make any identification until he was sure the 
captive was alive. He let out a breath when he felt a faint beat beneath 
his fingers, rolling the body onto its back. 

In the dim glow he could just make out the Colonel's face, a ghostly 
pale visage marked with foreboding shadows that barely hinted at what 
might have occurred in this terrible room, but still made Daniel realise 
that perhaps poor lighting was a benefit for the moment, enabling him to 
concentrate on the task at hand. "Jack?" Daniel whispered in his ear, 
trying to wake him. "Come on, Jack, I need your help to get you out of 
here," he urged hopelessly, but he knew that somehow he would have to 
get them both up the ladder by himself.

Daniel glanced up at Janet, seeking suggestions, but the only method 
they had time for was sheer brute strength. Carefully grasping Jack 
under the arms, Daniel gently pulled him up over his shoulder in a 
fireman's lift. The unconscious man felt lighter than he ought, but it 
was still a tricky exercise to carry his body up the swinging rope 
ladder, moving hand over hand until they were high enough for Janet to 
help. Looping his arm through the rope Daniel pushed and Janet pulled, 
guiding him through the narrow hatchway.

They tried not to bump or bash any part of him in case it damaged 
whatever injuries he may already have suffered, but if their difficult 
task did cause more harm, they could not tell. Jack did not groan or 
stir the entire time, leaving Janet, especially, even more worried about 
his possible state of health than she would care to reveal. 

Twenty minutes later the padlock was replaced on the trapdoor and sand 
covered their tracks as far as the first corner, trying to make it look 
like nothing had changed. The three of them headed back the shortest 
possible route, praying they would not make a wrong turn in the 
confusing maze of passages. There was barely two hours left before dawn 
arrived to take away their secure cover of darkness and replace it with 
an incriminating daylight. It would be touch and go whether they made it 
out in time. 

Between them they carried Jack, one at either end. When the ceiling got 
too low and the passages too narrow, Daniel had to drag him along the 
base of the sandy tunnel, crouching within the confined spaces with 
increasing exhaustion adding to their difficulties. 

Daniel led the way until they neared the final tunnel, which had been 
enlarged for tourist access several years before. "I can handle him from 
here," he offered, panting for breath as he paused at the junction. "You 
go on ahead and check the entrance is clear," he suggested, trying to 
ensure their luck would not run out at this late stage.

Janet nodded, squeezing past him to duck right, grasping the wooden rail 
of the main corridor. The passage began to descend into a pit before 
climbing back up towards the exit, her flashlight shining a few feet 
ahead into the darkness to mark the route. 

At the bottom of the incline she heard a scuffling sound, swinging the 
beam upwards to see one large, and extremely angry, Egyptian guide 
diving towards her from the entrance. He had woken in the sarcophagus 
with a pounding headache and it had taken him a couple of painful hours 
to free himself from his bonds. 

Eventually, he had made it outside the pyramid. With nothing better to 
do, he had decided to wait in the hope that the culprits were still 
somewhere within, plotting a vicious revenge that he prayed to Allah 
would be made possible. His patience was now being repaid, as a 
flashlight moved slowly along the passageway towards him.

Roaring a string of unintelligible obscenities he barrelled into the 
shadowy figure, pleasantly surprised to find it was the woman and 
wondering vaguely where her husband had disappeared to, hoping that he 
was lost. Now perhaps there were other ways to extract his retribution 
for their unprovoked attack. 

He knocked the American female into a narrow side tunnel, thrusting the 
length of rope he had loosened from his wrists against Janet's throat as 
she screamed, choking off the sound in a strangled cry. She fought 
surprisingly hard, struggling and writhing beneath him, until eventually 
he punched her jaw, her head banging against the sandstone wall, leaving 
her dazed.

Pressing in close to her soft, warm body, he leered at the western 
woman's silky pale skin heaving above the neckline of her low cut top 
and the Egyptian decided that having her would indeed be sweet revenge. 
He began to pull at her clothing, pushing his knee up between her thighs 
and pinning her against the wall as his hand groped beneath her tank 
top.

Some distance behind, waiting for Doctor Fraiser's flashlight signal 
before he began down the final tunnel, Daniel heard a muffled scream. 
Pulling his 9mm Beretta from his belt, he rounded the corner and ran, 
bent over, along the passageway towards the sound. Coming to a sudden 
halt when he heard a shot ring out, a loud crack reverberating up and 
down the low ceilinged corridor, Daniel shone his light down the tunnel, 
raising his weapon beside it and releasing the safety. "Janet?" He 
called nervously, cautiously edging nearer.

"I'm all right." The doctor's shaky response told him instinctively that 
she wasn't. He reached the bottom of the incline, almost tripping over 
the body of their Egyptian guide, and saw the look of dazed horror on 
Janet's face. Her pistol was still held between nerveless fingers, her 
dishevelled clothing giving him some clues as to what had happened. 
Daniel eased in closer, taking the SIG-Sauer from her trembling hand and 
pulling her towards him. Gently he turned her fixed gaze away from the 
decidedly dead body, a point blank wound to the chest still smoking in 
the beam of her dropped flashlight. 

Janet clung to him shakily, burying her head in his chest for a moment, 
then she took a deep shuddering breath and he could feel her physically 
steeling herself, pulling from his grasp to turn towards the exit. "I'll 
check outside," she said, buttoning her denim shirt around her before 
tightly gripping the wooden handrail as she strode into the darkness, 
not even stopping to retrieve her flashlight.

Daniel stared after her worriedly, then he stooped to drag the bloody 
corpse several yards down the side tunnel, picked up her discarded light 
and hurried back to where he had left Jack, praying nothing else would 
go wrong.

Stepping from the close confines of the pyramid, the coolness of the 
still night air left them gasping deep lungfuls in relief. Wordlessly, 
they moved out across the open plateau, supporting Jack's body upright 
between them as best they could. Each grasping one arm around their 
shoulders, a quarter full bottle of whiskey in their spare hand, veering 
in a drunken fashion down the dusty track and onto the main street a 
mile away from the hotel. Fervently hoping that if anyone had been 
watching, they would simply assume it was the same three emerging as had 
gone inside the pyramid several hours earlier and that the one being 
dragged between them simply couldn't hold his drink.

It became apparent that taxi cabs were non-existent in the area at that 
time of the morning, so they were forced to walk, or at least stumble, 
the whole mile. Dawn was rapidly creeping over the horizon, the skies 
turning increasingly pale, by the time they reached the dimly lit side 
entrance of the hotel. Renewing their sagging grip, they boldly 
sauntered past the dozing security guard, pretending to swig alcohol 
from the bottles as they entered the elevator to the third floor and 
slumped into the corner exhaustedly.

Five minutes later they were inside Janet's hotel room, carefully 
lowering the Colonel onto a bed in the grey light of dawn. Daniel 
crossed to the window and ensured the curtains were closed before 
walking back to the door for the main power switch. The room lit up 
blindingly as four wall lamps and one overhead came on. He heard Janet 
gasp and saw her horrified reflection in the mirror above the dressing 
table before he turned around, a feeling of utter dread in the pit of 
his stomach.

Instinctively, Jack had curled into a foetal ball, lying on his right 
side. His left eye was forced shut, surrounded by a blackened bruise. 
Dried blood marked the temple over a jagged cut, now almost obscured by 
the dirt covering his body. He had several splits in his cracked lips, 
bruises highlighted his jawline and he looked gaunt and pale. Hugged 
across his chest protectively, he clutched his right arm, the fingers 
splayed crookedly and misshapen.

Mentally Janet shook herself, drawing on her diminished reserves to bury 
her personal feelings and take stock professionally. With as much 
detachment as she could muster, the doctor felt for a pulse from the 
carotid artery in the Colonel's neck before digging into her suitcase, 
which lay open on the luggage rack in the hallway, still half packed.

Finding her medical kit, Janet pulled out a stethoscope and attempted to 
hold it against Jack's chest. But he was curled so tightly, she couldn't 
get near enough without touching his obviously damaged hand and his 
filthy, blood stained t-shirt was muffling any sound she might pick up. 
"Daniel, help me lay him on his back," the doctor requested, getting 
scissors from her case.

Together they straightened him out and Daniel crouched beside the bed, 
laying one arm across the Colonel's long legs, his other hand holding 
down a shoulder to keep him still. Doctor Fraiser cut through the flimsy 
cotton of his t-shirt to expose his chest, her hand froze in mid air 
when she saw what lay beneath. 

"God!" Daniel choked off a cry, his face contorted with grief and rage 
as his eyes fixed on the livid welts and bruises covering Jack's torso.

Janet ignored the trembling of her hand to gently position her 
stethoscope, concentrating on the sound of Jack's shallow breath. 
Forcing herself to focus purely on assessing the patient, the doctor 
began to check the rest of his body. His cheeks were sunken and gaunt, 
at a guess he'd had no food, and little water, for several days at 
least, leaving him malnourished and dangerously dehydrated, the shape of 
his ribcage clearly defined where he had lost so much weight.

She found several puncture wounds inside his right elbow, bloody 
pinpoints speckling the ghastly pale skin. Pulling up Jack's uninjured 
eyelid, she shone a penlight at the pupil, getting little discernible 
reaction, "I think he's been drugged," she stated, adding to the 
expanding catalogue of apparent harm inflicted on the patient. 
"Although, without a blood test, I can't tell what with."

The doctor began to check for broken bones, feeling across his chest 
first, finding at least one probable cracked rib on his left side. The 
point of impact of a boot, judging by the shape of the purple bruise. 
She slowly worked her hands down his legs, finding rope burns around his 
ankles, apparently he had been tied up at some point. Reaching his feet, 
she noticed some discoloured wounds on his instep, almost obscured by 
the dirt. 

Janet leaned in closer, "Daniel, can you get me a wet cloth from the 
bathroom please?" She looked up when he didn't react, his anguished eyes 
still fixed on the multicoloured bruising, "Daniel?"

He finally looked at her and she repeated her request gently. He 
released his grip from O'Neill's shoulder and moved away, leaving Janet 
to watch Jack gradually roll back onto his uninjured right side and draw 
his legs up to his chest. She could only imagine the psychological state 
that provoked such a reaction even while he was still unconscious and 
non responsive.

Daniel returned with a damp washcloth, silently handing it to her and 
returning to crouch by the bed. He placed a hand on Jack's shoulder to 
roll him back over. "It's okay," Janet said quietly, "You can leave him 
where he is." 

She cleaned the seeping wounds on the soles of Jack's feet as best she 
could and then examined them more carefully, trying to determine their 
nature. "They look like burns of some kind," she said almost to herself, 
"And they're infected," she trailed off, her mind working overtime on 
the possible cause. Finally, she looked up at Daniel, who was now 
watching her closely, "I think they're electrical burns," she admitted 
softly, a look of pain in her eyes. So far the Colonel showed 
indications of having been badly beaten and ill treated, but this, 
combined with the rope marks on his ankles, was the first conclusive 
proof of something even more abhorrent, "Daniel, I think they tortured 
him."

Janet saw him slowly absorb this new information as understanding 
shadowed his overly bright blue eyes, but she was unprepared for his 
startling reaction. Daniel leapt up with a roar of uncontrollable rage, 
grabbing the nearest inanimate object, a low backed armchair. He smashed 
it against the wall, busting a hole in the soft plasterboard, before 
whirling around and throwing it at the standard lamp glowing brightly in 
the corner of the room.

"Daniel!" Janet shouted, grasping his shoulder and nearly getting a 
chair leg in the face, ducking just in time as it flew over her head. He 
froze in shock when he realised he had almost injured her. She shook him 
roughly, "Daniel, calm down or you'll bring every security guard in the 
complex down on us!" 

She gazed up into his face, the sight of his inconsolable grief 
threatening to rip apart her own flimsy attempt at control. Janet 
gripped his arms until he was forced to look at her, "Daniel, you have 
to keep it together, Jack needs us. He needs you," she pleaded, adding 
softly, "I need you. I can't do this on my own."

Daniel's pain filled eyes slowly focused on her, "This is all my fault."

"No it's not!" Janet said emphatically, "It's the Russian's fault. Along 
with whoever sanctioned this."

"I'm going to kill them," he said with frightening calmness, his normal 
wide eyed look of innocence completely absent from his features.

Janet stared at him for a moment. "I know," she nodded, turning them 
back towards the occupied bed, "But first we still have to save him."

Daniel stared at his unconscious friend curled up on the bed, swallowing 
painfully, his chest ached and he could barely breathe. "All that time, 
we were so close to him," he eventually whispered, his voice choked with 
emotion. 

"I know," was all Janet could say, her throat constricting on the words, 
her brown eyes shining.

Daniel rubbed his palms over his face and drew a deep breath, visibly 
fighting to regain control. "What do we need to do?" He asked.

They were faced with the difficult conclusion that it was too risky to 
take Jack to a hospital yet. The people who had taken him were powerful, 
it would make it too easy for them to track him down and they might want 
to finish their job. Instead, Janet made an extensive list of supplies 
they would need, sending Daniel out to obtain them, anyway he could. 

Suddenly alone with the Colonel, Janet began to wonder if they had been 
presented with an impossible task. They desperately needed to restore 
lost fluids into his system and he was practically comatose, injected 
with an unknown quantity of drugs they had no means of identifying. She 
had never treated a torture victim before, her medical training had 
taught her what to expect from the psychological trauma, but the doctor 
knew how difficult Jack's recovery had been after four months in an 
Iraqi prison. She had no idea if she would be capable of helping him 
through a second time, even if she could remain sufficiently detached, 
he was a very good friend, after all.

She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, beside the curled up 
body. Yes he is a very good friend, that's why you have to do everything 
you can, Janet, she thought, patting Jack's arm to reassure herself more 
than him. Her eyes fixed on his damaged right hand and with the greatest 
of care, she began to examine it. 

When Janet lifted his wrist, she felt his arm muscles tense, a soft moan 
escaping his lips. She stared at him, relieved to hear the first sign 
that he was still in there somewhere, watching for any reaction on his 
face. The second she attempted to gently touch his index finger to check 
for fractures, he began to resist, flinching, weakly struggling to pull 
his wrist from her grasp and reaching out with his other hand to push 
her away.

It was an unconscious reaction on his part, but an effective one. Jack 
continued to fight against her, mumbling incoherently until she let go 
altogether. Janet checked his pulse, detecting an increased rate. 
Something had disturbed him, but she couldn't begin to imagine what, and 
maybe didn't want to. Even so, she had to complete her examination, find 
out how bad it really was. 

"Jack, it's okay!" She softly tried to assure him, "You're safe now, 
it's okay. It's Janet, remember me?" She said as brightly as she could. 
"I need to examine your hand, I promise I'll be gentle, I don't mean to 
hurt you. Trust me, Jack, please?" She waited as he settled down and 
then tried again. This time she rested the back of his wrist on her open 
palm, to show him he was not being held down. Constantly murmuring 
soothing words to him, she worked her finger around his hand as gently 
as she could. 

Of the twenty seven bones making up the entire complex structure from 
wrist onwards, the bulk of the damage appeared to be in the long 
metacarpals of Jack's right hand and the proximal phalanges of his 
fingers, especially at the base where they joined to form the knuckles. 
Several of these longer bones showed signs of comminuted fractures that 
the doctor could detect by feel alone, and an x-ray might reveal even 
more of these fragmented breakages. 

In addition, a couple of the distal and middle phalanges towards his 
fingertips were also clearly broken. The overall effect leaving the 
normally slim digits swollen and crooked, almost arthritically 
misshapen. It would take a great deal of expert surgery, and a fair 
amount of luck, if there was to be any chance of Jack being able to use 
that hand again. If it wasn't already too late to repair it. 

"Jack, what did they do to you?" Janet whispered in shock, resting her 
head on his shoulder miserably, then she patted his arm once more and 
stood up with an effort. 

Rummaging in her medical bag, she found disinfectant and a cloth and 
began to clean the cut above his left eye. She worked carefully at the 
dried blood and dirt marking his pale face, unable to avoid reopening 
the wound slightly to get it completely clear. She examined it for 
infection, finding it in a better state than the injuries on his feet, 
the cut was fairly clean, disinfectant would suffice.

Next she began to check for signs of a possible orbital fracture, gently 
prodding the purple and black bruising. Janet winced, knowing how much 
it had to hurt and wishing she had access to the far less painful method 
of an x-ray machine. She froze, hearing a murmur of breath, Jack's 
cracked and bloodied lips moving silently, unconsciously forming into 
words. Janet leaned closer, "What, Jack?" She watched and listened, but 
could understand nothing of the sound he was attempting.

Janet shrugged and returned to her task. Pulling the penlight from her 
shirt pocket, she gradually raised his left eyelid and shone the beam 
into his dark brown eye. Unused for over a week, the pupil dilated 
slowly, almost imperceptibly, but there was definitely movement, a hope 
to cling to. Satisfied that there was no fracture, maybe just a 
concussion that he'd probably already suffered the pounding effects of. 
The doctor applied a sterile dressing over the freshly cleaned cut, 
pressing down as gently as possible to secure the adhesive. The painful 
motion caused Jack to murmur again and this time she heard the word, 
"Cassie!"

Janet jumped up, startled, wondering what she would say when she spoke 
to her adopted daughter, how she could possibly break such news to the 
young girl. She glanced at her watch, wanting desperately to call 
Cassie, but it was still the middle of the night in Colorado, it would 
have to wait. Instead, she sat down at the bottom of the bed and began 
working on the burn wounds on Jack's feet, hoping Daniel would be able 
to get hold of something stronger than disinfectant. 

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Doctor Jackson arrived back at the hotel room, Janet was 
struggling to examine the patient for signs of internal injury. No easy 
task when he kept curling into a ball every time she tried to lay him on 
his back. 

Janet opened the door in response to his coded knock, "Did you get 
everything?" She asked, stepping aside to let him into the room.

"More or less," Daniel headed over to the spare bed and spread out the 
results of the most important shopping trip of his life. "I went around 
several different pharmacies and bought something in each, so they 
couldn't tell what we were up to. I got a lot of stuff in the local 
market too. I couldn't get any oral antibiotics over the counter, but I 
got some topical ointment to treat the infection directly."

"Good, that'll have to do for now. You sure noone tailed you?" Janet 
asked as she examined his purchases.

"Yes, I was really careful." Daniel looked at her quizzically, "So what 
are we going to do with all this?"

"Well, first we need to boil some of that water over the camping stove 
you bought," Janet gathered up several of the containers, "Then we mix 
in quantities of sodium, potassium and calcium, setup a little do it 
yourself intravenous drip and we've got a basic Ringer's solution to 
treat dehydration."

"What about this other stuff?" Daniel asked, clearing a space on the 
table to set up the gas stove.

"Dextrose, vitamins and electrolytes will help replace the nutrient 
deficiency, but I think we should get him rehydrated first, we can't 
risk too much too soon, we don't know what other chemicals he's already 
got in his system. If he wakes up of his own accord, we can get some 
proper food inside him," Janet explained.

When Daniel had the pan of water started, Janet got his help to finish 
her earlier examination. "I need to see if there's any internal 
injuries," she warned, "It's going to hurt him, so he'll probably moan 
and flinch a bit, he did earlier."

"That's a good sign, right?" Daniel asked hopefully.

Janet nodded, focusing her mind on the task. She pressed her fingertips 
against Jack's abdomen, working her way from one side to the other, 
feeling for abnormalities and listening with her stethoscope. He groaned 
softly, murmuring something unintelligible as he tried to roll onto his 
side, but Daniel held his arm and shoulder until Janet was finished, 
trying not to focus on the dreadful state of his battered chest. 

When he released Jack's shoulder, Daniel watched him curl back into a 
protective ball. His sight fell on the Colonel's damaged right hand, 
"Anything?" He asked the doctor, wondering if she had found any sign of 
internal bleeding, but unable to pull his gaze away from those crooked, 
swollen fingers.

"No, seems to be okay, miraculously," she responded, swapping sides to 
check Jack's exposed back.

"What about his hand?" Daniel asked with a wince.

Janet stopped to look at him, studying his earnest blue eyes for a 
moment. "It's not great," she admitted, explaining it to him in layman's 
terms, "There's a lot of damage, some of the longer bones in his hand 
and fingers have several breakages." She shrugged frustratedly, "There's 
twenty seven bones from wrist to fingertip, Daniel. I'd say there's a 
good chance that at least a third are broken, some practically 
shattered. It's going to take an expert surgeon to reconstruct it, but 
without x-rays, I really don't know for sure," she grimaced unhappily, 
preferring to concentrate on things she could do something about. 

Daniel nodded silently, numbly accepting everything she had told him, 
knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do right now that would 
help the matter. 

With no more she could say, the doctor bent down to continue her 
examination, noticing an injury she had previously missed. Janet caught 
her breath at the sight of a large boot shaped welt standing out in the 
centre of his otherwise unmarked back. The single brutal point of impact 
just to the lower left of his spine, causing her to contemplate a 
possible bruised kidney to go with the rest of the damage as if there 
wasn't enough already.

Temporarily as satisfied as she could be with his internal condition, 
her examination limited by the lack of direct patient response to her 
probing fingers, Janet moved to the next task of turning Daniel's 
purchases into something usable. She picked up the rubber tubing, 
normally used for home brew kits, along with one of the thick polythene 
bags he had bought from the market and did the best job of sterilising 
that she could. Then she put together a makeshift intravenous drip, 
adding a hypodermic needle from her medical kit. "God, I feel like 
MacGyver," Janet quipped grimly as she attached it all together with 
some lengths of surgical tape.

"Yeah, now all we need is some fertiliser and lighter fluid and we could 
construct a few home made bombs in case the bad guys come knocking!" 
Daniel replied dourly.

Janet paled at the sudden thought, "You don't think.......?"

Daniel shook his head, "No, how would they find us? We left no clues, 
noone knows where we are. We're safe here for as long as we need to 
stay," he finished emphatically, praying he wouldn't turn out to be a 
liar.

When they had mixed up the hydration solution and cooled it 
sufficiently, Janet commenced the IV drip, hanging the bag from the 
ornate metalwork of the wall light above the bed, then she sat back to 
admire their handiwork.

"Now what?" Daniel asked.

"Now we wait," Janet shrugged, adding softly, "And pray it works." She 
sat down in the armchair and gazed up at the young man, "Even if it does 
work, what are we going to do then? Daniel, we need to get Jack to a 
hospital to get that hand looked at, and we haven't any idea what his 
mental state might be when he comes round. We don't even have a way to 
determine what drugs are in his system. If we can't take him to an 
Egyptian hospital, then somehow we have to get him out of the country," 
she argued reasonably.

Daniel stared at her for a long time, wishing he had an easy answer. "We 
need to contact Sam, maybe she can find a safe place," he finally 
decided, opening the drawer where he had stashed his laptop computer. 
"There's some renovation work going on in the next wing, I'll use one of 
the empty rooms there to dial out. It'll be safer in case anyone is 
trying to trace the number." He paused by Jack's bed to look at the 
unconscious figure, "Will you be all right here for awhile?"

Janet nodded, watching him leave before she rummaged through the rest of 
the medical supplies he had bought to start treatment of the infected 
second degree burns on the soles of Jack's feet. Finally, she took his 
pulse, listened to his breath sounds and checked his pupil reaction 
again, not really expecting, nor receiving, any noticeable change as yet 
and wondering what was going on inside his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

Reunited with his young Abydonian friend, Colonel O'Neill was 
desperately searching for a way out of the fortress where Apophis' 
Serpent Guard had imprisoned his team. Their attention was drawn to the 
deep rumbling of the entrance being unsealed to reveal a brightly 
dressed parade of gods and servants. Apophis appeared with his bride, 
smiling joyfully as he took her hand, their eyes glowing brightly with 
the power of the Goa'uld controlling each host, body and soul.

Jack inhaled sharply, stunned by the appearance of Sara, her mind 
overpowered by the larva within her. He fought the overwhelming urge to 
lunge for Apophis' neck, to crush the vertebrae in his stranglehold 
grip. But he still had a job to do, Skaara and the rest of SG1 were 
relying on him to get them out of this mess.

Forced to their knees, O'Neill heard Skaara's hiss of revulsion as he 
translated the declaration shouted forth by one of Apophis' group, "They 
are here to select hosts for the Children of the Gods!"

Jack glanced around desperately, fear gripped him. He knew that 
something terrible was about to happen, but he felt powerless to stop 
it. At the edge of the crowd a young girl, with long light brown hair, 
cried out as she was grabbed by a large Jaffa and carried towards the 
waiting Goa'uld.

"Cassie!" Jack had no idea how she had even come to be in this place, 
but that no longer mattered, she was about to be taken as a host if he 
didn't stop them. He shouted again, leaping up to tackle the Jaffa who 
held the struggling young girl in his grasp. Skaara followed to help, 
his smaller frame rapidly overpowered by the hulking Serpent guard.

Jack was beaten down with a blow to the head from the barrel of a staff 
weapon. He lay on the ground with its tip pressed into his chest, the 
weapon primed, alight with energy, ready to fire a single fatal bolt if 
he attempted to move, or if the Gods decreed.

Defeated, Jack could only look on helplessly as his two young friends 
were carried away from him and paraded by the guards in front of their 
new parents. Jack gasped in horror at the sight of the fair haired boy 
who was performing the ritual presentation of the Goa'uld larvae to its 
new hosts. Charlie turned around at the sound of his grief stricken cry, 
eyes glowing cruelly in gleeful anticipation of the ultimate defeat of 
his human father. With a theatrical flourish, he slowly placed a mature 
larva onto the shoulder of each terrified child, the snakelike creatures 
crawling around to the back of the neck to burrow inside, disappearing 
with a final flick of the tail.

O'Neill was forced to watch as first Skaara and then Cassie succumbed to 
the powers of the Goa'uld, until three children stood proudly before the 
gathered prisoners, their eyes glowing brightly with the strength of 
their new owners. But Jack could not bring himself to hate them, they 
were only children, yet he knew he would never again be able to trust 
any of them, now solely controlled by the power of evil. 

He stared coldly at his nemesis. "I will kill you," Jack vowed. 

Apophis laughed cruelly and clapped his hands to gather his wife and 
children around him, together forming a family with which to conquer the 
stars. With a final triumphant smile, he signalled the Serpent Guard, 
still holding Jack captive at the point of a staff weapon, to finish the 
job.

Knowing he was about to die anyway, Jack made one last desperate effort 
to escape, with a kick of his legs he knocked the Jaffa off balance and 
rolled sideways grabbing the tip of the staff weapon to shove it away 
from his chest just as the bolt fired, blasting him straight in the 
hand.

Jack shrieked at the intense pain in his fingers, squinting in agony and 
shock at the hideous, burned mass at the end of his right wrist. He 
passed out into a deep unconsciousness, his last recollection of 
unspeakable loss. The bodies and minds of four people who had meant the 
world to him were now occupied by the epitome of evil, the abhorrent 
presence of the Goa'uld larva controlling their actions into eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Daniel returned the second time, Janet had moved an armchair 
next to the Colonel's bed and was sitting with her feet up on the seat, 
hugging her knees to her chest and struggling to stay awake. When she 
heard the soft knock at the door, she got up to let him in and then went 
back to her seat, rocking to and fro, watching her patient, who had been 
mumbling incoherently again until a short while before. She wasn't sure 
if she preferred him moaning or deathly silent, either sight was equally 
harrowing.

"You okay?" Daniel asked with concern, noting the paleness of her face 
and the tiredness in her eyes. She turned to him slowly and he saw the 
bruise standing out on the side of her jaw, captured in the glow of the 
overhead light. He studied her closely, seeing the red raw marks around 
her neck for the first time also. He had been so concerned with Jack's 
condition, he had forgotten what the doctor had been through that day.

"Why don't you go and get cleaned up, Janet," Daniel suggested gently, 
"I'll keep an eye on him for awhile."

Janet looked at him in confusion and he touched a finger to his jaw to 
indicate the bruise, watching as the doctor moved a hand to her face in 
a mimicking gesture. She winced when she found the forgotten injury, a 
look of fearful recollection crossing her dark brown eyes. Without a 
word, Janet nodded, vacating her seat and gathering some items from her 
suitcase on the way to the bathroom. 

Running hot water into the sink, Janet unbuttoned her shirt and slipped 
it from her shoulders. She gasped as she caught her reflection in the 
mirror. An exhausted and somewhat overwrought looking woman stared back 
at her, a purple bruise marking her jaw, red rope burns on her neck, her 
tank top stained with the blood of a man she had killed.

Janet reached for the washcloth and soap, her hands trembling 
uncontrollably, unable to ignore the face watching her accusingly. The 
face of someone who had taken a life, not a professional medical doctor 
who was supposed to heal people. She had never even shot at, let alone 
killed, another human being. Aliens, Goa'ulds, yeah sure, but not a 
human being, she had sworn to save them. 

Trying to combat the onset of shock as her body began to shake, Janet 
reached for the shower controls and turned the taps on full. Hot steam 
condensed on the mirror, obscuring her reflection. She pulled off her 
clothes, throwing them into the bin beneath the sink and stepped into 
the stream of cleansing water, the flow so hot and powerful it felt like 
sharp pins hitting her head and back.

Slowly the tremors began to subside and Janet soaped herself down, 
scrubbing her hands harder than necessary in what she knew was a mental 
effort to cleanse herself of the action she was responsible for. When 
the stream of water finally began to feel too hot, the doctor turned off 
the taps and stepped from the shower. Drying off, she wound her wet hair 
into a towel and pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a fleece pullover.

Taking a deep breath, she padded softly out of the damp bathroom, 
shivering against the cooler air of the hotel room. She adjusted the air 
conditioning controls, switching the thermostat all the way off and then 
turned to Daniel, "Your turn!" She said as brightly as she could, 
waiting for him to follow suit before she sat down in the vacant 
armchair to stare at her patient. Jack had not moved, still curled up in 
a foetal ball, protecting himself from what had gone before.

When Daniel emerged from the bathroom, clean and dry, two weeks worth of 
beard finally removed from his chin, much to his relief, he found the 
doctor curled up in the chair, dozing fitfully. She looked more fragile 
and exhausted than he had ever seen her in their long two years of 
working together. Instinctively, he knew it wasn't just the harrowing 
discovery and treatment of Jack O'Neill that was having this effect. The 
doctor had killed another human being and it was eating her up. He would 
not easily forget the look on her face when he found her, smoking gun 
still in her hand. 

Daniel stared at Janet for a long time, someone was going to pay for all 
this, he decided determinedly. Gathering up her sleeping form, he gently 
placed her on the spare bed, covering her with a blanket, before taking 
up vigil by Jack's bedside.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel had arranged to contact Sam again at mid afternoon the next day. 
It would be six o'clock Monday morning in Colorado, over twenty four 
hours since he first asked for her help and he was praying she had found 
a way. They had used three full IVs on Jack and there was only a slight 
sign of improvement that even Doctor Fraiser admitted could be wishful 
thinking.

Doctor Jackson gathered his laptop and headed out of the room, checking 
each way along the corridor before turning right and making for the 
stairs. Janet tried to busy herself with tidying up some of the mess 
they had left the day before, including shakily bagging up her bloody 
clothes and stashing them into the back of her suitcase. It wouldn't do 
for the housekeeper to find the items in the bin and report them to 
hotel security. It was bad enough that they had to keep the 'do not 
disturb' sign on the door at all times, arousing suspicion for anyone 
who knew the room was supposedly only occupied by a single white 
American female.

Her pistol was lying on the night stand between the beds where Daniel 
had dropped it the previous morning. He had his Beretta on him, but 
Janet was tempted to unload her own weapon and find a way to dispose of 
it. She didn't have a clue if the body had been discovered yet, nor 
whether it would be reported to the police. Worse still, perhaps the 
Cairo mafia were already looking for the killer of one of their own 
people. Gingerly she picked up the SIG-Sauer, turning it over in her 
hands, feeling the light weight of a machine catastrophic in its effects 
for anyone who got too close. 

The silence was suddenly shattered by a terrifying crash. For a split 
second, Janet stared at the weapon in confusion, then her gaze was 
abruptly shifted as the hotel room door smashed open, the flimsy lock 
snapping, splintering the wood. Two men burst in, waving their guns 
threateningly as Janet screamed. A black haired man with dark, 
pockmarked skin, pointed a 9mm Browning at her, followed close behind by 
the blond, pale faced Russian whom she recognised from his meeting with 
Philip Marshall at the Solar Bark.

Still holding her weapon, Janet levelled it at them in a two handed 
grip, mentally forcing her hands to stop shaking. She released the 
safety, but no matter how much she willed herself, she could not pull 
the trigger, not again. With a frightened cry, Janet felt the pistol 
slip from her nerveless fingers and drop lightly onto the bed, landing 
harmlessly beside Jack's curled up body.

With a cruel smile, the dark haired Egyptian waved his semiautomatic at 
her, signalling her away from the bed. "What do you want?" Janet finally 
found her shaky voice as she protectively stepped into the gap between 
them and the Colonel.

"You took something before we were finished with it. Now we want it 
back," the Russian's heavily accented words announced chillingly as he 
moved further into the room. His henchman grabbed a chair and carried it 
to the door, jamming it beneath the handle to stop any attempt at entry.

"Why, so you can continue to torture him?" Janet exclaimed hotly, her 
anger flaring now that she was face to face with the cause of all this 
misery.

"On the contrary, I believe your Colonel was ready to answer our 
questions, just as soon as we revived him," the Russian smiled coldly, 
"We had done all the hard work." He began to move towards the bed, the 
Egyptian following close behind.

"Why are you doing this?" Janet asked weakly, backing away from them, 
knowing she had failed to protect her patient.

The Russian stopped and stared at her, as though she had asked the most 
obvious question in the world. "You are a doctor, yes?" Janet nodded 
cautiously, vaguely wondering how he knew. "Then you of all people must 
understand the potential of your Stargate to discover new medicines, new 
technology and, of course, new weaponry." The blond man smiled at the 
shocked woman, "If your government does not wish to share these new 
discoveries, we must take the information where we can get it." 

"But you're supposed to be working for our Government!" Janet gasped as 
everything suddenly slid into place, "This was never a US operation was 
it?" She stared at him with wide eyes, her voice rising, "This whole 
scenario, the Presidential approval, the Senate Committee mandate to 
prove the security of the program.......it was all a setup, a front! 
You've been playing both sides!"

"And now I have come home to Russia, back to work for my mother 
country," Dmitri said with a satisfied smile.

"What about Philip Marshall?" Janet asked, thinking quickly, "He could 
never have arranged all this alone. Who does he work for? Who gave him 
the information on Doctor Jackson and Colonel O'Neill?"

"Questions, questions. My dear Doctor Fraiser, it would not do for me to 
reveal those answers to you at such a crucial point in our plan. I have 
my reputation to consider," his voice was laced with chilling charm as 
he considered her thoughtfully, "In fact, I believe you might make a 
valuable contribution to our strategy." The Russian nodded at his 
colleague, the smile evaporating from his face, "Get him. I'll bring 
her!"

"No! You can't move him!" Janet cried, desperately trying to think of a 
suitably convincing lie, "He's bleeding internally, if you move him now, 
he'll die before you ever get a chance to ask him anything."

The Russian considered her closely. Colonel O'Neill had taken a great 
deal of punishment to the abdomen, internal injuries seemed plausible, 
and she was his doctor. He shrugged, "I suppose, we can complete our 
work here," he conceded, pulling a hypodermic needle and vial from his 
pocket.

Janet's heart clenched painfully in her chest, shocked that he was 
simply going to continue his work right there and then. She glanced at 
the clock, praying for Daniel to return as she watched him fearfully, 
"What is that?"

"A simple shot of adrenaline, my dear doctor," the Russian smiled. "Just 
enough to wake him up, that's all. When he sees we also have you, he 
will be most willing to talk to us, don't you think?"

Janet blanched, "You don't need that, I can wake him up for you," she 
bluffed. She didn't know what they'd already been injecting the Colonel 
with, but she knew she had to stop them from continuing. She held her 
breath as he regarded her for a long moment, her confidence faltering 
under his glare until he finally gestured for her to try. 

Leaning across Jack's shoulder, trying to shield her patient from them, 
she began to whisper in his ear, too low for the Russian to hear her, 
"Jack, if there was ever a time you were thinking of waking up, now 
would be good!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere deep in Jack's subconscious a horrifying scene was being 
continually played out, inexorably closing towards the same dreadful 
conclusion each time. "Cassie!" Jack heard his hoarse voice recognise 
the girl standing before him, trapped in the clutches of his nemesis. 
What choice did he have now?

He tried to focus on the leering smile, struggling to contain his anger. 
"I will kill you," he promised coldly.

The evil man laughed, tightening his grip on the girl. "Tell me what I 
want to know or you can watch her die now!" He threatened, holding the 
power to take over her body and soul in his hand. "It's your choice, 
Colonel."

~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly Jack became aware of a female voice close to his ear, wondering 
hopefully if it could be Cassie. "Come on, Jack. You've got to wake up. 
We need your help," Janet continued to whisper in his ear, "The Russian 
is here and he's got a gun. But whatever you do, don't tell him a thing, 
Jack," she said urgently, praying that somehow she would get through to 
the unconscious man before Alesandrov grew impatient with her efforts 
and dragged her away. 

"God, Jack. Come on, wake up!" Desperately the doctor brushed a hand 
against his broken fingers, "I'm sorry, Jack," she murmured 
apologetically, knowing how much it would hurt him, but running out of 
ideas. Jack moaned in pain and tried to shrink away from her touch. 
Janet's eyes lit up. She turned to the Russian, "See! I can wake him, 
just give me time." 

"Your time is up, I'm afraid, dear doctor. Now perhaps you wouldn't mind 
administering the dose," he smiled sadistically, challenging the woman 
with the ultimate test. The Russian handed her the syringe and vial, 
waving his other hand menacingly to indicate his fully loaded 9mm 
Browning, accompanying the firepower of his Egyptian colleague. He 
stepped back to watch, wondering which option she would choose. Would 
the doctor prefer to sacrifice her patient or herself? 

Jack was still trying hard to recognise the voice whispering into his 
ear, when his blood froze at the unmistakable sound of a Russian accent. 
His nemesis had returned once more. Jack tried to curl up even tighter, 
to protect himself and his hand from that nightmare voice. Something 
cold and hard dug into his bruised abdomen and he shifted slightly to 
feel the smooth metal of a gun, his fingers tracing the form with a 
sense of unreality. He knew this was just another hallucination, but it 
was one in which he would gladly be a willing participant.

Janet stood between them, drawing their attention as her shaking fingers 
slowly closed around the hypodermic. She inserted it into the vial, 
dragging out the process of filling the syringe as long as she dared and 
wondering for the umpteenth time where Daniel had got to.

Impatiently, the Egyptian made a move towards her. A shot rang out, the 
noise shockingly loud in the close confines of the hotel room. Janet was 
only just beginning to react when a second round fired, so close she 
could feel the bullets whistling passed her deafened ear. She stood 
paralysed, afraid to move. The dark skinned man toppled backwards, his 
chest blossoming deep crimson, eyes suddenly lifeless. His body knocked 
the Russian off balance as he hit the floor.

The blond man's face froze in shocked disbelief. He brought his own 
weapon up to aim at the source of the bullets, reacting too slowly to 
save himself from the point blank force of a round in the stomach. 
Another hit his right shoulder and he fell to the floor in agony, the 
Browning tumbling from his grip.

Janet became aware of movement behind her, turning in time to see the 
Colonel raising up on the bed. His IV tube, stretched to the limit, 
dragged the needle painfully from his arm. He raised her SIG-Sauer once 
more, emptying the remaining five rounds into the heart of the already 
dying Russian, killing him with the first shot. Jack's face contorted 
with the need for vengeance, his finger pulling the trigger reflexively 
even as the hammer began to fall on the empty chamber.

"Jack!" Janet stepped towards him, staring up into lifeless brown eyes.

Slowly he turned towards her, a look of bewildered recognition crossing 
his tormented face, "Janet?" He murmured hoarsely, then his eyes rolled 
and his outstretched left arm went limp. His strength dissolved as he 
passed out onto the mattress.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel was nearing the corridor of Janet's room, when he heard shots 
fired. His sauntering walk becoming a sprint at the first of the 
distinctive sounds. Mentally counting the bullets, he cautiously drew 
closer. Reaching the outer door, he dropped his laptop satchel onto the 
floor and pulled his Beretta from where he'd jammed it into the small of 
his back.

Noticing the splintered wood around the busted lock, Daniel took a deep 
breath, his heart pounding as he gingerly pushed on the door, but it 
wouldn't budge. He shoved his shoulder against it hard, all thought of 
stealth gone from his mind. He felt the door give a little, but 
something was jamming it. 

He moved to the side, out of the firing line and reached across to rap 
on the wood with his knuckles, "Hello, in there! Is everything okay?" He 
paused, but there was no answering shot exploding through the wood, no 
voices or any sound coming from inside. "Janet, open the door!" He 
shouted more frantically, barely breathing as he waited tensely, 
straining to hear any sign of life, his panic rising.

He was about to yell louder when he heard a muffled noise. Raising his 
Beretta, Daniel pounded on the door again, "Janet, is that you? Let me 
in, damnit!" Something moved inside and he heard a thud and the creak of 
wood, holding his breath as the door slowly opened and the doctor stood 
before him shakily, her face ghostly pale. Without a word, she turned 
away and he followed her into the room his gun ready, unprepared for the 
nightmarish scene that faced him.

Daniel gaped in shock at the blood soaked bodies. He recognised the 
Russian intelligence agent, lying on the floor, beside what looked like 
a native Egyptian with a 9mm Browning semiautomatic held in lifeless 
fingers. With his heart in his mouth, he spotted Jack lying face down on 
the bed. Steeling himself for the worst, he warily approached. 

"Janet! What happened?" He crouched down beside the first corpse, 
holding two fingers against the Russian's neck despite the obvious lack 
of life and a gushing chest wound. Finding no pulse, he moved onto the 
dark skinned man, making his futile check in the same way.

Both men were dead, which left Daniel the grim task of verifying the 
state of the Colonel lying on the bed beside Janet. Instead he stood up 
and touched her arm, feeling the doctor jump nervously. "Janet, what 
happened?" He softly repeated his question. 

She stared at him, her ears still ringing with the sound of gunfire. She 
swallowed, raising her hand up to reveal the hypodermic needle still 
inserted into a chemical vial. She handed Daniel the offending item, 
ignoring the confused look on his face. Wiping a palm over her eyes as 
if to restore her calm, she turned to her patient, checking his pulse 
with fingers that shook uncontrollably.

"Help me move him," she quietly urged Daniel, who finally breathed again 
in the knowledge that Jack was still alive. Placing his Beretta and the 
syringe onto the night stand, together they turned the patient around, 
resting his head gently against the pillow. 

Noticing the SIG-Sauer still firmly gripped in Jack's left hand, the 
slide locked open on the now empty weapon, Daniel began to form a 
picture of the unbelievable events. Somehow his friend had exacted 
revenge, saving himself and Doctor Fraiser in the process, but now he 
was unconscious once more. Daniel swallowed, considering the probable 
consequences of what had happened, knowing the police would arrive in 
force at any minute.

Before he could even complete that thought, a commotion reached him from 
outside, slowly drawing nearer in a clamour of shouts and running 
footsteps. Daniel raced to the still open door, shouting in Egyptian for 
them to hold their fire as he approached the entrance with his hands 
held high above his head.

Fighting rising panic at the sight of a group of well armed Egyptian 
police and hotel security heading towards him, their weapons drawn, 
apparently ready to storm the room, Daniel's eyes sought out the leader. 
He spotted a man at the front of the team, shouting commands and urging 
the growing crowd of onlooking tourists and hotel workers to get out of 
the way.

Daniel shouted again in Egyptian, exercising all of his linguistic 
skills and knowledge of local customs to plead with the officer to 
listen to his words. As the man drew close enough, Daniel read his name 
badge, addressing him personally as he attempted to convince him that it 
was under control. They would not need their weapons.

In the ensuing melee, Doctor Jackson eventually persuaded the sceptical 
policeman, Sergeant Maged, that this had been an attempted kidnapping of 
a Colonel in the US military. He argued the need to get Jack and the 
doctor to hospital and to keep a security detail on them at all times. 
It was probably the most difficult negotiation of his life, presenting a 
convincing story to the Egyptian authorities and yet revealing nothing 
of a sensitive nature.

While they waited for an ambulance, Daniel identified the Russian 
intelligence officer and vaguely explained that he had been after state 
secrets. Then he collected his laptop and led the doctor from the room, 
following the paramedics down to their waiting vehicle. He breathed a 
sigh of relief as they left the hotel grounds amidst a police escort.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was late that Monday night before the Egyptian authorities finally 
had enough answers to satisfy their reports for the moment and allow 
Daniel to return to the hospital room where Jack was being treated. The 
Colonel was being watched closely, outside by three armed guards and 
inside by a somewhat subdued Janet Fraiser, who had yet to give her 
account of what had happened that afternoon.

Sergeant Maged was withholding their passports, pending verification of 
their story, somewhat concerned by the absence of the Colonel's. He 
currently had various departments checking the plethora of documentation 
on Jack's movements since entering the country, to determine where they 
had lost track of him. The Egyptian police, being very thorough in that 
respect, liked to record everything that happened, from the number plate 
of each tour bus passing a given checkpoint, to the number of tourists 
who boarded and at which hotels. The fact that an American visitor had 
suddenly gone missing, and they had not been alerted, revealed a gaping 
hole in their effectiveness.

Daniel had managed to be sufficiently vague with his story that he had 
not given away anything classified. At the same time, he was convincing 
enough that the authorities believed him and were willing to aid their 
safe return to the United States if it all checked out okay. However, 
they still needed to file a thorough report, which included taking 
extensive pictures of the Colonel's injuries, despite the objections and 
discomfort of his two friends, who felt it an unnecessary violation, 
knowing how closely Jack guarded his privacy. 

They also insisted that Colonel O'Neill would not be allowed to leave 
the country until he had been able to give a full account of what had 
occurred, in his own words, so basically they were stuck there for a 
while longer. Furthermore, the police had sent full copies of their 
report to both the Colonel's commanding officer and the US Embassy in 
Cairo, in order to substantiate Doctor Jackson's claims. 

Daniel had so far avoided implicating Philip Marshall in events because 
he knew it would cause the police to contact him, thus revealing the 
fact that Jack was still alive. However, he had been unable to come up 
with a good excuse why the Embassy itself should not be called, so now 
he could only hope that the reach of Marshall's power did not stretch 
within the Cairo police force.

In the meantime, he set to work on a contingency plan, sitting at a 
table in the corner of Jack's hospital room. Janet was finally asleep in 
an armchair beside the bed, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 
Daniel opened up the laptop computer that the Egyptian police had almost 
retained as evidence until he had managed to convince them otherwise. He 
connected the modem into the nearby telephone socket and loaded up his 
e-mail account, preparing a message to Sam to explain what he thought 
had happened and what his report to the police had revealed.

"We still need some help here, Sam. Firstly, we need a way to keep 
Philip Marshall off our backs. Secondly, the local doctor says that if 
Jack doesn't get specialist surgery on his hand asap, he'll never regain 
full function of it. Any ideas? DJ." Daniel completed the message and 
sent it off, disconnecting the modem, knowing a request like that would 
take some time to respond to. He would dial back on in a few hours to 
see if Sam had come up with anything.

With nothing left to do but wait and worry, Daniel stood up and walked 
over to Jack's bedside, staring at him for a long time, seeking any sign 
of improvement. Since lapsing back into unconsciousness, having 
dispensed with his torturers in what the Egyptian police were so far 
recording as an act of self defence, Jack had remained completely non 
responsive. However, the doctor at this private hospital was optimistic, 
they were increasing his fluid intake intravenously and had begun a 
nutrient drip. Doctor Halib believed it was only a matter of time before 
he would awaken once more. 

Daniel had been praying that were true ever since the initial prognosis 
some hours earlier. There had been nothing to contradict it yet, since 
they were still awaiting results of the blood tests to determine what 
chemicals were in Jack's system. The worse news had come when the local 
doctor admitted there was little he could do about the busted hand, it 
was badly damaged and beyond their medical capabilities. It required an 
experienced specialist and they, unfortunately, were few and far between 
in this country. 

The Egyptian doctor had shrugged as if to say that was the end of that, 
but Daniel refused to accept it. He would find some way to repair the 
damage, failure was not something he could contemplate. In his heart, 
Daniel simply wanted everything back the way it had been before all this 
began. He wanted things to return to normal. No more distrust of 
superiors, no more looking over his shoulder, and no more lives 
destroyed because of him. But he knew it was an impossible wish, no 
matter what happened, some things could not be forgiven or even 
momentarily ignored. And now that there was an official police report 
with graphic photographs of the injuries inflicted, detailing the harm 
done to the Colonel, how could it ever be forgotten? 

Daniel rubbed his face wearily, trying not to think too far into the 
future, trying not to imagine what would happen to their team. It was 
all irrelevant until they knew for certain what would happen to Jack. He 
slumped into a chair opposite Janet and sat back to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sergeant Maged sat in his office late into the night, reading and 
rereading the reports and evidence gathered from the investigation so 
far. On a lined foolscap pad he had written down a series of questions 
which remained unanswered, a list that grew each time he reviewed the 
information now before him.

Several weapons had been recovered from the scene. A fully spent SIG-
Sauer P230 9mm auto-pistol appeared to be the weapon used to kill the 
two men. Interestingly enough, at least to Maged who was a fervent fan 
of gun facts and figures, that model was the standard issue handgun for 
the US Federal Bureau of Investigation and was commonly available on the 
black market in his and several other neighbouring countries.

Then there was a Beretta 92F, chosen weapon of the US military, which 
seemed to have been unfired, along with two 9mm Browning semiautomatics, 
at least one of which had been used quite recently. They had also 
recovered a filled hypodermic syringe, containing an unknown drug. It 
had been sent off for testing, but it could take a couple of days before 
the results came back, in the meantime Maged hoped the female doctor 
might be able to identify the contents once she was up to questioning.

The police officer considered the three Americans carefully. He had not 
pushed the woman to talk so soon, she was obviously shocked by what had 
occurred and in his experience any answers she might be able to give 
would not necessarily be accurate or lucid at this stage. The questions 
could wait until morning. After all, none of them were going anywhere, 
that much was plainly clear in the way they were staying so close to 
their unconscious friend.

Both Doctor Jackson and Doctor Fraiser had strongly objected to the 
forensic team Maged had sent in to photograph and examine the Colonel's 
body before the nurses had been allowed to clean him up. They had 
strongly contended that it was an invasion of privacy, a feeble argument 
considering the obvious criminal injury that had been inflicted on the 
victim. Besides Maged had no choice, even if the chances of prosecuting 
this case were slim, with the culprits already dead, the Sergeant still 
required all evidence for his report, and the list of grievous bodily 
harm done to the American formed a substantial part of that testimony. 

As for the circumstances of the kidnapping, the police officer remained 
suspicious. The victim was reportedly a Colonel in the US Air Force, 
although his passport had not yet been unearthed, so this was still 
unconfirmed. But such a role did not seem unusual enough for this man to 
be singled out for such torturous treatment, there was definitely more 
to this than met the eye, information that the younger American had 
managed to withhold quite cleverly. He was apparently experienced in 
negotiating his way out of difficult situations.

To Maged, Doctor Jackson was proving of equal curiosity as the Colonel. 
He was an earnest scholarly man, fiercely protective towards O'Neill, 
outwardly mild, yet strong willed enough to talk down a rushing force of 
armed policemen, his calm voice cutting through the melee to directly 
address the leader as Maged led his team in to storm the hotel room. 
Jackson had argued for the care and security of his friends, unmindful 
of his own well being, despite the fact that the man looked like he had 
been running on nervous energy alone for days.

Doctor Jackson did not give the outward appearance of someone with a 
military background, yet he was obviously more than just a good friend 
to the Colonel. Sergeant Maged instinctively believed that all three had 
some kind of working relationship. So what sort of state secrets could 
they be hiding that warranted Colonel O'Neill's kidnapping by a Russian 
intelligence officer? Wasn't all that Cold War stuff over and done with 
years ago? 

All speculation aside, the most difficult question still facing the head 
of this investigation was how had the Colonel been spirited away from 
beneath the eyes of a police force who prided themselves on being able 
to keep track of all tourists wandering the length and breadth of the 
country? How had he simply disappeared for more than a week in the first 
place, without it coming to the notice of anyone in country? There were 
definitely procedures that would need tightening up here.

Sergeant Maged sighed, deep worry lines creasing his forehead. So many 
questions and so few lines of investigation to follow up on. At least 
when the Colonel did finally awaken, that would certainly be an 
interesting interrogation session, although given the circumstances, 
perhaps the idea of an interrogation was somewhat heavy handed. 

He looked at the photographs strewn loosely across the table amidst the 
written reports. They were an exact copy of the ones sent to the 
American Embassy in Cairo and to O'Neill's commanding officer reportedly 
somewhere in the United States. The Sergeant could not tell whereabouts 
from the official looking e-mail address he had forced out of Doctor 
Jackson, who had been reluctant to involve the Colonel's superior for 
some unknown reason. Maged wondered idly whether knowing the base where 
the Colonel operated out of would give him any clues to what that 
unconscious mind was hiding.

He picked up two of the photos, placing them side by side in front of 
him. Without a doubt this was no ordinary kidnapping, the local doctor 
had reported O'Neill as being stable, but added that the man was 
probably only still alive because his original physical condition had 
been way above average to start with. The Colonel had been starved, 
drugged and severely beaten, the livid colours on his badly bruised 
chest and face were captured all too clearly by the digital camera. 

The damaged right hand was an even worse sight, mangled and swollen, 
causing Maged to wonder whether there was any chance that O'Neill was 
left handed. Somehow he didn't think that was likely and he had to feel 
sympathy for the man. For a military Colonel to lose the use of one hand 
would surely invalidate him from active service. Knowing how much he 
valued his own position in the police community, the importance of the 
work he was doing, Sergeant Maged would not wish that upon anyone. Maybe 
he did not know who this Colonel Jack O'Neill really was, but he was 
beginning to form a fairly good impression simply from the actions and 
motivations of his two apparently honest and loyal friends and so far he 
had not detected anything that deserved such punishment.

Rising from his chair and stretching his tired body, Maged gathered the 
material and piled it together, crossing the room towards his office 
safe to place it under lock and key before he retired for the night. 
Although it seemed that the protagonists of this shocking affair had 
already received just reward for their terrible acts, the Sergeant vowed 
to ensure that the investigation remained thorough in its quest for 
answers. 

Under his guidance there would be a dogged search for the truth behind 
this horrendous business and for the ways to prevent any possible 
reoccurrence ever in his beloved country and certainly never again right 
under his very own nose. If there was anyone left to catch, Maged would 
personally see to it that the culprits were made to pay. He would ensure 
redemption for his police force and for himself before this case would 
be closed.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was late Monday afternoon in Cheyenne mountain when Captain Samantha 
Carter received a telephone call from Natalie's mother, a woman whom she 
had briefly met a couple of times at Janet's house. 

"The school rang to see where Cassie was today," she explained, "I told 
them she had gone to stay with you, but I didn't want to give them your 
number. I know the work you do is, well, kind of secret."

"There must be some mistake, I thought she was staying with you until 
Janet got back!" Sam said worriedly.

"No, Cassandra left here on Thursday evening after talking to Janet. She 
said you had agreed to look after her over the weekend. Don't tell me 
you haven't seen her!" She finished in a shocked voice.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," Sam covered 
quickly, "I'll find out where she is and get back to you." The Captain 
put the telephone down and dashed out of the laboratory. There was only 
one person who could help track down Cassie rapidly enough and there was 
no reason why he should be unwilling to help where the youngster was 
concerned.

Carter knocked on General Hammond's office door and rushed in without 
prompting, unprepared for the sight that met her. The General looked 
positively ashen faced, staring at some photographic printouts in a 
manila folder lying on his desk. He looked up as she came in, closing 
the file hurriedly and clenching his hands together on top of it. 

Sam stared at the desk, her brain still trying to register the fleeting 
image, "General?"

"Yes, Captain, what do you want?" Hammond asked in a hoarse voice, his 
gaze lowered.

"Sir, Cassandra's gone missing and I need your help to find her," Carter 
blurted out quickly.

"What! How?" Hammond glanced up in startled surprise.

"Apparently, Cassie was issued with a passport, I believe she may have 
used it. She may even have gone to Egypt. We have to check with the 
airlines and immigration control to see if we can verify that, but I 
can't do it without your authority," Sam explained. 

The General stared at her with wide eyes, "What makes you think Cassie 
is in Egypt?" He asked in a strangled voice.

"Because she knew Colonel O'Neill and Daniel were there and.......," Sam 
hesitated to admit the truth, "And, I think she might have guessed that 
Janet went to Cairo to help them," she finished in a burst, hating 
herself for having to reveal where the doctor had gone.

Hammond nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the news that a member of the 
SGC's medical staff was also in Egypt. Sam glanced quizzically at the 
closed report folder on his desk, noticing that his hands, no longer 
entwined together, were shaking slightly. "You already knew where Doctor 
Fraiser was, didn't you Sir?" She asked quietly, "How?"

"It's in the police report," the General admitted after a long pause.

Sam considered his words for a moment, her brain finally reconciling the 
images she had seen in that split second before he had closed the file, 
"Oh, god!" She swallowed dryly, collapsing into the nearest chair, 
"Colonel O'Neill! Is he.......?"

"He's alive, Captain," Hammond grimaced, his voice almost inaudible as 
he murmured, "Barely. Lord, what have I done?"

Sam stared at him, then she reached across his desk for the manila 
folder. The General stopped her, placing his hand firmly on her wrist. 
He looked her in the eyes and shook his head, but she would not be 
dissuaded, gripping the report with her fingers to pull it closer. 

"Captain, I advise you not to," Hammond said more insistently, this was 
one time he couldn't order her to obey.

"Why?" Sam asked heatedly, "So that I won't see what you've done?" His 
shoulders slumped in defeat, powerless to stop her, knowing she had to 
find out sooner or later. 

The police report had been placed inside a file marked "top secret" as 
befitted the shocking contents. Sam carefully ignored the photographs, 
which had been left face down, and read the written text, relieved that 
Colonel O'Neill, Doctor Fraiser and Doctor Jackson were all safely in a 
Cairo hospital under police guard. 

When she had contacted Daniel early that morning, he had not known how 
they were going to get Jack to a medical facility despite the 
recommendations Sam had made for a possible sanctuary. It now seemed 
that circumstances had conspired to resolve that problem for them. The 
Russian was dead and the police were trying to obtain verification of 
their story before her friends would be allowed to leave the country. 
For the meantime, at least, they were safe, but there was no mention of 
Cassie. If she had gone to Egypt, surely she should have met up with 
them by now?

"Will you help me find Cassandra?" Sam pleaded with the General again.

He nodded, reaching for the telephone as she continued to scan the 
report. Daniel had not told her any details of Jack's injuries, he had 
only said that the Colonel remained unconscious. Now she faced a medical 
report listing every wound and Sam found herself drawn to the 
photographs that had been included with the police report.

"Captain, don't!" Hammond urged her from across the desk, a telephone 
receiver in his left hand as he waited for a response to his initial 
enquiries.

Sam looked at him, "I have to know the truth, I have to see it for 
myself."

"No you don't, not like this," he pleaded, wondering how many lives he 
had destroyed by following orders.

Sam hesitated, but she knew if there was any chance she would ever be 
able to trust Hammond again, she had to find out the whole truth of what 
he had done. She could leave no stone, or photograph, unturned. 

The pictures had been taken with a digital camera, downloaded onto 
computer, attached to the Cairo police report and e-mailed to General 
Hammond. Picked up by his assistant, they were automatically forwarded 
for printing onto photo quality paper to ensure a perfect replication of 
the image. The same machine had collated the written report, stored the 
whole thing inside a top secret binder and sealed it. Thus the addressee 
need be the only person ever to see the contents, until now.

Carter took a deep breath and turned over the first print. Stoically 
absorbing each graphic image until she had completed the task. Ten 
photographs in total, each showed a different part of the body or a 
wider angle of the whole. 

Finally, Sam closed the folder carefully and rose from her seat, vaguely 
aware that Hammond had now finished his phone call. Her voice was cold, 
shaking with barely controlled rage, "Tell me this was not sanctioned by 
the US government!"

Hammond shrugged uncomfortably, "Captain, you know my orders said that 
it was. But now I don't want to believe that anymore than you do."

"Then who is behind this?" Sam shook the manila folder in his face, her 
voice rising, "Who are the people that caused this?" She yelled, "I need 
to know!"

"Why? So that you can do to them what they did to Jack?" The General 
shouted back, "Captain, don't you think I know how you feel? That is not 
the way to deal with this."

"You have no idea how I feel, Sir," Carter spat the words bitterly.

"Yes, I do, Captain," Hammond said flatly, "You seem to be forgetting, I 
was the one who allowed this to happen. I am to blame for what they did 
to him. I made the choice whether to follow orders or not. The guilt is 
all mine."

"And that's why you have no idea how I feel!" Sam screamed at him 
ferociously. "I had no choice! I couldn't leave the country! You forced 
me to sit here and wait, when all the time they were.......," the words 
caught in her throat and she could only glare at him wildly. 

Carter flung the file at him and hurriedly left the room, reaching the 
nearest seclusion of Colonel O'Neill's office, locking the door behind 
her, before she broke down. Leaning against the wall, she sank to the 
floor and hugged her knees to her chest, shuddering with unreleased 
sobs, silent tears forming trails down her cheeks.

Alone in his office, General Hammond slumped shakily into his chair. His 
determined voice rang loud in the sudden silence, "I'm going to find out 
who did this, if it's my last act as commander of the SGC."

The decision made, Hammond lifted the handset of the bright red 
telephone residing on the corner of the desk. With no preamble, he spoke 
into the receiver, his grim voice leaving no room for negotiation, "I 
must speak with the President immediately. It's a matter of national 
security."

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was still in Iraq, still living the nightmare, of that much he was 
certain. Only somehow it seemed different, the colours were vivid, a 
word he never thought he would use to describe the desert scenery or the 
mud brick prison camp filled with the dirt ground faces of his wretched 
companions. It was rare to see them lined up in front of the barracks, 
an uneven row of defeated soldiers, and Jack wondered why he was not 
with them, why fate had singled him out this day.

With a feeling of numb detachment, he watched two guards and an officer 
approach, preparing to face his death bravely as reality intervened to 
erase any dreams of release he might once have harboured. Reluctantly, 
Jack tried to force himself to accept that he would never be reunited 
with his family and he ached at the loss. To never again feel Sara's 
touch on his skin, or the soft kiss of her lips, for even one more 
fleeting moment before he died.

Smiling cruelly, the blond officer stepped up and handed him a gun, "One 
bullet, two choices," he leered, signalling for his men to drag the 
victim forward. "Her or you!" He held out a single .45 calibre cartridge 
between his fingers, "A shot to the head!"

He called his men closer and one of the guards pressed the barrel of his 
Kalashnikov against Jack's head. There was no way out. The man in charge 
handed him the smoothly crafted shell and Jack held it between shaking 
fingers, clutching the ancient Colt to his chest as he attempted to 
eject the clip, dropping the fiddly cartridge on the sandy ground twice 
before he successfully loaded it.

Finally, slotting the clip back into the weapon, Jack fought to retract 
the bolt with his weak grip before raising his gaze, reluctantly 
studying his target, staring into watery eyes. He saw a fleeting glimpse 
of something other than fear, a recognition in her face, and he recalled 
another lifetime, a bright young girl whose name now escaped him.

But Jack knew this could not possibly be her, she was just an 
hallucination of a different life. A world apart, freedom of choice 
beyond his imagination. Such a thing did not exist and could not be 
trusted.

The girl mouthed a word, but he could no longer hear, his mind once more 
overpowered with vivid sound and light. It was hard to concentrate, to 
focus on his objective, but Jack knew what he had to do. He was never 
going back in that box again, he couldn't take it anymore. He would not 
survive another day in such terrifying confinement, of that he was 
certain. And he had to survive, he had to see Sara and Charlie again, no 
matter what happened. He didn't want to die, not yet, not until he had 
seen them one more time. He would do whatever it took to keep himself 
out of that box.

Jack released the safety, the left handed motion felt awkward, 
unnatural, but it had been a long time since he held a weapon in his 
hand. Slowly his finger depressed the trigger and he saw tears fall down 
the victim's cheeks. And in that final moment as the weapon fired, a 
name came to mind.

"Cassie!" Jack heard himself scream over the loud gunshot in his ears. 
He saw his young friend topple to the ground, eyes closed, a look of 
anguish on her face, her body lifeless. He heard laughter, cold, 
malevolent, chilling him to the bone. And in that brief moment of 
clarity, Jack knew what he had done. He knew that he had lost. He opened 
his trembling grip and let the still smoking weapon slip from his 
nerveless fingers. 

For a second, he stared in shock at his nemesis. The Russian held a 
filled hypodermic ready in his hand, in case the last dose had worn off 
too soon to complete the game. But the timing had proved perfect, 
Colonel O'Neill knew he had committed a terrible act. He was finished, 
defeated, a broken man, pliable and ready to do whatever was asked. 

Jack lunged at the leering smile, surprising the Russian with the force 
of his furious attack, a drug strengthened rage. Hands gripped Dmitri's 
throat, cutting off his windpipe, broken fingers sharing the effort with 
apparent ease. His assailant unmindful of the pain.

The guards raised their weapons, hesitant to disobey orders not to kill 
the captive yet. The Russian spluttered, gasping for air. He raised his 
right hand, still gripping the hypodermic tightly, and plunged the 
needle into the back of Jack's neck. Depressing the syringe to inject 
the full dose, he felt the grip loosen, heard the gasp of horror, and 
stepped away to watch his victim suffer. 

O'Neill held his head in his hands in excruciating pain, a renewed 
crescendo assaulting all his senses. As the Russian watched with a 
satisfied smile, the American screamed in anguish, his face contorting 
horribly, then he toppled to the floor and lay silent. His ragged 
breathing slowed almost to a halt as he slipped into a deep unconscious 
state.

"Damn!" Dmitri muttered to himself as he checked the faint pulse of the 
Colonel. Now he would have to wait. He could not risk an injection of 
adrenaline to awaken the man in this dangerously weakened condition, it 
could kill him and then all his work would be for nothing. Well not all 
for nothing, he'd still have some extremely pleasant memories, but that 
would hardly improve his future career prospects.

"Well, patience is a virtue, my friend," he patted the arm of his victim 
almost fondly. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed his work so 
profoundly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel was woken by a blood curdling scream. At first he thought he had 
imagined it in the depths of his nightmare, but when he opened his eyes 
he saw Janet had also been startled awake and was staring at the source.

Jack was tossing and turning in his sleep, the first unprovoked movement 
either of them had seen. It ought to have been a good sign if it wasn't 
for the fact that he was crying out, softer than his initial shriek, but 
spoken with such pure anguish that it gripped Daniel's heart like a 
vice. He knew instinctively that something was very wrong, even though 
he couldn't figure out what.

"Cassie!" Jack repeated the single word over and over in a voice as 
terrified as it was plaintive.

Janet gazed at the Colonel with frightened eyes, before turning to 
Daniel. "I have to talk to her," she said insistently.

Daniel nodded, knowing exactly how she felt. He went over to his laptop 
and was about to disconnect the modem to plug back in the telephone when 
he stopped. Looking at his watch, he realised it had been three hours 
since he sent the e-mail to Carter. "Let me check my mail first," he 
said, "There might be a message from Sam. It'll only take a second."

Working quickly, he logged onto his server and downloaded new mail, 
relieved to find a note from the Captain's personal id. He double 
clicked to open it, absorbing the contents in stunned disbelief.

"No! That can't be right! She wouldn't do a thing like that!" A 
strangled whisper behind him was Daniel's first indication that Janet 
had been looking over his shoulder.

The message from Sam simply read, "Be advised, Cassie flew to Egypt, 
arrived Cairo Saturday morning. Have you seen her?"

Daniel looked from the computer display to the bed where Jack had 
settled again, sleeping quietly once more. "Oh God!" He said with a 
feeling of dreadful certainty, his mind assuming the worst and this time 
positive he was right, "I think Jack might have!"

Janet stared at him as he voiced her deepest fear. Slowly putting the 
pieces together and recalling Jack murmuring Cassie's name in the hotel 
room when she was tending to his head wound. She stepped towards the bed 
and bent down beside the unconscious man, whispering in his ear, the 
same way she had done in the hotel earlier, "Jack, wake up! I need to 
know what happened to Cassie!" Desperation grew in her voice and she 
placed a hand on his chest without thinking, shaking him, pleading 
anxiously for him to reveal where her daughter was, "Jack, come on, wake 
up. Talk to me. Where's Cassie?"

The painful motion caused Jack to begin mumbling again, speaking the 
young girl's name over and over. Daniel gripped the doctor's arm, 
"Janet, stop it! Let him go! This isn't helping."

The woman looked startled, suddenly aware that she was pressing hard 
against Jack's bruised chest. She gasped, removing her fingers as if 
burnt, stepping away from the bed in bewilderment, not knowing what to 
do next as panic threatened to overwhelm her. Daniel stepped across and 
turned her towards him, wrapping her tightly in his arms, "We'll find 
her," he whispered reassuringly, "It'll be okay, we'll find her."

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Four:

Sometime in the dark hours before dawn on that Tuesday morning, Doctor 
Fraiser had eventually succumbed to a fitful doze, but Daniel had no 
hope of the same. He was left with a gnawing dread in the pit of his 
stomach that told him this particular story was not going to have a 
happy ending, he just didn't know where the tragedy was going to strike 
next. Maybe it was sheer exhaustion compounding his doom laden thoughts, 
he had been surviving on nervous energy alone for two weeks now, hard 
pushed to remember exactly when he last got more than three hours sleep 
in one day. Either way, he had a horrible feeling that it wasn't over 
for Jack yet, and he was beginning to doubt that it ever would be.

By mid morning, Janet was sleeping soundly, her head resting on the side 
of the chair. The blanket had slipped down to pool in her lap and her 
wrist hung over the wooden arm, dangling loosely against the mattress of 
the hospital bed. Daniel knew it was the best thing she could be doing, 
they needed her to be as strong and self assured as they had come to 
rely upon in times of crisis. She had saved them countless times, now it 
could be their turn to save her, but first they had to get Jack to talk. 
If they were going to find out what had happened to Cassie, he had to 
tell them whatever he could.

Jack was lying on his right side again, sub consciously chosen for its 
lack of injuries. Doctor Halib had put a couple of neat stitches into 
the head wound above his left eye and the burns on his feet were being 
treated with a strong antiseptic ointment to deal with the infection. 
The x-rays had shown a cracked rib where he had been kicked, but his 
skull had remained intact. 

It had been a miracle, the Egyptian doctor had declared, that he did not 
suffer further fractures to his ribcage or internal bleeding, but the 
patient was strong, his chest was just bruised. "Extremely badly 
bruised," he had added with a wince. Now they could do nothing further 
until the blood tests came back, "which may take a little while", Doctor 
Halib had estimated with a vague shrug. In the meantime, the Colonel 
might wake up anytime, "En shallah, God willing," the doctor had smiled 
reassuringly.

On that, it seemed, he was correct. Just over two days after they had 
rescued him, whilst Daniel patiently marked the passage of time, leaning 
against the window sill to watch his sleeping friends, he saw a flicker 
of movement on Jack's face. A tiny slit of white appeared against the 
dark black bruising of his left eye, growing wider as he blinked in the 
soft light of the hospital room. The morning sun palely penetrating the 
closed window blinds.

Silently, Daniel watched the reaction on his face to the presence of 
daylight, something most people would take for granted unless they had 
been imprisoned in absolute darkness for eight days. The seemingly 
permanent frown softened and the dark brown eyes opened wider, examining 
the immediate view as it slowly came into focus, still too afraid to 
believe it until the initial images could be verified by something more 
tangible. Jack's vision gradually cleared to gaze upon the sleeping 
doctor, her fingers within reach of his left hand. One touch would prove 
reality over imaginary.

Daniel saw Jack's arm gradually reach across, stretching inexorably 
towards another human being, to confirm the welcome sight of a friend. 
And in that simple binding gesture, he understood just how far Jack had 
been taken from them. And how long a road it might be, before he would 
be able to regain any faith in humanity or even trust in his friends 
again.

As Jack's fingertips tentatively brushed Janet's, Daniel wiped a hand 
over his eyes and shifted slightly, seeing Doctor Fraiser reluctantly 
dragged from sleep. A soft smile spread slowly across her face as she 
focused on Jack's open gaze. She sat up, immediately switching into 
professional mode, talking quietly to the Colonel to explain where he 
was. She poured some mineral water from a bottle on the night stand into 
a plastic cup and gave him a sip, warning him not to drink too much. 
Then Daniel set his face into a broad smile and stepped into view to 
welcome him back. 

Together they helped Jack sit up as painlessly as possible, propping 
pillows behind his back. Daniel found himself holding his breath, 
waiting for Janet to ask the obvious question, "Do you remember what 
happened, Colonel?"

Jack frowned, thinking hard. "I think I got into a fight with some 
locals," he eventually said, his hesitant voice a hoarse whisper. "I 
guess I lost," he winced, "That was Friday evening, what day is it now?"

"It's Tuesday, Jack," Daniel hugged his arms across his chest nervously, 
"Eleven days later!" The Colonel stared at him in disbelief, until 
Daniel nodded affirmatively, "You don't remember anything after that?"

Jack thought for a moment, "No, should I?"

Daniel rubbed his chin with his hand, unsure of what to say next in the 
circumstances. Janet beat him to it, "What about Cassie?"

The way that Jack's face suddenly went blank, as if the lights had gone 
out, frightened Daniel to the core. But the doctor did not seem to 
notice, asking with growing despair, "Colonel, have you seen Cassie 
lately?" Jack shook his head, apparently confused by her question, but 
his eyes were dark, unfocused, as though seeing something his brain was 
denying him access to. 

Daniel placed a hand on Janet's arm, getting her attention before she 
could speak again, "Doctor Fraiser, we should inform Doctor Halib that 
the Colonel is conscious. Perhaps they have the results of the blood 
tests. See if it's safe to give him something for the pain now that he's 
awake." She looked at him and he saw the professional facade slip back 
into place as she nodded and left the room.

The younger man turned back to the patient, who was examining his right 
hand curiously, trying to wiggle the misshapen fingers. "I shouldn't do 
that if I were you.......," Daniel trailed off, his warning too late as 
Jack's face contorted in agony. The resultant effort to utter a dozen 
expletives through gritted teeth caused a coughing fit, sending jarring 
tremors across his chest that left him bent over in pain.

Daniel placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, easing him upright and holding 
the cup of water for him to sip from. As he leaned back against the 
pillows, trying to catch his breath, Daniel perched on the edge of the 
bed, watching him closely, "Hurts bad?"

Jack looked at him silently, guardedly, as if he didn't know what to 
trust. "I guess at least you know you're alive," Daniel added with an 
uneasy shrug, knowing he couldn't begin to guess what was going on 
inside that tortured mind. He saw a flicker of something in Jack's dark 
eyes, a memory or a recognition, he didn't know which.

"Daniel, what happened to me?" Jack's quietly spoken question shocked 
the younger man, who hesitated for a long moment before he could find a 
suitably noncommittal answer.

Finally, he found his voice, "Near as we can figure it, you were 
abducted and interrogated by some Russian led outfit."

Jack winced involuntarily, "The same guys that were after you?" 

Daniel nodded uncomfortably, not wanting to go there, not wanting to 
imagine what might have happened if they had gotten him instead of Jack. 
Despising himself for feeling relief at his best friend's expense.

Jack looked at him, his own thoughts not dissimilar, "How did you get 
away?" He asked curiously, deeply relieved that Daniel had apparently 
escaped unscathed.

"They gave up on me, once they got hold of you," Daniel's voice was 
choked. He still blamed himself for getting Jack involved in the first 
place.

"Good!" Jack exclaimed, the idea of blame far from his mind. He frowned 
slightly, "What were they after?"

"I think they wanted to ask some questions about the Stargate program," 
Daniel glanced away as vivid images flashed through his mind.

Jack caught his look and understood the meaning, his hoarse whisper 
barely audible, "Torture?" Daniel nodded grimly, swallowing hard as he 
reluctantly met the questioning gaze, his blue eyes shining.

"How long?" Jack's dark eyes pleaded for honesty.

Daniel licked his lips nervously, his throat inexplicably dry. "About 
eight days," he admitted eventually wishing for the hundredth time that 
they had found the Colonel sooner.

"Oh," Jack said flatly, staring blankly into the distance. "Another lost 
week," he grimaced faintly.

"I'm sure you'll remember, when you're ready," Daniel said reassuringly.

"Why would I want to?" His bleak words left no room for debate as 
silence descended upon them.

"Jack," Daniel finally began hesitantly, wondering whether this was the 
right time, until he realised there was never going to be a good time, 
"Apparently Cassie came to Cairo to look for you," he said carefully, 
"She's missing.......We think you may have seen her."

"When?" The lack of surprise on Jack's face caused Daniel to study him 
closely, looking for any reaction to his next statement.

"Last Saturday morning. Less than twenty four hours before 
we.......found you."

"Thanks for that," Jack gestured with his good hand. The details of how 
could wait, if only he could just recall the last few days. He stared up 
at the man, frowning deeply, "I don't remember seeing her. I.......," he 
faltered helplessly, "I don't remember anything, Daniel." He shook his 
head, breaking eye contact to gaze into the distance, trying to resolve 
a nagging feeling into an image, knowing he'd forgotten something 
important, but did not know what. 

His friend watched anxiously, part of him not wanting Jack to remember, 
if only there was some other way. Finally, O'Neill lifted his palms to 
rub his face wearily, absentmindedly forgetting the broken bones until 
it was too late. This time the pain brought tears to his eyes, his 
breath coming in ragged gasps. Silently, he clamped his left hand 
tightly around his right wrist, trying to cut off all feeling, 
automatically conditioned to stop himself from crying out in agony.

Daniel observed the way he began to withdraw inside himself, pain 
compounding his confusion until his instincts took over. He noticed the 
way Jack refused to make any noise, despite the obviously intense pain 
emanating from his hand. The way he drew his legs up to his chest in a 
protective gesture. Any second now, Daniel fully expected Jack to roll 
onto his right side and curl up into a ball again, just like how they 
had found him.

Wondering where Doctor Fraiser had gotten to, Daniel rose from the edge 
of the bed to take a quick look outside. Pain medication was probably 
the only thing right now that might break the psychological circle of 
trauma and reaction that Jack was rapidly regressing to.

When he returned with Janet and Doctor Halib, Jack didn't react, his 
eyes tightly closed, and Daniel wondered if he had passed out once more. 
The Egyptian doctor checked the Colonel's vital signs and administered a 
mild general painkiller along with a local injection into the right hand 
to numb the nerve endings. 

Janet pulled Daniel to one side, out of earshot of the apparently 
sleeping patient. "I need to talk to you about yesterday," she 
whispered, beginning to sound much more like the calm, steady Doctor 
Fraiser that SG1 had come to depend upon.

Daniel studied her closely, realising how much stronger she looked for 
just five hours sleep in an armchair, then this was one of those rare 
people who actually felt at home in a hospital. "What about yesterday?" 
He asked curiously, letting her steer him by the arm to the far corner 
of the room as Doctor Halib continued to check the patient, noting 
various readings onto a chart.

"I couldn't explain what happened before.......Well, I was a bit shaky," 
Janet grimaced, looking over his shoulder towards the bed, "But before 
Jack......., before he woke up yesterday, that Russian got kind of 
talkative!"

She took a deep breath and looked up at him earnestly, "Daniel, General 
Hammond was duped, along with the rest of our government. The Russian, 
Alesandrov, wasn't working for us anymore, he was working for his own 
country, trying to obtain new technology or weaponry from the Stargate 
program. He wouldn't say how Philip Marshall is involved, or implicate 
anyone else, but there has to be someone high up who helped set this up, 
whether they realised which side they were working for or not. We've got 
to find out who, or we could all be in danger when they realise we're 
still alive to tell the tale, Jack especially."

Daniel stared at her, trying to understand the implications, but before 
he could comment, she began whispering again, "There's something else. 
The Russian knew who I was. He knew I was a doctor and he called me by 
name. I couldn't figure out how until just now, standing outside at the 
desk with all those phones ringing." Janet swallowed hard, her new found 
resolve faltering slightly, "It was my fault, Daniel! I gave Cassie the 
telephone number of the hotel! The fact that they found us could only be 
because they've got her. That confirms it."

Daniel's eyes widened, "But with the Russian dead........"

Janet nodded grimly, "We have to find Philip Marshall. He's our only 
hope of tracing Cassie."

"Unless Jack remembers something," he pointed out.

Doctor Fraiser shook her head, a shadow passing over her brown eyes, 
"They got the blood test results back," she said with a frown, still 
trying to absorb the information herself. Reading the report just a few 
minutes ago had been the turning point for her. The moment when she 
realised that if she wanted Cassie back in one piece, she would have to 
figure it out for herself. And that would require the calm, rational, 
analytical doctor that she was beginning to think she had left in 
Colorado.

The Doctor took a deep breath and began to explain the lab test 
findings, "The substance injected into Colonel O'Neill was a synthetic 
psychotropic, a form of LSD." She gazed at the occupied bed 
uncomfortably whilst Daniel waited for the other shoe to drop. 

Finally, she turned back to face him, her voice bleak, "Even if Jack 
remembers anything, we have no way to be sure if it's real. The level of 
drugs saturating his system would have resulted in a powerful 
hallucinogenic reaction, he would lose sight of normal actions and 
consequences. Alesandrov could have said he was God and the Colonel 
would have believed him." Janet winced painfully, adding unhappily, 
"With a drug like this, Jack could suffer flashbacks months, even years, 
from now."

"Then they could already have the information they were after," Daniel 
surmised.

"No! The Russian said that Jack was ready to answer his questions as 
soon as they revived him. Judging by the high degree of chemical in his 
system, I think they underestimated his deteriorating condition and 
pushed the dose too high. They had to wait until Jack was strong enough 
to get what they wanted."

"And they waited too long," Daniel murmured, pondering her words. "Is it 
the drugs that have given him this memory loss?"

Janet shrugged unhappily, "It is possible. Or it might be purely 
psychological, the intense pain could have driven the memories deep to 
protect the mind," she reasoned, "Think about it Daniel, would you want 
to remember eight days of imprisonment and torture if you didn't have 
to?"

Daniel considered that for a long moment, but there was no easy answer. 
What frightened him most was the thought that, no matter whether Jack 
wanted it, the memories might not stay buried. In the end he could only 
put that to the back of his mind and concentrate on one thing at a time, 
"So how do we track down Philip Marshall?"

"We enlist the help of the Egyptian police and General Hammond," Janet 
suggested, glad to have a plan of action to focus on. She had faced a 
mind numbing terror, contemplating what might have happened to Cassie, 
now at least she could begin to do something about finding her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack felt the smack of a weathered palm hitting his face, abruptly 
forcing him awake. It took several dizzying seconds to focus his 
swimming vision on anything clearly defined and he drew a sharp breath 
when he recognised the malevolent grin filling his view. The moustached 
leader of the Cairo gang responsible for his throbbing broken hand, not 
to mention the cut on his forehead, a cracked rib and the weakness of 
livid bruises across his chest that had been preyed upon by his 
torturers for eight infinitely long days.

The injured Colonel struggled dopily to sit up, trying to recall how he 
knew how many days it had been. A familiar sandstone floor replaced a 
fleeting memory of hospital linen beneath his fingertips. He had been 
dreaming of rescue, of a comfortable state, warm and painless, now he 
realised it was just another drug induced hallucination. Instead he was 
once more at the mercy of his jailer, a malicious Russian with a 
hypodermic needle in his hand. 

Jack knew what it would contain. He could remember hearing the voice 
that had told him, before he passed out. One shot of adrenaline would 
revive him, then he could answer their questions, that's all it would 
take, the Russian had promised. No more terrifying visions like some bad 
sixties acid trip, Jack couldn't take anymore of that. He would tell 
them everything they wanted, so long as they would leave her 
alone.......

He glanced around then, seeking out his young friend, wondering if he 
would ever see her bright smile again, instead she looked terrified and 
trapped. Jack knew what he had to do, the effects of the drugs had 
abated sufficiently for one single overpowering thought to shine through 
the gauze. "Release her and I'll tell you everything you want to know," 
he whispered hoarsely, unable to bear seeing her suffer any longer.

"No, Jack!" Cassie's sob caught in her throat, "I'm not leaving you 
here." She tried to move towards him, but the Egyptian guard, a 
Kalashnikov rifle slung casually over his shoulder, stuck a hand out and 
grabbed her by the arm, hauling her back roughly.

The Russian emitted a cold laugh, "How touching!" He moved closer to 
her, examining her curiously. "I wonder what our dear Colonel has done 
to deserve such loyalty from a child," he pondered snidely, gripping her 
chin to turn her face up towards him.

Angrily, Cassie kicked him in the shin and wriggled out of the guard's 
grasp. As the Russian rubbed his leg in pain, the huge Cairo gang leader 
who had gained such joy in beating Jack to a pulp, turned on the 
escaping girl. He lifted her off her feet, laughing sadistically as she 
struggled, kicking and screaming. She bit his hand and he lashed out 
with a bruising swing, connecting with her cheek so hard that her head 
snapped back and she went limp in his arms. 

Screaming Cassie's name, Jack sat up in bed, shuddering and gasping for 
breath, the remnants of a terrifying nightmare slipping from his grasp. 
His chest ached from the sudden movement, the waning effects of the 
medication barely taking the edge off the pain. He shivered in the 
darkness, an icy cold sweat covering his face and body, his mind raced, 
trying to remember where he was and what had happened. But the only 
absolute certainty he could cling to was an overwhelming need to escape.

Jack swung his legs off the bed and slowly got up. He felt the cold 
tiled floor beneath his toes, an odd pain emanating from his instep as 
his feet took the weight. Gingerly he stepped forward, feeling blindly 
ahead. Something tugged at his right arm and he traced it with his 
fingers, finding a needle embedded. He pulled it out and flung it away, 
faintly hearing it drop to the floor somewhere nearby. 

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he detected a thin line of light, 
highlighting what could only be a door, and Jack got an odd flash of 
unreality, somehow he knew there had been no exit before. He moved 
towards it, reaching out with his right hand to feel the texture, but 
his numb fingers registered nothing, it was not real. 

Frustrated he turned around and slumped against the wall of his tomb, 
feeling a sharp dig in his left side, an intense pain of an already 
present injury he did not remember getting. He reached blindly for the 
source, his wrist hitting the cold metal of a handle and he gripped at 
it instinctively, his fingers automatically clenching in a way no 
numbing injection could protect him from. An immense bolt of pain shot 
up his arm like fire, awakening a turmoil of memories along with his 
dulled senses. 

Jack stepped back with a gasp of shock, trying to distance himself from 
the source of fragmented images, reeling against a sudden assault that 
threatened to topple his sanity. Mind numbing glimpses of terror and 
agony, helplessness and loss, a struggle for survival 
against.......what? Desperately, he shook his head to clear it, but the 
onslaught continued as he stumbled in the darkness. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The pale light of dawn was beginning to seep through the cracks in the 
blinds, by the time Daniel eventually found Jack sitting on the floor in 
the corner of the room. He was shrouded in shadow, arms hugging his 
knees, staring into space. He failed to react as the younger man 
approached, focused inside himself, trying to piece together the 
harrowing fragments of memory into one whole truth.

Daniel studied him for a long time, recognising the taut self control in 
Jack's tightly wrapped hold. The only outward sign of an intense 
struggle was in the trembling of his right hand, resting limply against 
his shin. He reached out and touched Jack's arm gingerly, almost afraid 
to reveal his presence in case it might shatter whatever was holding the 
Colonel together. "You okay?" He asked softly, crouching on the tiled 
floor in front of him.

Jack reacted slowly, as if awakening from a dream, his dark brown eyes 
gradually refocusing on Daniel's face. He swallowed painfully, "I think 
Cassie's dead," he whispered bleakly, tears shining in his eyes.

"No she's not," Daniel said emphatically, "It's not logical." He stopped 
short, suddenly realising the implications of what Jack had said, 
regarding him closely. "You remember?" He asked, licking his lips 
nervously.

Jack's reluctant nod was almost imperceptible, "Just bits and pieces, so 
far," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. Dreadful images of a 
young girl's lifeless body pushed forcefully at the edges of his sanity.

"Want to talk about it?" Daniel gazed at him in concern, gravely 
considering why he was so positive that Cassie was dead, what might have 
happened.

Jack shrugged helplessly, "What's there to talk about?" He murmured 
hoarsely, "Anyway, I don't remember enough to explain anything clearly 
yet." His head lowered to his hand with the lie and he shuddered at the 
sound of a gunshot still echoing in his mind. This was one thing he 
could never admit to anyone. How could he tell his friends that he had 
murdered her? "Besides, I'd rather hear what makes you think Cass is 
still alive," he whispered trying to cling to false hopes.

Slowly Daniel began to explain what he and Janet had found out since 
Doctor Halib had interrupted their earnest conversation the previous 
day, informing them that he had given the Colonel another shot for the 
pain. "He could be out for awhile, I suggest you leave him to sleep," 
the doctor had smiled gently, urging them from the room.

Skipping over the details, Daniel attempted to summarise the salient 
points. Jack muttered understanding occasionally, but the younger man 
noticed the way his eyes kept unfocusing, as if new, more urgent, 
visions were appearing before him, vying for attention.

After awhile, Daniel stood up, gently lifting Jack by the arm, steering 
him back to the hospital bed. He ought to be resting, if he was going to 
phase out during Daniel's lengthy explanations, he may as well do so 
comfortably. Briefly, the younger man left the room and called a nurse 
to get Jack's intravenous drip reattached, waiting for her to check the 
patient's vital signs before she left, closing the door softly behind 
her.

Finally, Daniel continued to recount the events of the last eighteen 
hours. Thrown out of Jack's hospital room by the kindly Egyptian doctor, 
Daniel and Janet had gone in search of a quiet place to make some calls, 
check out a few things and generally do some detective work of their 
own. When they had eventually managed to contact Captain Carter that 
Tuesday afternoon, they had found their work halved. She and General 
Hammond had spent the last twenty four hours piecing together their part 
of the puzzle, setting aside their differences to combine their efforts 
towards a shared goal.

For starters, General Hammond had obtained a secure line to the 
President and told him all about the covert operation that supposedly 
had his approval. The President himself had some ideas on who may have 
been behind that particular subterfuge. A Senator had been campaigning 
secretly for some time to remove control of the Stargate project from 
the hands of the relatively benevolent group of military and scientific 
advisors, to place it under the jurisdiction of a somewhat more 
ruthless, and ultimately profit making, business consortium.

The unnamed person in question was a member of the Senate Committee 
currently reviewing the status of the program. Applying pressure on 
Hammond via the Pentagon to provide analytical proof of their results 
and ongoing benefits, and arranging the current security and procedural 
reviews of the SGC.

Between the President's knowledge of the political manoeuvring and the 
new data supplied by Doctor Fraiser, they had established the motive and 
the method. They determined that the operation had been illegally 
concocted with the supposed aim of proving that the Stargate project was 
insecure. By forcing a member of its number one team to reveal highly 
classified data on the program, they could tip the scales in favour of 
rehousing the project into a more secure Fort Knox style environment 
with all research and operations under one roof. Controlled by a special 
covert intelligence arm of the National Security Agency. It would be 
managed by a business consortium, financing the scheme for a percentage 
of the profits from sales of new technology, medical discoveries and 
weapons manufacture, all made possible by exploration through the gate.

The President would not reveal the name of the Senator behind this 
particular strategy, but armed with a copy of the Cairo police report 
and expert testimony from Doctor Fraiser, he believed it would be 
possible to tip the balance back in their favour. Especially when the 
Committee discovered their most precious secrets had almost been handed 
to the Russians.

It was also unclear whether the politician in question had been duped by 
Dmitri Alesandrov or if he was involved in selling classified data. 
Furthermore, they had no clear explanation of how the Russian's 
involvement had come about. Without facts they could only speculate, but 
they were basically debating the age old chicken and egg scenario. 

Maybe the Russian defector had accidentally become privy to such secret 
information during his work for the US government and had planned the 
whole thing right from the start. Or perhaps he had simply been in the 
right place at the right time and recognised a perfect opportunity to 
return to his native country as a hero instead of the villain he had 
become for defecting from the Soviet Union during the Cold War. Without 
Alesandrov's testimony it was a question that may never be answered.

For General Hammond, the political shenanigans were the least of his 
concerns. He wanted the truth to be known and the culprits to pay, but 
ultimately, he needed to ensure the safety of his people and anyone else 
who had become accidentally embroiled in this whole shocking affair. 
That required finding Cassie, obtaining the best possible treatment for 
Colonel O'Neill and bringing them all home. 

In order to do that he had to locate Philip Marshall and find out whose 
side he was really on. He also needed to make sure that whoever was at 
the head of the operation, did not attempt to cover his tracks by going 
after Hammond's people first. With the President about to confront the 
Senator in question, time was running out.

With Presidential backing, it had been relatively simple to obtain the 
aid of the Egyptian government in tracking down Philip Marshall. With 
Daniel Jackson and Doctor Fraiser acting as the in-country liaison, they 
had combined all their knowledge in the search for any possible hideouts 
of the, soon to be former, US Embassy worker. 

They had conducted a thorough search of the Kheops Pyramid, turning up 
the badly decomposing body of a member of the Cairo mafia along the way. 
The explanation for which had been provided by Doctor Jackson, much to 
the deep gratitude of Janet, who had enough to worry about without 
having to face that nightmare again. Fortunately, with the 
recommendation and applied pressure of both governments, there was 
little the Egyptian police authorities could do but to declare the 
shooting, quite correctly, as an act of self defence.

Even so, despite all the power behind them, they had not yet found any 
trace of Philip Marshall. With no avenues left to investigate, the Cairo 
police were ready to assume that he had jumped across the border. Daniel 
and Janet thought otherwise. 

Together they analysed what they knew about Philip Marshall, finding him 
a man of greed without a cause to fight for, nor loyalty to anyone but 
himself. There was no logic to him simply killing Cassandra, covering 
his tracks and skipping the country. There was no profit to be made from 
that. This was a man who would still be seeking to make something out of 
all his hard work and the young girl could possibly be both insurance 
and a source of monetary gain. 

"When he spoke to Alesandrov at the Bark, Marshall said they had to be 
out by mid week at the latest. Trouble is, today is Wednesday, we're 
running out of time," Daniel said to Jack, finally reaching the end of 
his long explanation. "He must have had an escape route laid out 
already. All we have to do is figure out where he was planning on going 
and the most likely mode of transport."

"Or find him before he tries to leave," Jack concluded, his quiet words 
the first in some time as he made a concerted effort to focus on the 
present rather than the vivid images reeling in his mind.

"No, we tried that," Daniel pointed out, "The police checked every known 
haunt and a few that noone would have thought of. They didn't find any 
trace of him."

"What about the Cairo mafia?" Jack asked, trying to pull together the 
pieces from his last night of surveillance, "Marshall had close 
connections with them."

"How do you know?" Daniel asked curiously.

Jack grimaced, "Let's just say Marshall arranged a little night time 
rendezvous for me with a bunch of them."

Daniel stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then Jack lifted 
his right wrist with his left hand, indicating the broken fingers that 
he was constantly having to remind himself not to move. "Oh!" The 
younger man exclaimed with a wince and a look of guilt that Jack did not 
understand. Daniel's gaze shifted to the Colonel's other injuries, 
"Jack, I don't suppose you remember what any of them look like?"

O'Neill nodded slowly, a vivid memory imprinted on his mind, "I'd know 
the leader anywhere," he confessed tensely.

~~~~~~~~~~

Deep within Cheyenne mountain, General Hammond summoned Captain Carter 
to his office urgently. "I received a call from the President," he began 
reluctantly. "It seems that the political fallout of this affair has 
spread further than we expected. He's come to some kind of agreement 
with the Senator responsible, which makes Philip Marshall the scapegoat 
and leaves the Senate Committee intact."

"What!" Carter exclaimed in shock, "But how?"

"They're claiming he was the security and intelligence advisor for the 
Committee. That he organised and ran the whole operation, forged the 
Presidential approval and arranged authorisation for the trip to Egypt. 
Which incidentally appears to have been an opportune coincidence from 
his point of view, chances are that if the archaeological dig hadn't 
come up, Marshall would simply have manufactured something equally 
believable to get a member of SG1 far away from the protection of 
Cheyenne mountain." 

"It's all a political game to them," Hammond continued unhappily. 
"Trouble is, it's impossible to disprove any of their claims without 
Marshall's testimony. He was my contact for the whole operation, the 
order was passed down through the proper channels, but Philip Marshall 
was the operational liaison. He was the one who made all the threats, 
suggesting that the Senate Committee would withdraw funding for the 
Stargate program." 

"But, Sir, you know this doesn't make sense," Carter interjected. 
"Someone had to have supplied Marshall with data on both Daniel and 
Colonel O'Neill, their history before and during the project. It had to 
be someone with superficial knowledge of the Stargate to know the 
potential information they might obtain." 

Sam paused for a moment, this time going one step further with her train 
of thought, "General, we have to assume that the people Alesandrov was 
working for also have that data now. If they know about the program, 
what's to stop them from trying something else?"

Hammond stared at her, knowing she was absolutely right, this was a 
problem they needed to put an end to or forever be looking over their 
shoulders. "We need to find Marshall and take him alive," he resolved, 
"He might know who Alesandrov's Russian contacts were. With that 
information, we would have some bargaining power."

Carter nodded, "We have to tell Daniel and Janet."

~~~~~~~~~~

Doctor Jackson had to give the Egyptian police their due, once Jack had 
identified the leader of the gang that beat the crap out of him before 
handing him over to the Russian, it only took two hours for them to 
track down their prey and bring the surprised culprit in for 
questioning. What Daniel didn't appreciate was the fact that they were 
now requesting Jack face his attacker to positively identify him, since 
there was neither the time nor the place for a proper line-up to be 
arranged.

"You don't have to do this, Jack," Daniel said uneasily.

"Yes I do," Jack swallowed, "Let's just get it over with." He turned to 
the police sergeant who was standing beside a wheelchair, waiting 
patiently, "Do I really have to go in that?"

"Hospital regulations, Colonel. I am truly sorry," the uniformed 
officer, who was in charge of the investigation, explained.

Jack rubbed his freshly shaved chin nervously, beginning to get into the 
habit of using his left hand for such gestures, "Okay." He hobbled over 
and sat down, "Let's go."

Sergeant Maged indicated to the orderly and they moved out into the 
corridor amidst a procession of guards. Two floors down in the elevator 
they entered an isolation ward, the windows barred and the thick steel 
door firmly sealed. A tall, heavily built Egyptian with a bushy 
moustache leaned casually against the far wall, his wrists and ankles 
bound by chains. Two police officers stood either side in addition to 
those on guard outside the room. 

His face displayed the odd sign of a recent brawl himself, accompanied 
by a malevolent smile that rapidly faded when he recognised who was 
occupying the wheelchair, clearly surprised at seeing the American still 
alive. He recovered quickly, leering maliciously as he eyed the damage 
still deeply colouring the Colonel's gaunt face.

Daniel shivered inwardly, horrified to catch himself thinking how glad 
he was that it hadn't been him who met this man in a dark back alley. 
And not just this man, he reminded himself, there were eight in total, 
Jack had eventually admitted quietly when being questioned by the police 
sergeant earlier that morning. He just couldn't recall the faces of the 
rest of them. Eight men! Daniel thought furiously, they set upon his 
best friend with eight men! 

Unconsciously, Daniel edged closer to the wheelchair as they entered, 
unaware that he wasn't the only one who was holding his breath. Jack 
forced himself to slowly exhale, trying to retain a calm steady flow of 
air in and out of his lungs, wishing he could suppress the deep seated 
fear he felt at coming so close to this aggressor once more. 

For Daniel the rage began to boil, barely hearing Jack's voice as he 
positively identified the man as one of his attackers. Hearing the 
confirmation of recognition from the American, the Egyptian smiled 
cruelly. Knowing he was trapped, he resumed his normal bravado, "How's 
the hand?" He sneered.

Jack regarded him placidly, concealing his inner turmoil, but Daniel 
wasn't so good at hiding his feelings, gradually edging towards the man, 
tension building. Jack placed a hand on his friend's arm, gripping as 
tightly as necessary for him to glance down. The Colonel met his gaze 
with a warning look. "Let the police handle this," he murmured quietly, 
watching him slowly attempt to regain control. But all Daniel could see 
was that vicious, evil grin and the way he appeared to be enjoying 
seeing the results of his own handiwork again.

As Sergeant Maged began his questions about Philip Marshall, Jack stared 
blankly at the man, the memories becoming ever clearer of what had 
occurred the first time they had met and he struggled to stay focused on 
the proceedings. Vaguely he heard the moustached Egyptian claim that 
meeting the American Colonel had been pure chance, that he required no 
money for the pleasure of beating up "an arrogant Yankee."

Without warning, Daniel flew at the man, taking him by complete surprise 
and pounding his midriff in the grip of sheer rage. It took two police 
guards to haul him off the prisoner, who still had his hands and legs 
chained, unable to protect himself. The gang leader looked somewhat 
shaken by the assault, weak in his defencelessness.

Maged shouted an order and the two guards hauled Daniel out of the room, 
closely followed by the Colonel in the wheelchair. Shutting the heavy 
steel door behind them resoundingly, they were left outside in the 
hallway to wait.

"Feel better now?" Jack quipped, secretly relieved to be away from that 
malevolent presence.

Daniel leaned against the wall, thumping his still clenched fist against 
the plasterboard, "Not really," he admitted, shaking his head in 
frustration. He glanced down at O'Neill, "How do you keep so calm?"

"Daniel, I'm not exactly up for much at the moment, am I?" Jack looked 
him in the eye, licking his lips nervously, "Believe me, I've thought of 
revenge, me against him on an even par. But to be perfectly honest, 
right now that thought scares the hell out of me," he said quietly. He 
gazed down at his trembling hand, previously gauzy images now vividly 
drawn in his mind. Finally, he peered at Daniel again, "Any chance we 
can go outside for awhile?" He murmured, feeling the walls closing in on 
him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Accompanied by two policemen, politely remaining just out of earshot, 
Doctor Jackson wheeled the Colonel through the side exit and down the 
ramp into the open grounds. Jack took several slow lungfuls of the first 
fresh air he could recall since that fateful night in the side streets 
of Giza plateau.

Daniel pushed the wheelchair out of the harsh sunlight, stopping beneath 
the widespread branches of a shady Magnolia. He hunkered down, leaning 
against the trunk, his hands absently breaking off tall stalks of grass 
as he waited for Jack to talk, knowing he would only when he was ready. 
He watched his friend's dark brown eyes gaze unfocused towards the far 
wall of the hospital gardens, wondering what he could see there.

When Jack finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion, "I think I 
saw Cassie, Saturday?" He looked at Daniel, who nodded slightly. "I 
thought it was a dream, or an hallucination, I had a few of those," he 
swallowed, fighting back the overwhelming memories. "To be honest, I 
can't tell what's real and what's not. But I guess that particular one, 
maybe, was real........," he trailed off, still remembering new details 
even as he tried to talk about it.

"What happened?" Daniel prompted him softly, when he didn't continue.

Jack shrugged helplessly, "I.......I didn't know it was her," he shook 
his head, trying to clear the image from his mind. "The Russian was 
injecting me with something, asking questions and.......trying to get 
answers." He fought to suppress a shiver, remembering the intense pain 
of the drug, and his inability to fight the overpowering effects.

"Each time I came back down too far he gave me another shot and it 
started over again. I don't know how long it went on for, I wasn't 
exactly with it. I couldn't think anymore," Jack's tormented voice 
became a low whisper, "I'm not sure I could have answered his questions, 
but I think I wanted to." He took a slow shuddering breath, struggling 
to find words that might explain what he had done.

Daniel waited patiently, studying him closely. Jack had never looked so 
lost, utterly defeated, horribly beaten in more ways than one.

Jack's choked voice was barely audible when he finally spoke again, 
"When the Russian appeared with a girl, I knew I should've recognised 
her, but I couldn't remember why!" He looked at the younger man, his 
brown eyes filled with grief and shame, "Daniel, Cassie called my name 
and I couldn't help her! I......I.......," he shook his head, swallowing 
the words with a gasp. He couldn't admit it, he would never be able to 
tell his friend what he had done. "I was finished," he said instead, "I 
would have done anything, Daniel. He won!"

"No he didn't!" Daniel responded vehemently, "You never told the Russian 
a thing, maybe because you never got the chance, but that was his fault, 
not yours." He stared at the Colonel, "Doctor Fraiser said that he 
overdid the drugs. He gave you too much and couldn't revive you. They 
were waiting for you to wake up. Luckily we got there first!"

"And what about Cassie's luck?" Jack exclaimed bitterly, biting off his 
words before he said anymore. "Hasn't she been through enough?" He 
whispered hoarsely. He desperately wished he could find some hope to 
cling to, some reason to doubt the images in his mind, but deep down 
Jack believed they were real. He could still feel the cold metal of the 
gun in his hand, feel it buck as the cartridge exploded from the barrel. 
He didn't want to believe he was capable of such an abominable act, but 
after all that had taken place, Jack had lost and he knew he would have 
done anything to end the torture. Even so, Daniel was certain Cassie was 
still alive, maybe he could cling to someone else's hopes instead, if 
only for a little while?

"We'll find her Jack. I'm sure of it," Daniel looked at him, wondering 
what was going on behind those guarded eyes.

"If she's d......If they've touched her, I'll.......," Jack broke off, 
fighting for control, he rubbed his face wearily, he didn't know what he 
would do when the inevitable was discovered.

"I know," Daniel agreed softly, "We both will." As they lapsed into 
silence, Daniel dwelt on how fragile and defeated Jack looked. He 
couldn't help thinking that the loss of Cassie would be the final nail 
in an already lidded coffin. Rescuing her would save more lives than 
just her own, of that he was certain.

They had been outside for about thirty minutes, when the Egyptian police 
sergeant emerged into the sunlight with a grim look on his face. Daniel 
eyed him expectantly as he approached, "Good news, my friends," he 
greeted them. "We may have a chance to locate Mr Marshall after all."

"What did you find out?" Daniel asked eagerly.

"We managed to persuade our friend upstairs to tell us everything he 
knew. Unfortunately, it wasn't much, but he does know roughly where 
Marshall is hiding out." Daniel didn't want to imagine how they had 
extracted such information, but he did want to know more. He noticed the 
uncomfortable look that came over the police officer's face, who was 
staring directly at Jack as he continued, "Apparently Philip Marshall is 
concealed in one of the houses on Giza plateau. We don't know where 
exactly and it's a big area with plenty of hiding places. We do know 
that he's got to leave tonight, after dark, to meet his pickup, or he'll 
be stuck without a secure way out of the country."

"So what do we do?" Daniel asked with a look of frustration.

Sergeant Maged frowned uneasily, "We don't have sufficient manpower to 
search the area, it will be hard enough to monitor every exit, 
especially under cover of darkness. It might be too easy for him to 
escape among all the tourists that will be on the plateau for the Sound 
and Light show."

"So cancel it!" Daniel argued.

"You know we cannot do that, Doctor Jackson," the officer explained 
reasonably, "Anything like that would alert Marshall to our presence. 
Assuming he has the girl with him, we would have a hostage situation 
from which there could be no happy ending."

"He's right, Daniel," Jack spoke for the first time, his voice bleak, 
"We have to be patient and keep our distance. It's Cassie's only hope." 
Jack nearly choked on the words, ashamed at the lie. His overwhelming 
guilt and a need for vengeance leaving him all too willing to go along 
with the falsehood, at least until he found out for certain. Then they 
would all know the truth and he would have to face his friends and watch 
as their expressions turned to hatred.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shortly after they returned to Jack's hospital room, Doctor Fraiser 
entered excitedly, "Colonel, success at last! We've found a surgeon who 
can operate on your hand," she announced. She had spent the entire 
morning on the telephone trying to track down a British specialist who 
just happened to be holidaying in the country at the moment, cruising 
and sightseeing. When she had explained what little she could of the 
circumstances, the few details that didn't come under the heading of 
classified, the gentleman had been only too pleased to help out, 
especially since the injury sounded like such a challenge.

"He'll be arriving in Cairo later this afternoon, we've scheduled the 
first operation for this evening," Janet added, wondering why Jack 
didn't look at all pleased.

"Thanks Janet, but I'm going to be busy this evening," O'Neill said 
determinedly, allowing Daniel to explain what they had found out. "I 
know the area and I know Philip Marshall," Jack added vengefully. "I'm 
going along and noone's going to stop me."

"But your hand........," Daniel protested feebly, knowing that once Jack 
had made up his mind about something like this, there would be no 
changing it.

"My hand can wait," he replied firmly.

Daniel stared at Janet helplessly, hoping for her support, but she was 
still trying to absorb the implications of their news. "The doctor said 
if you don't get surgery now, you may never be able to use it again," he 
argued reasonably.

"Cassie is far more important," Jack looked at him grimly, "Besides, I'm 
sure I can manage to shoot with my left as well as my right!"

"I'll say!" Janet muttered under her breath, unable to suppress the 
vivid flash of memory his comment provoked.

Daniel exchanged glances with her, a look which Jack couldn't fail to 
notice. "What?" he asked irritatedly, but all he got was an 
uncomfortable silence. He turned to the younger man accusingly, "Daniel, 
what aren't you telling me?"

Doctor Jackson shrugged helplessly, taking a deep breath. "Well, you 
know I told you that the Russian was dead," he began awkwardly, "I guess 
we should tell you how."

By the time he had finished, Jack looked somewhat shaken by the 
revelation that he had shot and killed his own torturers, but had no 
recollection of the event whatsoever. "Damn!" He muttered under his 
breath, that was one memory he could only pray to regain, not only for 
his own peace of mind, but to satisfy his growing hunger for revenge.

Janet gazed at him compassionately, misinterpreting his shock, "Colonel, 
no matter how it sounds, it was self defence. You saved my life and your 
own," she pointed out.

Jack pondered the information for a long moment. Taking into account the 
fact that the Russian was dead, he mentally counted the bodies and 
people thus far identified and compared that against his now partially 
recovered memory. "There are probably another three people still out 
there that I saw," he recalled slowly, "Two er.......specialists and 
another guard, who stayed up top most of the time. One of them might 
help Marshall escape, maybe I can spot them," he shrugged dubiously, not 
sure he could remember their faces even if he wanted to, which he really 
didn't. But Jack knew he had to try, for Cassie's sake, on the slim 
chance that Daniel's hopes were worth clinging to.

"What do you mean by 'specialists'?" Daniel asked curiously.

"Well, the Russian called one 'the electrician' and the other," Jack 
paused, searching for a neutral tone, but the closest he could manage 
was cynical, "I think the other could have been a professional boxer!" 
He winced reflexively.

"Oh!" Daniel flushed guiltily, realising what a stupid question it had 
been, "Sorry!"

"What's there to be sorry about?" Jack asked, "It's not your fault!"

"Yes it is!" The words were out of Daniel's mouth before he could 
suppress them. "This is all my fault, Jack. If I hadn't left that 
message on your machine, you'd never have flown out here to look for me 
and gotten caught up in this mess!"

Jack looked at him in astonishment, there really was far too much going 
on around him that he neither remembered nor understood at the moment, 
and this simply added to the load, "Daniel, I'm the one who got caught, 
I should have been more careful. It's my own fault!"

"No, Jack," Daniel argued bitterly, "I overheard Alesandrov. He said 
they'd never have trapped you if you weren't so absorbed in trying to 
find me! It's my fault you were there and it's my fault you got caught!"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Janet's outburst took them both by surprise, 
especially quoting an oft used phrase that neither man had heard from 
her lips before, "It's nobody's fault! Well nobody in this room anyway." 
She looked from one man to the other, brown eyes to blue, "This is the 
fault of politicians and spies. And General Hammond," she added 
disgustedly.

Jack automatically jumped to the defence of his commanding officer, 
trying to suppress his feelings of mistrust over the fact that the 
General had apparently given him up to the enemy. "Janet, I'm sure he 
was only following orders," he said quietly.

"An order he should have refused!" She exclaimed angrily, "How can you 
protect him? They set this up, the General followed their lead like a 
good dog and we're paying the price!"

Both men were silent for a long moment, contemplating the truth in what 
she had said. Eventually Jack looked up from where he had been studying 
his hands intently, taking a shaky breath before he spoke, "Let's just 
find Cassie and go home. We can worry about who is to blame and why 
later." He swallowed painfully, "I'm sure there'll be repercussions we 
can't even imagine yet. So let's forget about it and concentrate on 
what's important."

Daniel and Janet both nodded agreement, wondering how much of his words 
were aimed at himself. For certain, Jack O'Neill was going to bear the 
brunt of whatever might be in store, both personally and professionally.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was mid afternoon by the time Sergeant Maged eventually agreed to a 
plan of action that included their involvement, allowing all three to 
leave the hospital. Jack's injuries had been dealt with as best as 
possible. He had padded bandages on the soles of his feet to protect the 
burns, beneath socks and boots that had been obtained by a police patrol 
from his hotel room in Cairo city centre. His right hand was strapped up 
beneath a swathe of wrapping and numbed with a local injection that 
would hopefully suffice until their task was concluded, but Janet had 
some extra doses just in case.

Numerous members of Cairo's city police force were covering any access 
routes onto main thoroughfares from the housing at the edge of Giza 
plateau. They all agreed that Philip Marshall would most likely try to 
blend in with the crowd of tourists at the show that evening, so 
logically he would attempt to leave on the Sphinx side. That was where 
the three SGC members took up their places, all suffering flashbacks to 
their last visit, some more painful and harder to suppress, but they 
were determined to see this through to a successful conclusion.

All three were armed, courtesy of Sergeant Maged, after consulting with 
his superiors as well as the Americans' commanding officer, who insisted 
that they were well trained and would be an asset to his assignment. 
Since it was in their interest to take the subject alive, General 
Hammond was certain they would be professional in their actions.

Jack was attempting to put his rapidly recovering memory to good use. 
Trying to form a picture in his mind of his path through the dark 
alleyways. As he mentally retraced his steps, he suddenly recalled a 
minor detail that had so far eluded him. Philip Marshall had stopped to 
chat at one of the homes, if he could figure out which, maybe it would 
prove significant.

The Colonel gazed across the open ground towards the nearby housing, 
casting his mind back to the last time he was there, picturing himself 
following Philip Marshall into the alleyways. He singled out the entry 
point and headed towards it, focused on his task. Oblivious to the fact 
that Daniel was watching him like a hawk, fifty yards away, determined 
not to let his friend out of his sight.

The younger man followed at a distance, recognising what Jack was doing 
from the way he moved, slowly, considering each turn. On the plateau the 
sun was beginning to set, but within these streets it was already dark 
and shadowy, easy to get lost in the confusing maze of passages. Daniel 
began to understand what it must have been like for Jack to encounter 
those eight men. No wonder he had looked more scared than Daniel had 
ever seen him, having to face the leader again this morning. And that 
heavily outnumbered fight had just been the beginning of the Colonel's 
torment.

The densely packed buildings seemed to muffle all sound, the narrow 
alleyways running between jumbled housing that had grown up randomly 
over the centuries. It was like walking through passages of time, the 
years receding the further into the complex they ventured.

Jack came to a halt, pausing in the shadows to gain his bearings, 
desperately trying to remember where he had gone the first time. His 
instincts said he was close, but his memory was overpowered by a growing 
sense of claustrophobia as the night closed in around him. Suddenly a 
light came on, literally and figuratively, illuminating a doorway a few 
yards along the alley. Jack froze, recognising the house immediately, 
this was where Philip Marshall had stopped on that fateful evening. Now 
he could only hope it had been more than just a casual call.

Contemplating his next move, O'Neill felt the hairs on the back of his 
neck rise, sensing someone close behind, approaching stealthily. He 
ducked into a narrow side passage, darkness closing around him.

Daniel had been tracing Jack's steps between the ramshackle housing, 
seeing him pause in the shadows, but now he had lost track. Edging 
forwards uneasily, wondering where his friend had gone, he suddenly felt 
himself being grabbed from behind by the scruff of the neck, hauled into 
a side alley and whirled around. An ethereal white shape came at him out 
of the darkness and Daniel spoke hurriedly, bracing himself for a punch 
in the face from Jack's bandaged right hand, "I wouldn't do that if I 
were you, it'll hurt you way more than it will hurt me!"

Jack relaxed at the sound of Daniel's hushed voice, expelling a held 
breath as he lowered his hand and let go of the man. The Colonel slumped 
against the wall, realising just how tightly wound he was, his heart 
thudding painfully in his chest, the increased rate of breathing causing 
his ribs to ache.

Daniel pretended not to notice the fear in his eyes, "Find anything?" He 
whispered. 

The older man nodded towards the house opposite, the light shining 
brightly to illuminate the peaceful frontage. Daniel made a move towards 
it, but O'Neill held him back, signalling for him to follow behind. 
Taking a slow breath, Jack ducked low in the shadows, crossing the 
alleyway to the side of the building. He edged along the wall towards 
the rear, looking for signs of life. 

Crouching down, Jack peered around the corner. A square of light shone 
onto the backyard from an open window, illuminating a variety of rusting 
tools and electrical gadgets. A shadow suddenly moved across the light 
and Jack froze, recognising the Egyptian voice coming from inside the 
house with a horrid sense of deja vu. He grabbed Daniel's sleeve and 
pulled him in front to listen, hoping he would be able to translate the 
words.

"Where did you conceal the girl?" The electrician asked in his native 
language.

"Where noone would think to look! Right under their noses back inside 
Kheops," Daniel recognised Philip Marshall's voice.

"But the police searched inside the pyramid yesterday!"

"Exactly! So they're hardly going to look there again, I stashed her 
inside right after they'd finished!" Marshall's voice gloated at his 
clever deception, fading away into the room as the thin electrician 
closed the window against the chill night air.

Daniel quickly relayed the conversation to Jack. "Find Sergeant Maged," 
the Colonel instructed, trying not to get his hopes up, after all they 
had not said whether Cassie was alive. "I'll stay and keep watch," he 
added as Daniel moved off, fading rapidly into the shadows.

O'Neill shifted across to the opposite side of the alleyway, trying to 
cover both exits of the tiny abode. Suddenly, a voice cried out behind 
him, yelling in his native language. Words that Jack could not 
understand, but got the gist of by the gestures of the wizened old man 
who had found him loitering in the darkness. Desperately, Jack tried to 
get him to quiet down, but he was having none of it, this foreigner had 
no business prowling around behind his home.

Just as the ancient Egyptian threatened to hit him with his walking 
stick, Jack spotted a figure dash out the front door of the 
electrician's house and across the street, disappearing into the thick, 
cloaking darkness. Ignoring the old man, O'Neill headed after the 
fleeing shape, trying to spot his movement in the shadows.

By the time the police arrived, led by Doctor Jackson, the other two 
Americans were gone. They found the electrician gathering his precious 
belongings in a state of shocked panic, having recognised the person who 
had run after Marshall. The feeble man could barely give up his employer 
fast enough, spilling the story to the sergeant in a flurry of Egyptian. 

Hearing his words Daniel ducked back out of the house, running in the 
general direction of the plateau, certain Marshall would be heading for 
the Great Pyramid to ensure his escape by using a hostage. He prayed he 
could catch up before Jack was forced to re-enter those dark confined 
passages.

When Sergeant Maged came outside to look for the two Americans, they 
were nowhere to be seen. "Doctor Jackson? Colonel O'Neill?" He shouted 
into the darkness to no avail, "Shit!" He exclaimed in the one useful 
word he had learned from foreign visitors. He turned back inside to 
instruct his men, "I want every patrol to converge on Kheops 
immediately! Tell them all, there should be no shooting unless in self 
defence."

~~~~~~~~~~

On Giza plateau, Doctor Fraiser was waiting impatiently out of the way 
behind the Sphinx, aware of the crowds beginning to arrive for the first 
Son et Lumiere of the evening and intently watching the outskirts of the 
ramshackle housing edging the open ground. She wondered what was going 
on inside and when the police sergeant would return, feeling somewhat 
left out by the fact that he had ordered her to stay put. 

In the encroaching darkness, she suddenly spotted two fleeing figures, 
some distance apart, heading up to the Great Pyramid. It was too dark to 
identify them, but Janet could just make out the eerie whiteness of 
Jack's bandage wrapped hand, moving against the black backdrop like some 
disembodied apparition.

Realising where they were headed, Janet remembered the locked entrance 
in the lower level of the boat museum. She glanced around desperately, 
seeking any member of the Cairo police force, but there were none to be 
seen, they had all followed Sergeant Maged into the housing complex and 
had not yet emerged. She would have to do it herself, stop anyone from 
escaping through that door.

Hurriedly, Janet crossed the sand covered path to the Solar Bark, 
finding the entrance open. Two Egyptian women could be heard inside, 
exchanging conversation as they cleaned the upper level of the museum. 
Janet crept in and headed for the lower floor. Knowing the door was 
probably locked, she tried it anyway, amazed when it swung open, but 
then there was supposedly noone left to secure inside, no reason to 
guard the tunnel. 

She stared into the darkness, trying to adjust her eyes, unable to see 
or hear anything. With no flashlight to find her way, all she could do 
was wait. Common sense told her that to venture inside was encouraging 
disaster. Fear justified that it was bound to prove unnecessary, she was 
only there as a precaution after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Jack reached the outer wall of the Great Pyramid he was panting 
hard, understandably out of shape considering he had physically done 
little more than lie around for the last twelve days. He felt sick, what 
little food and protein he had ingested in the last twenty four hours 
since awakening was now considering rejecting its new home, and his ribs 
ached like hell.

He leaned against the warm sandstone and hung his head, trying to catch 
his breath, the sharp feeling beneath his fingertips recalling vivid 
images which he had no time to deal with. Instead, Jack concentrated on 
looking for some sign of an entrance at the point where Marshall had 
disappeared into the shadows, pulling a mini maglite from his jacket, 
relieved to have something to light his way, albeit dimly. The 
flashlight was as much a part of his person as his Swiss army knife, but 
that meant the batteries had not been replaced in a long while, lying 
dormant in a zipped inside pocket, never expecting to be used in such an 
earnest fashion.

Jamming the flashlight between the strapping on his right hand until it 
was held firm, the Colonel stepped inside, ducking his head beneath the 
low ceiling and groping the tunnel wall with his fingers. The darkness 
surrounded him like a cloak and he fought back rising panic. A feeling 
of drowning washed over him in waves, his breath coming in shallow gasps 
as every minute detail of eight days of forced imprisonment flooded his 
mind, threatening his sanity.

Jack stumbled down the narrow corridor, journeying through the confusing 
passages, revisiting the recent past with a painful acuity that he 
fought desperately to suppress with thoughts of a young friend whose 
true fate he had to determine if he was ever going to live with himself 
again.

Somewhere up ahead, barely audible above the sound of his own ragged 
breathing, O'Neill heard the scuffle of scurrying footsteps. He listened 
hard, trying to determine where they were coming from in the maze of 
tunnels in which he found himself ensnared once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unbeknownst to Jack, somewhere behind him the figure of Daniel Jackson 
followed him into the tight confines of the pyramid. Vaguely he wondered 
how they had managed to come full circle to these timeless passages, 
seemingly representing a journey into the depths of hell for all who 
entered.

Without a flashlight, Daniel was reliant on memory alone, stumbling 
blindly down the narrow tunnels, concentrating hard on his sense of 
touch and hearing. Feeling his way along the walls for turnings that he 
had memorised prior to his last visit, listening intently for any sign 
of movement up ahead. 

From the way Philip Marshall had boasted of his clever plan, it was 
conceivable that he would be hiding Cassie in the same room that had 
imprisoned Jack. It was already prepared for such a task and would suit 
Marshall's devious and arrogant sensibilities. So that was where Daniel 
headed, praying that for once his assumptions would prove correct.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Colonel neared another corner, suddenly realising that this time he 
could see it, a dim reflection from beyond lighting the way. Gradually 
he edged towards the end of the tunnel and peered around the adjoining 
wall. All he saw in the passage ahead was glaring brightness, hurting 
his eyes until they could fully adjust and distinguish the outline of a 
spotlight shining down at the floor.

With a fatalistic sense of irony, Jack realised he had come full circle, 
ahead lay his own tomb, a place of imprisonment and torture. Eight days 
in hell with no control over his own destiny, waiting for death to 
release him. Instead he had been rescued by friends and now had come his 
moment of truth. His chance to find out what was reality and what was 
hallucination, to find out whether he really was capable of what he 
believed he had done to Cassie. Only now he was here the sheer thought 
of staring that tomb in the face again was terrifying. Jack was 
paralysed, slowly suffocating beneath a weight of memories he could 
neither fight to overcome nor suppress.

Defeated, he leaned against the sandstone wall, squeezing his eyes 
tightly shut and trying to bring his heaving gasps under control. A cold 
sweat trickled down his spine, sending a trembling shudder through his 
body. With a shaking hand, Jack felt for the Beretta, concealed in the 
small of his back, begrudgingly supplied by the police officer in charge 
of the hunt, who was apparently afraid that the Colonel might seek 
revenge on his tormentors. "Not much chance of that if I can't even aim 
straight," Jack murmured softly, trying to talk himself out of his 
crippling fear. He felt the unfamiliar weight of the gun in his left 
hand as he balanced it and tightened his grip. He flicked off the 
ambidextrous safety lock, filled his lungs with several slow breaths and 
willed his feet to step toward the light.

The sudden high pitched scream of a young girl gripped Jack's heart like 
a vice and for one moment he didn't know whether he had really heard it, 
or whether it was a remnant from his memory. A second scream spurred 
O'Neill into action, ducking along the remaining distance of the 
passage. He stopped just short of the spotlight, crouching down to edge 
forward painfully on his bruised stomach. With a final lungful of air, 
he peered beyond the rim of the open hatch. That breath being his last 
for long seconds, his throat closing convulsively as he stared straight 
into the depths of heaven and hell.

Cassie was alive! Some distance beneath him, with Philip Marshall trying 
to get a firm grip on the writhing girl, so that he could climb the rope 
ladder and escape with his hostage. Cassie was kicking and screaming, 
anger overriding her terror at being left alone imprisoned in this room 
for over twenty four hours. 

The American had removed her gag and bindings, when he had hid her there 
the previous day, at the time gloating that she could make as much noise 
as she wanted, noone would hear her screams. Now he wished he had left 
them on, her struggles were making it impossible to get a good grasp on 
the girl and he was running out of time. 

O'Neill aimed his weapon into the tomb. There was no way to avoid 
getting his arm in front of the bright spotlight beam which filled the 
gap in the tunnel floor. He needed to shoot quickly before he was 
spotted, but Cassie was in the way. His left hand began to shake as he 
prayed for a clear shot, tension causing his weakened arm muscles to 
tremble uncontrollably, he had no chance of hitting Marshall. 

Jack blinked sweat from his eyes and tried again, but it was too late. 
Before he had an opportunity to fire, Marshall spotted the silhouette of 
his weapon against the wall. Backing deep into the shadows, he gripped 
the girl even tighter and lifted her in front of his body like a 
protective shield, one hand clamped over her mouth.. 

Squinting up at the entrance high above, Marshall tried to make out his 
assailant against the brightness. "Colonel O'Neill, that wouldn't be 
you, would it?" He called gloatingly when he realised the gun held 
beneath the spotlight beam was in a quaking left hand. "So nice of you 
to drop by and visit! I must confess, I'm surprised you were able to, 
given the excellent handiwork of our dearly departed Russian colleague!"

"Well, you know, I just had to thank you in person for introducing us!" 
Jack shouted bitterly, trying to think clearly to figure a peaceful way 
out of this, "Marshall, why don't you just let the girl go? They're 
hanging you out to dry, you know that, don't you? The Senate Committee 
has labelled you as the scapegoat in this whole affair. Your Senator has 
made a deal with the President, so that he appears completely 
blameless."

"Oh and which Senator would that be, Jack? May I call you 'Jack'? I feel 
as though I know you after all the intimate details Dmitri gave me about 
your confinement," Marshall goaded, fishing to find out exactly how much 
the Colonel really knew. "You know, he was so enjoying his work, I 
believe you gave him a new lease in life. Such a shame it all ended 
prematurely, and after such a fortuitous beginning. I mean, you being my 
shadow for four days never imagining that your own commanding officer 
would give you up!" 

Jack wasn't in the mood to play his game, "I know the Senator had you 
threaten General Hammond. We all know you didn't do this alone. Why 
don't you give him up, Marshall. What's stopping you? You've got nothing 
to lose and everything to gain. Let the girl go and tell me who was 
behind this. I might let you out of here alive, you never know, maybe my 
aim will suddenly improve!"

"Oh, I don't think it will come to that, do you, Jack?" Out of the 
darkness Marshall produced a 9mm Browning, waving it ominously at the 
head of the silenced girl. Her face rapt in terror and confusion over 
the bizarre negotiation taking place, with her at the centre. The sound 
of him drawing back the hammer on the semiautomatic reverberated loudly 
in the claustrophobic interior. 

"Besides, I don't need to worry about being a scapegoat, the government 
can say what they want about me, it's not like my new Soviet employers 
will care what they think! They already appreciate my skills, especially 
in getting General Hammond to sacrifice his best men to the enemy!" He 
paused, "But then, you don't know the extent of my deviousness, do you 
Jack? I don't suppose the General told you of my threats against your 
team mates, an added incentive to his co-operation." 

Jack fought to ignore his words and concentrate on resolving the 
situation safely. His palm was sweating heavily, his left arm straining 
to hold the gun steady, not only physically weakened, but distracted by 
the history of this room. He struggled to focus on Cassie's face in the 
shadows, the terrified girl watching helplessly, waiting for him to make 
a move. His mind was paralysed with fear, his thoughts scrambled and 
confused. Jack could think of no other way to help her except by making 
the ultimate sacrifice.

He took a deep breath, "Let the girl go, Marshall. She doesn't know 
anything that can help you, but I do," Jack offered, "I'll tell you 
everything you want to know. I'm sure your Russian friends will pay well 
for the information that Alesandrov failed to obtain. You'll be a hero 
in their eyes." Jack swallowed, "I'll go with you. All you have to do is 
free the girl."

Marshall stared at him, pondering, a slow smile creeping across his face 
as he failed to find any downside to the Colonel's bargain if he played 
it right. Perhaps he could come out of this with a good payoff after 
all, instead of simply escaping with his life intact. A worthy 
objective, since money was the only reason he had participated in the 
venture in the first place, despite what his Russian comrade might have 
believed. 

The only problem was that there was no way he could risk ascending the 
ladder whilst O'Neill waited above in the darkness, the Colonel would 
have to come down to him first. Besides, there was a wonderful sense of 
symmetry to the idea of forcing him to voluntarily descend back into his 
own torture chamber. Marshall smiled sadistically, "Okay, you've got a 
deal. Throw me your weapon, then climb down the ladder," he ordered 
loudly, "I'll let the girl go, only when I've got you in her place."

Jack knew he was stepping into a viper's nest, but he had no choice, he 
could see no other way out for Cassie. He locked the safety on, opened 
his slick fingers and let the Beretta slip from his grasp, hearing the 
thud as it hit the floor yards below. With a shuddering breath, Jack 
swung his legs over the edge, grasping the rope ladder with his left 
hand, using the crook of his right elbow to hang on as he climbed lower. 
He could feel the rope through his boots, pressing painfully against the 
sore burns on the soles of his feet, familiar pains bringing a 
suffocating panic to the surface. He entered the depths of the tomb once 
more, a cold sweat running down his spine.

Reaching solid ground, Jack released the rope and turned to face Philip 
Marshall, "Now let her go!" He ordered, praying the man would keep his 
word, holding his breath until Marshall reluctantly freed the girl from 
his grasp. Cassie ran towards Jack, who crouched down to meet her 
tearful gaze, returning her tightly clasped embrace for a timeless 
moment.

"I thought you were dead, Cassie!" Jack exclaimed hoarsely, "I'm so 
sorry! I didn't know what I was doing."

"It's not your fault, Jack," she sniffled, hugging him even tighter, 
"Besides, I knew you'd come after me." 

"Can we get on with this please?" Marshall goaded impatiently.

Jack pulled away slightly, enough to look into Cassie's frightened eyes, 
"You have to climb up that ladder. Okay, sweetheart? Go left until you 
come to a crossroads, then keep going right from there and you'll be out 
in no time? Janet's outside, she won't be far away, she'll soon spot 
you," he assured her tenderly.

"I don't want to leave you, Jack," Cassie sobbed in his arms.

"I know, Cass, I don't want to leave you either, but it's our only 
choice. Here," Jack pulled his maglite from beneath the bandages 
covering his right hand, "Take this, you'll be able to see the way. Go 
on now, fast as you can," he hugged her again, then gently nudged her in 
the direction of the rope.

Standing up, Jack watched her reach for the bottom of the ladder. Then 
he turned towards the man in charge, noticing Marshall had moved several 
yards along the wall while he was talking to Cassie. Suddenly the reason 
became clear as he raised the barrel of his semiautomatic to aim at the 
girl taking her first tricky step up the swinging ladder. Marshall was 
going to dispose of the witness now she no longer had a useful part to 
play in his scheme.

Jack screamed Cassie's name, diving between them, as Marshall pulled the 
trigger. A single shot rang out, explosively loud in the enclosed 
chamber. Jack didn't feel any of the pain in his ribs and chest as he 
landed heavily, nor the lightning bolt that shot up his arm as his 
broken hand hit the floor. All he felt was cold numbness as darkness 
enveloped him. 

The frightened young girl whirled round in time to see Jack fall to the 
ground. Shrieking his name, she let go of the rope and jumped back down. 
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she knelt beside the body of her 
friend, resting his head in her hands. Jack's temple was bleeding 
profusely, dark and glistening blood, running down the side of his face, 
into his hair, onto her fingers. She couldn't be sure if he was dead or 
out cold. Either way, even at her tender age, Cassie knew they were both 
now beyond help.

~~~~~~~~~~

Scrambling blindly in the darkness, Daniel thought he was nearing the 
chamber where they had first found Jack, when a shot rang out, closely 
followed by a child's scream. The sound, muffled in the tight confines 
of the narrow passageways, was still loud enough for him to start 
running, head down beneath the low ceiling, a diffuse light growing as 
he turned the corner into brightness, pulling his Beretta out and 
releasing the safety.

Crouching at the opening, Daniel peered through the hatch into the room 
below. His horrified gasp caught in his throat as he surveyed the scene. 
Jack's fallen body lay directly in the spotlight's beam, the sobbing 
figure of Cassie kneeling beside him, his blood staining her hands. She 
tried to wipe clean the wound on his forehead to determine its severity, 
putting into practice a basic medical knowledge gained from observing 
Janet. 

Daniel wondered desperately whether Jack was dead or alive. He was too 
far away to detect any sign of breathing and Cassie was crying so hard, 
he just didn't know for sure. He caught a movement in the shadows out of 
the corner of his eye and matched the motion, raising his own weapon to 
aim at Marshall. 

"Don't do it!" Daniel warned urgently.

Marshall pointed his Browning at Cassie, his initial shock at 
accidentally shooting his big money ticket rapidly replaced by his 
intense desire to eradicate the remaining witness. Understanding the 
intent of his actions, Daniel fought back savage thoughts of revenge to 
focus on the need to take him alive. Grabbing the hot edge of the 
spotlight, he swung it rapidly, pointing the blindingly bright beam 
directly into the gunman's eyes.

Raising his free hand to shade his face, Marshall pulled the trigger, 
but the tactic had delayed him sufficiently, his target was no longer 
where it had been. Oblivious to everything except the condition of her 
friend, Cassie had bent closer to check Jack's pulse, placing her small 
fingers against his neck. A frown of concentration was replaced by a 
startled scream at the loud gunshot as she felt the bullet whistle over 
her head.

Before Marshall got a chance for another go, two things happened 
together. The loud burst of fire dragged Jack abruptly back to the 
surface. In a purely instinctive move he grabbed Cassie, pulling her 
down beside him and rolling to shield her protectively. 

At the same time, Daniel fired his Beretta, aiming into the shadows 
obscuring his target, conscious of the need to take him alive, but 
knowing he had to injure severely enough to stop Marshall from firing 
again. The gunman was perfectly positioned to shoot the unarmed Colonel 
in the back, Jack's defenceless body now facing away from him.

Daniel fired two shots and heard a gun clatter to the floor, closely 
followed by the muffled thud of a body. After a few long seconds 
training his weapon into the dark depths, Daniel began to descend the 
rope ladder. As he jumped the last few feet to the ground, the Colonel 
became aware of him but stayed where he was, his arms shielding Cassie, 
holding her against his chest, protecting her until he was sure it was 
safe. 

Jack tried to focus his blurring vision to watch Daniel gather up the 
two discarded weapons from the sandy floor and move deeper into the 
shadows, examining the body of Philip Marshall. Daniel sought a pulse, 
but found nothing, the man had taken a bullet squarely in the chest, 
bubbles of blood spilling from his lips with his dying breath, his lungs 
filling with fluid from the gaping hole of a 9mm calibre bullet. 

Daniel stared at the corpse, his normal sensibilities felt disgust for 
the waste of life and the fact that he had been forced to shoot perhaps 
their only chance of proving government involvement in the entire 
conspiracy. But he could feel no remorse, he was glad the man was dead, 
especially by his own hand. Daniel caught himself in a feeling of utter 
triumph. Appalled for a moment by such an emotion, until he vividly 
recalled his first sight of Jack's injuries, in the bright lights of the 
hotel room, knowing he would never forget the pain the dead man had 
caused. 

Fighting to suppress a feeling of elation, Daniel stepped away from the 
shadows and back into the light at the centre of the room. He bent down 
to help Jack sit up, silently examining the head wound, dismayed by the 
loss of blood and the unfocused daze in his eyes. Cassie clung to the 
injured man like she would never let go and Jack held her tightly, 
shielding her eyes from the sight of the body in the shadows, trying to 
save her from one nightmare at least. He was unaware that he was 
trembling with shock almost as much as she was and Cassie didn't appear 
to notice. 

Daniel opened his mouth to say something, when he heard what sounded 
like more gunfire, distant muffled shots, reverberating faintly back 
down the passageway above. He glanced at Jack in alarm, unsure what to 
do, but knowing the shot could only mean more trouble. O'Neill shrugged 
helplessly, neither in a fit state to dash up the ladder to anyone's 
rescue, nor willing to desert the young girl in his arms.

Reluctant to leave them, Daniel gave Jack his loaded weapon back and 
tucked his own Beretta and Marshall's Browning into his belt. He grabbed 
Jack's mini maglite that had been dropped on the floor nearby, waiting 
long enough for a nod from the Colonel, before he placed two hands on 
the rope ladder and swiftly climbed back up through the trapdoor. "Shit 
Jack, when are you going to learn to duck!" Daniel muttered to himself 
as he ran along the tunnel in what he hoped was the general direction of 
the gunfire, heading away from the tourist entrance.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the Solar Bark museum, Janet Fraiser had been waiting impatiently, 
hoping that noone would attempt to exit the basement door from the 
pyramids. At least not before any member of Sergeant Maged's team turned 
up. Facing the dark open entrance, she was growing increasingly edgy as 
the minutes ticked by. Suddenly the sound of heavy running footsteps 
approached from within.

From her pocket, the doctor drew the SIG-Sauer that she had reluctantly 
accepted from the police officer and took several steps away from the 
door, maintaining her distance from whatever might lie beyond. Feeling 
the uncomfortable weight of the light pistol in her hand, Janet prayed 
she would neither be too quick nor too hesitant on the trigger, if 
necessity dictated.

A dark figure filled the entrance, pushing the open door the rest of the 
way back, shoving it hard to smash against the adjoining plaster wall 
with a crash that was shockingly loud in the empty, high ceilinged 
structure. Janet watched in fear as a bulky shaven headed man froze in 
the exit, directly in the path of her aim.

"Stop right there or I'll shoot!" She shouted, her clear strong tone 
belying the terror bubbling beneath the surface. In a single split 
second, Janet first wondered who the hell this new arrival was and then 
matched him to a description she had heard from Jack of some mammoth man 
of Eastern European origin who looked and fought like a professional 
boxer. Whatever the man had been doing within the pyramid, he was now 
trying to escape.

The heavily muscled man silently regarded the gun barrel aimed squarely 
at his chest. Then he noticed the slight shake of the woman's two handed 
grip and the uneasy look in her eyes and he stepped forward boldly. But 
Janet had spent the last three days contemplating the killing of a 
stranger, she had gone over and over what she would do differently if 
the occasion ever arose again and now she had the opportunity to put 
those thoughts into practice. 

Lowering her aim slightly, she fired a round, at almost point blank 
range, directly into the thick muscle of his right thigh. The heavily 
built man stumbled sideways, collapsing beside the entrance with a roar 
of pain. "One more move and the next shot is just a little higher!" 
Janet threatened, holding the weapon more confidently now. She aimed and 
fired a second round over his head to emphasise her point, the bullet 
hitting the back wall of the darkened sandstone passageway beyond.

The wounded man met her gaze with stony grey eyes, a chilling stare as 
he attempted to push himself back upright against the door jamb, putting 
his weight onto his left leg. Janet watched nervously, wondering whether 
she would have to shoot him again, when she heard another set of 
footsteps running along the dark passageway from inside the pyramid.

The doctor backed away several yards further, shifting her angle until 
she could see into the mouth of the dark tunnel. Drawing her weapon up 
to aim directly at the entrance beside the injured man, one eye watching 
him like a hawk, but she was now standing too far away for him to 
attempt to move against her without guaranteeing getting shot a second 
time.

Janet waited, desperately trying to steady her own breathing, when a 
figure suddenly burst from the entrance, almost tripping over the 
injured man as he ran out. "Daniel!" She exclaimed in relief, releasing 
the tension in her trigger finger and training her SIG-Sauer back onto 
the captive before he could make use of her distraction. The Eastern 
European scowled irritably, clearly unhappy at being outsmarted by a 
woman. "What happened?" Janet asked urgently as Daniel blinked in the 
bright light, coming to a stop beside her, before he looked at the 
injured man leaning heavily against the wide open door, a leg wound 
bleeding profusely.

Daniel quickly took in the scene, immediately recognising the likely 
identity of her prisoner. Perhaps they might come out of this with one 
person who could testify to what had occurred after all, he realised. 
Assuming this man had been privy to details and was not just some hired 
bully boy.

"We found Cassie, she's all right!" He explained rapidly, recalling the 
image of Jack's head wound and all that blood, "Do you have a medical 
kit on you?"

"Just a small one," Janet admitted, patting the canvas bag on her 
shoulder. "Why?" She asked worriedly.

Daniel was hunting around for something to secure the prisoner with, 
spotting a floor polishing machine that had been abandoned nearby for 
the night. "It's okay, it's not for Cassie, it's for Jack," he said, 
taking out his Swiss army knife to cut through the electrical cord. "I 
think he got shot in the head," he added, using the cable to bind the 
man's arms and legs as tightly as possible.

"What! Why didn't you tell me?" Janet accused him in a shocked tone. 
"Where are they?"

"I just did tell you!" Daniel spluttered defensively, "They're in the 
tomb, Jack was conscious again when I left." He pulled the ends of the 
cord hard, afraid the prisoner would be strong enough to break through 
anything too loose. Besides, Daniel was not in the mood to be gentle 
with a man he knew had remorselessly caused his friend such suffering. 
Tying the knot tight, he added, "We have to get Sergeant Maged down 
here, have you seen any sign of him or his men?" 

Daniel turned to find the doctor already gone, heading determinedly down 
the passageway into the pyramid. "Janet, wait! Do you even know the 
way?" He shouted into the darkness, but she didn't slow her pace, not 
hesitating to re-enter the tight confines of the tunnels with such an 
important objective in mind.

Hovering indecisively at the entrance, Daniel wondered why there were 
never any police around when you needed them. He double checked the Slav 
really was tied up securely and prayed he would still be there when they 
emerged again, then he chased after Janet, hoping the failing batteries 
of Jack's flashlight would last. He was close behind her by the time 
they reached the trapdoor in the tunnel floor. 

Daniel peered down into the shadowy interior for the third time in 
recent days, suppressing a shiver as memories of the two previous scenes 
tormented him. Janet crouched down beside him and he heard her sharp 
intake of breath as she absorbed the sight below. 

Jack was conscious, sitting on the floor with Cassie in his arms, his 
legs outstretched, one knee bent in front of him, rocking her back and 
forth. The young girl's arms were wrapped around his neck and she clung 
to him tightly, her head buried in his chest as she sobbed. Jack held 
her close, whispering soothing words, his dark eyes shining. 

Fresh blood stained his tan t-shirt, but his left side was angled away 
from the overhead entrance and the doctor could not see what damage had 
been caused to his head. Although, clearly, his temple was bleeding, she 
could see a glistening trail of blood running down the dust on his cheek 
as he tilted his face down to talk to Cassie.

Janet watched silently as the two friends comforted each other, hoping 
it might be the beginning of healing. She felt tears well up in her own 
eyes from the sheer relief and joy of seeing her adopted daughter alive 
after all the worse case scenarios she had been playing out in her mind 
for the last forty eight hours.

Eventually Cassie lifted her head to fix Jack with her watery gaze, 
"What happened to your hand?" She asked with gentle concern.

"It's a long story, Cass," Jack responded, his soft voice husky with 
emotion.

"How are we going to play hockey?" The young girl asked worriedly.

Jack tried to smile, studying her face for a long moment. His fingers 
reached to tenderly trace the purplish brown bruise on her cheek that 
his fuzzy memory finally remembered her receiving. He winced at the 
painful recollection, wondering how he would ever be able to make it up 
to her. For a start, he could try to keep his long overdue promise, 
"I'll just have to get my hand fixed real quick, won't I?"

"Mom will help sort it out," the girl said brightening at the thought.

"Speaking of which, I reckon we should get you outside to see her, don't 
you?" Jack suggested, suddenly wondering what had happened to Daniel.

"It's okay, we're here, Jack!" Daniel shouted down from the entrance 
above as if reading his mind.

Jack glanced up sharply, turning his head towards the voice, and Janet 
got a full view of his latest wound. The blood still flowing from his 
bullet grazed temple, running down the side of his face and onto his 
neck, soaking the left side of his t-shirt. 

The sudden upward tilt of his head, set Jack's vision swimming, blurring 
sickeningly. His left arm rapidly let go of Cassie, putting his hand out 
to balance as the roaring inside his head warned of the imminent danger 
of passing out. 

In a flash, the doctor was climbing down the rope ladder, before Cassie 
even got a chance to call out for help as she felt Jack's hold slip and 
saw him go even more pale before her eyes. Instinctively, Cassie shifted 
around to kneel by his side, trying to lean the Colonel against her 
small shoulder before he keeled over. Janet jumped down beside her to 
help, closely followed by Daniel who took over the job of supporting 
Jack's upper body, when he passed out completely with a muffled groan, 
taking his weight and holding him up, so that Janet could examine the 
head wound.

"Look's like the Colonel's used up another of those nine lives!" Janet 
muttered, struggling to believe that he had been shot in the head after 
all that had already happened. And had lived to tell the tale, the 
bullet grazing his skull, a fraction of an inch closer and the man would 
most certainly be dead right now. It was hard to decide whether Jack was 
lucky or just plain jinxed!

"Is he going to be okay?" Cassie asked in concern.

"Yes he is, the Colonel just got a little woozy and he's lost some 
blood," Janet explained to her daughter, "Nothing we can't fix. He'll be 
awake again soon enough." She glanced at Daniel, who indicated he was 
okay there for a moment, then she turned away from the patient and 
pulled her daughter into a relieved hug. "I missed you, Cassie."

"I missed you too, Mom," the young girl replied, her voice muffled, 
buried in the doctor's welcome embrace. "I'm sorry I used my passport," 
she said, renewed tears shining in her eyes.

"Me too," Janet hugged her even tighter, "You and I will be having a 
conversation on that subject when we get home. But right now, we'd 
better get you and the Colonel out of here. I think Jack has an 
appointment with an x-ray machine as well as a hand specialist!" She 
grimaced.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sergeant Maged and his city police force had arrived in time to help 
them get the injured Colonel to the hospital. Along with a well guarded 
prisoner of Eastern European origin with a nasty flesh wound in the 
right thigh, who refused to say anything along the way and only scowled 
in pain every time the ambulance went over yet another pot hole in the 
road.

Naturally, Janet checked Cassandra over herself, with the greatest of 
care, determining that she was basically unhurt except for a few bruises 
on her cheek and arms. She was a strong kid who had been through a great 
deal in such a short life. She was already showing signs of recovery 
from the fright and shock, now focusing her concern more deeply on what 
had happened to her friend.

"How did Jack hurt his hand?" Cassie asked curiously.

"Well, honey, a bad man broke it and now Jack's going to need some 
surgery to try and make it better," Janet told her daughter, unwilling 
to admit to her that it was possible he would never be able to use it 
again. She left it to the Colonel to decide when to tell Cassie the full 
truth of the matter.

Cassandra looked at her for a long while, knowing Janet was hiding the 
details, but trusting her reasons. She would just have to ask the man 
himself when he woke up. "Can we go see Jack now?" She asked brightly. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack looked around, struggling to recognise his hazy surroundings, he 
focused on the leering officer who handed him a gun, "One bullet, two 
choices." He held up a .45 calibre cartridge between his fingers, "Her 
or you. A shot to the head!"

Jack clutched the ancient Colt to his chest, fumbling to load the clip, 
his actions numb and indistinct.

He struggled to retract the bolt weakly and reluctantly raised his gaze 
to regard his target, staring into her tearful eyes. For a fleeting 
moment he thought he saw something other than fear, a dim recognition, 
from another life. But Jack knew this was the only reality available to 
him, everything else was just some hallucination his mind had conjured 
up to delay sinking further into the depths of madness.

The girl tried to speak, but he could hear nothing except the blood 
roaring in his head, overwhelming his senses. He struggled to 
concentrate, to focus on his objective. He had to do it. He was not 
going back into that box, he couldn't take it anymore. He could not 
survive another day there.

He released the Colt's safety, an awkward motion, it had been awhile 
since he had held a gun. His finger slowly depressed the trigger. He saw 
a tear trailing down her pale cheeks, and, as the gunshot exploded from 
the barrel, he remembered her name.

"Cassie!" Jack screamed. He watched helplessly, paralysed with fear and 
remembrance. The girl fell to the ground, her eyes closed, her face 
peaceful, angelic. He heard laughter, cold, malevolent, chilling him to 
the bone and Jack finally understood, he knew he had been defeated. He 
had murdered a friend. He had lost. The hot weapon slipped from his 
nerveless fingers. 

Jack awoke with a horrified gasp, panic rising, not knowing where he was 
or what had happened. Gradually he came to, trying to focus his mind on 
his surroundings. The soft comfortable feel of hospital linen and a 
mattress beneath his aching body was something he had never fully 
appreciated before. Now it felt like heaven and he wondered if it could 
possibly be real. 

He fidgeted slightly, feeling a weight pressing against his chest, and 
slowly opened his eyes to the pale light of dawn creeping through the 
window blinds. Tilting his chin slightly, he recognised the top of 
Cassie's head, her long fair hair tickling his neck as she slept 
soundly, snuggled down on top of the blanket, her cheek resting on his 
chest, her shoulders wrapped securely in the crook of his elbow. She was 
alive, the nightmare had not come true after all, at least not this 
time.

Jack shifted his arm a little, moving his hand to stroke her hair 
gently, marvelling at how peaceful she looked after all she had been 
through. As he watched, her eyes slowly flickered open, as if sensing 
his gaze upon her. "Morning kiddo," Jack managed to grin, although the 
muscles in his face responded numbly.

"You're awake!" Cassie whispered with a bright smile.

"Guess so!" Jack moved his arm as the young girl made to sit up, not 
minding the pain in his chest when she accidentally leaned her weight on 
his bruises. He propped himself up on one elbow to look at her, his head 
pounding painfully. "Ouch!" He murmured with a wince, "What hit me?"

"A 9mm calibre bullet, Mom said," Cassie announced knowingly. "It grazed 
your temple and would have fractured the cranium if you didn't have such 
a thick skull," she added, quoting Doctor Fraiser's words to the letter.

Jack squinted lopsidedly at her through pain filled eyes, trying to 
remember the last time he had a headache this bad. It was a thought that 
did him no good whatsoever when he recalled a boot in the temple 
courtesy of one Cairo gangster and the same side of his head at that.

Cassie noticed the shadow that crossed his dark brown eyes, "Want to 
talk about it?" She asked pointedly.

Jack smiled at her very grown up manner, "Nah!" He shook his head 
slightly, trying not to make the thudding even worse. Then he thought 
about his nightmare again and suddenly recalled the reality on which it 
was based. "I thought I'd killed you, Cass," his voice was barely 
audible, filled with shame.

"So did I," Cassie said, so quietly that his heart clenched painfully. 
She gazed at him, "It wasn't your fault, Jack. It was that nasty man, he 
told me it was him." 

Jack regarded her, confusion in his eyes. "Can you tell me what 
happened?" He asked gently.

"The bullet was a blank, Jack. But one of those Egyptian men had a 
tranquilliser dart," Cassie's eyes filled with tears, "I thought you'd 
killed me!" She snuffled, "When I woke up that nasty man told me what 
he'd done. He was laughing about it, he was so pleased with his 'little 
game'. Until he lost you that is!" 

Cassie grinned victoriously through the tears. "He wasn't at all happy 
then! That other man came to see him. He was the one who found me at the 
airport, the same one from last night. He took me with him and left the 
other man to finish his job."

"God, Cassie, I'm so sorry," Jack's dark eyes were laden with guilt at 
what he'd almost done.

"It wasn't your fault. It was the drugs," Cassie snuggled down into the 
crook of his arm on top of the blankets again. Her head tilted up to 
watch him.

"I should have been stronger, I should have protected you," Jack wrapped 
his arm back around her.

"You did everything you could, Jack. I forgive you," Cassie laid an arm 
across his chest and hugged him lightly, "Now you have to forgive 
yourself."

"How did you ever get to be so grown up, Cass?" Jack managed to grin, 
considering her words thoughtfully, wondering if it would ever be 
possible for him to forgive himself.

"Someone has to be," Cassie smiled dozily, "Mom says you and Daniel are 
a couple of kids half the time!"

"Oh she does, does she? I think I'll have to have a word with your Mom 
next time I see her!" Jack hugged her again, settling back down on his 
pillow and closing his eyes against the thudding pain in his head.

"I think she wants to see you too! Something to do with ducking next 
time!" Cassie giggled sleepily as she drifted off again, warm and safe 
at last.

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Five:

It seemed like forever before Jack finally arrived back in his own home, 
and it practically was. When he checked the calendar in the kitchen, he 
discovered he had been away from his house almost thirty days. Half of 
that time spent recuperating in the hospital, both in Cairo and back in 
the States, including enduring several operations on his hand, courtesy 
of the British specialist who had decided to take the government's offer 
of an all expenses paid trip to accompany him back to Colorado to finish 
his meticulous task. 

The jury was still out on the success of his work thus far. Jack's hand 
was heavily encased in plaster, from fingertip to forearm. Now they 
could only wait to see how the bones knitted back together, before they 
could even attempt to determine what range of movement he had been left 
with. 

Jack was driven home on Sunday afternoon, overwhelmed by the presence of 
his well meaning friends. To his immense relief, he eventually found 
himself alone. Janet had left with Cassie before the young girl fell 
asleep on his couch and Daniel and Sam had stopped hopping around from 
one leg to the other guiltily when he had more or less thrown them out. 
Now the house was empty and quiet, the silence surrounding him 
claustrophobically. 

Grabbing a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, Jack struggled slightly 
to open it one handed, but he knew he would soon get the hang of that, 
given the practise he was planning on getting that evening, courtesy of 
Daniel. The younger man had stocked up to stop Jack from attempting to 
drive his car against doctor's orders, knowing that a trip to the liquor 
store would be at the top of his list upon arriving home after a long 
stay in the military hospital under Doctor Fraiser's strict care.

Jack went into the dimly lit den and slumped onto the couch, drinking 
half the bottle in one go. He had opened the sliding doors, needing to 
hear the sounds of the night creeping in on the breeze. He stared out 
into the dark sky, he eyes unfocused, trying not to think about anything 
in particular. 

Two beers later he found a bottle of single malt whiskey in the back of 
the cupboard that someone had presented to him at Christmas. He grabbed 
a handful of cubes from the icebox and poured himself a generous 
measure, wandering back to the den with the bottle hugged against his 
chest.

Placing the bottle onto the floor, Jack settled himself back on the 
couch resting his feet on the coffee table, strategically situated in 
the centre of the room. He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing 
and sipping from the half full tumbler, the peace broken only by the icy 
contents clinking constantly against the side of the glass in rhythm 
with the shake of his hand.

When the doorbell rang suddenly, shattering the silence, Jack jumped out 
of his skin, spilling the dregs of the near empty drink onto his hand 
and almost dropping the glass to the floor. With his heart thudding in 
his chest, he stared at the dark hallway, caught between answering it 
and ignoring it. The bell rang again, more insistently this time, 
whoever it was obviously was not giving up in a hurry. 

Reluctantly, Jack got to his feet and went into the hall, standing in 
the shadows to study the shape behind the frosted porch window. The 
short, bald headed figure was easily recognisable, but it seemed 
impossibly hard to force himself to open the door to the General.

As the Colonel stood hesitating in the shadows, Hammond leaned on the 
bell for another few minutes before eventually banging on the door and 
shouting through the window pane, "Jack, open up! I know you're in 
there. We need to talk, son."

O'Neill swallowed, he had not seen or spoken with his commanding officer 
since he went AWOL. All the time Jack had spent in the US military 
hospital, the General had made no apparent attempt to visit and that had 
suited Jack down to the ground, he didn't know how he felt towards the 
man, nor did he know what to say in his own defence. He had disobeyed a 
direct order and still didn't know whether he was being court martialled 
or not, although Carter had thought it unlikely given the circumstances.

Left without any choice, Jack stepped towards the door and released the 
latch, allowing it to swing open as he turned and walked back into the 
den without a word.

"Colonel O'Neill," Hammond greeted him uncomfortably when he entered the 
den, finding Jack slouched on the couch, refilling a glass from the 
bottle of scotch on the floor. Jack said nothing, refusing to even look 
at him, instead he just concentrated on trying to hold the glass steady 
in his hand, resting it on his thigh as a last resort.

Hammond studied him closely, his mind automatically recalling the photos 
contained within the police report. The signs of Jack's head injuries 
had begun to fade, the right hand was heavily swathed in plaster. The 
General knew he was guilty of avoiding a visit to Jack in the hospital, 
once he had returned to the States, allowing himself the excuse that 
there was a lot of cleaning up to do in the aftermath of the whole 
affair. Not to mention the fact that without Jack he had no reliable 
second in command to leave in charge at the SGC. But Hammond knew it had 
all been an easy option, he had simply been too afraid to face the man 
after what had happened. And now he wondered whether maybe he had left 
it much too late.

"So Jack, how are you?" Hammond asked, attempting to break the tension. 
O'Neill shrugged, giving him a 'How do you think?' look. The General 
sighed, he had known it wasn't going to be easy, but it was now or 
never, "What do you want me to do, Jack? Throw myself on my sword?"

More stony silence ensued, broken only by the rattle of ice against 
glass as Jack continued to sip edgily at his drink, studiously avoiding 
Hammond's gaze as he stared out of the window at the darkness. 

"Jack, why don't you tell me how you really feel?" Hammond offered.

"How do I feel? How do I feel!" Jack's frustrated voice sharply pierced 
the still night air, "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Probably because they care about you," Hammond said simply.

"Well how do they expect me to feel?" Jack threw his arm up in a 
lopsided gesture, a few drops of his drink spilling onto the polished 
hardwood floor. "I feel betrayed! I feel stupid! I feel angry. 
And.......," he trailed off, swallowing his words, surprised at the 
vehemence of his own reaction, loosened as it was by the effects of the 
alcohol.

"And what?" The General urged gently.

Jack lifted his glass to his lips again, to leave nothing but ice 
clinking nervously in the bottom. For a long moment, he stared at his 
hand still trembling uncontrollably in front of his face, then without 
warning, he flung the tumbler across the room, smashing it against the 
opposite wall. The sound of breaking glass shattering the tense silence.

Hammond regarded him with a mixture of deep concern and guilt, "And 
what, Jack?" He repeated insistently, needing to know as much as the 
Colonel needed to say it.

O'Neill gazed at him for a moment and the General got some clue from the 
unguarded look in his dark eyes. His face softened when he recognised 
the internal struggle being fought. Jack looked away, unable to stand 
that increasingly familiar look of sympathy that he'd been on the 
receiving end of for days now.

Hammond finally broke the encroaching silence, "After what you've been 
through, Jack, it's perfectly natural to feel nervous."

"Nervous!" Jack snorted bitterly. "Look at me!" He held his left hand 
straight out in front and watched it shake, "Nervous, General? More like 
scared out of my wits!" He rubbed his face edgily, uncomfortable now he 
had admitted the truth.

Hammond waited until finally Jack spoke again, so softly his voice was 
barely audible, "I've never been so afraid in my life." He glanced up at 
his CO and the General was taken aback by the look on his face, the 
usual mask of supreme confidence had gone, revealing eyes filled with a 
fear and vulnerability that he had never thought possible in a man who 
had proved his inner strength so many times. 

His barely controlled guilt overflowed in response to that look, "I'm 
sorry, son. I'm responsible for this mess. It's my fault."

"You were just following orders," Jack murmured, "They had you trapped 
as badly as the rest of us."

"Maybe, but I didn't get hurt because of it," Hammond shook his head, "I 
let you down, Jack, and I wish I could do something to change what 
happened."

"Me too," Jack replied quietly, wishing for the hundredth time that he 
had never got caught in the first place, "but it was my own stupid 
fault. I should have been more careful."

"That's ridiculous, Jack, you're not to blame for what happened," the 
General exclaimed, "You were set upon by eight men, how could you 
possibly have escaped that?"

Jack shrugged helplessly, wishing he hadn't smashed that glass, he 
really needed another drink. "I guess I shouldn't have disobeyed orders 
in the first place."

"I should have supported your request to look for Daniel and given you 
backup," Hammond admitted, "I was wrong to refuse, I should never have 
played along with their game, threats or no threats."

"Philip Marshall said he'd threatened members of the team as well as the 
program," Jack looked at him curiously.

Hammond nodded slowly, "He said the Senate Committee were going to 
remove anyone without military status, because they were unreliable, and 
then incarcerate them to stop them revealing what they knew about the 
Stargate."

"Daniel and Teal'c," Jack realised. Now at least he understood why the 
General had done it. He thought of another question that had been 
preying on his mind, "Does this mean you won't be court martialling me 
after all?"

Hammond almost laughed at the idea, "That would really be rubbing salt 
into the wounds."

"Ouch!" Jack murmured, wincing at the thought.

They lapsed into silence, both struggling with their own weight of guilt 
and blame. Eventually Hammond asked, "What do you want to do, Jack?"

"About what?"

"About returning to duty," the General said.

"How?" Jack raised his right hand to remind Hammond of his invalid 
status.

"I could really use your help on the base until you return to active 
duty," Hammond explained hopefully. "Doctor Fraiser agrees, she thinks 
it will help your recovery," he added. He noticed how pale the Colonel 
had gone, "What is it, Jack? What are you thinking about?"

"Retirement? Maybe," Jack didn't really know himself, he had been trying 
not to think for days now, avoiding the depths where his darkest fears 
were lurking, but he knew one thing for sure, he couldn't face going 
back underground, especially not back to Cheyenne mountain.

"You tried that once, remember? You'd be climbing the walls within a 
week!" Hammond argued reasonably. Jack shuddered at the recollection 
that comment conjured up, a reaction noted by the General, "Don't you 
think you should at least try to get your life back before you give up?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Jack asked hotly.

"I don't know Jack, you tell me, because from where I stand it looks 
like you've surrendered already," he paused hoping the Colonel would 
defend himself. 

Instead Jack whispered two anguished words, "I lost."

Hammond couldn't believe his ears, after everything the man had gone 
through and still lived, "So what if you were almost defeated by them 
Jack, everybody loses once in a while. It doesn't matter how close you 
come, so long as you survive."

"It does if an innocent girl is harmed along the way!" Jack exclaimed, 
his anger with himself rising to the surface. "Cassie was almost killed 
and I couldn't do a thing to protect her! They beat me hands down!" He 
gestured furiously, "Even a greedy amateur like Marshall outwitted me. I 
lost!"

"You only lost to him because you got shot saving Cassie!" Hammond 
exclaimed frustratedly.

"Cassie shouldn't have been in that situation. I should've found a way 
to get her out safely!" Jack was yelling now.

"Jack you can spend the rest of your life second guessing the situation, 
but nothing's going to change except your own ability to live with it!" 
The General tried not to shout back.

"Then I'll just have to ensure it never happens again," Jack said 
determinedly, a decision finally made, "General, I formally request you 
draw up my retirement papers."

"I'm sorry you feel that way Jack, because that's unacceptable," Hammond 
said emphatically. "We cannot afford to lose you anymore than you can 
afford to lose your team."

"You don't have any choice, General. Besides my team will be much better 
off without me to weigh them down," Jack argued.

"That's not what they think," Hammond's expression softened as he 
recalled the now frequently hang dog faces of the remainder of SG1, that 
team definitely needed the return of their leader. "They want you back, 
Jack. They need you back."

"Not like this they don't, I'm a liability, they can't trust me. Hell, I 
don't even trust myself!" He exclaimed despondently, "I'd rather risk 
losing their friendship than lose any of them. Right now I'd be more of 
a danger to them."

"Then come back to the base as a non-combatant. I could use your help," 
Hammond offered sincerely.

"I can't, I can't go in there," Jack's voice reduced to a low whisper, 
"I can't go underground again."

Hammond considered him for a long moment. Doctor Fraiser and the rest of 
his team had all tried to persuade the Colonel to seek professional help 
to cope with his renewed bouts of claustrophobia, but he had flatly 
refused, claiming he could deal with it, he just needed time. Besides 
General Hammond didn't believe in forcing someone into therapy, and if 
it was really that bad he felt sure Colonel O'Neill would have taken the 
necessary steps himself. 

He could think of nothing more to say on the matter, except perhaps to 
be cruel to be kind. "Well it's your decision, Jack. But life goes on, 
we can't wait for you forever. I'll expect you back on base, Saturday 
morning. If you're not there, I'll process your resignation papers for 
you. But, Colonel, there's one thing you should know. Those papers won't 
become official until after the hearing has been completed."

"What hearing?" Jack asked worriedly.

"The Senate Committee has decided that a closed hearing on this whole 
matter is expedient. They require you to testify before them. The 
proceedings will commence in DC, a week on Friday." 

Jack blanched, swallowing nervously at the thought of having to recount 
events to anyone, let alone a bunch of stuffed shirt politicians whose 
idea of torture was when the gentlemen's club ran out of vintage port. 
"I can't.......," but he didn't get a chance to finish before General 
Hammond cut him off.

"You have no choice, Jack. The Committee would subpoena you if 
necessary, but since you're still a part of the military they can just 
lock you up for a few days until you're willing to cooperate." Hammond 
saw him go even more pale at that thought. "I'm sorry, Jack. I wish 
there was some other way, but the Committee was unanimous on this. They 
feel they have to get all the details out into the open, before they can 
decide if an internal investigation is necessary."

Jack stared at him coldly, clearly placing blame for his worsening 
situation on the General's shoulders. Hammond decided this would be a 
good time to leave, knowing that if a full blown row erupted between 
them, their differences might become irreconcilable. "I'll expect to see 
you on Saturday then. I'll have a car sent to pick you up." With that 
Hammond turned and left, closing the front door quietly behind him. He 
walked down the drive to his vehicle, wondering whether his cruel to be 
kind method was really going to do any good.

~~~~~~~~~~

The waitress couldn't say she was exactly worried yet, just a little 
concerned was all. The guy had started a tab on his American Express 
card, so she knew the drinks were covered, but there had been a lot of 
them. He had been sitting there since a few minutes after opening, 
ordering double Jack Daniels on the rocks ever since.

Now she studied him from the corner of the bar, it was late afternoon, 
the quiet period before the after work crowd arrived for their Friday 
evening blow out. He was practically the only one left, apart from the 
couple sat in a booth who had been drinking the same cups of coffee for 
the last three hours, gazing at each other and giggling occasionally.

The guy on his own was another matter, he hadn't spoken for hours, 
barely even blinked. He simply sat at the end of the bar, the stool by 
the window, staring out into the afternoon sun like his life depended on 
it.

Maggie smiled softly to herself as she studied him, greying temples 
slowly spreading throughout the short cropped hair that still had that 
boyish, unkempt look that women just loved to run their fingers through. 
It kind of reminded her of her long suffering husband, only his eyes 
were blue. This guy had soulful brown eyes, that hid a depth of dark 
emotion as they gazed unfocused. He looked kind of gaunt, like he'd lost 
a lot of weight recently, his high cheekbones standing out above the 
three day old stubble covering his jaw line, detracting slightly from 
the obviously handsome face.

The whole effect was somehow disturbing, giving off an air of damage. 
Not a threat of violence simmering below the surface, more a feeling of 
untended injury inflicted upon him.

As he lifted the tumbler for another sip, she noticed his right hand 
tucked against his chest, covered in plaster. He emptied the glass and 
looked her way, gesturing silently for another refill. Maggie flushed 
red, hoping he hadn't noticed her staring, but he appeared oblivious to 
anything but his drink and the view through the window beside him.

She stepped behind the bar and poured the measure herself. Eddie the 
barman was still outside inventorying the latest delivery as they put it 
into the store. Walking along to the furthest seat, she put the drink in 
front of him, waiting patiently until he noticed and nodded his thanks.

"You know it might be quicker just to inject it straight into your blood 
stream!" She joked, somewhat unprepared for the sudden loss of colour to 
his already pale cheeks. A stark contrast to the black leather jacket 
covering his shoulders.

He gaped at her for a moment and she saw a flash of fear in his eyes, 
hidden as fast as it appeared. He broke contact, glancing down at his 
fresh glass to wrap long slim fingers tightly round it. She noticed the 
healing scars cluttering his left temple, a hint of dark bruising still 
shadowing the eye. His hand shook as he lifted the drink to his lips. 
Then he turned his gaze back to the window and was gone again.

The rush hour began soon after and Maggie didn't have time to pay 
anymore thought to the Jack Daniels man, except to keep an eye out for 
his refill requests, mentally counting the number and planning on 
calling a halt when he hit a round dozen, irrespective of the fact that 
he didn't appear to be in the least bit effected by the alcohol yet.

It wasn't until much later that she looked across and noticed he was 
gone. Well she still had his credit card details, that wasn't a problem. 
She finished loading up her tray and headed back to the rowdy group of 
men in the centre who were obviously planning on celebrating the end of 
the week with a vengeance.

As she placed the drinks down, Maggie heard the one at the centre of 
attention and understood immediately. The guy had been fired from his 
job that afternoon and was boasting how he had told his ex-boss what he 
really thought of the stinking company. His friends, in the normal 
manner, were applauding his actions, getting him increasingly riled up 
over it. This would be one to watch tonight, Maggie noted. Her tray now 
clear of fresh drinks, she began to gather up some of the empty dirty 
glasses to take them back to the bar.

She glanced up at the sound of another burst of loud sadistic laughter 
as the young man continued to embellish his tale of how he had 
humiliated his boss in front of the entire staff. Behind his shoulder, 
she caught sight of the Jack Daniels drinker, struggling to get back 
through the crowded bar, a look of rising panic in those deep brown eyes 
as he found himself sandwiched and trapped between hoards of chattering 
people.

His face changed when he heard the laugh, a cold look slipped down like 
a mask and his eyes hardened to granite. His gaze roamed the room, 
seeking its source and, for the first time, Maggie thought maybe he 
could be trouble after all. 

She moved away from the rowdy group with her laden tray and stepped in 
front of him. "Need another drink, Sir?" She smiled brightly, refusing 
to move until he focused on her, "It always gets packed in here on 
Fridays." With her tray lifted carefully in front, she began to head for 
the corner where he'd been sitting, giving him an opening to follow.

As she manoeuvred past the angry ex-employee and his rapt audience, 
someone stepped back from the bar and knocked against her arm. The tray 
of pint glasses toppled, spilling their dregs over the side straight 
into the lap of the guy who'd just been fired. He yelled, standing up 
abruptly, his chair tipping back to block her path. "What the hell! Why 
don't you be more careful, you stupid bitch!"

"I'm so sorry, Sir," Maggie exclaimed apologetically, pulling a cloth 
from her belt and attempting to dry him off.

"Sorry's not good enough, bitch! What are you gonna do about my suit?" 
He rounded on her.

"That's no way to talk to the lady," Maggie heard the quiet voice behind 
her, hard and chilling, cutting through the background noise of the 
room. "Why don't you apologise?" He suggested coldly.

Immediately, alarm bells began ringing in Maggie's ears. She'd heard 
that tone before, the classic sign of a man who would be disappointed if 
he actually did apologise, a man itching for a fight probably as much as 
the ex-employee was right now.

She stepped in closer to stand between them, "Look, Sir. We'll pay for 
your suit to be dry cleaned, just come up to the bar and I'll give you 
our card. Then you can bring in the receipt and we'll reimburse your 
costs, okay?" She smiled as convincingly as possible.

"Not good enough, that'll take too long. I need this suit, I've got an 
interview tomorrow, you stupid cow!"

Maggie knew that was a lie as much as she knew it didn't matter. The guy 
was not going to back down in that mood, she'd seen it before. He'd been 
fired and now had the perfect opportunity to regain some of his lost 
pride in front of his friends. Her only hope was that the JD man wasn't 
in as much need of a fight.

She looked up into dark brown eyes that had a kind of glazed, dead look 
about them and her hopes fell. It was going to be one of those nights, 
after all.

"I said don't talk to the lady like that!" The JD man's voice was even 
closer to her ear as he stepped forward and lifted his left arm in one 
swift motion, clamping his fingers around the guy's throat, "Now, 
apologise to the nice lady and you can get back to your party."

Maggie placed her hands on his arm, trying to haul him off. She could 
feel the muscles tautly bunched beneath the sleeve of his black leather 
jacket. "Don't, he's not worth it," she urged him reasonably, but she 
couldn't be sure he'd even heard her. She placed a hand on his chest, 
feeling his heart thudding beneath the denim shirt. He flinched and 
slowly his gaze shifted back to her. "Don't!" She pleaded again, 
breathing a sigh of relief when he finally released his grip on the man 
who had gone crimson red and was gasping for air. He coughed and 
spluttered, filling his lungs, as Maggie pressed insistently against JD 
man's chest to push him away .

As she turned to follow, Maggie caught a glimpse of the ex-employee's 
hand grasp the neck of a now empty bottle and she shouted a warning, 
stepping into the way in what she realised too late was some misguided 
protective instinct towards the customer.

The beer bottle impacted the top of her head, the full weight somewhat 
cushioned by the long auburn hair she had tied up out of the way. Still 
it hurt, a lot, and Maggie screamed, her hand reaching up to feel the 
sticky red blood oozing from the cut as glass splintered around her 
head.

JD man turned around, saw the blood and saw red, lunging at the culprit 
who didn't even have the sense to drop the broken evidence. Instead he 
waved the remaining jagged bottleneck into the face of his opponent who 
lifted his right hand to knock it away harmlessly. The solid plaster 
covered fingers followed through to smash into the guy's face, breaking 
his nose with the impact just as the police arrived, summoned by Eddie 
as soon as he had seen the JD man's hand in a stranglehold around the 
other guy's throat.

With one unscathed but wild and drunken man standing between two heavily 
bleeding victims, the police did what anyone would do. They dragged away 
the guy in the leather jacket and escorted the two injured people out to 
a pair of waiting paramedics.

Despite Maggie's and his own vehement protests, Jack was bundled into 
the rear seat of the patrol car and removed from the scene to the 
painfully loud accompaniment of a wailing siren.

Jack held his head in his hand, rubbing his temples against the headache 
that was beginning to pound in time with the caterwauling sound. He 
tried to analyse exactly what he'd done wrong to get into this 
situation, if only to keep his mind off thoughts of where he might end 
up, but he could only figure that his biggest mistake was actually in 
bothering to get out of bed that morning.

His second thought was that maybe he would have been better off sticking 
to his original plan to stop at a liquor store rather than going to the 
bar. Ironically, he had gotten bored drinking alone and the bottles 
seemed to get empty way too fast.

The trip to the police station was mercifully short, although it seemed 
like forever to Jack. He was rapidly losing the ability to track time as 
the initial rush of adrenaline began to give way to the effects of the 
alcohol saturating his system.

The police officers processed him at the desk of the small town 
headquarters, taking the fingerprints from his left hand, but unable to 
do anything with the right, plastered to the tips of his fingers.

"What happened to your hand?" One of the officers enquired curiously.

"Got into a bit of a fight," Jack slurred rather foolishly, staring 
fixedly out the window at the main street beyond, giving the policeman 
even more reason to judge his first impression as accurate. He gave him 
a cloth to wipe the ink from his fingers that was highlighting every 
whorl and line in black relief.

They emptied his pockets, took his belt and checked his shoes. Finding 
zipped boots, the officer realised shoelaces were unlikely to be of much 
use to the one handed man at present. As he took a couple of identity 
photos, he noticed the scars on the guy's left temple and wondered 
whether there was any record on him from the previous incident, they 
would have to run his details through the computer to check.

"You've got one phone call," the officer told the man before taking him 
through to the lock up. Jack pondered the thought for a long hazy 
moment, but he couldn't for the life of him think of anyone he could 
call. He'd shut them all out, there wasn't anyone left. He shook his 
head, regretting the motion immediately, and then shrugged. "Okay, come 
on!" The policeman gestured for him to stand up, shoving him in the 
direction of the jail.

Jack stopped in the doorway, a dark narrow corridor ahead of him, a 
square of light at the end. The officer pushed him again and Jack 
stepped forward, focusing on the light and imagining the possibility of 
open air beyond.

Ten feet down the hall, the police officer pushed in front to unlock the 
door, shoving him through into the brightly lit jail. The cell doors ran 
down both sides in what had been a much needed recent extension to the 
small town facilities. Weekends could get kind of rowdy nowadays, so 
they had knocked down the original block and built this with ten cells. 
Each well secured and sealed with a tiny ventilation grille and steel 
doors with covered viewing holes.

Their lieutenant would still have liked the security camera system he'd 
requested, but he knew all about budgets and as the Mayor had said, 
maybe next year.

The officer pushed the drunk down to the far end. If he was going to get 
noisy or sick, he'd just as soon have him as far away as possible or it 
would be a long night. Opening the cell door, he grasped Jack's arm, but 
the man was hanging on tightly to the door jamb, staring at the poorly 
lit enclosed room shakily. Pale faced and with sweat on his brow, he 
looked like he was going to be sick.

"I can't go in there," Jack whispered, his voice thick with fear.

"Yes you can, it's no big deal," the officer said, "You can sleep it 
off. You'll feel a lot better in the morning.

"No, you don't understand, I can't go in there!" Jack rasped faintly, 
the panic rising on his face. He started to struggle with the officer.

The policeman's patience with the drunk finally ran out. He twisted 
Jack's arm behind his back and propelled him through the opening 
forcefully. Jack stumbled, his left side hitting the edge of the bunk, 
bending over double as pain flared in his healing rib.

"There you go, you can whine and moan as much as you like now, you won't 
disturb anyone but yourself!" The officer slammed the door and locked it 
down. "Geez, what a drunk!" He snorted as he made his way back to the 
front desk, his hand automatically extinguishing the lights without even 
thinking as he closed the outer door behind him, wondering what the game 
score had been in the end after he was dragged out to the bar before it 
finished.

"That guy's a real fruitcake," he said to his partner who was busy 
processing data through the computer. "I bet he's got a drunk and 
disorderly record as long as my arm!"

"Well, he's got some kind of record all right!" His partner responded 
uneasily, wheeling his chair back from the computer screen so the other 
man could look over his shoulder.

The officer saw a copy of Jack's driver's licence, displayed on the top 
left half of the screen, on the top right was his single set of prints 
from his left hand. On the bottom half, the search of Federal 
fingerprint databases had been processed, producing a simple two lines 
of data, "Identification correlated. Classified highly top secret."

"What the......," the officer paled slightly, "Who the hell have we got 
in there?"

"I don't know, but I think we'd better check out his story very 
carefully," his partner responded worriedly, leaning over to pick up the 
radio. He called up the other patrols that were on duty that night to 
see whether they'd finished taking statements from the two injured 
people at the hospital and the witnesses from the bar.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack had been pounding on the door for so long that his knuckles were 
raw and his hand ached. He was slowly going out of his mind in the 
darkness, his chest heaving raggedly, constricting until he could barely 
breathe. A cold sweat ran down his neck and spine. His heart raced 
painfully, he could feel the pulse thudding in his temple. His senses 
keenly aware of every nerve jangling moment.

His voice was hoarse from yelling by the time he eventually gave up. 
Slumping against the wall, he sank to the floor, desperate and out of 
control, trapped again. Confined in the box that he had once fought so 
hard to escape, but now had no fight remaining to help him survive.

Inexorably, Jack slid down into the depths of his own personal hell, 
reliving the unforgettable reality of an isolated steel box, not much 
larger than a tea chest, suspended on wooden stilts. The dark steamy 
stench of the enclosure a warning to all who approached. Perhaps in his 
darkest hour he had endured worse nightmares, but never one that 
continued for such an eternity. 

For eight days it was home. Cramped living conditions that would have 
been uncomfortable for a body much smaller than Jack's six foot plus 
frame, even though he was wasting away from malnutrition. Excruciating 
pain emanated from the constant pressure on the half healed sores which 
covered his badly beaten back and legs. The tips of his bare toes burned 
against the overheated steel during the day, his knees pressed into his 
chest and his shoulders sandwiched against the opposite side.

Any fluids passed through the tiny air opening were quickly sweated out 
and the scraps of rotting food simply made conditions worse in the 
course of quite natural bodily functions. There was little for him to do 
in that hell hole except to focus on who had got him in there and who 
might get him out. Contemplating revenge on the man who had sacrificed 
Jack's freedom, was infinitely preferable to considering the certain 
death that would result from this ready made coffin.

Jack had been captured during an incursion deep into Iraqi territory 
from across the border. They were supposed to take out one of the mobile 
scud missile sites that had been causing havoc for the last six nights 
in a row. It may have been a hurriedly prepared mission, but the plan 
appeared sound. At least it would have been if somehow the Iraqis had 
not got wind of it.

Working in pairs, O'Neill was the furthest out on point when they were 
hit by the enemy patrol lying in wait for their arrival. He dived for 
cover, shouting a warning to the rest of his team spread over the space 
of fifty yards behind. Their group of six men was no match for the 
thirty enemy soldiers, even though they were fighting conscripts who had 
no real taste for the war. The surprise factor alone almost finished 
them off and the overwhelming firepower was too much to withstand.

The team leader radioed for an immediate emergency extraction as they 
laid down cover fire, trying desperately to hold them off long enough. 
From his isolated position on point, O'Neill saw the opportunity to 
outflank the enemy and maybe reduce the odds a bit. He signalled Frank 
Cromwell with his intentions, "Don't leave without me!" Jack yelled to 
his team mate with a grin, crawling away rapidly towards the Iraqi rear 
to attack from behind. 

With the helicopter inbound, Frank Cromwell spotted Jack fighting hand 
to hand. As he watched, a rifle shot rang out and Jack fell, hitting his 
head against a rock as he went down injured, looking for all intents and 
purposes like he had been shot dead. His final words still ringing in 
Frank's ears.

O'Neill wasn't moving, the chopper flew as close as possible to check on 
that, but with Cromwell as a witness to the hit, it appeared that Jack 
had been killed. As the Blackhawk helicopter turned away his remaining 
team members saw the Iraqis swarming in on the fallen man. 

Jack could still hear the helicopter rotors fading as it swooped off 
into the distance, announcing that Cromwell had broken his word, 
abandoning O'Neill to face the beatings inflicted by a group of 
frightened, angry conscripts who finally had something to focus on. He 
wasn't spared until an officer noticed he was still alive and realised 
he might produce valuable information.

That was more than three months ago and even now Jack thought he could 
still feel the pain of his injuries, the impact of a boot on his left 
temple and side, the blinding headaches that went with it, the nausea 
and sweats from the concussive blow. He shivered, a cold sweat trickling 
down his spine, his back pressed hard against the shell of the box. He 
couldn't move anymore, his muscles were wasting away, the cramp reduced 
to numbness. He could no longer feel his toes and almost prayed for a 
return of those excruciating pins and needles that had gone on for days. 
At least then he had known he was still alive.

For a moment he wondered whether it was possible to will yourself to 
die, then he remembered what had got him through this so far and 
suddenly Jack felt warm again. His love for his wife and her love for 
him, and the beautiful baby boy she had presented him with. He had to 
make it through. He had to survive, for them. For the millionth time, he 
wondered if Sara knew what had happened, if she knew he was alive, but 
she had to, a bond that strong could not be broken by distance. He was 
sure that she knew, and that one thought brought her close to him again, 
wrapping warm arms gently around him.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was four hours after her release from the hospital with a few 
stitches in the cut on her head, before Maggie could convince the local 
police that both men were at fault. It didn't help that the guy with the 
broken nose had a lot of friends as witnesses, whereas the other man was 
all alone and proven to be drinking heavily since lunch time.

Eventually, the police took into account the added testimony of Eddie 
the barman, who had watched the proceedings whilst calling them. He 
confirmed that the guy in the black leather jacket had conceded and 
turned away before the loud mouth went at him with a bottle. So finally, 
the police were willing to release their prisoner without charges. 

It was four in the morning when the officer contacted the emergency 
number on the dog eared donor card found in the back of Jack's wallet. 
"Mrs O'Neill?" He asked, "Sorry to disturb you so late. My name's 
Mathers, I'm with the local police department, ma'am. It's about your 
husband."

Sara was confused for a sleepy moment, then her mind kicked in. This was 
the phone call she had always dreaded receiving during their years 
together. Every time Jack went away on another assignment, unable to 
tell her where he was going or when he'd return. Just eliciting that 
fateful promise, "Wait for me." And she had for so long, through thick 
and thin. And in her darkest hour, during the Gulf War, she had prayed 
for him and imagined them together again, safely returned to her, where 
nothing else could ever go wrong.

"Jack?" She asked the officer shakily, "Is he......?"

The man interrupted, "He's fine ma'am, but he got a bit drunk and rowdy, 
so we had to lock him up in the jail overnight to dry out."

"Lock him up?" Visions of Jack's claustrophobic nightmares sprung into 
Sara's head. They had continued for so many months before he finally 
gained control of his fear, and then only after he had talked to someone 
about it. Sara only vaguely knew what had caused it from his murmured 
ramblings. Jack had refused to tell her anything, he wanted to protect 
her from all that, but it had been so hard not knowing what to do or how 
to help. All Sara had been able to do was take him in her arms and 
comfort him and fight back her anger for what had been done to her 
husband.

Now Jack was locked up again and that thought scared Sara more than 
anything else. "I'll be right there," she told the policeman, praying 
that he would be fine, that he would be too drunk to remember anything.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the officer opened the cell door, Sara pushed past him and crouched 
down beside her ex-husband. "Jack?" She asked softly, worried by the 
blank staring look in his eyes. He looked so gaunt and pale, she 
wondered what on earth had happened since they last met. "I'm here, 
Jack," she touched his stubbly cheek gently, "It's Sara."

The officer watched, feeling bad for having left the guy in the dark for 
so long, but how was he to know? If the guy was afraid of confined 
spaces, why didn't he just say so?

"I didn't know," he tried to explain, but the woman simply glared at 
him, still talking softly to the man. "I'll wait outside," the officer 
shrugged uncomfortably and headed back to the front desk.

"Jack?" Sara continued to try and get through to him, noticing the 
plaster cast on his hand and the healing scars and bruises on his face. 
He had certainly been in the wars, but that was nothing Jack wasn't used 
to. What had pushed him over the edge like this?

She touched his cheek again, looking for a flicker of recognition. His 
lips moved silently, mouthing a single readable word, "Sara!" She 
wrapped her arms around him, a familiar long lost feeling that tugged at 
her heart like it would break all over again.

"It's all right Jack, I'm here," she whispered against his neck and his 
arms moved slowly, tentatively, until he was clinging to her so tightly 
she thought she might snap in two. "Let's get you out of here," she 
breathed into his ear, feeling his quaking body beneath her. He nodded 
almost imperceptibly, a brush of movement against her hair. "Come on!" 
She pulled away, just enough to help him stand up, his legs wobbly, 
drunken as she supported him out of the box and towards the end of the 
corridor.

He was silent all the way home in the car, staring out the side window 
as though his life depended on it. She drove back to his place, she had 
only been there once before, and then only outside to drop some legal 
papers into his mailbox. Now Sara guided him from the car and led the 
way inside, letting them in with his own set of keys and flicking on all 
the lights she could find along the way, brightening the dark shadows.

"Bedroom?" She asked as she steered him towards the stairs. He pulled 
away to grip the handrail tightly as he made his way slowly up. Sara 
watched him go, wondering whether she should just leave him to it, but 
she knew she couldn't, she had to be sure he would be all right. She 
would stay awhile, at least until he was sleeping soundly.

Sara wandered along the hall looking for a kitchen. She could use some 
coffee to stay awake and she should get some water into Jack or he'd 
have a pounding hangover when he did sober up. She switched on the light 
and gasped at the sight of a dozen empty whiskey bottles lined up 
waiting for disposal, along with about twenty beer bottles. If there had 
been a bit more variety, she could have believed Jack had thrown a 
party, but after years of living together, Sara recognised the signs. 
Something had gone terribly wrong in his life recently, she couldn't 
begin to imagine what and perhaps she didn't want to. 

It had been so hard to get used to being without him, she missed his 
jokes, that boyish smile and the look of love in his eyes. She didn't 
want to get involved again, she couldn't let herself be sucked in, 
dragged down into the depths of his life, but how could she just ignore 
him? He needed help and she was here.

Sara filled up the kettle and started to hunt for coffee and a mug. 
Before the water boiled, she found a clean glass and a jug and filled it 
with ice and mineral water from Jack's fridge. Apart from beer, it was 
pretty much empty, there was no food in sight except for a margarine tub 
and a bottle of ketchup that had seen better days. No wonder he looked 
so gaunt if he had been living off alcohol like this.

Sara wondered how long it had gone on for and where his friends were to 
have allowed it to continue. She had no idea how fast he could consume 
so many bottles, but she knew from experience that his capacity was 
great given the wrong circumstances. He had never learned that the 
alcohol didn't help him forget, it only brought the nightmares closer to 
home.

With the tray laden with drinking water and coffee, Sara made her way up 
the stairs to find him. The second door along was ajar, the room 
brightly lit. She pushed her shoulder against the door. Inside the wide 
window was open, the signs of dawn creeping over the horizon.

Jack was either sleeping or collapsed in a drunken stupor, Sara couldn't 
tell which. He was lying on his right side, curled up in a ball, still 
fully clothed, including his leather jacket and boots. He looked so 
vulnerable and wounded, Sara almost fled there and then, she couldn't 
get involved again.

Instead, she placed the tray on the dresser and considered him 
carefully. Then she took a deep breath and stepped towards him, reaching 
for his boots first, she unzipped them and pulled them off gently.

It was a lot harder to remove his jacket over the plaster and Sara was 
afraid of hurting him. He mumbled incoherently when she touched his 
side. Finally, she gave in and tried to wake him up. "Jack, come on, sit 
up," she pulled at the collar to help him and reluctantly he did as 
ordered. His eyes still tightly shut as she pushed the jacket off his 
shoulders and eased the sleeve gently over his cast. Beneath he was 
wearing a denim shirt over his black t-shirt and she undid the buttons, 
pulling it from his shoulders and easing it from the waist of his jeans. 

She heard a sharp intake of breath as she nudged his left side and Sara 
worried that he had been hurt in the bar fight. Pulling his shirt all 
the way off, she loosened his black t-shirt and lifted it up to check 
his side. Sara gasped in shock at the sight, his chest speckled with 
bruising, fading to yellow, black and brown, the darkest on his left 
side, a stark shape against his pale skin. "Jack, what happened to you?" 
She cried softly.

He opened his eyes, slowly focusing on her face, as if recognising her 
presence for the first time. "Sara!" He breathed, relief washing over 
his shadowy countenance. "You're real!" He lifted his arms around her, 
wrapping her tightly, burying his face in her hair.

Sara held him close, rocking slightly, cautiously avoiding touching his 
chest too hard, "What happened to you, Jack?" She repeated her question 
gently, not really expecting an answer, at least, not an honest one.

"Trouble with the natives," he quipped unconvincingly, and Sara couldn't 
help be reminded of the last time he had said that, so many years 
before. When the doctors had finally allowed her to see her husband 
after he had been released from Iraq. She had fought to be allowed to 
see him, against the Saudi doctors' misguided attempts to protect her 
from the full extent of his tortured condition. 

She remembered the moment so vividly, the smile she had forced onto her 
face despite the anger and heartbreak she felt to see such a strong man 
reduced to so little. Tears sprang to Sara's eyes as she recalled his 
first tentative touch to prove her reality, and that first kiss, a 
promise of better times to come. She hugged Jack even tighter, feeling 
his ribcage through his t-shirt. "You lost weight," she said, her voice 
quivering.

He pulled away a fraction, gazing into her blue eyes. He brushed an 
escaping tear from her cheek, his hand drifting down her jaw and round 
to the back of her neck. Jack licked his dry lips nervously and drew her 
towards him, eyes locked. Their lips brushed gently, tentative at first, 
both responding, both needing the touch. 

The kiss deepened until warning signs began flashing in Sara's head. She 
pulled away suddenly. "No, stop. This isn't right, Jack."

He gazed at her with a look of loss, utterly bereft. "Yes it is!" He 
murmured tenderly, moving closer again, his hand caressing her neck.

"No, it is not, Jack!" Sara said more forcefully, trying to convince 
some sense into herself at the same time, "Not like this. You're just 
looking for a leaning post, something to help you forget, just like the 
drink. You need proper help, support I can't provide."

"Yes you can," Jack tried to persuade her with a grin. 

"No, I can't Jack. I can't go through it with you again. It hurts too 
much to be with you," Sara explained weakly, guiltily studying his 
vulnerable face. Before she could fall for it, she strengthened her 
resolve and buried her feelings, standing up and stepping away from his 
tender touch. "Finish getting undressed. I've got some water for you to 
drink, then you need to sleep it off," she said firmly, moving across to 
the laden tray to avoid the sight of his hurt gaze.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sara was just dozing off in the armchair beside the living room window, 
warm and comfortable in the bright sunlight slowly creeping into the 
room, when she was startled by a blood curdling scream. She dashed up 
the stairs towards the source and found Jack still sleeping, but tossing 
and turning, mumbling incoherently. A voice so racked with guilt and 
anguish it gripped her heart painfully.

She had seen him like this before, held him, comforted him, but that had 
been years ago. Something terrible had happened to him recently, that 
much was clear and he was still suffering the aftermath of it. She had 
to help him, but without knowing what it was, how could she?

Sara stood indecisively for a long moment, watching over him, then she 
moved across to the bed and perched beside him. Stroking her fingers 
through his hair, she murmured soothing words until he began to settle 
again, returning into a deep dreamless state.

Finally, she got up and left the room, heading for the telephone to look 
for his address book. She remembered the team with him the last time 
they had met. Maybe one of them could help, assuming they were still 
around. After all, she still didn't know why Jack's friends seemed to 
have deserted him.

She found the list of numbers by his phone, scanning the entries 
futilely to see if she recognised any names. Then she noticed his 
answering machine flashing and, with a wordless apology to Jack for her 
intrusion, she replayed the contents.

The tape rewound for ages, the first message recorded at the beginning 
of the week, from someone named Daniel. By the time she had finished 
listening, Sara had a fairly good picture of what had been going on. 
Jack had shut his friends out of his life as successfully as he had shut 
her out after Charlie had died.

The man named Daniel had rung daily, he had even been past a few times, 
he said, but found the house shut up, seemingly empty. Jack was good at 
pretending he wasn't home, Sara knew that from personal experience.

Someone called Sam had also left a message the first day, her overly 
bright cheery voice showing obvious concern for the "Colonel". A female 
doctor had rung on the Tuesday regarding x-ray results on his hand, 
announcing in a positive tone that the bones were knitting together 
nicely. "It was all looking good so far."

The final message, left just the previous day, was from a General 
Hammond. A brusque Texan accent, a man of authority, reminding Colonel 
O'Neill that he was expected to report for duty back on base the 
following day. His extended leave of absence was officially over.

Sara looked back through Jack's telephone book, but she could find no 
entry for anyone with that name. However, she did find one for a Daniel 
Jackson. Glancing at the clock over the mantle, Sara decided it wasn't 
too early to wake him, even though it was a Saturday morning.

~~~~~~~~~~

When she opened the door to an urgent knock, Sara was confronted by a 
pensive looking man, in his early thirties, she would guess. His bright 
blue eyes were gentle and kind and she had a vague recollection that she 
had seen him before, a member of Jack's team, whatever they did. That 
was one encounter she had never been able to straighten out in her mind, 
eventually giving up and deciding to do her best to forget about it.

This man didn't strike her as military though and he certainly wasn't 
like any of the guys Jack usually called friends.

"Mrs O'Neill?" He asked in a quiet, thoughtful tone.

"Call me Sara," she smiled reassuringly, "I take it you're Daniel 
Jackson?" He nodded and she opened the door wider, steering him inside. 
"Jack's asleep upstairs," she explained.

"What happened?" The younger man asked, nervously hugging his arms 
across his chest as they stood in the hallway.

"I was hoping you could tell me that," Sara said, watching an uneasy 
look pass over his face. "Don't worry," she put her hands up 
defensively, "I know, 'it's classified'. I just wanted to know if he's 
going to be all right." She frowned, "He looks like he's really been in 
the wars lately."

Daniel nodded, wishing there was something he could say to make her feel 
better, but maybe some bare truth would at least help. "Jack got.....," 
he winced, searching for a vague enough way of putting it, 
"......captured. He was held for over a week, shut up in a confined 
space. He got hurt pretty badly," Daniel explained feebly. "That was 
nearly three weeks ago. I thought he was dealing with it okay, he was 
fine when they released him from the hospital last Sunday."

"You obviously haven't been in his kitchen lately," Sara said quietly, 
unsurprised when he turned and walked straight down the hall. He had 
apparently been there before. She followed him, finding him staring 
guiltily at the empty bottles.

"I didn't know," he said softly.

"How could you if he wouldn't talk to you?" Daniel stared at her. "I 
listened to his messages," she explained, "How do you think I found 
you?" Sara took a deep breath, "Daniel, Jack was locked up in the dark 
in a jail cell for seven hours last night. Before that the police said 
he'd spent the day drinking Jack Daniels in a bar. He needs help or 
he'll just spiral out of control," she urged gently. "He needs a friend 
he can talk to about what happened. That can't be me if this is 
classified, can it?"

"I tried to talk to him in the hospital, but he wouldn't open up. He 
just shut me out," Daniel said in a hurt voice.

"He's trying to protect you," Sara told him. "He did the same to me 
after Iraq."

"No, Jack knows it's my fault!" Daniel blurted out painfully, "He was 
trying to help me when he got caught. It's all my fault he was there in 
the first place."

Sara couldn't begin to pretend she knew what had happened here, but she 
recognised an innocent man who had condemned himself guilty. "Jack 
wouldn't blame you. He's not like that."

"He blamed Frank Cromwell, didn't he?"

That surprised Sara, these two must be close for him to know that, "Jack 
told you about that?" Daniel nodded, his eyes filled with pain. "How did 
Jack get out this time?"

"We found him," Daniel said shakily, suppressing the images that bounded 
into his head every time he even so much as thought of pyramids now.

"You rescued him? Then why would Jack blame you?" Sara asked reasonably, 
"It was different for Frank, Jack had four months to build up his 
hatred, Frank never had a chance to make up for it," Sara said sadly. 
"Talk to him, Daniel, for both your sakes. Help him. Please?"

After a moment, Daniel nodded reluctantly, turning to head up the stairs 
without another word. Sara watched him go, praying for both of them as 
she returned to the living room to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack looked even thinner than before, the weight and healthy colour he 
had regained in the hospital under Doctor Fraiser's care had gone again. 
Not surprising if he'd been living off booze since he got home, Daniel 
thought to himself.

He looked haunted, a sight that took Daniel back to that moment in the 
hotel room when he had seen the Colonel clearly for the first time since 
the rescue. Daniel shivered involuntarily. Taking a deep breath he 
stepped towards the bed to wake up his friend.

Jack opened his eyes with a groan, someone was hammering inside his 
head. He focused on the face of the person who had woken him. "Daniel. 
What do you want?" He asked flatly.

"Nice to see you too, Jack," Daniel responded with mild irritation. He 
watched him struggle to sit up, coughing painfully and pressing his hand 
to his side. "I thought your rib was almost healed?" Daniel asked 
worriedly.

"I think I might have hit it on something last night," Jack croaked, 
trying to reach the glass of water Sara had left on the night stand for 
him. Daniel passed it over and he took a long gulp. "Thanks. Now what 
are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you are, Jack. Although, I didn't know I'd have to, I 
thought you were due back on base today!"

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I figured it's about time I got out and 
started to enjoy life," Jack said bleakly.

"How? By drinking yourself into oblivion?" Daniel said hotly, "You need 
the SGC as much as we need you."

"Like a hole in the head!" Jack exclaimed bitterly.

"Jack, you're the only one that can bring us back together!" Daniel said 
infuriatedly, "We're all acting like strangers down there. Nobody trusts 
Hammond anymore and we barely trust each other." 

"You can't blame the General for what happened, Daniel. He did the best 
he could given the threats that were made," Jack shook his throbbing 
head, taking another sip of the water.

"The man sacrificed us like lambs to the slaughter in favour of the 
program!" He blurted out, way too loudly considering Jack's hangover. 

"Daniel, it wasn't just the Stargate in danger," Jack said quietly. The 
younger man gazed at him, waiting for him to continue, "They threatened 
you and Teal'c too. They were going to remove you from the program if 
you didn't come through. Then lock you up and throw away the key, rather 
than let either of you leave the planet knowing what you know." Daniel 
stared at him silently, trying to absorb this new information. "For what 
it's worth, I don't know if I'd have done anything different in those 
circumstances," Jack concluded.

"Yes you would, Jack," Daniel was almost afraid to say it, "You would 
have got straight on a plane and come to help."

"A lot of good that did you!" Jack grimaced.

"You saved my life, Jack! I could never have survived what you went 
through. I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for you."

"That cuts both ways, Daniel. But maybe," Jack swallowed nervously, 
turning his gaze to stare out at the morning sunlight coming through the 
window, his words almost inaudible, "Maybe you should have left me to 
die."

"Surely you don't believe that!" Daniel gaped at him, "Is that what this 
is all about? You're trying to kill yourself with booze? After all we 
went through, I thought you'd at least make some effort to drag yourself 
out of the hole and get back to work!"

"I can't go back there, Daniel. I can't go underground again," Jack said 
anxiously, drawing his knees up to his chest to hug with his plastered 
arm.

"How do you think the rest of us feel, Jack? I keep bumping into Janet 
in the stairwell. That's no laughing matter when there's twenty eight 
levels! But I struggle every time I get into the elevator. If it's empty 
I don't use it. If everyone else gets out, I get out with them and walk 
the rest of the way!" Daniel exclaimed hotly, barely pausing for breath, 
"Sam will hardly talk to me because she feels guilty. Teal'c keeps 
asking about you with that wounded look because he wasn't here when it 
happened. You should see the mission briefings, Jack. They're a barrel 
of laughs! You could cut through the tension with a knife. You don't 
have the exclusive rights on suffering you know!"

"Then how could my coming back help anyone?" Jack would have raised his 
voice if it didn't hurt his head so much, "I'd just be a constant 
reminder of what happened."

"It's a step forward though, don't you think?" Daniel asked reasonably, 
"If people saw you trust Hammond maybe we could begin to follow. If we 
saw you trying to put it behind you, maybe we could too. We're all 
waiting on you, Jack. Only you're in no hurry to live again." Daniel 
hugged his arms to his chest, his final words plaintive, "I just want 
things back the way they were before it's too late."

"Don't you think I've wished for that a million times, Daniel? Every 
time I close my eyes, I see one of them, coming in for the kill," Jack 
blurted out painfully.

Daniel regarded him quietly, "You beat them, Jack."

"No I didn't, you did. I just got beaten!" Jack said bleakly.

"You killed the Russian, you saved Janet," the younger man argued 
futilely.

"And I still don't remember that! God, do you know how much I want to 
remember that?" Jack asked vengefully.

"I think I can imagine," Daniel admitted. He'd had the same feelings 
himself about killing Philip Marshall. It still frightened him just how 
much he had enjoyed seeing the result of his gunshots. "What are you 
going to do Jack?"

"How should I know?" Jack rubbed his hand through his tousled hair 
nervously.

"Maybe if you talked about it?" Daniel suggested tentatively, leaving 
the invitation open.

"Daniel, I wouldn't dump that load on my worst enemy, let alone you!"

"You don't have to protect me, Jack," the younger man said defensively, 
"I saw what they did to you, remember? I've got a fair idea of what went 
on in there."

"Daniel, you're not capable of imagining anything that bad!" Jack said 
quietly, "And don't get me wrong, I'm glad of that. Besides," he 
swallowed dryly, "If you really want to know you can always read the 
hearing transcripts." 

"What hearing?"

"Oh, you mean you haven't heard the good news!" Jack said bitterly.

"What hearing, Jack?" Daniel repeated with a growing sense of 
foreboding.

Jack looked away nervously, fear in his eyes. Eventually he said softly, 
"To add insult to injury, the Senate Committee who got me into this mess 
in the first place, now want to hear all about it!" Jack reached a 
shaking hand to scratch his stubbly chin. "They're holding a closed 
hearing into the incident to decide whether it requires an internal 
investigation. I've got to appear before them next Friday," he finished, 
his voice so quiet it was barely audible.

Daniel regarded him painfully, trying to think of something to say, 
wishing for the hundredth time that he knew how to help his friend, 
instead of watching him suffer alone. "Maybe it's for the best, get it 
all out into the open?"

Jack snorted bitterly, "Yeah, kind of makes me wish I knew which Senator 
dropped the dime on us. Maybe I could get close enough to get my hand 
around his throat!"

"You don't think he'll be present, surely?" Daniel asked worriedly.

"Why wouldn't he, Daniel? Hammond said he's still on the Committee. The 
President's got his claws into him, so he can manipulate their decisions 
whichever way he wants. At least the Stargate program should be safe for 
awhile."

"Jack, if you're going to be forced to go through all this again, 
anyway, don't give the guy the satisfaction of seeing what it's done to 
you. Get yourself cleaned up, make the effort to come back to the base. 
Don't let him beat you!" Daniel pleaded.

Jack knew he was right, "It's easier said than done, Daniel."

"You just have to take it one step at a time, Jack, that's all," he said 
gently, "And once you get into your stride it'll get easier. The first 
step is to get you cleaned up and dried out. And get Doctor Fraiser to 
take another look at that fractured rib!"

"And I guess I should tell Hammond I'm going to be late for work!" Jack 
quipped sarcastically.

"I'll talk to him, Jack. I'll get him to postpone your return until 
Monday. Meanwhile, I suggest you take a shower and shave off that mangy 
excuse for a beard!" Daniel smiled slightly.

"Hey, one step at a time, remember!" Jack scratched his stubbly chin, "I 
kind of like it this way!" He joked weakly, trying to relieve some of 
the tension he felt.

Daniel shook his head and sighed, "Shave!" He said, then he turned and 
walked from the room, he had a phone call to make.

When Daniel entered the living room, he wasn't completely surprised to 
find Sara still sitting there, waiting patiently, a frown creasing her 
forehead. She looked up eagerly as he entered, "How is he?"

"He's okay, considering," Daniel shrugged vaguely, "He's going to get 
cleaned up, then I'd better take him out for some food. He doesn't look 
like he's eaten anything since he left the hospital!"

"Yeah, he does take the liquid only diet a bit too far sometimes!" Sara 
tried to joke about it.

"You've seen this before." It was more a statement than a question, but 
Sara nodded anyway. Daniel hugged his arms across his chest, "After 
Iraq?"

Sara bobbed her head again. "And after Charlie," she grimaced. "Jack's 
spent years practising how to shut people out, Daniel. He's lucky he's 
got you. Maybe this time, he'll get through it in one piece."

"I don't know, he still won't talk to me about it," Daniel said quietly. 
It hurt him to be shut out so completely by his friend.

"You got him out of bed didn't you?" Sara pointed out, "Just take it one 
step at a time, Daniel. That's all you can do."

Daniel smiled lopsidedly, "Funny, that's what I just told Jack," he 
admitted.

Sara stood up and grabbed her keys, "I'd better be going, I guess." She 
headed for the door.

"Aren't you going to tell him?" Daniel looked at her quizzically. 
Judging from the mask suddenly concealing Sara's emotions, Jack wasn't 
the only one who had practise at shutting people out. "You should at 
least say goodbye," he urged quietly.

Sara stopped at the door, hesitating, her back turned to him, jangling 
her keys in her hand indecisively. Finally, she sighed, placed the car 
keys on the hall table and moved towards the stairs.

She knocked on the door before entering. The bedroom was empty, but Sara 
could hear the buzz of an electric razor coming from the adjoining 
bathroom, above the sound of running water. "Jack?"

She heard a grunt in response, neither negative nor welcoming. Sara 
hesitated, then she took a deep breath and stepped across to the open 
door. She leaned casually against the door frame, watching Jack 
concentrate hard on shaving left handedly. The motion looked awkward, 
unnatural for him. He had removed his t-shirt and now stood in his 
boxers. The shower was running behind him, hot steam rising above the 
top of the cubicle, warming the room and condensing on the mirror in 
front of him, obscuring his view. The lack of sight didn't seem to 
hinder his shaving actions and Sara couldn't help wonder whether he had 
done it on purpose, to avoid his own reflection.

"Jack, I'm just leaving," she finally spoke, startling him with her 
presence.

He turned slightly to look at her and she got a full view of the 
impressive bruise on his left side, it's boot shaped imprint still 
unmistakable even as the edges slowly faded to a yellowish brown. The 
centre was still black, the bruise renewing with the previous night's 
accidental impact. 

"I've got to go," she said softly, almost to herself, her heart 
wrenching at the sight of the damage that had been inflicted upon him.

"You don't have to," Jack's gravelly voice was pleading, tugging at her 
self control.

"Yes I do, Jack. You need to concentrate on sorting yourself out," she 
said gently, her meaning clear, a complicated romantic entanglement was 
the last thing either of them needed right now. "Just take it one step 
at a time, okay?" Jack regarded her, a look of hope in his dark brown 
eyes, reading as much into her words as she perhaps wanted him too. 
Perhaps, she thought wistfully. "But promise you'll call me if you need 
my help, Jack. Please? I mean it! Don't shut me out again," Sara urged 
softly, standing upright off the door jamb to turn and leave.

Jack put down his razor and reached out to touch her hand. "Thanks," he 
said quietly, his fingers tangling loosely around hers as he stepped 
towards her. She regarded him nervously, but he simply pulled her into a 
one armed embrace, holding her tightly. Sara moved to hug him back, she 
couldn't help it, she knew she should exercise more restraint, but she 
needed to feel his touch once more before she left. She clung onto him 
for a timeless moment, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. 

Eventually, she pulled away, standing on her toes to reach up and kiss 
his cheek, "Gain some weight, Jack. You're too thin," she scolded 
gently. She hugged him again briefly and he tilted his head to place a 
kiss on her forehead. Then she turned and left, not looking back, 
feeling his gaze follow her from the room, her skin burning where his 
lips had softly touched her face.

Jack watched her go wistfully, then he picked up his razor again and 
finished working his way around his stubbly chin. Eventually satisfied, 
he pulled some Saran wrap from the box conveniently left on the side by 
Doctor Fraiser when they had brought him home from the hospital five 
days earlier. Wrapping his plaster cast thoroughly, he finished 
stripping off and stepped into the shower. Sharp hot pins hit his head 
and shoulders as he awkwardly attempted to soap his hair and body with 
his left hand. Jack sighed frustratedly, somehow there were just way 
more things going on than he could possibly cope with at the moment.

~~~~~~~~~~

"With Alesandrov and Marshall both dead, it's up to you to complete the 
job. I got you out, I can have you picked up again faster than you can 
blink!" His voice turned chilling, "Do not forget you still owe me for 
one. Remember, Marshall was already dead by the time you got near enough 
to finish him."

The Senator leaned forward in his leather padded chair, tension rising 
as he manipulated his pawns into place, "It's all arranged, the location 
is setup and your papers will be waiting for you. All you have to do is 
strategically place the items and dispose of the body. Just make it look 
convincing! You've got until Friday morning. Don't fail me!" He finished 
threateningly.

With that the Senator slammed down the telephone and sat back, a sly 
smile growing on his face. He had always appreciated the idea of killing 
two birds with one stone. With his new plans in place he was in a 
position to dispose of an entire flock. This was what double and triple 
cross was really all about, not like the feeble efforts of that rank 
amateur Marshall.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a beautiful sunny morning and he felt better than he had done in 
days, but Jack still couldn't help liken himself to a man being led to 
the gallows. Even so, there was a bright side to this journey up the 
mountain, seated in the passenger side of a military jeep as it 
negotiated the tight curves and climbs. It was a sign that he had turned 
a corner, somewhere during the darkest hours of the last forty eight, a 
weekend any normal person might consider the worst of their lives, 
having spent a good majority of it with his head over a toilet bowl as 
he attempted to dry out from a week of severe alcoholism.

The first mistake had probably been breakfast on Saturday morning. The 
idea of food was, in itself, a wise move, but between him and Daniel one 
of them should have realised there were better ways than a greasy fry up 
to improve Jack's dietary intake. Although it was debatable whether his 
stomach would have accepted anything more than dry toast in such a 
deprived state.

Somehow Jack didn't think he had been particularly concerned with what 
he was eating at the time. His head was still spinning with thoughts of 
his encounter with Sara. God, seeing her again had hurt, he couldn't 
believe how much he still ached to hold her after all this time. Maybe 
she was right, maybe it was just some psychological response to 
everything that had happened lately, or maybe he just wasn't strong 
enough to ignore his true feelings at the moment like he was the last 
time they had met. But Jack couldn't help wondering whether there was 
still some hope for them, something to cling to. And thoughts like that 
had certainly helped him through the last two days.

His stomach's rejection of food had only been the beginning. The DTs had 
followed later as his system tried to recover to some semblance of 
normal functioning. That had been fun! Jack thought grimly, either he 
had a really selective memory or it had been the worst detox he'd ever 
experienced. Either way he really should have learned better by now. Not 
to mention the way it had somehow made his nightmares even worse than 
before, presumably because their impact was no longer dulled by the 
effects of the booze. At least he had got some sleep, he was pretty 
certain that Daniel had not been so lucky.

Jack had eventually surfaced back to the land of the living late Sunday 
evening, the effects of the alcohol finally weaned out of his system. He 
was able to see straight and think as lucidly as could be expected given 
everything that was going on inside his head lately. He had been shocked 
by how tired Daniel looked, definitely suffering the effects of the 
worst babysitting experience of his life trying to dry out one 
belligerent Colonel. He looked so exhausted that Jack had kicked his 
friend out and sent him home to sleep, worried that another night of 
being disturbed by Jack's terror could send the younger man over the 
edge instead. The angry words that had been exchanged still rang in his 
ears. 

"No I will not go home, Jack! How do I know you're not going to head 
straight back into a bottle?" Daniel had yelled, all attempt at self 
control gone as his exhaustion reached new heights.

"Trust me, Daniel. I'm just going to have an early night, build up my 
energy for tomorrow," Jack tried to reassure him.

Daniel had given him that hurt look, "I should be here, Jack."

"Why? So that you can have your sleep disturbed too? What good will that 
do?" Jack shook his head in exasperation, trying not to raise his voice, 
"The nightmares aren't going to go away just because you're here, you 
know."

"Then talk to me about them, Jack!" Daniel loudly insisted, "Maybe it 
will help. For God sakes, it certainly couldn't make them any worse, 
could it?"

"Maybe not for me, but this is hardly something I'm planning to share 
among my friends!" Jack said hotly, "What's the point of giving you 
nightmares too!"

"You don't have to Jack, I've already got them," Daniel admitted 
bleakly, his shining blue eyes regarding his friend.

Jack stared at him painfully for a long moment, a mixture of guilt and 
shock on his face. Daniel shrugged weakly and turned away from the 
confrontation, slumping into the comfortable armchair by the fireplace. 
He rubbed his face with his hands.

"I'm sorry, Daniel." Jack stood in front of the big sliding doors, 
staring out into the dark night. His voice was barely audible, "It was 
never my intention to involve you in this."

"I know that, but you don't have to protect me, I was there remember! I 
found you in that ho.....," his throat constricted around the word and 
he swallowed hard. He stared at his fingers, idly picking at the worn 
cloth on the arm of the chair. 

Jack was silent, he couldn't cope with his own memories of that place, 
what could he say to his friend that would help him handle his. 
Eventually he could only apologise again, "I'm sorry, Daniel."

"I'm not," Daniel said softly, "I mean, I'm sorry you were in there, but 
I'm not sorry I got you out." He looked up at Jack, "You're my friend, I 
thought you were worth it at the time."

"And now?" Jack turned to look at him. He held his breath, dreading the 
answer the man might give.

"Now, I think you're still living in that hole," Daniel broke his gaze, 
tears in his eyes. "We didn't save you from anything, if you can't get 
past that."

"I can't do it, Daniel," Jack said softly, "I can't live through it 
again."

"You are living through it, Jack!" Daniel shouted, his voice choked with 
emotion, "Do you think I haven't noticed? You're not just sleeping with 
nightmares, you're living them! I saw the way you flinched when the 
waitress in that diner reached across to put the plate in front of you. 
Every time a stranger invades your space, you look about ready to turn 
and run. I've seen the way you keep fading out and I'm damn sure you're 
not seeing Colorado anymore! Face it, Jack, if you don't get help you're 
on a fast track to the loony bin!"

"Maybe after the hearing," Jack suggested unconvincingly.

"I don't know if you're going to survive that long, Jack!" Daniel's 
voice was pleading, "Talk to me! Talk to somebody, but do it before it's 
too late."

"I can handle it, Daniel. I'll be fine!" Jack's hackles were rising, 
stubbornness and pride insisting that noone was going to force him into 
therapy.

"Handle it!" Daniel almost screamed in frustration, "Is that what you've 
spent the last week doing? If that's the way you're going to handle it, 
you can count me out! I watched my parents die, Jack. I'm not going to 
sit around and watch you do the same thing!"

"Then don't!" Jack shouted hotly, "Leave! Go home, get some sleep! 
That's what I'm going to do!" With that he strode from the room and 
headed upstairs. 

Daniel heard a door slam and the thudding sound of someone slumping onto 
the bed and then silence. "Damn you, Jack!" He said aloud, then he rose 
from the chair and left by the front door, slamming it hard behind him. 

Climbing into the driver's seat of his car, Daniel jammed the keys into 
the ignition and rubbed his face with his hands. "Damnit, Jack. Why 
can't you just let someone help you for a change!" He shouted at the 
dashboard. He sat for a moment, contemplating going back inside, but he 
knew it would only make things worse between them and he didn't want to 
widen the rift. Jack was like the only family he had, he didn't want to 
lose him. "You're gonna lose him, anyway, Daniel. If you don't help him 
get through this," he said softly, feeling tears prick his eyelids 
again. He yawned hugely, utterly exhausted. "Tomorrow, Daniel. Get some 
sleep, then talk to him again tomorrow."

He turned the keys in the ignition and started the engine, reversing out 
of the drive of Jack's home and pulling away, leaving one nightmare 
behind him, to go home and sink into his own.

Through the wide open windows of the bedroom, Jack listened to the 
fading sound of Daniel's car accelerate away. He hung his head 
shamefully, sitting on the bed, his right knee hugged to his chest. His 
left side ached again, almost a comfort, a sign that he was still alive, 
still had feeling, even if he was doing a good job of hurting everyone 
else's, well his best friend's at least. "I'm sorry, Daniel, but I can't 
do it," he murmured aloud, "How can I tell you how terrified I am?"

Jack rubbed his eyes tiredly, reluctantly closing them for a moment. 
With nothing visible to focus on, his mind immediately conjured up the 
painful recurring images. Whenever he closed his eyes, Jack never knew 
who he was going to see, but he could guarantee it would be one of a 
small group of men. They ranged from a thin, weak looking Egyptian with 
a flair for everything electrical to a pale older man with blond hair 
and the cruellest laugh he had ever heard. Each one different in their 
own way, but all had one thing in common, Colonel Jack O'Neill.

Jack awoke with a shuddering gasp, snapping his head back up off his 
chest. He had only dozed off for a few seconds, but that was all it took 
for the vision of a malevolent shaven headed smile coming towards him, 
sizing up the colourful bruises, before selecting the weakest spot to 
pound him in the chest. Jack pressed his shaking hand to his eyes, then 
he took a slow breath and shook himself. He stood up off the bed and 
headed downstairs to lock the front door and switch off the lights 
before facing the eternal hell of another night's sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Now the day had arrived when Jack could no longer delay his return to 
the base. After their talk on Saturday, Daniel had called up Hammond and 
persuaded him to give the Colonel another two days, promising he would 
be there on Monday morning even if Daniel had to drag him to the SGC 
himself. Jack felt it his duty to fulfil that promise for his friend. He 
had always known this day was inevitable, and Daniel was right, he at 
least had to try and face some of his demons. 

An airman had arrived outside his door bright and early to drive him to 
the base. Jack would have been willing to attempt driving himself, but 
negotiating those sharp bends with one hand was probably not the wisest 
option. Of course, he might never have made it that far anyway, given 
the butterflies he felt, Jack was afraid he might simply have stopped at 
the first liquor store he came to and holed up in a bottle for the rest 
of the day, probably even the rest of his life.

Instead he was trapped in a speeding vehicle, with nothing to do but 
focus on the mountain scenery and try to forget where he was heading. He 
was glad the driver had left the top off, he could feel the wind whip 
past his ears, the morning sun warming his back and neck. Jack had 
specifically avoided eating anything that morning, settling for a couple 
of glasses of water. But his stomach was still churning and it wasn't 
because of the jeep's motion. 

He couldn't quite believe that it had come to this. The route taken by 
the rest of his life was wholly dependant on one single trip into the 
depths of Cheyenne Mountain. If he made it, somehow Jack knew return 
visits would be easier. It was just that difficult first step, if he 
stumbled or faltered.......

Daniel had wanted to go with him, but Jack had insisted he make this 
trip alone, it wasn't because he was being brave it was simply that he 
was afraid of embarrassing himself. If anything happened, he needed to 
know there was a way out, that he wouldn't get trapped again, mentally 
or physically. Besides, sooner or later, he had to fly solo.

It seemed like forever before the jeep pulled up to the gates of the 
base. A simple flashing of identity badges and they were inside, driving 
through the tunnel mouth directly towards the sub level entrance. The 
airman pulled up the vehicle into the visitor spaces out front. 

"Don't go too far," Jack instructed the man, "I may not be staying 
long." He could almost kick himself for saying it, for admitting his 
lack of confidence aloud. Damn! Jack swallowed dryly, feeling sweat 
trickle down his back beneath his black t-shirt as he regarded the door 
into the mountain base. He climbed out of the vehicle, slinging his 
leather jacket over his shoulder, trying to act casually. He had even 
avoided dressing in uniform until he got inside, an attempt to 
psychologically convince himself that it was just another drive in the 
country. 

Jack walked inside the main entrance, letting the duty officer sign him 
in rather than attempting his awkward left handed scrawl, turning to 
head for the bank of elevators before he finally removed his sunglasses 
to unshade dark haunted eyes. The first car would take him to the 
eleventh floor below, then he would have to change to go the rest of the 
way down. It was a route he had taken countless times before, barely 
even pausing to think about it after the first couple of fateful trips. 

It seemed like forever before the doors opened, inviting him to enter, 
to be transported into the depths of the mountain. Jack closed his eyes 
for a brief moment and took a slow breath, beginning the two steps 
forward before he opened them again. He turned quickly, the outside 
world slowly disappearing as the doors automatically closed. Selecting 
the lowest level button with shaking fingers, he waited, his courage 
diminishing with every number change on the digital readout. 

1......2......3......4, Jack felt himself begin to lose it, clenching 
his fist and fighting for control. ......5......6 ......7......8. A cold 
sweat made him shudder, he pulled his jacket on over the plaster cast. 
......9......10......11. The car came to a halt and the doors opened 
with a soft whoosh of air. Jack felt the measurable change in 
temperature down in the depths of the mountain, shivering involuntarily. 

He glanced out into the empty hallway, silent and foreboding, unable to 
decide whether the lack of other people was a good or bad thing. Did he 
want anyone to see him acting so strangely or would the thought of them 
seeing him strengthen his resolve? It was a moot point, despite it being 
a Monday morning, at this particular moment in time, the corridor was 
deserted and quiet. The calm before the storm. 

Ten yards along, at the end of the poorly lit hallway, was a second 
elevator waiting to take him all the way down to sub level 28, if he so 
desired. Jack rubbed his chin nervously, glancing at the panel of his 
own elevator, a place that was beginning to feel safe and secure by 
comparison to the passage outside. His finger wavered over the hold 
button, about to hit it reflexively, a move he knew would be his 
downfall. Never give yourself an easy way out, Jack, he silently 
scolded. But he couldn't help it, without it he knew he wasn't stepping 
out of that car any time soon. 

"Come on, Jack," he said aloud, his voice almost pleading, "You can do 
this. You've done it a million times before. Nothing's changed."

Taking a few slow breaths, Jack snatched his hand away and rammed it 
into the pocket of his jacket, willing himself to place one foot in 
front of the other, remembering Daniel's words. "One step at a time," 
Jack muttered to himself, concentrating on his feet as he turned towards 
the end of the corridor, where the second elevator waited. 

He looked up and gasped, for a fleeting moment a threatening image 
hovered in front of his eyes, a blond haired Russian and his Egyptian 
henchman, each holding a 9mm semiautomatic. Jack shook his head as the 
vision faded, trying to get his ragged breathing back under control. He 
had seen the faces countless times, but the scene was a new one. 
Something he had yet to recall from his memory or the harbinger of 
something yet to come? 

Jack whirled around, checking up and down the corridor nervously, trying 
not to hear the sound of the elevator doors closing behind him, or 
imagine the car slowly rising back to the surface, leaving him stranded 
in this psychological no man's land. 

With nowhere else to go, Jack strode down the hallway and reached for 
the call button of the basement elevator. He stared at the digital 
readout above the doors, his confidence diminishing rapidly, watching 
the numbers barely change. It was a typical Monday morning, the car 
seemed to be stopping at every level, from the very bottom upwards. As 
the seconds ticked passed, Jack was beginning to think it would never 
reach the highest point. He thumped the button a few more times, his 
fingers drumming against the panel edgily, the noise slowly becoming 
louder in his ears as the numbers began to swim before his eyes.

Sweat trickled down Jack's face and neck, his breathing ragged. He could 
feel the walls moving in, closer and closer. Wiping a hand over his damp 
brow, he glanced further along the dimly lit hall. At the very end was a 
means of escape, the emergency stairwell, not used very often by normal 
traffic, unless you had a particular dedication to physical fitness. But 
it was only eleven floors back up, Jack was sure he could make that in 
no time. Yeah, but are you sure you want to go in there, Jack? He asked 
himself. What was worse, shut up in one of these boxes, or being able to 
move freely in a poorly lit stairway?

With fading hope, Jack looked up at the digital readout above the 
elevator once more. His heart sank when he saw the car had stopped 
again, still several floors away, seeming to halt for an eternity. The 
same number continuing to blaze an imprint on his retina. He shook his 
head, there was only one place left for him to go. 

"Damn!" Jack punched the elevator button one last time, then turned and 
briskly headed along the corridor, bursting through the spring loaded 
door at the end. For several eternal seconds he stood hesitating in the 
stairwell, trying to will his feet to move downwards. Instead he turned 
and began the long climb out of the mountain.

The Colonel was panting by the time he reached the fifth floor. He 
stopped for a break, leaning on the rail and gasping for breath, his 
healing rib aching under the exertion. He reminded himself that he 
really had to start trying to get fit again after so long in recovery. 
"What for Jack?" He surprised himself with the loudness of his voice, 
echoing around the confines of the badly lit stairwell. "Why would you 
need to get fit? You're just going to head straight back up to ground 
level and dive into a bottle?" 

Jack shook his head despondently, "You have to try harder, O'Neill. You 
owe it to Daniel as well as yourself." And to Sara, he thought suddenly, 
his heart clenching, he owed her a great deal.

Tightening his fingers around the railing, Jack fought his despair and 
forced himself to turn around. Trying to convince himself that walking 
downhill would be easier than up, all he had to do was concentrate on 
his footing. It didn't matter where he came out, he just had to keep 
going down. One step at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the eleventh floor a familiar face stepped into the empty corridor 
from the lower level elevator. Daniel hurried along the hall to the 
second bank and hit the call button, watching the number begin to ascend 
as a car slowly lowered towards him, into the mountain. 

Daniel had asked the duty officer at the ground level entrance to call 
him as soon as Colonel O'Neill signed in, hoping to meet him on the way 
inside, but when the telephone had finally rung, he had hesitated. The 
angry words they had exchanged last night still hurt, maybe Jack was 
better off doing this on his own? Maybe he should trust him to handle it 
alone. 

Daniel sat back down on the stool at his workbench, staring at the 
artefact he had been studying. Yeah, right, let Jack handle it the way 
he's been doing so far, let him suffer alone! Daniel shook his head, he 
wasn't going to be able to concentrate on anything until he had seen his 
friend.

Striding from his research lab, Daniel headed for the elevator, hitting 
the call button impatiently and praying it wouldn't take so long as 
normal. But there was only one at this end of the base, never enough to 
service that many floors and personnel. When he finally stepped into the 
car it had stopped at almost every level on the way up, emptying out as 
it went until he was alone, but he had to stay inside. Ensuring Jack 
made it safely into the base seemed like one of the most important 
things in Daniel's life right now. The first step towards getting things 
back the way they used to be. 

He had considered using the stairs, but he didn't want to miss Jack 
coming down. Now Daniel wondered if he was too late, what if Jack had 
already passed him? An elevator to ground level finally arrived and the 
doors opened in front of him. Daniel rubbed his chin nervously. Might as 
well check up top just in case, he thought to himself, stepping into the 
empty car.

~~~~~~~~~~

The deeper into the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain the Colonel descended, 
the less thought he put into it, which was probably a good thing. If he 
had been able to think too much, he would probably have stepped out at 
the nearest exit, headed back to the elevator and gone straight up. But 
Jack was now running on automatic pilot, his mind slowly overwhelmed 
with the dreaded implications of each downward step. In danger of being 
paralysed with fear at the realisation that he was getting further and 
further away from the safe haven of open air.

Jack tried to switch off all conscious thought and continue his 
interminable descent, but the images that flashed before his eyes 
increased in force, rapidly melting and changing like a strobe light. 
Faces and experiences that had haunted him for weeks, now pushed into 
the forefront of his mind, veering him dangerously close to the edge of 
sanity. 

Malevolent visions, torture and pain, a suffering beyond even his own 
comprehension and, above all else, the image of shooting Cassie. Drug 
induced or not, he would never be able to forget the terror that gripped 
him during that moment of recognition, too late to stop the bullet from 
leaving the barrel of the gun, held in his shaking left hand. He would 
sooner have shot himself than hurt his friend, any of them.

For some reason a picture of Janet came into his head, the petite doctor 
surrounded by two men, a pale blond Russian and a dark skinned Egyptian 
guard. The faces were all too well known, but the scene was not. Jack 
shook his head, he didn't understand what it represented and he didn't 
have time for its implications. "One step at a time, Jack," he said 
aloud, trying to concentrate on his task.

His footsteps rang loudly around the close metal and concrete structure 
of the stairwell and he focused away from the claustrophobically tight 
surroundings, narrowing his vision onto the steady pumping of his legs, 
moving as rapidly as he dared. The exertion on muscles that had been 
deprived of exercise and protein for too long was beginning to reduce 
the sureness of his footing. His hand tightened on the railing to steady 
himself as he almost stumbled, but Jack couldn't allow himself to stop 
for a rest, he knew that would be as far as he went. He had to keep 
going until he attained his objective. 

That thought almost pulled him up short with the realisation that there 
was no place on these lowest levels where he would feel in the least bit 
comfortable. Still, in the midst of his limited thinking capacity, Jack 
knew he needed to be somewhere empty. He couldn't face people right now, 
not until he had regained some semblance of control. There was one place 
he could guarantee would be deserted and that was his own office and it 
wasn't even all that far from the emergency exit. 

Finally reaching the right level, Jack burst from the dark stairwell and 
darted along the corridor, unaware of anyone or anything except the 
looming entrance of his own office a few yards down the hall. He fumbled 
the metal handle with sweating fingers, panic rising as he tried to 
remember whether he had left it locked when he was last there over five 
weeks before, but the door swung open and he ducked inside, slamming it 
shut behind him.

Gasping for breath, his chest painfully constricting under the weight of 
tension and exertion, Jack faced the door, his slick fingers gripping 
the inside handle. He leaned his forehead against the wood, panting and 
shivering despite the leather jacket still covering him. He scrabbled at 
the lock until he had securely fastened it, then he turned and slumped 
against the door, taking several slow lungfuls of air to bring his panic 
under control, safe in the knowledge that noone could find him here.

Opening his eyes, Jack glanced around the tight confines of his office. 
He had never realised just how small it was before. Barely enough room 
for a desk and a couple of chairs amidst the clutter of filing cabinets 
and shelving that housed a variety of reports and overflowing storage 
boxes. 

He finally caught his breath sufficiently to sit down in the padded 
chair behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the blotter before 
opening the top drawer idly. His dogtags lay inside, atop a pile of 
chewed pencils and twisted paper clips, exactly where he had left them 
what seemed a lifetime ago, when he had decided to disobey a direct 
command and go AWOL.

Gingerly, Jack nudged them, almost as if they would bite. Then he lifted 
the chain and clutched the two tags in his hand, his fingertips running 
over the imprinted identification stamped into the metal. They had been 
a part of him for so many years, something he had never considered 
removing for anything other than practical purposes, or retirement, 
until recently. The sight of them forced his mind back to that fateful 
Saturday morning and, for the first time, it occurred to Jack to wonder 
what might have happened if he had not gone after his friend, if his 
decision had been different. Where would he be now? And, more 
importantly, where would Daniel be?

O'Neill shuddered at the thought, remembering what the younger man had 
said only two days before. That he could never have survived what Jack 
had gone through. Maybe Daniel was right, Jack thought grimly, after 
all, he was barely surviving himself, if you could really call it that. 
So was it all worth it, Jack? A voice inside his head challenged.

"It HAD to be," Jack murmured determinedly. Didn't it? After all, at 
least they were both alive. Yeah, Jack, but you're not exactly living 
are you? He taunted softly. 

"I made it this far," he argued to himself. Only now you're sitting here 
afraid to go back out into the corridor! What's the matter, you think 
you might meet someone you know, afraid they might see how scared you 
feel? Jack snorted derisively, I think they'd have a fair idea anyway if 
you never come out of this room again. 

"Ya think?" The sound of his own cutting sarcasm spurred Jack into 
action. Taking several long calming breaths he gathered up his dogtags, 
pushing them into the pocket of his khakis as he stood up. He turned to 
the door and flicked the catch off, grasping the handle he took one 
final lungful of air and opened it, concentrating his thoughts on the 
journey to the locker room where he would don his uniform, the next step 
in an attempt to return his life to some semblance of normality. 

All sensible thought left him as the door swung open and a dark looming 
shadow blocked his exit. Jack's last breath died on his lips at the 
sight of a face from his nightmares. An inescapable demon with a shaven 
head and a well built muscular body that would put some professional 
heavyweight boxers to shame.

Jack was slow to react, his mind struggling to separate ethereal vision 
from reality, but this image was moving towards him menacingly. He 
stumbled back with a gasp of shock, whirling around, driven by instinct, 
searching for something to fend off the immovable obstacle. With no 
weapon and only one hand, his options were limited. Jack grabbed the 
heaviest object within reach, wrapping his fingers around the old 
fashioned push button telephone on his desk and putting his whole body 
into the swing to smash it against the man's chin. 

The Slav moved with impressive agility, stepping aside from the jangling 
solid plastic and moving in behind it to smash his right fist into 
O'Neill's chest with such brutal force that the already off balance 
Colonel was knocked off his feet. 

Jack fell to his knees with a groan, the telephone flying from his hand 
with a ringing clatter. Winded and coughing, he put his left hand down 
on the floor for support, but he lifted it quickly as a terrifying wave 
of deja vu hit him. Instead he rested it on his thigh and hung his head, 
swaying slightly as he gasped desperately, attempting to restore air 
into his lungs. His whole body reverberated from the heavy blow to his 
ribcage and the pain in his side flared sharply. 

Collapsing back onto his heels, his breathing settled to a painful rasp, 
Jack watched helplessly as the Slav approached him with silent menace. 
His mind reeled in the face of positive proof that some nightmares were 
destined to continue to eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Six:

When Daniel finally arrived at the main entrance to the base, he 
sauntered up to the security desk and waited for the duty officer to 
complete his telephone conversation. He glanced around idly, staring at 
the two monitors that transmitted back pictures from outside the lobby 
elevators and the eleventh floor corridor.

The guard completed his morning report to his superior and replaced the 
handset. Looking up, he recognised Daniel and smiled at the personable 
young man who always had a friendly greeting for the security staff each 
morning, "Doctor Jackson! What can I do for you?"

"Hello Harry, I wondered if you'd seen Colonel O'Neill since he signed 
in?"

"No, Sir. He went down in the elevator awhile back. I did see him on the 
monitor, waiting on sub level eleven, but then I got distracted, I 
assume he carried on down." The older man glanced at him curiously, 
"Something wrong?"

"No, I must have just missed him," Daniel assured him, "I guess I'll 
head back down to my office and call around, see if I can track him 
down."

The duty officer regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, "If it's any 
help, I can bring up the other security cameras from here. We could 
check the lower levels for him."

"Thanks anyway Harry, but it's not that important. So long as he's in 
there somewhere, I'll find him," Daniel smiled gratefully. "But if he 
does come back up without me, can you call me again?" 

The security man nodded, watching curiously as the young man wandered 
away, heading back around the corner to the bank of elevators with a 
seemingly perpetual frown on his face. Harry wondered for the umpteenth 
time in recent weeks just what was going on with that team. None of them 
appeared to be quite themselves lately and today was the first time he'd 
seen the Colonel in weeks, even then he looked a shadow of his former 
self. 

And goodness only knew what had happened to his hand! From such an 
excess of plaster, Harry knew it wasn't a simple broken finger. And his 
gun hand at that! The Colonel certainly wasn't telling, he'd remained 
tight lipped throughout the whole conversation when Harry had signed him 
in not long ago, definitely nothing like his normal sardonic 
personality.

Now nearing retirement, Harry often reflected upon his many years 
working security for the military, most of that time spent at Cheyenne 
Mountain. He had rarely encountered a more courageous group of people 
than those working on the front line of the SGC. Being at the main desk 
he heard all the stories, even allowing for rumour and exaggeration. He 
knew that particular team had saved the lives of many on the base 
countless times, not to mention every person on this planet. And yet 
now....... well he had never seen such an obviously troubled and 
distracted set of people. It even seemed to be effecting the General 
himself, and Hammond could usually be relied upon to live up to the 
classic image of hard nosed career military, at least in public.

Harry glanced sideways at the screens monitoring the exterior of the 
elevators. Doctor Jackson was still waiting, pacing up and down 
impatiently. The doors eventually opened and he stepped inside, just as 
the telephone rang at the security desk and Harry immersed himself back 
into his daily routine.

~~~~~~~~~~

"It's good to see you again, Colonel," the bulky Slav smiled 
sadistically at the defenceless man, recalling their last encounter with 
satisfied glee as he closed and locked the office door behind him, 
before producing his favourite handgun from beneath his uniform jacket.

The career soldier in O'Neill vaguely identified the weapon as a Czech 
made CZ75, about as popular a choice for Eastern Europeans as the 
Beretta was for anyone trained in the American military. Jack stared at 
it silently, his throat constricting as he tried to swallow, attempting 
to keep his face blank, to not reveal his fear as his nightmare came 
true. The Slav gestured him to move and Jack stood slowly and painfully, 
backing away until he felt the concrete hardness of the far wall against 
his spine.

He blinked rapidly, wishing this was just some vivid and agonising 
hallucination. The doctor had warned of possible long term effects of 
the LSD he had been injected with, the chance of renewed flashbacks 
later in life. Maybe this vision was just one of those instances. Yet 
somehow Jack was unsurprised at the sight of this man, his nightmares 
had become increasingly ever present, they almost foretold a renewed 
encounter with the Slav. Every time he closed his eyes Jack saw one of 
his tormentors leering over him, it had only been a question of time. If 
only he had been more prepared for the inevitable.

"How did you get in here?" Jack finally found his voice, dimly wondering 
just how badly security had deteriorated since he was last at the SGC.

"It pays to have friends in high places," the Slav said simply, "And 
this one in particular has given me a job to do. One which I might add 
will be a pleasure to complete." The Slav lowered a canvas tool bag from 
his shoulder and dropped it onto the desk, fishing inside to withdraw an 
instantly recognisable rectangular shape with a digital readout 
attached. 

Jack paled at the sight of the high explosive charge. "What are you 
going to do with that?" He asked in a strangled whisper.

"Them, actually!" The man gave a snort of laughter, "I've already 
planted the rest. You know what they say about the early bird, Colonel? 
Well your colleagues will be the worms!"

"Why?" Jack's mind raced, fighting overpowering images of his last 
encounter with this malevolent man, to think clearly through the fog, 
trying to understand what was happening.

"Well, since Mr Marshall failed in his attempts to get the Stargate 
program rehoused, my employer decided to settle for a nice little act of 
terrorism, initiated by a mentally disturbed member of the SGC's best 
team." He pointed towards Jack, "That would be you, Colonel." He 
finished setting the timer and crouched down beneath the desk, keeping 
his 9mm trained on Jack as he secreted the C4 charge in the space 
between the drawers and the wooden back panel.

"You'll never get away with this," Jack's voice sounded feeble to his 
own ears.

"Oh, but I already have," the Slav stood up with a smile, enjoying every 
minute of his task, "The explosives were signed out of the armoury in 
your name, Colonel. Noone can argue with the unreadable signature of a 
man who has lost the use of his writing hand!" He grinned widely, 
revealing a row of brilliant white teeth, "And I've already placed the 
other charges."

Jack licked his lips nervously. "Where?" He asked, stalling for time as 
he tried to focus on a way out of this trap, never expecting such a 
detailed answer in return, but the Slav obviously wanted to gloat.

"Oh, here and there, you know. One in the General's office, the 
infirmary, your friend Doctor Jackson's research lab, the control room, 
a few in the briefing room. You know it's truly amazing how the right 
attitude and a current badge pass can render even someone as impressive 
as myself completely invisible to the general populace. People can be so 
trusting of a telephone technician with the right papers! Even your 
security cameras hide more than they can see and, when the time is 
right, all will be revealed!" He laughed maliciously. 

"A little over twenty four hours from now, the first bombs will explode 
at a time that is guaranteed to eliminate at least a few annoying 
members of staff and ensure that the project is immediately relocated to 
a more secure environment," the Slav declared smugly. "It will be a 
wonderful display of military pyrotechnics, that will echo deep in the 
bowels of Cheyenne Mountain for at least two days."

"Why wait until tomorrow?" Jack asked, gaining some hope from the fact 
that anything could happen in one day.

"We have to ensure all the pieces are in place. That includes you, my 
dear Colonel," he leered. "By then, you will be dead and your suicide 
note explaining why you decided to decimate your own team, your own 
friends, will have been completed."

It didn't seem possible for Jack to turn even more pale, but somehow he 
did. His voice was wary as he was impelled to ask one more question, 
"And why would I do something like that?"

"Oh, the mentally deranged act in extremely mysterious ways sometimes. 
Don't worry, Colonel, your reasons will be convincing enough," he smiled 
sadistically, "After all with the hearing looming on Friday, it won't be 
difficult for people to believe that you simply could not take the 
strain any longer. 

Well that explained some things, Jack thought to himself, trying to 
focus past his fear and concentrate on understanding the situation. 
Obviously someone didn't want him to make it to the hearing. How ironic, 
Jack thought to himself, didn't they realise he didn't even want to 
testify! 

Still, at least this man wasn't simply out for revenge. Jack almost 
snorted at that ridiculous thought. Revenge for what, Jack? It's not 
like you defeated the guy or anything! He beat the crap out of you, 
remember, he thought soberly. 

Who could he possibly hurt by testifying at the closed Senate hearing? 
Marshall and the Russian were already dead. The leader of the Cairo 
mafia gang had already been convicted and jailed, Egyptian justice moved 
swiftly. The electrician had quickly joined him, leaving the Slav to be 
extradited to the United States because he was the only non-Egyptian 
resident left alive who may provide vital clues to what had taken place. 
So how did this guy escape without at least General Hammond hearing 
about it? And who was he taking his orders from? It could only be the 
Senator, but Jack didn't even know who that was, how could he be a 
danger to the man?

The Slav regarded the confused look on the Colonel's face. He was really 
going to enjoy completing his work for the Senator this time. He almost 
didn't need to be paid all that money to carry out this task, almost. 
Now he only had one tricky manoeuvre left and he would be home free. He 
waved his CZ75 in the Colonel's direction. "Now, you and I are going to 
leave this base in an orderly fashion."

Jack silently regarded the man, pushing his hand into a pocket and 
forcing himself to relax casually against the wall, boldly challenging 
the Slav's overconfidence in a gesture that said 'no way, I'm not going 
anywhere'.

"How easy you make this depends on where your loyalties lie," the bulky 
man leered knowingly at the flicker of concern that crossed O'Neill's 
face.

Withdrawing a small electronic transmitter from the canvas bag, the Slav 
tuned the dial to the correct frequency. "As you well know, there are 
other methods to detonate these charges apart from simply awaiting the 
passage of time. And there is one I would particularly enjoy witnessing, 
if you would care to oblige."

"Where?" Jack asked hoarsely, feeling himself being drawn inexorably 
back into the game.

"See for yourself." The Slav put the transmitter down gently and bent to 
retrieve the telephone that was still lying on the floor where the 
Colonel had dropped it. Setting it in place back on the desk, he lifted 
the receiver and listened for a moment, checking it was still working. 
Gesturing towards O'Neill, he held his hand tightly over the mouthpiece. 
"Dial two, two, two, one. I think you'll recognise the extension."

Jack silently regarded the man, keeping his face a blank mask, but his 
heart sank. He knew immediately what office that number would ring in.

The Slav shifted the hand still holding his semiautomatic across to the 
desk, letting his little finger waver deliberately over a red button on 
the transmitter. He shook the telephone handset in his direction, more 
threateningly this time. Reluctantly Jack did as he was ordered, moving 
away from the far wall to dial the number. With the receiver being held 
near to his ear, Jack prayed there would be no answer, but the call was 
picked up quickly. A bright female voice said, "Doctor Fraiser 
speaking!" 

The Slav quickly pulled the receiver away from the Colonel and replaced 
it with an abrupt click. He picked up the transmitter. "One touch of 
this button and the good doctor will be no more. Sufficient retribution 
for a bullet in the leg, don't you think?" He smiled cruelly, knowing 
that he had the Colonel snared once more. "Unless of course you would 
prefer to join me on a journey out of this mountain."

Jack swallowed dryly, his mind racing, trying to estimate how far such a 
transmitter could reach through the concrete floors of this deep 
mountain structure. From here to Janet's office was way too close, but 
what about higher up, before they reached the main entrance? Maybe there 
was still a chance to escape. Jack nodded slowly, "I guess I could use 
the fresh air," he said grimly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow the journey back out of the mountain didn't seem nearly so 
daunting, especially not with a 9mm semiautomatic pressed into Jack's 
left side through the pocket of the Slav's uniform jacket. It dug 
painfully against his fractured rib anytime his step faltered, in a way 
that had to be on purpose. Jack gritted his teeth, fervently wishing 
that some time soon he would get an opportunity to finally give back 
some of what he had endured from this man. 

Jack was escorted down the corridor to the elevator, the large bald 
headed man remaining close enough to control the situation without being 
obvious, a facade necessitated by the ever present security cameras. The 
Colonel was well aware that the man's finger was hovering over the 
button of the transmitter secreted in his other pocket, so he attempted 
to look as casual as possible. He studiously ignored anyone that 
happened to be passing, relieved that his lack of uniform meant there 
would be no salutes to acknowledge along the way. He simply stared ahead 
as they neared the elevator up to sub level eleven, unsure whether he 
was more nervous of the ride up in that tiny car or of what might 
follow.

Knowing what this man was capable of, Jack really didn't want anyone 
else's blood on his hands. He had to find a way out of this situation 
that would avoid injuring innocent bystanders, even if that meant going 
all the way out of the mountain without trying anything. He was 
reluctant to admit to himself, but right now Jack valued the lives of 
everyone in the SGC over his own. Even so, somehow he needed to survive 
long enough to tell someone about the explosive charges.

An elevator finally arrived and the Slav nudged Jack towards it, into 
the back of the car where they could watch any other passengers come and 
go. The journey seemed to take forever and Jack forced himself to focus 
inward, away from the close walls. His best chance would be in the 
second trip up to the surface from the eleventh floor, especially if the 
car was empty. He was almost certain the transmitter wouldn't work from 
that far away. Almost! Jack, are you sure you can afford to play with 
Janet's life like that? Well if he didn't do something, his friends 
would all go up in one big explosion in twenty four hours anyway. He had 
to try.

The doors on the eleventh level opened and Jack moved forward 
unprompted, striding along the corridor, determinedly ignoring all the 
images this hallway conjured up. At the second bank of elevators, he 
pressed the call button and glanced up at the digital readout with a 
feeling of reverse deja vu. This time the car seemed to arrive much 
faster and Jack couldn't help notice the irony in the fact that it 
seemed so much quicker to leave the base than it had been to enter. 

~~~~~~~~~~

At the main entrance to Cheyenne Mountain, Harry was still sitting at 
the security desk, it was the quiet mid morning lull, a time for him to 
catch up on paperwork and reflection. He stared idly at the monitors and 
noticed Colonel O'Neill standing outside the elevator bank on the 
eleventh floor. There was another man with him, whom Harry didn't 
recognise, but Doctor Jackson was nowhere in sight.

Reaching for the phone, he dialled an extension from memory, after all 
these years, he pretty much knew the number for any of the offices deep 
within the base. Numbers had always been his thing, he could recite 
baseball scores and important historical dates for hours if so prompted. 
The call was picked up quickly, "Doctor Jackson? It's Harry at the main 
desk. Did you find Colonel O'Neill, because it looks like he's on his 
way back up from the eleventh floor at the moment." He listened to the 
younger man's response before finishing, "Yes, certainly. I'll try to 
stall him for you. No problem." 

~~~~~~~~~~

Down in the lower levels, Daniel Jackson flew out of his lab and down 
the corridor, punching the button on the elevator several times 
impatiently. He glanced up at the readout to see the car was nowhere 
near his floor. "Damn!" Without a second thought, he turned away and 
headed for the stairs, glad for all the exercise he'd had lately 
climbing up and down them. He could easily make it to sub level eleven 
faster than the elevator would manage.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stepping into the empty car, the Slav pushed Jack into the far corner 
and selected the button for ground level, then he pulled the transmitter 
from his pocket. "In case you're having any ideas, Colonel, you should 
know that I also planted a charge at the main security desk. The 
transmitter may not reach all the way from here to the good doctor's 
office, but it will certainly set off the one at ground level. Of 
course, you may not actually care what happens to the people that work 
up there, in which case I'll be only too pleased to dispose of them for 
you." He switched the dial to a new frequency and allowed his finger to 
waver over the button menacingly, "You know how it is with explosives, 
the bombers always yearn to view the results of their handiwork!"

Jack stared at him numbly, he was really beginning to hate this game and 
he couldn't help wondering what would have happened if he'd simply gone 
with his first instinct that morning and headed for a liquor store 
instead. Was he ever going to get the better of his tormentors or should 
he just give up trying? Okay, bad idea Jack, remember it's not just your 
life at stake this time, somehow you've single handedly endangered the 
lives of all your friends and everyone else on this base. 

Narrowing his wandering thoughts, Jack tried to concentrate on the 
matter at hand. There had to be a way out of this that was safe for 
everybody in the mountain. He glanced up at the opposite corner, there 
was a security camera inside each of the elevators, monitored from a 
dimly lit room with wall to wall screens displaying multiple views from 
all over the base. He had tried watching them once, but his eyes had 
started to cross after about three seconds, it never ceased to amaze 
Jack that the security guards could sit and stare at those displays for 
hours and rarely miss a trick. He could only hope one of them was 
watching now.

Waiting until the Slav was distracted, staring at the changing digital 
display panel by the door, Jack looked directly at the camera and 
mouthed one simple word. Bomb! His jaw snapped shut rapidly when the 
Slav glanced at him, almost as if sensing he was up to something. Jack 
slouched back into the corner casually and stared at the transmitter 
almost hidden in the man's overly large but lethal hand.

"So," he took a slow breath and attempted to relax the tension 
constricting his voice, "Do I get to know who it is that wants me dead? 
Or am I supposed to die blissfully ignorant?"

The Slav smiled at the question, "I believe the latter would be more 
appropriate. After all, it seems like the ultimate failure, for you to 
die without knowing why!"

Jack's anger at the situation boiled over explosively. He launched 
himself off the back wall of the car and lunged towards the gloating 
man, but the Slav simply stepped aside and turned. With his hands full, 
he brought his right foot up sharply to impact the Colonel's left side, 
in a solid kick. Jack was propelled back into the metal wall of the 
lift, banging his shoulder and trying to stay on his feet. The pain 
flaring in his ribs was excruciating and he fought a wave of sickening 
dizziness, desperate to avoid blacking out. He leaned against the wall, 
eyes tightly shut as the blood roared in his head. His chest heaved, 
gasping for air. 

Nice move, Jack, he berated himself furiously, let the guy know all your 
weak spots up front, why don't you! Anyone would think you didn't want 
to come out of this in one piece! Jack's rasping breath caught in his 
throat at that thought, surely noone could expect him to just keep 
trying? How many times did he have to get beaten before he was allowed 
to give up? How many times before he allowed himself to give up? 

The truth suddenly dawned on him and the realisation was almost a shock. 
He did want to come out of this alive! He had come this far, been 
through so much, he refused to die a failure. He was too stubborn for 
that. And after all that had happened, how could anything he now faced 
be worse? Somehow he would find a way to win. 

Jack shook his head, trying to focus beyond the pain in his side. A 
malevolent voice reached his ears, "You really shouldn't push your luck, 
Colonel. Don't you realise how itchy my finger gets around explosives? 
You can only push temptation so far before I will gladly give in and hit 
this button!" 

Jack tilted his head sideways slightly, noticing that the digital panel 
indicated they had just passed the first level, soon they might be close 
enough to be hit by the explosion. He glared at the smiling man, 
deciding to test his true intentions by calling his bluff, silently 
praying that it was a bluff, "Then why don't you just do it, now that 
you have a front row seat?" He taunted.

"But the game is only just beginning, Colonel. It would be a shame to 
end it so soon!"

Jack didn't know whether to be hopeful because the Slav had passed on 
the opportunity, or fearful because of what else he had in store.

With an effort, Jack pushed himself upright, sadistic laughter ringing 
in his ears as the elevator car finally came to a halt. The doors opened 
and the Slav's expression became all business again. He gestured for 
O'Neill to move out and put his hand back into his pocket, concealing 
the transmitter in the same way as his 9mm semiautomatic, still trained 
directly at the Colonel's side.

Together they emerged into the lobby area and walked towards the double 
layer of doors which led out to the visitor parking spaces inside the 
tunnel. The automatic inner doors, made of glass, served to maintain a 
constant ambient temperature inside the lobby, whilst the outer vault 
like door, a huge inches thick block of titanium, was used to seal up 
the mountain during times of crisis, but ordinarily remained open.

"Colonel O'Neill, wait!" A voice shouted from the security desk, 
bringing Jack to a sudden halt. He hesitated, not knowing what to do, 
but the Slav knocked the barrel of his handgun against Jack's side 
nudging him towards the exit.

Jack heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind them, "Colonel 
O'Neill! Doctor Jackson wanted to see you before you left," the voice 
said more urgently. As Harry drew closer, Jack tried to think fast, he 
could sense the Slav tensing beside him, the gun's aim beginning to 
slide away from him, in the direction of the approaching figure. If he 
didn't do something, the Slav was liable to simply turn and shoot.

Stopping a few feet away from the door, Jack turned around, drifting 
across in front of the Slav's right arm to block his line of fire. "It's 
okay, Harry, I saw Daniel downstairs. I'm going to meet him later on, I 
just have to go out for awhile," he smiled as genuinely as possible. The 
security guard nodded, a slight frown on his face as he regarded the 
Colonel curiously, then he shrugged and headed back to the front desk.

Jack expelled the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, then he 
turned back towards the exit and stepped forward once more. Reaching the 
pressure pad for the automatic doors, he was almost relieved when they 
opened with a whoosh, a cold breeze drifting in from the tunnel outside 
to mix with the air conditioned interior.

At the security desk, Harry was about to settle back into his chair, 
when he glanced at the monitors and saw the black and white image of 
Doctor Jackson stepping from the lift that had just arrived at the 
ground floor. Realising something was amiss, Harry hurried out from 
behind the desk again, crossing the few yards around the corner to where 
Daniel was just appearing. The younger man looked hot and harried after 
his race up umpteen flights of stairs before he had been lucky enough to 
catch a waiting elevator at the eleventh floor.

"Doctor Jackson!" Harry exclaimed loudly, pointing in the direction of 
Jack who was about to step through the doors into the tunnel.

Jack froze when he heard the name, turning fearfully to look behind him. 
It seemed like the whole world slowed down as he caught the look on the 
Slav's face. He saw the hand withdraw from the pocket, the transmitter 
still tightly held, an index finger hovering purposefully over the 
button.

"Daniel!" Jack screamed a warning, shoving his whole body against the 
larger man beside him. But the attempt to push him off balance and knock 
the transmitter from his hand was like moving a mountain, the 
heavyweight barely budged. Instead, widening his stance, the Slav lifted 
his right hand from his pocket, still gripping his 9mm. He quickly 
wrapped his arm around O'Neill's neck in a choking stranglehold, pulling 
hard against his larynx to drag the floundering Colonel backwards on his 
heels out through the open doors. 

Jack gasped for air under the suffocating constriction, digging at the 
arm with his fingers, trying to pry the hold free as he went bright 
crimson and everything began to swim around him. 

The Slav raised his other hand, in front of Jack's face to make a 
dramatic show of his finger depressing the red button on the 
transmitter. Jack couldn't even shout a warning, he had no breath left 
to expel. 

It was timed perfectly, the doors closing several yards in front of them 
as the blinding flash of light bloomed. The glass shattered and then the 
sound of the explosion impacted Jack's ears, painfully loud. He felt the 
heat of the shock wave as he was pulled towards the parked vehicles in 
front of the main entrance. The last thing Jack saw before he passed out 
from asphyxiation was the sight of Daniel and the security guard 
engulfed by fire in the midst of the explosion.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Jack came round, he was trapped inside a speeding jeep. He 
could feel the wind whistling past his numb ears, hearing nothing but 
ringing and the blood roaring in his head. The open vehicle was swiftly 
negotiating the twists and turns down the mountainside. He tried to sit 
up from his slumped sideways position, finding his left wrist was 
manacled to the roll bar behind the seat. The bright sunlight hurt his 
blast sensitised eyes as he tried to open them. 

The Slav was driving, a grim look of concentration on his face as he 
whipped the steering wheel around the hairpin bends as fast as he dared. 
Vaguely Jack wondered how they had got past the security at the gate, 
but then he realised perhaps he was better off not knowing. 

The vehicle bounced around another curve and pain flared in Jack's side 
at the crunching vibration. He gasped, struggling to swallow against the 
bruising in his throat. The final image of Daniel pushed to the 
forefront of his dazed mind, the vision of his friend being engulfed by 
fire imprinted on his retinas. Jack screwed his eyes tightly shut, tears 
pricking his sore eyelids. Desperately he fought back his grief, needing 
to turn it into something useful. There was no time for sorrow, not yet. 
He had to get revenge, even if it was the last thing he did.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the explosion was still echoing around the mountain when 
the first members of the security team burst out of the emergency exit 
twenty yards outside the tunnel. As they hurriedly approached the scene, 
the sergeant in charge made a rapid assessment of the situation. The 
sprinkler system had kicked in automatically, extinguishing any fires 
that might endanger personnel on the levels directly below. 

He wondered how many people were in the vicinity at the time of the 
explosion, knowing there had to be at least one. Harry had been the duty 
officer as usual, everybody liked the friendly man, he had been here so 
long he was practically a part of the furniture. The sergeant could only 
hope he hadn't been caught in the blast.

They moved into the damage zone, shattered glass crunching beneath boots 
as they began to search the rubble. "Over here!" One of his men suddenly 
shouted, holding a hand high to indicate his position. Buried beneath 
the expansive fronds of several large potted palm trees toppled by the 
blast, lay two unmoving figures. Harry's dark blue security uniform was 
clearly identifiable despite the brick dust and debris, he was partially 
covering another body that was too obscured to recognise.

Stooping down beside the victims, the sergeant checked each body for a 
pulse, before pulling his radio from his belt. "Chapman, here. Where are 
those paramedics? Send them out the emergency exit, we've got two men 
injured. We'll continue to search for others, but looks clear at the 
moment."

Daniel Jackson gradually drifted down to the land of the living, his 
thoughts hazy and undefined. He knew he had been about to say something 
important, but he couldn't recall what, nor could he remember what had 
stopped him. He shifted slightly, feeling a weight atop his back and 
legs slowly being removed. 

Someone grasped his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Doctor Jackson?" A 
voice he did not recognise pushed into his dazed thoughts, trying to be 
heard above the ringing in his ears. "Can you move? Where does it hurt?" 

Daniel's eyelids fluttered, increasing to a rapid blink as he forced 
them open, attempting to focus, but all he could see was the negative 
image of a blinding white flash. Lifting a shaking hand to his face, he 
felt for his glasses, they had slipped askew, still hanging twisted 
around the back of one ear. He fumbled them back onto his face and tried 
to peer through them, squinting myopically against the light. 

"How do you feel, Doctor Jackson?" The voice persisted, attempting to 
pierce the fog. He felt a hand on his arm helping him to sit up. Daniel 
groaned, coughing painfully as he felt the bruises of his heavy landing. 
A hand reached across in front of him, probing his chest and abdomen, 
"Any ribs broken?"

Ribs broken? That rang a bell, Daniel thought vaguely, still trying to 
remember what he had been about to say. Suddenly his eyes opened wide 
and alert and he scrambled to stand up, pushing away from the person 
beside him. "Jack!" He exclaimed frantically, then the altitude hit him 
and his vision swam violently, blood roaring in his head.

"Doctor Jackson!" The paramedic placed an arm around his waist, holding 
him steady until the dizziness passed. "You really should sit down, Sir. 
Let us finish checking you over."

"No, I have to find Jack!" Daniel said, noticing the sound of his own 
voice for the first time as the ringing finally faded and his ears 
popped, returning his hearing to normal. His senses slowly recovering, 
he glanced around, gazing at the state of the main entrance lobby, 
decimated by a single explosive charge. "What happened?" He asked in 
astonishment.

"We were hoping you could tell us that," a new voice joined the first 
one and Daniel turned to see a staff sergeant, presumably the leader of 
the security detail currently sifting through the wreckage of the 
building. 

Daniel's eyes fell on another paramedic who was looking after the other 
victim. "Is Harry going to be all right?" He asked with concern, whilst 
he thought about the sergeant's question.

"Hope so! He's got some shrapnel wounds, cuts and bruises and a bang on 
the head, but I think you were both extremely lucky. Looks like the 
reception desk was the centre of the blast. If Harry hadn't been 
standing with you, he'd probably be dead right now," Chapman shook his 
head in disgust. He knew that somehow there had been a major breach of 
security here today, it would be his job to determine how and who was to 
blame. If he wasn't careful, it could be his head on the block over the 
incident. "Do you remember seeing anything suspicious before the 
explosion?"

Daniel opened his mouth to speak, but before he got a chance another 
voice shouted from outside the main entrance. "Sergeant Chapman! We've 
got another report coming in, gunfire at the main gate! We haven't been 
able to raise the guards on the radio!"

The sergeant ran outside into the tunnel and Daniel followed, unsure of 
what he was planning to do until he found himself striding rapidly 
towards the parking lot and his car, jamming his hand into his pocket to 
dig for his keys. His vehicle was parked way over on the far side, the 
closest space he could find when he had arrived late that morning, 
exhausted after a difficult weekend with Jack spent trying to ensure he 
didn't drink, but that he did eat and sleep for a change. Daniel's own 
attempts to doze had been frequently disrupted by harrowing screams from 
the depths of his friend's nightmares.

To top it all, Jack had thrown him out the previous evening, told him to 
go home and get some rest, he would meet Daniel at the base and not 
before. Trust him, he'd be fine, Jack had said. "Shit!" Daniel exclaimed 
uncharacteristically, finally reaching his vehicle, his hand still 
shaking from the shock of the blast as he tried to insert his car keys 
into the lock.

~~~~~~~~~~

The bank of elevators leading up to the main entrance was undamaged by 
the explosion around the corner, but the sight that met Doctor Fraiser 
and General Hammond as they hurriedly stepped from the car was shocking. 
A few yards away was the edge of the blast zone, a ring of destruction 
spreading out from the security desk, only broken when it met with a 
more immovable force, the concrete walls behind the desk and in the 
corridor to the elevators.

The room was strewn with shattered glass and paper, plaster dust and 
pieces of furniture, the lobby chairs and potted plants. As the 
reception area for all visitors to the base, it was the only place the 
military had expended any money on niceties, all now part of the debris.

Doctor Fraiser got straight to work on Harry, taking a report from the 
paramedic who had been first on the scene as they lifted the patient 
onto a gurney which had been brought up in the elevator. The security 
officer was dazed and bleeding from a knock on the head, his eyes 
unfocused and his skin pale. "I thought you said there were two 
victims?" Janet asked as she checked for breath sounds and signs of 
internal injury before they took the barely conscious man down to the 
infirmary.

"There were, Doctor Jackson ran out of here like a bat out of hell a 
couple of minutes ago!" The medic shrugged, "He didn't look badly 
injured, a few bruises, a bit shaken up, but he didn't stick around long 
enough for a thorough check."

Hammond stood nearby, listening intently, a concerned frown on his face. 
The main entrance did not come under his direct responsibility, the 
ownership belonged to Norad. However, if one of his people had been 
involved, he wanted to know about it. He stepped closer to the security 
officer who had been caught in the blast, smiling kindly at him. "Harry, 
can you tell us anything about what happened?" He asked gently, trying 
to get his attention.

Harry's lips moved slowly as he tried to mouth the words. Nothing came 
out at first and the older man coughed dryly. "It was Colonel O'Neill," 
he whispered hoarsely, a frown of concentration on his face as he tried 
to complete the important sentence, but he never managed it. His body 
needed to rest, his head dropped back to the gurney and his breathing 
slowed as he passed out.

Janet looked at the General worriedly, "Surely you don't think 
that.......," but she never had a chance to finish her sentence. Hammond 
turned away, heading towards one of the security men who was still 
sifting through the rubble near the desk, trying to determine the cause 
of the blast. 

"Who's in charge here, airman?" The General asked authoritatively.

"Sergeant Chapman, Sir. He went down to the main gate. There were 
reports of gunfire down there," the man responded quickly.

"Anyone hurt?" Janet asked immediately.

"Don't know, ma'am. He hasn't radioed in yet."

Hammond strode towards the shattered main entrance, his boots crunching 
glass with each step. Janet turned to the paramedic, "Get Harry to the 
infirmary, make sure he's stable and start getting him fixed up, I'll be 
down shortly." With that, she ordered the second medic to follow her and 
dashed out into the tunnel.

At the main gate, the scene was more grim, two security guards had been 
shot at point blank range. Doctor Fraiser and the second paramedic could 
do nothing but confirm their deaths before heading back down to the 
infirmary to look after Harry instead. Sergeant Chapman was still trying 
to figure out what was going on, but it was clear that whoever had 
bombed the main entrance had made a fast getaway.

Reporting to the SGC commander, he added with some irritation, "Doctor 
Jackson came through here a few minutes ago, Sir. He wouldn't stop. Damn 
near ran one of my men over! Very foolish, he could have been shot as a 
suspect if we hadn't already seen him as a victim in the blast!" He 
shook his head, mystified by the whole incident, "At least we should be 
able to get a full playback of what went down from the security camera 
system, both here and at the main entrance. I was just going to head 
over there now."

Hammond nodded, his round face creased in a worried frown, "I'll come 
with you, Sergeant. If my men are involved here, I want to know how."

~~~~~~~~~~

A large military truck was slowly crawling its way up the steep mountain 
roads, a common sight on a highway that only led to one place, unless 
you counted the viewpoint stops along the way. Fathomless drops straight 
down that only the most insane base jumpers would find tempting.

The driver shifted to bottom gear to round the tight bend, the truck 
drifting across to the opposite side of the road as he did so. Rounding 
the curve, he changed back up and began to climb again, noticing an open 
jeep speeding down the hill towards him. 

The airman driving the truck, smiled, waving his hand to acknowledge the 
other driver, a large bald headed man. He allowed the jeep to pass, then 
pulled hard on the steering wheel to swing the vehicle diagonally, 
blocking the road. He switched off the ignition and waited for signs of 
company. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel was driving recklessly and he knew it, but he had to catch up 
with Jack. Somehow he had to help the Colonel. He tried to recall 
exactly what he had seen in those few seconds after exiting the ground 
floor elevator. He remembered seeing Jack with a much larger man who 
seemed strangely familiar. Daniel tried to concentrate, but his head was 
still fuzzy, he was having trouble focusing his mind on anything other 
than the image of Jack struggling against recapture in the midst of that 
blinding white flash of light.

Rapidly approaching another bend, he took it much too fast, careering 
across into the oncoming lane as he fought the wheel of his speeding 
vehicle, his shocked senses forced to narrow their attention back to the 
road. The tyres squealed, dangerously close to the edge and he found 
himself praying there would be nothing ascending the mountain around the 
curve. Straightening out again, Daniel shakily eased his foot off the 
accelerator, realising he would be no good to anybody if he was 
splattered across the front of an oncoming supply truck or, worse still, 
went over the cliff to become part of the scenery somewhere below. 

Shifting gears, he stared down the stretch of highway before him, 
wondering how far they could possibly have gone, he had to catch up 
before they hit the open road at the bottom or he'd never find them. He 
swung the vehicle round the next hairpin, more gently this time. 
Directly in front an army truck was spread across the middle of the 
road, temporarily blocking the way. 

Daniel hit the brakes hard, jerking forwards against his seatbelt, 
fighting to keep control as the rear end of his vehicle slewed 
dangerously. He gasped in shock, swearing under his breath, wondering 
why anyone would even attempt to turn around on this mountain road and 
counting himself lucky that he had slowed down a little. 

The driver made a show of trying to start the stalled engine, gesturing 
with his hands and thumping the steering wheel in frustration. A few 
more attempts and it caught. The vehicle began to move painstakingly 
slow in a multi-point turn, gears shifting with a crunching grind. 
Daniel idly studied the face of the uniformed soldier as the truck 
drifted dangerously close to the gravel edge, noticing the dark skin and 
dark hair, unmistakable looks which sent a shiver down his spine. To all 
intents and purposes the man could be Egyptian. Daniel searched through 
his memories of the last month, but could not recall having seen the man 
anywhere before. However it did make him remember another face.

Warning bells sounded and his mind switched into overdrive as suddenly 
all the pieces slipped into place. With growing horror, Daniel realised 
where he had seen the other man before, the one who had forcibly dragged 
Jack from the base entrance. It was the man whom Janet had shot in the 
leg inside the boat museum! But how could it be? He was supposed to be 
in prison pending trial, he had only been transferred to the United 
States the previous week. The extradition proceedings rushed through by 
agreement between the Egyptian and American authorities.

It might seem impossible, but Daniel could think of no other logical 
explanation for what he had seen. He had to assume the worst. He had to 
assume that the fate of his friend was now in the hands of the one man 
they had all thought was locked up tight in a Federal jail. 

The truck in front finally completed the turn and the Egyptian driver 
signalled his thanks for waiting so patiently. Daniel fought the urge to 
put his foot down, instead easing back on the accelerator to drift a 
hundred yards behind the slow moving vehicle. There was no way past on 
the winding mountain road. He would have to wait and hope the driver was 
heading the same way as Jack had been taken. If not, the Colonel was in 
very deep trouble once more. 

"Christ, when is this ever going to end!" Daniel shouted in frustration, 
thumping the steering wheel with the ball of his hand, his heart racing 
and his stomach tightening in the grip of fear.

~~~~~~~~~~

Deep within Cheyenne Mountain the gate room was a hive of activity, 
expectantly awaiting the arrival of an incoming team. SG3 was on its way 
back having been out on a recon mission for six days, the usual group of 
four bulked out by the addition of two members of SG1. General Hammond 
had sent Captain Carter and Teal'c along for the ride, trying to give 
them something to focus on other than their own perceived guilt at what 
had happened to their leader.

Hammond had been tempted to send Doctor Jackson along too, but something 
had stopped him. He was concerned about the young man's possible post 
traumatic symptoms. Something he had noticed himself rather than 
consulting with Doctor Fraiser, who was still not exactly enamoured with 
her commanding officer over what had happened. Right now it was too 
difficult a subject for him to discuss with her and in the end the 
General felt it neither wise nor necessary to send Daniel out with 
another team. After their phone conversation on Saturday morning, he had 
been glad of his decision. It seemed the Colonel needed his friend's 
help as much as Doctor Jackson needed to help the Colonel.

Captain Carter and Teal'c had been another matter. Both were brooding, 
angry and frustrated, neither one able to help the situation, nor did 
they have anything else distracting enough to focus on. So General 
Hammond had discussed it with Colonel Makepeace, explained that he would 
have to tread carefully, but may need to push them as far as they could 
go before they responded with any kind of fighting spirit. Hopefully it 
would be a peaceful exploration of another planet, there would be no 
danger in carrying two extra members who were not psychologically at one 
hundred percent.

The ploy seemed to work well, Colonel Makepeace was pleased with the 
performance of the two SG1 members and was all set to make a statement 
to General Hammond to that effect. However, for the first time in his 
recollection, the SGC commander was not around to take his report.

"Where's General Hammond?" Makepeace asked Lieutenant Simmonds, who had 
been left in charge of inventorying and recovering their mission 
equipment. 

The man had a pensive look on his face as he tried to concentrate on his 
job, "Up top, Colonel Makepeace, Sir! There's been an explosion at the 
main entrance."

"What! Anyone hurt?" The leader of SG3 asked immediately.

"Don't know. There were two people caught in the blast. I heard they 
took Harry to the infirmary, but I don't know what happened to the other 
one. Though, word is it was Doctor Jackson," he glanced uncomfortably 
towards Captain Carter.

"Daniel!" Sam was shedding her gear a few feet away, listening with only 
a distant curiosity, her mind immediately returning to concern for 
Colonel O'Neill as soon as her feet had hit the Gate room ramp. Then she 
heard Doctor Jackson's name mentioned, "What happened to Daniel? Is he 
all right?" She glanced around worriedly, looking for her team mate. The 
Jaffa was just emerging through the wormhole. "Teal'c! There's been an 
explosion upstairs, Daniel was caught in it!"

The Jaffa's hurried steps thudded down the metal ramp, "What of his 
condition?"

The Lieutenant hesitated, "We don't know for sure what happened to 
anybody, but the General's up there now investigating."

Before he could finish, Sam turned to Colonel Makepeace and received his 
nod of approval, they were free to go and check on their friend. The 
Captain dropped the rest of her gear into the hands of a surprised 
Simmonds, Teal'c solemnly relinquished his staff weapon to another team 
member, and both left the Gate room running.

Sam was practically hopping from one foot to the other as she waited 
inside the elevator, watching the numbers drag inexorably closer to sub 
level eleven, where they would have to change cars. When it finally came 
to a halt, she breathed a sigh of relief, stepping out into the corridor 
to come face to face with one anxious General and a security sergeant.

"General Hammond, Sir! We heard there had been an explosion," Sam 
blurted out, "What happened? Where's Daniel?"

"Captain Carter, welcome back," Hammond said grimly, his surprise at 
meeting the two SG1 members failing to register on top of the shocks he 
had already received that morning. He paused, choosing his words 
carefully, "Doctor Jackson is apparently fine, he left the scene and we 
have yet to track him down. We're just on our way to the security room 
to investigate further," he finished, deciding not to mention the 
implications of Colonel O'Neill's involvement in the bombing, until he 
had a better idea of what had occurred.

"General, permission to accompany you?" Both Teal'c and Sam exclaimed in 
tandem.

Hammond nodded, he knew how tricky it would be to determine exact 
circumstances from the black and white security footage, four pairs of 
eyes would be better than two.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack stretched up his left hand to grip the roll bar a foot behind the 
front seat, hanging on as tightly as he could in preference to the 
bashing and wrenching his manacled wrist was getting every time the jeep 
careened wildly around the twisting curves down the mountain. He tried 
to sit up from his slouched sideways position, but the wrench on his arm 
was practically dislocating, all he could manage was to kneel on the 
seat, which at least helped to cushion his hurting rib cage, something 
else that seemed to be deteriorating about as rapidly as this whole 
situation he found himself trapped in once more. 

He rested his forehead onto the back of the seat, his ears still buzzing 
as he tried to narrow his dazed thoughts to concentrate on something 
other than the fear rising in his gut. Jack took a slow steadying 
breath, wincing at the ache in his side as his lungs filled with air, 
using the pain to focus his mind on the need for revenge. Right now he 
may be helpless to fight back, but that couldn't last forever. Or could 
it? 

That thought provoked unwanted reminders of an interminable struggle to 
overcome his enemies in the dark confinement of an underground tomb. 
Fending off incessant questions in a war of attrition between captor and 
captive, wondering what new agony would be inflicted for each negative 
response. The deliberate grinding of shards of bone in his fingers, the 
bolts of electricity searing through his body, or perhaps worse, a 
simple painful beating at the hands of the man who now held him prisoner 
once more, an attack with the sole purpose of wearing the victim down 
inch by inch. Memories all too harrowing, that left Jack unable to 
ignore a growing fear that he would get no further chance to control his 
own fate this time.

Gradually Jack became aware of the jeep slowing slightly, turning onto 
the wide valley highway to head south. It sped up rapidly, finally freed 
from the switchbacks and constant gear changing of the mountains. Gazing 
behind them, O'Neill saw no sign of the truck that the Slav had 
signalled to, presumably a colleague waiting to hinder anyone that might 
give chase. Not that it seemed necessary, who was there left that knew 
what had happened? He was on his own again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Inside Cheyenne Mountain, four pairs of eyes were reviewing the optical 
discs of security camera footage as Sergeant Chapman called them up from 
the computer store via the keyboard in front of him. Sam could feel the 
tension increase as they went over each scene. Before the explosion had 
destroyed them, the lobby cameras had recorded the sight of Colonel 
O'Neill yelling a warning to his friend, his lips clearly readable as he 
mouthed Daniel's name. Then he was dragged through the entrance towards 
the parked vehicles. Teal'c sat beside her, his expression taut, his 
body held under tight control as they helplessly watched the recapture 
of their team leader.

The film that followed was even more grim. Two different cameras showed 
the jeep approach the main gate, with what they could only hope was an 
unconscious Colonel in the passenger seat, his slumped body completely 
unmoving. Shots were fired without warning as one guard stepped toward 
the vehicle to check papers. The second guard inside the security hut 
had been killed by a bullet through the glass window, hitting him in the 
head before the jeep sped away, smashing through the barrier.

"Damnit!" Sam heard the General mutter under his breath, then he turned 
to look at her, "Captain Carter, do you recognise this man?"

"No, Sir, but maybe Doctor Fraiser will?" She suggested.

"We'll ask her later. First I want to go back further." Hammond glanced 
at the security man who was busily taking notes for his investigation, 
"Sergeant Chapman, what about footage from the elevators? >From the 
details his driver gave us, Colonel O'Neill had plenty of time to go 
inside the base before the explosion."

The Sergeant nodded, turning to the computer keyboard to call up the new 
discs and rapid scan the digital picture until he found an image of the 
Colonel travelling inside the elevator. At first glance it looked like 
he was alone, then they all saw a large hand move into shot from beneath 
the camera position. Thick fingers toying with a small transmitter, 
switching a dial on the front. 

Sam watched her team leader stare at the threatening gestures, wondering 
what on earth could have been going through his mind at that point, 
after everything he had already endured. She could barely believe that 
even this base had proven a risk to his safety. 

As the recording continued to play, Colonel O'Neill glanced directly at 
them, the effect unnerving as Carter found herself staring straight into 
his dark eyes. She could detect the look of nervous fear he was trying 
to conceal behind a confident air. His lips mouthed a single readable 
word. "Bomb!" Then his jaw snapped tightly shut and his gaze shifted 
back to the person standing below the camera.

They witnessed Jack lean against the corner of the elevator, his mouth 
moving in apparently casual conversation.

"Can anyone here read lips?" Hammond asked.

"No, but Doctor Fraiser can," Sam answered, uncomfortable memories of 
her surveillance of the General one dark rainy night in Denver, quickly 
suppressed as the scene continued to unfold before their eyes.

O'Neill lunged forward and they got their first view of the man 
accompanying him in the elevator as he stepped to one side of the car. 
Unsurprisingly, it was the same large bald headed man from the other 
footage. Sam gasped in horror when she saw him brutally deflect the 
Colonel's attack with a solid right kick. She could feel the pain as 
Jack hit the back wall and almost collapsed, struggling to stay on his 
feet, chest heaving, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Teal'c stood up abruptly, his chair falling backwards with a crash, a 
look on his face that revealed what everyone else was feeling. They all 
wanted to find this vicious person who had invaded their base and 
attacked the Colonel, and they also knew what they wanted to do with him 
when they found him, even though regulations and morals might stop them.

"Get Doctor Fraiser up here immediately," Hammond exclaimed angrily, his 
feelings of helplessness boiling over as he was forced to watch one of 
his own people being beaten within the supposed security of his own 
base. The General knew how hard it must have been for Jack to return 
inside the mountain, only for this to happen. It scarcely seemed 
possible, if he wasn't seeing it with his own eyes.

They watched the remaining few minutes of footage as they awaited the 
doctor's arrival. Janet looked harried and flushed by the time she 
reached the security room after rushing up several flights of stairs. 
The General waited long enough to get a report on the bomb victim Harry, 
glad to hear he was resting comfortably, before explaining to the woman 
what was required.

Janet watched the security film from the elevator, frightened by the 
look in Jack's eyes as she slowly read his lips, "'So, do I get to know 
who it is that wants me dead? Or am I supposed to die blissfully 
ignorant?'" She quoted, her hands clenching the rubber tube of her 
stethoscope still hanging around her neck as she watched what happened 
next. "Oh my God! I think that's the Slav I shot in the leg," she 
whispered hoarsely, her eyes glued to the screen. "Not the Colonel's 
ribcage again!" She exclaimed with a wince, all thought of detachment 
lost as she was forced to look on helplessly as her friend suffered 
excruciating pain.

She saw Jack shake his head to clear it. He appeared to listen before 
tilting his face and glaring at the speaker, "'Then why don't you just 
do it, now that you have a front row seat'," she quoted softly, puzzled 
at his words, taken out of context as they were. Wondering what was 
going on behind his dark eyes. Then Jack slowly pushed himself upright 
and moved towards the door, stepping out of sight of the camera, the 
elevator becoming empty once more.

"That man is supposed to be in a Federal prison! How could this have 
happened?" Janet exclaimed.

"I don't know, Doctor, but I aim to find out as soon as this crisis is 
over," Hammond vowed bitterly.

"That transmitter had a frequency dial on it, Sir," Carter spoke up, 
determined to push past the feelings of helplessness and do something 
constructive, "We have to assume he planted more than one bomb. What if 
any of them are on timers as well as remote?"

Hammond regarded her solemnly, "I want you and Teal'c to head up search 
teams. Use Colonel Makepeace's team and all other available personnel to 
make a sweep of this entire base. I don't want to be hit with any more 
surprises today." 

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel's heart sank when he eventually pulled onto the road through the 
valley and saw the driver of the army truck signalling him to overtake 
as the military vehicle continued at a slow crawl. He had no choice 
except to pass, or it would become apparent that he was attempting to 
follow. 

Reluctantly accelerating ahead, Daniel faced a long stretch of black 
tarmac, shimmering in the increasing heat of the June morning, 
completely devoid of any other military vehicles as far as he could see. 
No sign of any jeep pulling away in the distance among the light 
civilian traffic. 

All he could do was put his foot down in the hope he might catch up 
before they turned off. If he didn't find anything, he would have to 
pull in somewhere and wait for the truck to pass, assuming it did not 
turn off before it reached him. And, what if the jeep had gone in the 
opposite direction to the truck, what if the truck driver was simply a 
decoy? Surely there was no reason for that, they could not suspect he 
had recognised them, could they? Daniel's fingers clenched tighter on 
the steering wheel as he pressed down harder on the gas, the speedometer 
needle creeping ever higher. 

He rapidly covered thirty miles, seeing nothing and counting the 
turnings off the main highway with fading hope. If the jeep had taken 
one of those side roads, how could he possibly know which one? About to 
pass a filling station, Daniel yanked on the wheel and pulled onto the 
forecourt with a screech of brakes. He leaned out to question a mechanic 
who was leaning against one of the pillars which held up the canopy, 
chewing tobacco as he rubbed grease and oil from his hands with a dirty 
rag.

"Have you seen an army jeep heading south in the last half hour?" Daniel 
shouted from his car window, "The driver is a large bald man."

The mechanic pondered for an interminable moment before answering, 
"Nope! Don't recall seeing anything like that come by this morning."

"You're sure?" Daniel asked. The man nodded slowly. "Have you got a 
phone?" Looking in the direction the man was pointing, Daniel spotted 
the pay phone at the corner of the garage building. He pulled his car up 
beside it and jumped out, digging his hands in his pockets to find some 
quarters. If the truck had maintained such a slow speed, he might still 
have time to get back and find it, maybe follow it to wherever the jeep 
had been driven, but if he couldn't find it, he would need some help. 

Frantically feeding the phone, Daniel punched in the number of General 
Hammond's direct line, drumming his fingers on the window as he waited 
impatiently for it to be answered. Sweat trickled down his spine in the 
heat of the glass booth, barely any breeze coming through the open door. 
"Come on, come on........It's Daniel Jackson!" He yelled when someone 
picked up, "Where's General Hammond?" He paused whilst an airman rapidly 
re-routed him to another extension. 

The telephone only rang once before it was quickly answered. "General 
Hammond! It's Daniel Jackson, Sir!" He was interrupted by a gruff voice 
yelling at him from the handset. "I know I shouldn't have left the 
scene, but you don't understand, General, he's gone! Jack's gone!"

"We know son!" Hammond's grim voice responded in his ear, "We saw what 
happened. Now where are you?"

Daniel rapidly blurted out his explanation, the General had already 
obtained the registration number of the jeep from the driver pool and 
contacted the County Sheriff's office. Daniel added the details of the 
army truck, but he still hoped he could track that down himself if he 
hurried. Even if they found the vehicles, they couldn't let the local 
deputies alone deal with the situation. Jack would effectively be 
captive and Daniel knew that hostage negotiations run by inexperienced 
officers rarely turned out well, or perhaps it was the simple 
psychological need for Daniel to help save his friend a second time. 

"General, you have to tell the Sheriff to back off and let us deal with 
this when they find them," Daniel pleaded anxiously, "You have to give 
us the chance to get Jack out safely."

"They have to find him first, son," Hammond reminded him grimly. "For 
now, I want you back here immediately. I don't want to have to widen 
this search to two missing men, understand?"

"Yes Sir," Daniel replaced the handset on the hook, fully aware that he 
had just lied to the SGC's commander. He pushed his way out of the 
booth, jumped into his car and headed back the way he came in a cloud of 
dust and squealing rubber.

~~~~~~~~~~

The open jeep had turned several times since leaving the highway until 
eventually it lurched off the road onto a rough dirt track. The trail 
was strewn with large dried up potholes and with each sickening crunch, 
Jack was driven deeper into an inescapable hell. Each jolt felt like one 
more boot kicking his ribcage, one more vivid image, impossible to 
suppress, that left him weakened as the faces of his enemies seemed to 
surround him now. A pale faced Russian, a thin electrician, an Egyptian 
guard with a thirst for vengeance, each face closing in as densely as 
the green forest in which he was now trapped.

The vehicle bounced along, enclosed by thick undergrowth, on a track 
darkened by the unbroken canopy of trees and Jack realised he had once 
again allowed himself to be snared like some helpless wild animal, 
caught in a desperate struggle for survival. Not only was he fighting 
against a man who already knew all of his weaknesses, but he was 
battling against his own mind, which threatened to topple him into 
insanity with the strobing images that continued incessantly, flashing 
before his eyes with increasing intensity, until Jack began to believe 
he would never be free again, physically or mentally.

Journeying through the confinement of the narrow tunnel of trees, Jack 
was dragged back to the dark alleyways beside Giza plateau, a violent 
attack led by a moustached Egyptian. For a moment, Jack thought he could 
hear the cruel laughter that would have accompanied that malevolent 
smile. Then the sound repeated closer to his ear and he felt hot breath 
on his face, opening his eyes to face the Slav gloating over his visible 
fear.

And at that point Jack knew for certain that he could never win. He had 
tried so many times and failed. Now the memories and the pain, were all 
just another part of his reality, different chapters in time mixing 
together into one until he no longer knew who he was fighting or even 
why. He just wanted it all to end, here and now, thoughts of revenge 
becoming secondary to his need to escape this hell the only way left 
open to him.

One more crashing lurch through a deep rut on the trail sent a piercing 
pain through Jack's side, as if to accentuate the inevitability of his 
defeat, and then the trees opened out, revealing a large clearing. An 
old stone cabin stood at the centre of the sloping hillside, reasonably 
maintained, probably a vacation home, the base for winter ice fishing or 
summer breaks of water sport at one of the nearby lakes.

The Slav pulled the jeep beyond the house, under the protective canopy 
of tree cover. Out of sight from the trail or the air, a precaution that 
seemed unnecessary given the peaceful isolation of the location. 
Overwhelmed by a feeling of hopelessness, Jack focused on the sounds of 
the surrounding forest, all his fight and resolve now spent.

Birds sang sweetly, high branches rustled their leaves in the light 
breeze as the Slav released his seatbelt and climbed from the vehicle. 
He stepped around to unlock the handcuffs from the roll bar, twisting 
Jack's wrist behind his back and jerking him roughly from the jeep, 
propelling him round the side to the front of the house.

Jack almost stumbled up the porch steps, his legs stiff after his long 
trek down the stairway into the bowels of the SGC. Well all that effort 
had been a monumental waste of time, he thought numbly, given the zero 
possibility of him ever returning to that place. Although he never would 
have made it inside again after what happened today, it was probably a 
good job the opportunity would not arise.

The Slav shoved him through the door to the cabin. Inside it was dark 
and shadowy, the shutters closed tightly, secured against intruders. 
Jack blinked, trying to adjust his eyes as he was pushed further into 
the house. At the end of a hallway, they stopped. Reaching for a nearby 
lightswitch, the bulky man waved his semiautomatic in Jack's direction 
threateningly, "Empty your pockets!"

Jack shrugged and did as he was told, he didn't know why it was 
necessary, but he had nothing to hide that could possibly help him. As 
far as he knew, his Swiss army knife was lost somewhere in Cairo and his 
wallet wasn't going to do him any good in the circumstances. His SGC 
access badge was worthless to someone who already had full run of the 
base and that only left a few coins jangling loosely in his pocket which 
he emptied on the floor along with everything else.

It occurred to Jack that something was missing, his mind slow to grasp 
the absence of the dogtags he had placed in his pocket just before 
things went straight to hell with the appearance of the Slav at his own 
office door. After all his time in the military it seemed ironic that he 
would now die without the guarantee of positive identification those 
stamped pieces of metal served to provide. Vaguely, Jack wondered what 
had happened to them and whether they would ever be found, perhaps years 
from now, long after his body had turned to dust. 

The Slav used his free hand to check the pockets of his jacket and pants 
were empty. Finding nothing else concealed about the Colonel's person, 
he bent down to lift the corner of a rug, drawing it back with a 
sadistic smile to reveal a trapdoor into the basement below the house. 
And Jack realised that perhaps he was not going to die soon enough after 
all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel neared the fourth turning on the way back along the highway from 
the gas station and could still see no sign of the army truck anywhere 
up ahead. Despite the slow pace it had been moving, surely he should 
have passed it by now? Slamming his hand against the steering wheel in 
frustration, he realised it could only mean one thing, the truck must 
have turned off somewhere already. Now he had to figure out where. 

"For crying out loud, Danny Boy, there are at least eight turnoffs. You 
may as well give up now!" His defeatist words, spoken aloud, echoed 
hollowly and he wondered what might be happening to Jack, a mix of fear 
and guilt welling up inside him. 

"God, Jack, I should never have pushed you so hard to come back to the 
base," Daniel's soft words were plaintive, "Then you wouldn't be in this 
mess!" He stared ahead once more, before gazing forlornly down the 
turning he was about to pass. Not even pausing to check his mirror for 
other traffic, Daniel suddenly stomped on the brakes, slewing his car in 
a squealing U-turn, going almost full circle as he turned east. 

At the crest of the long stretch of tarmac now ahead of him, he had 
spotted a whisper of dust clouds, a hint of the passing of a heavy 
vehicle, enough to set off his gut instinct. Straightening the car out 
he accelerated hard. 

Crowning the hilltop three miles ahead, Daniel searched the roadway for 
any sign of military traffic in the distance. The two lane blacktop 
stretched as straight as a ruler for miles, but there was no sign of an 
army truck. Either he had been imagining things, or it had turned off 
again already. Daniel slowed the car, veering onto the gravel shoulder 
several times as he descended the back of the hill, peering into the 
trees running along both sides. 

About four miles down was a side exit. Daniel nearly went on by, but at 
the last minute something told him to turn off. He swung the wheel onto 
the slightly narrower paved road and kept driving, scanning down either 
side for any sign of a clue.

Glancing all around, Daniel suddenly caught a glimpse in his rear view 
mirror of a dark hole in the treeline back up on the other side of the 
road. He came to a halt and turned the car around, pulling up on the 
shoulder and jumping out. His breath caught in his throat when he 
spotted the tell tale tracks of large heavy tyres in the dry earth, 
leading off on a potholed dirt track that dropped off the road and 
disappeared into the forest, almost unnoticeable to anyone not searching 
for it.

Staring at the tyre marks, Daniel noticed the distinct shape of a set of 
dogtags lying amidst the roadside dust. Crouching down, he nudged them 
with his finger until he could read the identification stamped into the 
flat metal, already knowing what it would say. His heart raced, 
realising this was proof that the Colonel must have been taken this way. 

Vaguely Daniel wondered about the deeper significance of his find, how 
long it had been since Jack had worn these dog tags. It wasn't something 
he had thought about much, but Daniel had noticed their absence way back 
on that fateful Sunday morning at the hotel in Giza. Originally he had 
thought the identity tags were stolen along with Jack's passport, but 
then he realised that more likely the Colonel's principles would have 
prompted him to leave them behind before flying to Egypt, before 
disobeying a direct command and going AWOL, acting outside the realms of 
the military he had always served so loyally, in order to save his 
friend. 

With renewed resolve, Daniel picked up the dogtags and rammed the chain 
into his pocket, he would return the tags to their rightful owner if it 
was the last thing he did. Jumping back into his car, Daniel drove off 
the road, feeling the potholed track hammering at his vehicle's 
unprepared suspension. 

He drove slowly, not knowing how far in he might encounter the truck, 
the dense foliage of the forest darkening the interior so he couldn't 
see more than fifty yards ahead. After a couple of miles the track 
widened slightly and Daniel caught a glimpse of sunlight in the 
distance. He stopped on the trail, the engine quietly idling, looking 
for a place to abandon his vehicle, but there was nowhere to hide it, he 
could only leave it in the middle of the track. In fact, Daniel 
realised, he would never even be able to turn it around in such tight 
confines, he would have to reverse all the way back out to the main road 
in order to escape.

That thought stopped him short and it occurred to Daniel how unplanned 
his actions were. He had no weapon and noone knew of his whereabouts. 
And, if he found where Jack was being held, he certainly wasn't going to 
leave him there whilst he went for help! With the hope of finding the 
Colonel spurring him on, Daniel left his vehicle and plunged into the 
line of trees, rushing headlong to face whatever lay ahead. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Fearfully Jack stared at the trapdoor in the floor, his heart thudding 
painfully, panic rising, as he understood the ominous implications. He 
knew that if he went back into that box, he would never escape again, he 
would die there for sure this time and the circumstance of such a death 
terrified him far more than the end of life itself. If he died in that 
dark hole, Jack was certain he would be destined to spend eternity 
trapped within it.

Barely able to breath, he watched helplessly as the trapdoor was 
unlocked and opened, the air escaping from within smelled musty and 
dank. Slowly overcome by terror, Jack considered just how shortsighted 
he had been to think that nothing worse could be done to him than he had 
already endured, his hope that death was imminent had been a foolish 
dream.

The Slav stepped back and gestured for him to descend the darkened 
staircase. Sweat trickled down the back of Jack's neck despite the shady 
cool of the interior. "Why wait?" He finally managed hoarsely, surprised 
by the sound of his own weak voice, speaking aloud a death knell that so 
far he had only dared to think, "Why don't you just get it over with and 
kill me now?"

The bald headed man smiled, "We have to make your suicide look 
convincing, that will take time to arrange. Meanwhile, I thought you 
would like your new home. Dmitri told me how much you enjoyed his 
similar hospitality."

For the first time in this torturous affair Jack could no longer let his 
stubborn pride get in the way, fear overwhelmed him, cloaking him in its 
smothering hold, surrounding him as claustrophobically as any tiny 
prison cell, until the only option left to him was to beg. His panicky 
words sounded hollow and frightened to his ears, pathetic and feeble, "I 
can't do it. Don't make me go down there, please."

He stared at the sadistic leer of his tormentor with pleading eyes, 
knowing how low he had truly sunk, but powerless to do anything to claw 
his way back. The Slav gestured again, waving his 9mm in the direction 
of the dark hole in the floor. Jack shook his head, resolute in this one 
remaining decision of his life. The hulking man glowered at him 
malevolently and then simply shrugged, lowering his weapon as if giving 
in to O'Neill's plea for mercy.

Jack expelled a held breath in relief, but before he got a chance to 
inhale another the Slav grabbed his arm and brutally shoved him towards 
the gaping black entrance. Caught off balance, O'Neill stumbled at the 
edge, floundering to grip something, anything, that would stop him from 
plummeting into the dark depths.

Instead, he toppled through the trapdoor, landing on the flight of 
wooden stairs with a bruising crunch, his body tumbling, headlong out of 
control. Desperately he scrambled for something to hold on to, something 
to break his descent, knowing if he fell all the way, he could still die 
in the one place where his death might prove to be no escape.

His long fingers caught the open stairway, clutching feebly until the 
rubber sole of his flailing boot hit a lower step, gripping hard enough 
to reduce his breakneck fall to a banging slide all the way to the 
bottom. His lower back bruisingly exposed to the wooden treads as his 
leather jacket rode up to protect his shoulders and neck.

Jack lay gasping, suffocating under the weight of overwhelming darkness, 
aware of the distinctive malevolent laughter fading away as the trapdoor 
slammed behind him, the click of the latch and the dragging of the 
carpet being moved to recover it, to hide all trace of his final 
confinement.

Shuddering at the sound, Jack felt a ripple of pain throughout his 
entire body, but as he tried to fill his lungs with a slow breath, the 
greatest source of agony revealed itself, emitting from his left side, 
the area of his original fractured rib, and the Colonel knew without a 
doubt that the single point of weakness had definitely spread.

Jack's anguished cry was cut short by lack of air, the excruciating pain 
in his ribcage stopping his lungs from refilling. The intensity of it 
sharpened his senses as if needles were stabbing them into alertness, 
focusing his hearing, sight and touch into a powerful trio, seeking a 
way to reduce the agony and ease his suffering.

For a long while, Jack remained still, lying against the bottom treads 
of the staircase, breathing shallowly, not daring to move in case of the 
pain. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the dark, not registering the tiny 
amount of light emanating from the farthest corner. He strained to 
listen for any sounds, seeking comfort in their noise as his fear began 
to overpower all cognitive thought.

He could hear birds calling faintly and, for a moment, he thought he 
heard a gust of air whistling through a gap in the wall somewhere. But 
how could that be, wasn't he underground? Jack shivered at that thought, 
producing another bolt of agony from his side that pushed him even 
deeper, until he was running on instinct alone, his diminished mental 
capacity desperately seeking a way past the paralysing fear, goading him 
with reminders of his final conversation with the Slav, his feeble words 
repeating over and over in his head.

God, Jack, you sure know how to hit rock bottom! A silent voice berated 
him caustically. What the hell did you think you were going to achieve, 
begging the guy for mercy? I know you're scared, but if you were just 
going to give up, don't you think you should have done that in the first 
place, before you put the whole of the SGC in danger? Before you caused 
everyone such misery, not to mention worrying Sara! And what about 
Daniel?

The last words almost screamed at him as realisation struck. "God!" Jack 
gasped a strangled cry, grief hitting him full on as the image of his 
friend suddenly replayed in his mind, engulfed by the white hot blast of 
the explosion, murdered by the very person who had now forced Jack back 
into this unfathomable hole. He shielded his eyes with his hand, 
struggling against a turmoil of grief and sorrow and harrowing memories, 
all struggling for supremacy inside his head.

Out of nowhere an unfamiliar scene pushed to the fore, his Russian 
torturer and an Egyptian, both standing beside a bed in a room he did 
not recognise. Jack wondered if he had finally gone insane and for a 
moment he couldn't decide whether that would be a bad thing or not. If 
he was going to die in this box, it would be better if he were beyond 
awareness, completely past caring.

But he did care!

Stunned by that sudden thought, Jack opened his eyes, blinking in 
astonishment. Deep down, somewhere beneath the fear and defeat, the 
utter helplessness overwhelming him, he really did still care whether he 
lived, or at least he cared how he died. If he was going to die today, 
he wanted to do it on his own terms, not at the whim of a sadistic 
mercenary who had yet to pay the ultimate penalty for what he had done.

If Jack O'Neill's final act were to come on this day, at least let it be 
of his own making, in a fight for vengeance against the man who had 
murdered Daniel. And somewhere during the struggle, perhaps there would 
be an opportunity to spoil the Slav's plans, to stop him from succeeding 
in causing further mayhem at the base, to stop him from being paid by 
some maniac to blow up the SGC in the Colonel's name!

Spurred on by the idea, Jack found himself beginning to focus on revenge 
not defeat, retribution not fear. He had to take control of his life 
again instead of losing all hope, to command himself to fight back one 
last time. That's all it would take, he promised himself. Come on Jack, 
if you were going to give up you should have done it in Iraq, died in 
that hellhole instead of beating the odds, instead of surviving to see 
Sara again! If you were ever going to pick a time to curl up and die, 
you've had much better opportunities!

"And don't even think about that box again!" Jack shocked himself when 
he gasped the angry words out loud. His heart racing, pumping with 
adrenaline, "So what if you're afraid, Jack!" He added caustically, 
"Deal with it. You've done it before."

Gradually he lifted his head and tested movement in each limb before 
daring to shift his torso from its painful resting place. With a slow 
drawing of breath he filled his lungs as far as he could bear before 
pain flared, then gingerly pushed himself up on his elbows. 
Concentrating all his energy on shallow breathing, Jack clutched his 
plastered arm across his chest in support and pulled himself to a seated 
position with a grunt of agony.

He carefully stood up, feeling the ache of new bruising across his back, 
but nothing worse, so long as he ignored the intense pain in his left 
side, and he could almost do that if he kept his breathing shallow and 
tried not to make any sudden moves. Speaking of moves, Jack stretched 
his arm out to feel in front as he gingerly stepped forward, realising 
with a mixture of shock and joy that he could almost see his fingertips, 
there was faint light coming from somewhere. His eyes desperately sought 
the brightness in the dark surrounding him, gradually zooming in on the 
lightest area of the room, doing his best not to stumble into the 
numerous obstacles lying in his path. 

The cellar was large, seeming to stretch under the entire house. In the 
very far corner the slope of the clearing gave way to the chance for 
occasional ventilation of the damp interior, a tiny basement window. It 
had long been covered with a steel mesh, another security precaution, 
but the metal was old, rusting, and suddenly Jack saw a light at the end 
of his own psychological tunnel. Something to work on, to focus his 
tormented mind. Maybe even a much needed means of escaping the box. If 
he could only pry it open and squeeze through. 

In a store room this cluttered there had to be something to aid his 
task. Quietly, not wishing to attract attention, Jack began to feel 
around in the dark, searching for tools. He found a workbench against 
one wall, looking for anything that could aid his long overdue escape 
from this nightmare. His hand knocked something hard, causing the thud 
of metal against wood as his fingers scrabbled for it in the dark, 
knocking it from its perch. It landed with a loud clunk on the concrete 
floor and Jack froze, praying noone would hear the sound. Nothing moved 
above, there was no sudden rush of footsteps, no dragging back of the 
rug to open the trapdoor.

He slowly bent his knees to crouch down, feeling with his fingers for 
the object, about to give up when his hand brushed against solid cold 
metal. He picked it up, feeling the weight of a chisel in his hand, that 
would do just fine. Jack made his way back towards the light and slid 
the flat end beneath the edge of the metal grille, straining to pry it 
away from the crumbling mortar, the rusting screws reluctant to give up 
their timeworn hold.

Finally one side gave way in a burst of brick and rust. With shaking 
fingers, Jack grasped at the remainder of the mesh grille and pulled 
hard, feeling the effort rip through his side until the pain forced him 
to rethink his method. Wedging his plastered arm behind the mesh, he 
leaned all of his weight against the grille until he managed to bend it 
back far enough to uncover the window. An old pane of glass, distorted 
by heat and age, covered in dirt and years of fallen leaf mulch, which 
made it impossible to see anything beyond, but that was a risk he would 
have to take.

Jack fought the latch, the strength in his fingers rapidly diminishing. 
It was rusted solid. Instead he slid his jacket part way down his right 
arm and thumped hard with his plaster cast, the leather muffled the 
tinkling of shattering glass. He ran his plastered wrist around the 
window edge to clear the jagged shards out of the way. Regarding the 
opening and the outside air beyond with a relief that left him feeling 
almost light headed, Jack sized it up. Maybe about a foot high, eighteen 
inches wide. It would be a tight fit, but he didn't care, this was still 
a chance to escape his confinement.

Reaching up with both arms, Jack stretched high, ignoring the pressure 
against his chest, to try and pry himself up and through the hole. His 
boots scrabbled against the wall, finding a brief purchase to push 
higher. Halfway through his foot slipped and Jack landed heavily against 
his ribs. Tears of pain sprang to his eyes and he bit off a gasp of 
agony, focusing his breathing into short shallow rasps. He tried to 
remember if his side had ever hurt that much before, either when he had 
originally received the injury from the booted foot of a Cairo gangster 
or when the Slav had punched him during the beating in the depths of the 
ancient pyramid, memories that were still tormentingly fresh in his 
mind.

The thought of the Slav spurred him on again, lifting himself once more 
and gritting his teeth as he wriggled through the tight gap. It occurred 
to Jack that if he hadn't lost so much weight he might never have made 
it through. There was a bright side to everything, he thought, well, 
almost everything.

As Jack finally crouched on the soft ground outside, he fought back a 
feeling of elation, turning slowly to study his surroundings. He had 
exited at the back of the house, the dirt trail just in view, prompting 
him to consider the jeep. Creeping towards the side, he peered around 
the corner at the vehicle hidden beneath the trees. All was quiet except 
the birds and the rustling leaves. 

Keeping low, he headed across the open clearing, ten yards to the car, 
and crouched down to check the ignition, but the keys were gone. Jack 
felt beneath the seat, then moved around to the passenger side, but the 
Slav must have taken them with him. He was just trying to decide if he 
would be able to hotwire the vehicle one handed, when he heard the low 
gear rumble of an approaching truck. Time's up, Jack, he thought grimly. 
Glancing at the dense trees beyond the jeep, he hurried into their 
enveloping safety.

All he could hope for now was to work his way around the clearing back 
towards the road, if he could get out of the forest, back to 
civilisation, he might be able to get a warning to the SGC about the 
explosives. He tried to remember how far the highway had been, but all 
Jack could recall was panic stricken thought, a mind totally unable to 
fight back, helplessly trapped. He swallowed a shudder, renewing his 
resolve to never sink that low again, no matter what happened to him. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard the truck draw up near the cabin, the 
welcoming shout of an Eastern European accent and two voices drifting 
away back inside the house. Jack pushed deeper, forging a path through 
the thick foliage, thoughts of putting some distance between them 
overriding his initial need for revenge. 

For a moment his step faltered as Jack realised that he actually did 
have a real chance of escaping now, if he could only stay focused and 
keep his wits about him. Perhaps there really was some hope of getting 
away, but how would he feel if the Slav was still running around free? 
Would that come back to haunt him? 

~~~~~~~~~~

Creeping through the dense trees, Daniel finally reached an open 
clearing. In the centre stood an isolated stone faced cabin, peaceful 
and silent, the windows shuttered, blind to his movements. He dashed 
across the open space, keeping low, crouching breathlessly at the side 
of the house and straining to hear any movement within.

Slowly he crept around the back, stopping to listen intently beneath 
each window. Five feet from the far corner, the muffled sound of a 
familiar guttural accent suddenly emerged from the room he had just 
passed, accompanied by the banging of a wood frame hitting the closed 
shutters outside. Daniel froze. 

"How do you open these things?" A muted Egyptian voice asked irritably.

"Just shove it hard, it'll soon spring the catch," an Eastern European 
accent replied.

The window rattled again and the shutters burst open, swinging back 
against the side of the house with a thud, their wooden latch rotten and 
weak. Daniel pressed himself against the stone wall his heart thumping 
in his chest.

"So what's the plan?" The voice sounded loud through the open window, 
the words followed by a puff of cigarette smoke drifting out to foul the 
clean air. Daniel felt his nose begin to itch, pinching it to stop the 
sneeze from growing.

"We wait until dark, before we do him, make it more convincing. There's 
a typewriter in the back room, we just need his fingerprints on the keys 
and the paper, we don't really even need him to sign the note if he 
refuses. Noone's going to be able to argue with a scrawled left handed 
signature. Then by the time the shit hits the fan we'll be well away 
from here!" Daniel could hear the confident smile in the Slav's voice. 
"He's in the basement, we may as well make some preparations."

"Don't we get to have any fun with him first? He killed the others 
remember!"

"Depends, we can't mark him any worse or it'll raise suspicion, but he 
does already have a few well known weak spots," the Eastern European 
laughed cruelly.

Daniel winced at the vicious sound, as an arm suddenly reached from the 
opening to flick a still burning cigarette butt in his direction. 
Jumping backwards, his boot crunched glass underfoot, hidden amidst the 
mulch of rotting leaves gathered against the side of the house. He held 
his breath, glancing down to see where he had trodden, missing the fact 
that the hand at the window also stopped moving for a split second.

Inside the kitchen, the Egyptian spoke again, "What weapon are we going 
to use?" He asked, signalling with his hands for the Slav to get outside 
fast. 

"Standard military issue Beretta 92F," the man said loudly as he headed 
towards the door, "I signed it out in his name from the armoury this 
morning. It's in the other room, I'll go get it." He moved swiftly for 
his bulk, down the hall, bursting out the side door and rounding the 
corner before Daniel knew what had hit him. He was still concentrating 
on the voice inside the kitchen window, which now speculated on how much 
he was going to enjoy seeing the end results of their work.

The Slav grabbed him from behind, lifting him up off his feet with ease 
as Daniel gasped in surprise, struggling to free himself. Glass crunched 
under the Slav's heavy boots and he glanced down to see the broken 
basement window. "Get down to the cellar!" He shouted to his colleague, 
hauling Daniel bodily around the corner to the side door. 

Dragging him into the shady interior, the Slav met the Egyptian in the 
hallway, dragging back the carpet to raise the trapdoor. Turning on the 
basement light from a switch on the wall, he dashed down the stairs, gun 
drawn. "He's not here," the dark haired man shouted a few seconds later, 
"He's gone!"

Daniel's heart jumped at his announcement. Jack had escaped, maybe there 
was hope for the Colonel yet, but the Slav's response wiped any hint of 
a smile from the man's face. "Don't worry, he can't have got far and 
he's hardly going to leave his friend behind, is he?" The man gloated, 
"After all, this is the one who rescued him from Kheops!" Daniel's hopes 
were shattered as he realised he was about to become a pawn in Jack's 
final downfall.

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Seven:

Deep amidst the trees, Colonel O'Neill was fighting his way through the 
undergrowth, tracing a parallel line with the dirt track leading away 
from the clearing and moving as fast as he could without causing his 
breathing rate to increase higher than his damaged ribcage could cope 
with. A hundred yards along, he saw something dark blue straddling the 
trail, identifying the shape of a vehicle as he moved closer. The car 
looked like it had been left there recently. A common make and model, 
even the colour was standard and, unless this was a different track to 
the one they had driven in on, it certainly had not been there just a 
few hours before.

Jack contemplated it curiously, feeling like he ought to recognise it, 
but he knew he had never seen it before. Glancing around furtively, he 
stepped up to the driver side and gingerly tested the handle, not 
wishing to accidentally activate any alarm that might have been set. The 
door swung open easily, the vehicle had been left unlocked. His hopes 
raised, Jack peered in, but there were no keys left dangling in the 
ignition.

Instead he leaned in, across the seat, and opened the glove compartment, 
rummaging inside for anything he could use to hotwire the car or even a 
clue as to the identity of the owner. A spare set of keys was too much 
to hope for, but he did find a battered notebook and a small travel 
sized medical kit.

Opening up the folded bundle, Jack examined the contents. Among the 
bandages and cotton wool, was a small pair of scissors, the blades shiny 
and sharp, perfect for the task of cutting through the plastic coating 
of the wiring beneath the dashboard. He threw the rest of the first aid 
kit back into the glove box and was about to follow with the notebook 
when a doodle on the cover caught his eye. Meaningless to anyone not in 
the know, it was a pyramid shape with a single circle above the peak.

With a mixture of dread and hope, Jack's shaky fingers opened the book, 
recognising the flowing handwriting of Daniel Jackson immediately. Then 
it dawned on him, the vehicle he was now sitting in was the car that his 
friend had been talking about purchasing when he had visited Jack in the 
hospital shortly after their return from Egypt. But how could it now be 
here, wasn't Daniel dead? And if he wasn't, where the hell was he?

~~~~~~~~~~

The Slav dragged Daniel along the hall and out onto the porch, "Colonel 
O'Neill!" He yelled loudly, his deep booming voice echoing around the 
isolated hillside. "I wouldn't stray too far if I were you! We have one 
of your friends here!" He threw Daniel down the steps, with a sadistic 
laugh.

Daniel landed heavily, bruising pain blossoming in his right shoulder. 
For a moment, he lay face down in the grass, stunned. Slowly he pushed 
himself up off the ground, shaking his head to clear it, wanting to call 
out to his friend to stay put. He bit his tongue to stop himself, 
unwilling to confirm his presence, in case Jack was already too far away 
to see.

The Egyptian trained his favourite 9mm on the fallen man, smiling as he 
watched the Slav move down the steps towards his new victim. Daniel got 
a solid boot in the chest, swinging in to impact his sternum and propel 
him back onto his shoulder. He collapsed with a groan, winded and 
gasping for breath, as he heard the huge man shout again.

"Colonel O'Neill! Show yourself or your friend will suffer," the Slav 
threatened maliciously. Leering at the prone body, he remembered the 
pain in his thigh from the gunshot wound inflicted by the man's female 
colleague. "Take your time, Colonel. I've got a few debts to settle!" He 
stepped forward again as Daniel tried to crawl away, grabbing his left 
hand to pull it out from under him. Daniel landed against his chin with 
a grunt, unable to escape.

The Slav yanked his hand, pulling him onto his back and pressing a large 
boot down on his chest. He stretched Daniel's arm out tautly, a look of 
sheer malevolence on his face as he grabbed his smallest finger, bending 
it back until Daniel's eyes watered in pain. He gritted his teeth, 
grinding down hard, refusing to scream. Sweat beaded on his brow as he 
tried to swallow the agony. His blue eyes locked with the Slav's evil 
face and he knew what was about to come even before his brain could 
translate the sound.

Daniel howled in pain as the huge man snapped his finger like a twig. 
The roaring in his head overpowering his senses until he passed out.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hundred yards down the dirt track leading away from the clearing, Jack 
was struggling to get at the wiring beneath the steering wheel of the 
car, his fingers scrabbling at the moulded plastic cover built to 
protect it from just such an act as he was attempting to commit. His 
mind was churning, trying to decide what the discovery of this vehicle 
really meant, was Daniel alive or not? He couldn't get the image of the 
explosion out of his head, how could anyone have survived that, but if 
he had not, how come his car was here now?

Jack stopped short. How did the car get here? How could anyone have 
found this isolated place? Nobody followed the jeep, he was certain of 
that, after all, he had been facing backwards half the time and there 
were definitely no other vehicles behind them when they turned off the 
mountain road onto the highway. He would have spotted another car and he 
was damn sure the Slav would have been checking. So that could only mean 
this was all a figment of his imagination.

Sitting up in the driver's seat, Jack pondered for a moment, staring at 
the notebook he had left lying on the open flap of the glove 
compartment. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, then slowly fingered the 
cover before flicking through the pages to the most recent entry.

It was dated the previous night, written in Daniel's unmistakable 
scrawl, "I'm exhausted, so this will be short. Jack threw me out and, no 
matter what I said, I couldn't stop him, we just ended up arguing. Why 
do I get the feeling neither of us are going to get much sleep tonight? 
I'm really not sure I can even face trying, but I'm too tired not to. 
Well, tomorrow's another day, I'll talk to him again then. It might be 
my last try, I don't think I can do this anymore, but maybe I'll feel 
better after a good night's sleep.......Yeah right!"

Jack swallowed hard, closing the journal abruptly, unwilling to 
accidentally read anything else for fear of what it might say. He didn't 
have time to deal with any of it now, but it left no doubt this was 
Daniel's car, it was not his mind playing tricks on him, not this time. 
So if Daniel was still alive, where was he?

A muffled shout interrupted his thoughts and Jack held his breath, heart 
racing, his head bobbing out of the door to strain towards the sound. He 
could not make out the words, but he did recognise the accent with a 
sense of foreboding. Clearly the Slav had discovered he was missing, 
soon they would come after him.

Jack ducked down below the steering wheel again, using the sharp end of 
the scissors for additional leverage against the plastic casing covering 
the wiring, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not loosen it. He 
would not be able to get the car started without a set of keys. 

Contemplating his next move, Jack considered again whether it was really 
possible that Daniel was alive and out here somewhere. If he was, what 
were the chances of finding him in this dense forest?

A howling scream of agony suddenly pierced the silence and Jack's blood 
ran cold, all colour draining from his face. He remembered hearing a cry 
like that before - his own, when the Slav had stomped a heavy boot down 
onto his broken hand, revenge for the Colonel's feeble attempt to fend 
off a brutal beating in the confines of the pyramid tomb. 

Jack flinched at the memory, he could almost feel the grinding bone in 
his fingers as it was crushed for a second time beneath a viciously 
aimed boot. The sound of this new scream held many possible 
implications, but it was clear that somebody was in immense pain and in 
all likelihood that suffering was being inflicted by a large man of 
Eastern European origin. It only left the most dreaded question of all. 
Who was it being inflicted upon?

Three simple words kept echoing in the back of Jack's mind, pulsing in 
and out like a heartbeat. Where was Daniel?

The only way to find out was to go back. Jack shook his head, reluctant 
to face such a terrifying idea. What if it was a trap? But how could he 
just ignore the cry? He would have to find out who it was even if he had 
no way of helping the victim.

Determinedly, Jack pushed himself out of the car and closed the door 
quietly, gazing down the dirt track leading back up to the cabin, 
forcing his feet to move. Stepping off the trail, back into the safety 
of the densely packed trees, he began to make his way towards the 
clearing, his breathing becoming more constricted the closer he moved 
within the grasp of his nemesis.

By the time he reached the edge of the open space, Jack was beginning to 
think it had been a trick, there had been no further screams, only a few 
indiscernible shouts from the Slav. From where he stopped there was only 
a narrow view of the front of the house, he would have to cross the 
trail to see more, but that would reveal his position. 

Resting behind a tree, Jack tried to catch his breath, conscious of it 
rasping raggedly in his chest. He was shaking again, overwhelmed by the 
thought of going back there, being close to that malevolent presence 
once more. Taking several slow lungfuls of air, he attempted to calm 
himself, focusing his thoughts before he peered out beyond the treeline, 
trying to get some idea of what was happening.

"Colonel O'Neill! If you don't come out now, I will shoot your friend, 
one limb at a time!" A shot rang out as if to emphasise the warning and 
Jack stared aghast as the bald headed Slav came into view, dragging a 
limp body behind him. He walked further away from the house to improve 
his all round visibility, waving a semiautomatic threateningly in his 
other hand.

Jack recognised the Slav's new prisoner immediately, he just didn't know 
what to do about the fact. How could he give himself up? How could he 
volunteer to be captured again, after all he had been through? Noone 
could expect him to do that, not even Daniel.

"Daniel! Shit!" Jack shook his head, wondering whether he was 
hallucinating again. How else had Daniel's body come to be in the midst 
of all this when he was surely blown up in the explosion at the base? As 
he watched, the Egyptian walked into view and hauled Daniel to his feet, 
holding him upright for the Slav to slap his face and revive him. 
Daniel's head moved, his eyes slowly opening. He was still alive! 

Barely able to believe his own eyes, Jack didn't know whether he should 
be relieved or not. Maybe Daniel was alive right now, but how long would 
that last in these circumstances? And what choice did that leave Jack?

O'Neill leaned back against the tree, trying to think of something, 
anything, fast. He fought a frighteningly strong urge to simply turn and 
run, feeling a shiver of fear down his spine. His hand shook as he moved 
it to rub his eyes and, for a long moment, Jack stared at his trembling 
fingers and finally he knew, the nightmare would never stop if he didn't 
end it here.

He had to face the Slav head on, deal with him as best he could. No 
matter how hard it would be, no matter what chance the outcome, Jack was 
not going to leave Daniel to suffer the same fate as he had at the hands 
of this man. Now was the time for that last ditch attempt he had 
promised himself back in the basement of the cabin. It may not be quite 
his idea of tackling the enemy on his own terms, but it was now or 
never. The time to fight back had arrived. A time for vengeance, with 
one added motivation, to save the life of the man who had saved him 
countless times in Egypt. 

With that thought spurring him on, Jack moved along the edge of the 
clearing, keeping within the boundaries of the treeline until he was 
behind the house. Ducking low, he crossed the open space to reach the 
back wall, nearing the basement window through which he had exited less 
than an hour earlier. If he could creep around the outside, maybe he 
could get behind and surprise them. And do what, Jack? He asked himself 
silently.

Glancing round, he noticed the open window above his head, practically 
inviting him to enter the house. It was the last thing he would consider 
under normal circumstances, but it didn't look like he had any other 
option. Maybe inside he could find something to fight with.

Hauling himself awkwardly up over the window ledge, anxious to avoid 
leaning on his painful left side, Jack dropped into the room beyond, 
finding himself standing in a kitchen. He opened drawers as quietly as 
possible, searching for any sharp tools, but all he found was a small 
cheese knife, apparently the owners had cleared the place out. 

Jack secreted the hook ended knife into the edge of his boot, just in 
case, and crept into the hallway, scanning around in the hope of finding 
something more useful. One of the doors was open, the Slav's canvas tool 
bag discarded on the chair just inside. With one eye on the entrance and 
his ears open for trouble, he rummaged inside, his fingers hitting 
something cold and hard.

Withdrawing a standard issue Beretta, Jack checked the magazine before 
he allowed himself to get too excited. It was fully loaded, fifteen 
round nosed cartridges packed snugly inside. With a shaking hand, he 
rested the end of the clip against his plaster cast and pushed it back 
into place with a resounding click. Releasing the safety, Jack stood up 
and stepped back out into the hallway, still pondering his next move 
when another shot echoed around the hillside outside, breaking the 
silence with a sharp crack. His pulse racing at the shockingly loud 
noise, Jack realised his time had run out.

Ahead of him the side exit door was ajar, the dark wood surrounded by a 
chink of daylight at the edges. Heading through it, Jack left the cabin 
and edged along the outer wall towards the front, in time to hear the 
Slav shout again, his booming voice frighteningly close.

"I warned you, Colonel! One limb at a time!" The bald headed man yelled 
menacingly, signalling his Egyptian colleague to step away from the 
victim. Daniel watched the barrel of the 9mm raise up and tried to move 
out of the way, futilely attempting to escape the bullet. The gun fired 
and Daniel collapsed to the ground, his left leg giving way beneath him.

At first he only felt numbness, then his brain slowly began to process 
the sensation of a bullet travelling through the fleshy part of his 
thigh and Daniel swallowed a cry of pain, refusing to make another sound 
as he glared at the Slav through clenched teeth, his eyes watering and 
sweat beading on his brow. Fighting the urge to pass out again, Daniel 
pressed his hands against the flesh wound as though to suppress the 
agony, his fingers quickly covering in blood. 

The larger man simply smiled cruelly, admiring the damage as the red 
liquid flowed from the entry and exit wounds in Daniel's thigh.

Another shot rang out and Daniel cringed, bracing for the impact. 
Instead he heard the bullet hit the dirt near the Slav, glancing around 
wildly to determine the identity of a second gunman. 

"That's enough!" Jack shouted from the edge of the house with a strength 
belying the terror which gripped him. 

Daniel didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified by the sudden 
appearance of his friend. Swivelling his head until he found the source 
of the voice, he watched with a mixture of hope and dread.

The Slav's gloating smile slipped for an instant, his shocked surprise 
that O'Neill had obtained a weapon quickly replaced by a sneer as he 
realised how off target his aim had been. Standing his ground boldly, 
the bald man turned towards the corner of the cabin to leer at the 
hidden gunman, at the same time raising his arm in preparation for 
another shot at Daniel. 

"Ah, Colonel O'Neill!" He exclaimed with a smug look at the shadow of 
the man standing in the safe cover at the side of the house, "So nice to 
have the pleasure of your company again!" He regarded him thoughtfully, 
his face forming into a sadistic smile. "Perhaps, we might release your 
friend, if you wish to take his place?" He shifted the barrel of his gun 
to point directly at Daniel's head.

Swiftly Jack raised his arm and fired another round at the Slav, but his 
shaking left handed accuracy was not well practised and the angle was 
poor. The bullet hit the dirt about a foot to one side of the target, 
but it did stop the Slav from shooting Daniel. O'Neill barely had time 
for a further shot, which flew wide, as the bulky man ducked for cover 
into the shadows of the cabin, dragging the wounded man behind him. 

Still aiming with his left hand, Jack was forced to emerge further into 
the open, edging around the corner until he could see the porch steps, 
his hopes fading rapidly when he realised they had reached a stalemate. 
The Slav stood with Daniel in front of him as a human shield, the 
slighter man wavering, leaning on one good leg, blood oozing from the 
wound in his thigh, pulled open further by the sudden jerking movement 
as he was hauled to his feet.

Boldly, the Eastern European dragged Daniel out across the open ground, 
holding him up in front, knowing the Colonel's current shooting accuracy 
would never be good enough for him to risk a shot at the minor body 
parts that were not covered by the thinner man, O'Neill's friend and 
former saviour. He started talking, goading and laughing, a planned 
distraction away from his Egyptian colleague who was lurking in the 
shadows on the porch.

"For someone who apparently plays such a vital role in the Stargate 
program, you really aren't very good at protecting your team mates, are 
you Colonel?" He leered, "First you get him blown up and now he's been 
shot in the leg. All because of you," the man laughed sadistically.

"Don't listen to him, Jack," Daniel's voice sounded weak, constricted by 
the arm across his chest, "Get away from here. You can still escape." 
His last words were strangled as the Slav shifted his grip higher, 
cutting off the man's air supply.

The Eastern European raised his 9mm to Daniel's temple. "One move and 
you can watch him die!" He gloated, flexing his finger against the 
trigger.

"Wait!" Jack gasped, thinking fast, trying to see a way out that didn't 
involve his friend getting a hole in the head. A smothering feeling of 
deja vu washed over him. He had been in this position before, that 
numbing feeling of looking down into his tomb again, an American traitor 
holding a gun against Cassie's head. He hadn't found a way out then and 
he couldn't see a way out now, except for self sacrifice. Only he didn't 
believe this evil man would even attempt a false display of honour by 
pretending to allow an exchange of Jack's life for Daniel's. Giving 
himself up was definitely not going to help. 

It's me you want, let him go!" He shouted futilely. "Shit, Jack. Think 
of something," he muttered under his breath, "You're running out of 
time."

"I'll say!"

Jack felt the heavily accented words breathed hotly against his neck, 
his hackles rising in a warning that was way too late to save him. The 
barrel of a Browning pressed against Jack's temple and out of the corner 
of his eye he could see the dark finger tightening on the trigger. He 
sagged in defeat, a small moan escaping his lips as he let his grip on 
the Beretta slip, dangling it from his index finger submissively.

The Egyptian leaned across to take the handgun and Jack made his move, 
sharply ramming his right elbow into the man's solar plexus, then he 
gripped his fingers around the barrel of the Beretta and smashed the 
butt down hard on the Egyptian's skull, cutting his scalp open with the 
impact. 

The dark skinned man reeled, momentarily stunned by the attack. Winded 
and bleeding, he doubled over, but he recovered his wits quickly enough 
to ram his head into Jack's chest with an impact that reverberated right 
through Jack's rib cage with agonising pain. Catching him off balance, 
the Egyptian propelled the lighter weight Colonel backwards against the 
solid wall of the cabin.

Jack's head snapped back, smacking against the stone, the handgun flying 
from his nerveless fingers. Dazed, he fought on instinct, bringing his 
knee up to ram the Egyptian in the chest, then, shoving all his weight 
against the side of the house, the Colonel launched himself at his 
opponent, knocking him to the ground. Together they rolled on the slope, 
each struggling to gain the upper hand. 

Both men froze suddenly when a shot rang out, echoing around the 
hillside. Their heads turned in the direction of the source, their gaze 
held by the 9mm Czech made weapon in the hand of the Slav. He waved the 
semiautomatic at the sky, seeking their full attention before he moved 
the gun back to point the barrel at the temple of Daniel who had been 
watching the fight helplessly. Trapped by the large man, he was 
struggling to remain conscious, his breath coming in shallow rasps 
beneath the constricting hold on his throat.

The fighting pair rolled apart and Jack lay still for a moment, the 
adrenaline rush dissipating to leave his rib cage in agony as he tried 
to draw breath. His head was pounding from the impact with solid stone. 
Distantly he heard the sounds of the forest surrounding them, branches 
rustling in a light breeze, the midday sun warming his face. Given the 
choice he would have laid there forever, but he knew he had run out of 
choices a long time ago.

Jack swallowed, forcing himself to move. Pushing upright off the grass, 
he leaned on one knee until his head stopped spinning. "Let him go and 
I'll do whatever you ask," he offered bleakly, knowing he had zero 
bargaining power in the circumstances. But the Slav had already won and 
knew it, he removed his gun from Daniel's head and released the body. 
The younger man collapsed to the grass with a groan, his injured leg 
buckling beneath him as he gasped for air, coughing painfully.

As O'Neill slowly rose to face his nemesis, the Slav turned towards him, 
targeting the handgun until Jack once again found himself staring at the 
business end of a 9mm semiautomatic. A vivid flashback to their first 
meeting pushed to the forefront of his mind. Gazing down the barrel, he 
remembered the Browning that had been trained on him by another 
Egyptian, whilst the bald headed man had sized up the Colonel's torso to 
select an initial point of impact for a pair of solid fists. 

The new pain in Jack's ribcage seemed to throb with that memory, yet 
another fight for survival which had left him knocked down and defeated. 
As an overwhelming fear threatened to paralyse him once more, Daniel's 
hoarse whisper penetrated the fog, reaching out to him across the 
clearing.

"Jack, no!" Daniel revived sufficiently to speak, "Why didn't you get 
away?" He moaned desperately, his voice almost a sob, guilt ridden that 
he had been the cause of his friend's recapture.

O'Neill fought to refocus onto those anguished words. Arms held out at 
his sides, he stepped forward, forcing himself to ignore the gun barrel 
which trained around to follow him as he crouched down beside Daniel. 
"You okay?" He asked softly, gently checking the leg wound, laden with 
guilt that he had caused the man to endure such pain.

"Jack, I'm sorry," Daniel gasped, trying to sit up. 

Jack wrapped an arm around his shoulders, helping him to stand on his 
other leg and holding him upright. Then he turned to face his tormentor, 
"Let him go, he's of no benefit to you."

"You're right, of course, Colonel," the Slav agreed. "However, we can 
hardly make your death look like a suicide if your friend is around to 
reveal the truth," he leered at him cruelly, emphasising the full impact 
of his renewed captivity.

What little hope O'Neill may have retained, faded completely. He knew 
that sadistic look and he knew this was a man born of the same evil 
nature as the Russian. Not only was Jack trapped again, but another 
friend was in danger because of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed extraordinary to Jack that he had managed to come full circle 
yet again into this dark hole, only this time he had company and that 
scared him even more. They had been taken down into the basement and 
tied together, back to back, with nylon rope. His leather jacket had 
been removed, leaving only his black t-shirt between the cord of his 
tight bonds now digging painfully into his fractured ribcage. Both arms 
were trapped at their sides and their ankles also bound.

Daniel had been out for awhile, his ragged breathing breaking the 
silence. His head lolled forward against his chest as his subconscious 
encouraged him to doze and give his body time to compensate for the 
blood loss. Their captors had returned upstairs, presumably to redevelop 
their plans to encompass the new arrival. 

Jack was working on moving his bound ankles close enough to his left 
hand, glad that he had applied a little foresight for a change when he 
had secreted the cheese knife down the side of his zipped boot. Each 
movement inflicted more agony to his injured side, but he had to work 
fast, there was no telling how long they would be left alone. Just two 
more inches and he would be there. 

He shifted slightly, trying to drag his arm around, his long fingers 
outstretched, the tips just brushing the edge of the black leather. 
Another fraction closer and he could feel the sharp hook end of the 
knife pressing against his fingertip. He drew a slow breath and held it, 
concentrating all his powers on stretching that one digit a tiny bit 
further. He could feel the cramp starting to form in the muscles of his 
legs, bent around awkwardly, but he ignored it and flexed them even 
further. 

The hook caught beneath his nail and Jack gradually withdrew it from his 
boot, not daring to even breathe as he tried to get a second touch to 
the blade. With one last effort, he stretched another inch and wrapped 
two fingers around the sharp metal, pulling it free with a gasp of 
expelled air. He let his legs straighten back in front of him, feeling 
pins and needles beginning in his toes and spreading higher as 
circulation returned.

As Jack fidgeted back into a more comfortable position, Daniel moaned 
softly. All of a sudden he emitted an agonised shriek, almost causing 
Jack to drop the hard sought knife. 

The younger man jerked awake abruptly. "Stop!" He begged through gritted 
teeth, "Don't move a muscle!" Daniel gasped, trying to focus on the 
source of the pain shooting up his arm. "Okay, lift your hand!" He 
pleaded. "No, the other one!" Jack lifted his heavy plaster cast 
gingerly, wondering what the hell he'd done wrong, his heart thudding 
hard in his chest. "God!" Daniel breathed a deep sigh of relief, "That 
hurts!"

"What hurts?" Jack hissed worriedly, trying not to attract further 
attention from anyone upstairs after Daniel's initial outcry.

"My finger!" Daniel rasped, "That son of a bitch broke my finger!"

"One finger! Is that all?" Jack whispered in utter astonishment, "Try 
having half the bones in your hand pulverised!" He said irritably, his 
tension spilling over, mixing with his shock at almost dropping the 
knife after such a nerve wracking extraction. He heard the younger man 
gasp in surprise and regretted his harsh words immediately, back 
pedalling with a sympathetic question, "How's the leg?"

Daniel didn't answer for a moment, then he shrugged slightly, 
whispering, "Okay, I guess, just kind of numb really, feels like the 
bleeding's slowed a bit though."

"Good, try not to move it," Jack said lamely, lapsing into an 
uncomfortable silence.

"This is all my fault!" Daniel said after a few minutes, "I should have 
kept my head down, instead of getting you recaptured."

"Daniel, you're not to blame, I should never have let myself get caught 
again in the first place!" Jack pointed out frustratedly. "How the hell 
did you get here, anyway?"

"Well I tried to follow the truck, then when I lost it I just kind of 
followed my nose," Daniel said sheepishly, still not entirely sure how 
he had managed the feat himself. "Hammond's going to be pretty upset 
with me when he finds out I didn't report back to the base as ordered!"

"You talked to Hammond?"

"Yeah, he knows about the jeep and the truck. They'll be out searching 
you know, they'll find us.......," Daniel trailed off, knowing they were 
both wondering the exact same thing - how long could they hold out in 
the meantime? Daniel decided to change the subject before they both 
started second guessing themselves, "What the hell do these two want 
with you anyway, Jack? More questions?" 

"No. No questions, thank God. This is only about money now," Jack shook 
his head bleakly. On the one hand he knew he could not face any further 
questioning, whether in the form of Daniel's innocent queries, a Senate 
Committee's closed hearing, or the Slav practising his interrogation 
techniques. But the change in motivations for this crime meant there was 
now nothing to stop them both from being killed at any time, the Slav 
would still get paid in full. 

"They're mercenaries, Daniel," Jack decided an explanation was in order, 
"Some Senator is paying these two to blow up the SGC in my name. The 
Senator wants the Stargate program rehoused into his own sweet profit 
making deal and he's planning to get rid of some of the main objectors 
while he's at it. The Slav planted C4 charges all over the base this 
morning."

"What?" Daniel exclaimed in a loud hiss. "We've got to warn them!"

"Ya think!" Jack whispered sarcastically. All the while during their 
conversation his left hand was twisted round, reaching up to their tight 
bonds to work the sharp edge of the small knife against the nylon rope. 
Concentrating hard, he was glad to be doing something constructive to 
keep his mind off his current close confinement. 

The rhythmic tapping against Daniel's right arm finally attracted the 
younger man's attention. "What are you doing?" He asked softly.

"As you said, one of us has to warn the SGC about the bombs," Jack 
replied quietly, "I figured you might be getting bored with being a 
mouse in a trap, so I borrowed a cheese knife!"

"Oh," Daniel couldn't help but grin to himself. When he thought about 
it, he realised Jack seemed to have a lot more fight in him than he had 
seen lately. Since they could be stuck there for awhile, maybe now was 
as good a time as any to tackle a tricky subject, "How far did you get 
this morning, Jack?" 

"The Slav caught up with me in my office," Jack admitted disgustedly, 
still mad at himself for being so powerless in the situation.

Even so, Daniel was happy to hear that the leader of SG1 had made it 
that far on his own, "That's good!"

"What do you mean good?" The older man asked indignantly.

"I mean it was good that you got so far!"

"Barely," Jack admitted distractedly, his main focus on cutting through 
the rope, he wasn't really thinking about what he was revealing, "I 
nearly blew it when I saw the Russian on the eleventh floor!"

Daniel turned his head sharply, unsuccessfully trying to peer at him in 
the dark. "What do you mean you saw the Russian?"

Jack stopped short, realising what he had said and attempting to cover 
himself, "I meant the Slav."

"No you didn't mean that at all!" It was Daniel's turn to be indignant, 
"You were having another of those flashbacks, waking nightmares, 
whatever you want to call them."

"I don't want to call them anything," Jack murmured determinedly, 
pushing the image from his mind and concentrating on cutting through 
their bonds. 

"Admit it, they're getting worse aren't they?" Daniel said accusingly.

"Only when I'm sober," Jack's attempt at a joke fell flat.

"Well that instils me with confidence!" Daniel jibed gently. "I know how 
bad they are, Jack, I was with you this weekend, remember? Thirty six 
hours of watching you flinch and react to something nobody else can see 
was unnerving enough for me, what's it doing to you?"

"Daniel, this is neither the time nor the place to be having this 
conversation," Jack warned quietly, trying to push him away without 
hurting him again, finding it hard to believe the younger man wanted to 
talk, here of all places.

"I can't think of a better time, Jack," Daniel argued, "You're a captive 
audience! In fact, I wish I'd thought of it, I would have tied you down 
myself if it's the only way to make you talk!" Feeling a shudder run 
down Jack's spine where it pressed against his own, Daniel fell silent, 
suddenly realising what he'd said. "You know I didn't mean that how it 
sounded.......," he trailed off dejectedly, searching for some way to 
explain himself. 

"Jack, you can't ignore all this stuff in your head. I know what's going 
on, I slept on the couch in your room! Well, okay, I didn't exactly 
sleep much, I spent most of the night listening to your nightmares!" 
Jack's shoulders tensed against his, the fight or flight instinct 
kicking in, but Daniel wasn't going to give in so easily this time. 
Instead he changed tack, gently persisting, "Tell me what happened this 
morning."

Jack swallowed, working harder at the rope, knowing the sooner they were 
free, the sooner he could escape the questioning. Eventually he broke 
the silence, "I saw the Russian and one of the Egyptian guards." He 
shrugged beneath his tight bonds, "Nothing unusual, I just couldn't 
place the scene."

"Anything else?" Daniel asked hopefully, encouraged by the few words 
that Jack had finally decided to share with him.

Jack remembered the vivid impression mixing with his claustrophobic fear 
in the close confines of the SGC's emergency stairwell. "Yeah," he 
admitted after a long pause, "Janet was with them."

Daniel immediately realised the significance of that, "Jack, it must 
have been the hotel room in Giza, where you shot Alesandrov! You're 
finally beginning to remember it."

Jack was stunned for a moment, shaking his head in astonishment. "Why 
didn't I think of that!" He exclaimed, twisting round to look at his 
friend in the darkened basement. The sudden stretch against their bonds 
was exactly what was needed to break the last strand and set them free. 
The rope slipped from his chest and he let out a slow breath in relief 
as the pressure released from his fractured ribs. Bending forward 
painfully to work on the cord around his ankles, Jack scrabbled blindly 
in the darkness. 

Daniel did the same, more quickly with the benefit of only having a 
single broken finger, removing his own bonds, then swivelling round to 
help Jack's one handed attempt. "You know sometimes the most obvious 
explanation is right under your nose," he pointed out gently, "Maybe you 
just wanted to remember killing the Russian so badly that it never 
occurred to you when you actually did." 

Finishing the last knot, he pulled the cord free and sat back. Jack 
stood up slowly and stiffly, leaning down to feel for Daniel's arm to 
help him to his feet, supporting his shoulders as he hopped on one leg. 

"What now?" The younger man whispered.

"Now we go out through the window and make a fast getaway," Jack replied 
softly. "And whatever you do, don't look back. No matter what happens," 
he added grimly.

"What do you mean, 'no matter what happens'?" Daniel asked worriedly, 
"I'm not leaving you behind, we have to go together."

"No Daniel, we have to warn the SGC about the bombs, no matter what the 
cost. Just remember their location, okay? The Slav planted charges on 
timers in the briefing room, Hammond's office, your lab, Janet's office, 
the infirmary and the control room. They're all due to go off tomorrow 
morning sometime," he explained in an urgent whisper, spelling out the 
plan as convincingly as he could, "We split up and divide their forces, 
that way there'll be more chance of one of us getting out of here 
alive." 

Jack didn't mention the thought that was on his mind, that the Slav had 
been paid to kill him alone, Daniel was simply an added bonus. The 
Colonel was bargaining that these mercenaries would concentrate on 
recapturing him first, not Daniel, especially considering the size of 
the surrounding forest. Surely they would not risk losing their money 
winner by wasting time going after Daniel? And if the younger man kept 
his head down he should be able to make it back to his car and escape, 
before the Slav and his colleague could find O'Neill. 

"Watch where you step, there's loads of crap on the floor, we don't want 
them to hear us knocking anything about." Jack helped Daniel towards the 
far corner of the room, where the afternoon sunlight was filtering 
through the broken window.

"I've done this before and you need some help with that leg, so you're 
first. I'll give you a leg up," Jack ordered. Daniel stared at him in 
the pale light for a moment, his head filled with too many words to even 
attempt. He nodded silently, in reluctant agreement. "Head for your car, 
you got a key?"

"Yeah," Daniel replied quietly, he kept a spare wedged down the back 
seat, which was why he always left it unlocked, he'd lost more sets of 
keys than he'd driven miles recently. 

"Remember what I said, warning the SGC is more important than anything 
else! So head down and keep going, no matter what. Okay?" They exchanged 
a look that spoke volumes, then Jack leaned against the wall and braced 
his bent leg below the window to help Daniel step up. 

Boosting the younger man through the narrow opening, he watched for a 
moment. Daniel crouched outside, looking both ways across the open 
clearing, before hobbling for the cover of the forest as fast as his 
wounded leg would carry him. He stumbled as he reached the treeline and 
Jack caught his breath, expelling it only when he saw Daniel get up 
again and disappear amidst the dense green undergrowth.

Now it was Jack's turn, he followed the same process as before, both 
arms through the opening, attempting to haul himself up, fighting for 
purchase digging the toe of his boot into the stone wall. He felt so 
tired, totally drained, but he knew one more push was all it would take 
to be free again. 

Jack froze when a light went on behind him, still not even halfway 
through the window. He pushed harder, panic rising, but his foot lost 
it's grip and he slipped, landing heavily against his side. The pain in 
his ribs flared excruciatingly and Jack's vision blurred. He felt 
himself blacking out, utterly powerless to fight it as his head swam 
sickeningly and his consciousness slowly ebbed away.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the heart of the SGC, the mission briefing area located above the 
basement control room had borne witness to some heavy discussion over 
defensive strategy and assault plans in the last two years. However, 
this was the first time the attack had come from someone on their own 
planet, possibly even instigated by a member of their own government.

The conversation was a mixture of subdued and furious. This depended on 
whether you were the SGC's only female medical doctor, currently on-call 
at the base, who along with the two remaining members of SG1, were all 
worrying over the missing half of the team. Or, Sergeant Chapman and 
Colonel Makepeace, who were both angry over the attempted destruction of 
the facility, not to mention the fact that security had been so lacking 
as to allow someone to gain access deep enough into Cheyenne Mountain, 
apparently unhindered, and abduct one of their most valuable officers.

Each person sat at the table facing the pile of half a dozen C4 charges 
lying in the centre. The detonators and timers still attached, but now 
defused. The group waited patiently for General Hammond, who was on the 
red phone in his office. The conversation could not be heard, but was 
clearly not going well to anyone who could see through the open slats of 
the window blinds.

Finally, Hammond slammed down the telephone and stormed into the 
briefing room. "He says we need proper proof!" He announced, 
uncharacteristically letting his annoyance with the powers that be show 
through.

"But, Sir!" Captain Carter exclaimed, "How much proof is enough? We know 
the Eastern European gained access to the base using official papers 
that had to come from someone high up. Not to mention the fact that 
somehow a renowned judge supposedly signed release papers by mistake 
that freed a man from Federal prison before he'd even been tried! And we 
know that same man planted these explosives in strategic locations that 
were designed to disable this facility."

"Those explosives were signed out in Colonel O'Neill's name," Hammond 
pointed out uncomfortably.

"And noone remembers the Colonel being anywhere near the armoury this 
morning!" Sam argued in her team leader's defence. "You know he didn't 
do this, you saw it with your own eyes!"

"But noone in the armoury remembers who they signed those explosives out 
to, nor can anyone explain why the security camera in that corridor 
suddenly stopped working a short time beforehand." The General was 
beginning to wonder what was worse, an attack on his base or the growing 
list of inadequacies by members of his own personnel.

"It would appear that the one person who can explain these anomalies 
would be the man who left with Colonel O'Neill this morning," Teal'c 
pointed out tautly. "I believe we should be concentrating our efforts on 
finding this man."

"Teal'c, the Sheriff's department is doing all they can to find the 
vehicles. We've narrowed the search to a circle reaching as far as the 
gas station that Doctor Jackson contacted us from this morning, but it's 
a large area. The mountainous terrain and the dense forests do not 
facilitate a thorough search from the air. Our security teams and the 
Sheriff's office are doing a painstaking job as fast as humanly possible 
and with limited resources."

"Then let the rest of us go and help, Sir," Sam repeated her plea for 
the umpteenth time.

"Captain Carter, we have yet to find all the explosive charges that were 
requisitioned from the armoury this morning. You know that! We have to 
concentrate on securing this base from that threat before I can spare 
any more of you to go after either Colonel O'Neill or Doctor Jackson. 
I'm sorry."

"And what if those explosives aren't here, Sir?" Carter asked quietly, 
"What if the Slav took them with him when he left the base? We'll be 
searching for nothing, while their lives are in danger."

"The Slav was carrying a tool bag on his shoulder when he left," Doctor 
Fraiser pointed out. She was struggling to focus her mind on the new 
crisis, images of a dark hole within a pyramid kept pushing to the fore, 
interspersed with an horrific scene inside a brightly lit hotel room in 
Giza. She really wanted to call Cassie, to hear her voice, but Janet 
knew she wouldn't be able to hide the worry from her tone and she 
couldn't lie to the girl, not after what had happened in Egypt. And 
there was no sense in upsetting her daughter with news that her beloved 
Colonel was missing once more.

Janet shook her head and lowered it onto her hands, leaning her elbows 
on the polished wood surface. She sighed inwardly, just when she had 
begun to think their troubles would soon be over! Daniel had told her 
that Jack was returning that morning, it really seemed like a step 
forward for all of them, and now this. It was like a walking nightmare, 
something you could never escape, never wake up from. Slowly the doctor 
became aware that someone was talking to her.

"Doctor Fraiser? Are you all right?" The General asked with genuine 
concern, still wishing for a way to recover their good working 
relationship since she had returned to duty at the base a week ago. 
Prior to that she had spent her time since returning from Egypt by 
working at the military hospital. An assignment that Hammond knew was as 
much an excuse to avoid speaking with the SGC Commander as it had been 
to watch over Colonel O'Neill's recuperation. 

"What?" Janet asked startled, knowing she had drifted off again. Somehow 
she didn't seem able to focus very well lately, the bad dreams that kept 
disturbing her sleep probably weren't helping, she thought ruefully. 
Still, she knew she wasn't the only person suffering those, but at least 
she and Cassie could cry on each other's shoulders. She couldn't imagine 
Daniel and Jack sharing the same experience! That thought shook Janet 
back to reality, "Sir! I really must insist that you allow us to leave 
the base and form a search group of our own," she requested 
determinedly.

Hammond smiled kindly, "Agreed, Doctor. I was just asking whether you 
wanted to go in the helicopter? It would be pertinent for you to be 
rapidly available should the ground teams find either one of our missing 
personnel."

Janet nodded sheepishly and excused herself to head for the infirmary 
and grab any medical equipment she might conceivably need.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dragged roughly from the realms of unconsciousness, Jack felt himself 
being hauled back into the basement and thrown to the concrete floor, 
slamming against storage boxes as he fell with a muffled groan, 
excruciating pain flaring in his side. 

He could not be sure at what exact moment it had occurred, it may even 
have been sometime earlier that day, but with that last overpowering 
impact against the window ledge, Jack finally knew for sure that this 
was no longer simply a fractured rib. There was more damage there now, 
something different, the persistent ache had become a burning agony that 
he knew from past experience could represent his ultimate downfall, if 
by some remote chance the Slav failed to kill him first.

For a moment Jack lay still, unable to decide whether there was any 
reason to go on or not. He opened his eyes a slit, squinting in the 
bright artificial light to slowly focus on the leering smile close to 
his face as it tilted away for a second. 

The Slav yelled an order to his colleague that made Jack's blood run 
cold and spurred him into renewed action, "Get his friend, he can't have 
gone far. Kill him if you have to, we can sort out the details later."

With all his strength, Jack swung his boot up between the Slav's legs, 
connecting solidly. The bulky man doubled over in pain as the Colonel 
scrambled away. Struggling to his feet, using a nearby packing case to 
pull himself up, Jack stumbled across the cellar, looking for a weapon, 
anything solid that he could lay his hands on. 

The Egyptian was rapidly approaching from behind, unwilling to fire his 
Browning for fear it would ruin their plans of making the Colonel's 
death look like a suicide. On the workbench nearby was a rusty old 
wrench. Jack's fingers grasped it, swinging it wildly at the dark 
skinned man, whose chin snapped back out of the way just in time. The 
solid metal whipped harmlessly in front of his face, but the man 
followed in behind its path to attack. 

Jack stepped backwards, feeling the workbench pressing against his 
bruised spine, blocking his retreat. He glanced sideways, the Slav was 
rapidly recovering, standing upright and slowly moving towards him. Jack 
dodged away in the other direction, reaching the corner of the cellar 
and edging along towards the staircase hopefully. But he was quickly cut 
off and left with nowhere to go. 

The Egyptian was tired of the chase, firing several warning shots into 
the stone wall just above the Colonel's head. Jack froze, flashback 
images crashing down upon his senses in a terrifying onslaught, that 
combined with the bright overhead light of the basement to drag him 
straight back into a shadowy tomb, to relive a scene that simply 
repeated again now as, helplessly trapped, he watched the Slav size him 
up and move in for the kill. 

Jack knew exactly where that first punch would fall and he struggled to 
separate the two instances in his mind, driven deep within the confines 
of an ancient pyramid, where he had been surrounded by three assailants. 
Two Egyptians with guns and one Eastern European with only his fists, a 
more lethal weapon in its own way than any the Colonel had ever faced. 
And he knew that if those same fists were used on him now, his weakened 
ribcage did not stand a chance against such a devastating attack.

Kicking out forcefully, Jack's boot connected with the knee of his 
attacker. He followed through with as solid a southpaw punch to the 
Slav's face as he could manage. But even that seemed weak against a man 
of such bulk and it did not take much for the Slav to gain the upper 
hand in the fight. Within seconds, Jack felt the aching pain of punches 
hitting his chest and jaw like solid concrete.

Before the Slav got a chance to aim for his left side, Jack lunged 
forward in one last ditch effort to escape the brutal pounding, but the 
Egyptian grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him against the wooden 
staircase. Jack's legs buckled weakly beneath him and he collapsed to 
the floor, desperately trying to scramble away from the incoming boot. 
It caught the base of his back, adding to the bruises already collected 
from an earlier encounter with the same stairs.

The leg swung away for another vicious kick and Jack could do nothing 
more to protect himself from the final brutal impact. As his vision 
blurred, Jack fought the darkness, afraid of what would happen to Daniel 
if he gave into oblivion. His gaze fell on something secreted in the 
well below the top of the staircase several feet above his head. A 
carefully placed explosive package, similar in design to several he had 
already seen earlier that day, yet larger, more effective.

Jack stared at the digital display panel, the glow of its ticking 
countdown and corresponding clock setting burning onto his retinas. 
Faintly, he understood the significance of the hidden surprise as his 
eyes rolled up into his head. With a muffled groan, he slipped into an 
enveloping blackness, his mind still attempting to memorise the deadline 
for the end of this living hell.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel's heart was pounding as he hobbled through the trees, his breath 
coming in painful gasps as he pushed on as hard as he could. He didn't 
know what had happened to Jack, he had done exactly as ordered for a 
change, knowing the utmost importance of one of them escaping to alert 
the SGC. He owed the Colonel at least that much, especially if there was 
any chance that O'Neill might be blamed for the explosions. Someone had 
to be told the truth.

He focused on reaching his vehicle, ignoring the pain flaring in his 
leg, the bullet wound bleeding again, the dampness seeping into his sock 
making each step feel soggy and slippery. He had only one target and 
that was a dark blue shape rapidly looming through the trees up ahead. 

When he got there, Daniel leaned against the car for a moment, feeling 
dizzy from the renewed loss of blood. His chest heaved as he tried to 
catch his breath. Then he opened the rear door and jammed his hand down 
the back of the seat, fumbling hurriedly for the spare set of keys he 
always kept hidden there. Wrapping his fingers around the ring 
gleefully, Daniel pulled them clear of the snug upholstery and jumped 
into the driver seat, jamming the key into the ignition and turning it.

Nothing happened. An ominous silence seemed to echo in the trees. He 
tried the key again, still no turn of the starter motor, no spark of the 
plugs igniting the engine. He couldn't believe it, staring at the 
dashboard in astonishment, he hadn't had the car that long, what could 
possibly be wrong? Slamming the ball of his uninjured hand against the 
steering wheel frustratedly, Daniel leaned down and pulled the catch to 
release the hood, jarring his broken finger painfully. Swearing under 
his breath, he climbed out of the vehicle to pretend knowledge of all 
things mechanical.

Lifting the dark blue hood to reveal the engine, still relatively clean 
and new, it was actually a lot easier than Daniel had expected to 
determine the problem. He had seen plenty of television programmes in 
his youth, he knew what a missing distributor cap looked like!

"Shit!" Daniel looked around nervously, wondering when it had happened. 
Was he about to get a bullet in the spine or had they disabled his 
vehicle sometime earlier? Were their two captors close by or back at the 
cabin? Or worse still, somewhere chasing after Jack.

Quietly he lowered the hood and peered up the track in the direction of 
his escape route. With his car in the way as an obstacle, noone could 
drive out this way, he would be safe to head along the dirt trail for 
awhile. It would certainly be the quickest way to get some distance 
between himself and the clearing and maybe he could flag someone down 
when he reached the road.

Daniel began to limp hurriedly, going past his vehicle, heading away 
from the cabin. He concentrated carefully on each painful step, 
desperately trying to avoid the potholes that would be his downfall. He 
was unaware of any sound from behind as the net slowly closed around 
him.

The first thing that warned him of company was the fine hairs rising on 
the back of his neck. Daniel whirled around, his breath coming in 
panting gasps, but he saw nothing unusual. Even so, now seemed like a 
good time to retreat to the safety of the dense forest cover. He stepped 
into the treeline to the right of the path, heading on a diagonal until 
he could no longer see the trail, trying to maintain a steady line 
towards the main road from his sense of direction alone.

The wind whispered in the treetops above him, the rustling sound 
unnerving to him. Joined with the noise of his rasping breath, any 
telltale signs of other traffic were completely obscured. Daniel was 
beginning to feel paranoid, his hackles rising in a way that he had not 
felt since Luxor. 

Ducking behind a tree, he rested for a moment, trying to calm his 
pounding heart. Peeking out gingerly to peer around, he looked for 
anything out of the ordinary, anything that didn't belong. But the only 
thing Daniel could see that did not belong was himself, a nervous, 
injured wreck that really didn't like playing this torturous game.

For the umpteenth time Daniel wondered how Jack was getting on as he 
slowly pushed himself up off the trunk and turned to begin forging a 
path through the undergrowth again. The thought rapidly evaporated when 
he realised he had more urgent problems to deal with.

"Apparently you are better at avoiding getting captured on my territory 
than you are on your own soil!" The Egyptian smiled cockily as he 
pressed the barrel of his 9mm right between Daniel's eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

"From the last known position of Doctor Jackson, we have narrowed the 
search to this area here," Captain Carter drew on the laminated map with 
a red marker pen in a circle that covered about twenty miles in total. 
"The main problem will be in covering this terrain covertly. There are 
nearly thirty vacation homes spread over the area in this lower mountain 
range. They are isolated and the positions of at least a quarter of them 
will make it almost impossible to approach unseen, except on foot. We're 
going to check out each one from the air and highlight the most likely 
prospects. We'll only be able to make a single pass over each one 
without arousing suspicion, so we need well trained eyes and a couple of 
expert photographers."

She looked up from the table where the map was spread out. "Teal'c, I 
think you should head up the helicopter team," she suggested, selecting 
the keenest pair of eyes she had ever come across. "Janet, as the 
General suggested, you should also go along just in case. I'll 
coordinate the rest of the search from the ground. We've got enough 
bodies now that we can form three teams and take a segment each. We'll 
move in as close as possible in the jeeps, then continue on foot to 
check out each of the targets selected. The Sheriff's office have 
already begun a check of homes in the lower valley to the south, so they 
should only be about ten miles away at any time should we need to group 
up."

"So, any questions?" Sam glanced around, but was only met with looks of 
grim determination from the people who had volunteered to undertake the 
difficult task ahead of them. All those who weren't needed more urgently 
on a base that was still running under an emergency directive following 
the bombing and terrorist intrusion that morning.

Satisfied, Captain Carter nodded and grabbed her kit, rechecking her 
sidearm and radio before moving out at the head of her team. She was 
glad to be finally doing something useful, but couldn't help wonder at 
all the time that had been wasted worrying about the safety of the base 
instead of her team mates. 

She knew they had to go with the percentages. Locate and defuse the 
bombs and possibly save dozens of lives before they could go after two 
individuals. But with all SG1 had been through together it was a hard 
fact to accept, career military or not. Of course, it was always 
possible that Daniel was not in any danger himself, although if that 
were the case, she felt sure he would have called in by now, no matter 
what the circumstances. 

No, Sam had to assume that Daniel had also been captured, somehow. Her 
only consolation being that perhaps the two men working together would 
prove stronger and be able to win through where one alone may not. 

~~~~~~~~~~

This time they didn't bother with the basement, they simply slung Daniel 
into a shady room on the ground level. The shutters were still closed, 
pierced by pale slits of light revealing a large space cleared on the 
floor, the furniture pushed up against the far wall. The Egyptian 
trained his Browning on the man whilst the Slav disappeared from view. 

From the hallway Daniel heard a thump of movement, the dragging of 
carpet, the snap of a latch being released and the trapdoor drawing 
open, fully expecting to be thrown back into the cellar at any minute. 
Instead he heard the Slav's footsteps growing fainter as he went below, 
shortly followed by much slower heavier thuds on the return journey.

Somehow, Daniel knew what was coming, but it was still hard to accept 
the truth, even when they laid the unconscious man out beside him. 

Jack looked terrible, his face was ghastly pale, almost grey, his skin 
looked clammy. His breathing seemed shallow even to Daniel's untrained 
eye. He had obviously taken another beating, apparently sometime whilst 
his friend had been futilely running around a lush green forest. Jack's 
lip was split open, the fresh red blood a stark contrast to the pallor 
of his cheeks, a dark bruise shadowing his chin.

The Slav held his Czech 9mm semiautomatic to Jack's head, his finger 
menacingly fidgeting on the trigger, to stop Daniel from trying anything 
whilst the Egyptian pulled his hands roughly behind his back, 
deliberately yanking at his broken finger a few times. Daniel gritted 
his teeth against the pain, glaring at the bald headed man who was 
silently threatening the other captive.

The Egyptian worked fast with the nylon rope and Daniel was quickly and 
efficiently trussed up about as tight as humanly possible. Binding his 
wrists and ankles and then tying the whole affair together behind his 
back until he began to feel a bit like a fly being tied off as bait to 
catch the biggest fish in the river. 

And when he watched what they did to the unconscious Colonel, Daniel 
slowly realised that was probably exactly what he was going to be.

Jack's ankles were also bound together and his arms pulled tautly behind 
his back, tied at the elbows, the plaster cast in the way of any wrist 
bindings. The difference being that Jack was then blindfolded, a rolled 
strip of black material, covering his eyes and knotted tightly behind 
his head. Strategically positioned for a reason Daniel could only 
imagine, but in his mind's eye he could see the gaping jaws of that huge 
pike coming straight for him. 

The Slav and his Egyptian colleague left them alone then, safe in the 
knowledge that this time they definitely weren't going anywhere. Daniel 
could only assume they were waiting for Jack to come round before they 
continued to play out their game. He wondered what the chances were that 
anyone was searching for them in even vaguely the correct area, he had 
driven so far from the main highway. If only he had been less impetuous 
and called for help instead of plunging headlong in and making things 
even worse for his friend.

Ignoring the pain each time his thigh banged against the floor, Daniel 
wriggled on his chest until his head was beside Jack's shoulder. The man 
was lying on his right side, knees drawn up in an unconscious gesture of 
defence that Daniel recognised all too vividly.

Gently he nudged Jack's arm with his chin, "Jack! Wake up."

The man did not stir, withdrawn somewhere deep. He had that haunted look 
again, even with the blindfold covering his eyes, there was something 
harrowing in his unmoving visage, his high cheek bones gaunt and pale. 
If only Daniel could tell how badly O'Neill was hurt, but he could not 
even take a pulse. Suddenly it seemed so important to be able to wake 
Jack, to find out where he was injured, to keep him conscious long 
enough. For what? 

Daniel rested his chin on the floor, closing his eyes sorrowfully, he 
didn't know what hope they had left, but sometime way back during the 
last month, he had promised himself one thing and so far he had not kept 
his word. When he had come to realise that Jack blamed himself for what 
had been inflicted upon him, Daniel had sworn that he would do 
everything in his power to make sure the Colonel forgave himself. He had 
yet to achieve that and now Daniel knew that he had to talk to Jack one 
more time, before it was too late.

Raising his head to nudge at him again, Daniel whispered softly, trying 
not to alert their two assailants to his efforts. "Jack, you have to 
wake up," he pleaded helplessly.

Considering him for a long moment, Daniel began to move again, wriggling 
painfully until he had worked his way around behind Jack's head, close 
enough to snag the tight knot of the blindfold with his teeth, a feat 
only made possible by the complete lack of movement on Jack's part.

Feeling like a dog chewing at a rubber ring, Daniel gripped the knot 
between his teeth and yanked at it, trying to pull it up over Jack's 
head. If their situation were not so serious, Daniel might have laughed 
at his ridiculous efforts as he comically jerked his chin back and 
forth, but eventually he managed to shift the stubborn cloth, slipping 
it high enough to remove the blindfold completely, ensuring that Jack 
could see daylight again. Daniel did not want his friend to awaken to 
darkness anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was back in the box, another day spent in the hellhole he had begun 
to call home. For what seemed like an eternity he had passed his time 
imagining what he might do if he ever came face to face with Frank 
Cromwell again. Without a doubt that one individual was to blame for all 
O'Neill's troubles, he had been the one who left Jack behind. It was all 
Cromwell's fault that he was rotting in this stinking prison. His friend 
had abandoned him to the Iraqis and, for over three months, Jack had 
kept himself alive with thoughts of how he would get revenge.

Now he was trapped in a steel box, no larger than a packing case. A hot, 
fetid hole made all the more horrific by the worsening condition of its 
captive. Jack had been marking the days by the darkness and light coming 
through the tiny hole in the roof. An air vent that also functioned for 
occasional water and food supply whenever the Iraqi guards could be 
bothered, and then only to prolong his suffering for their own 
gratification.

He had counted eight days, until now, when something had changed and he 
could no longer detect the passage of time. His sight had been taken 
away. 

Jack gasped in anguish as the implications hit him with a shocking 
suddenness. He knew why it had been done, why the guards had chosen to 
blind him, of course he knew! It was the same reason he was singled out 
in the first place on that fateful day over a week ago, when he had been 
ordered to murder a fellow prisoner. The Iraqis had discovered his 
deception, his pathetic attempt to reduce the suffering of a dying man. 

His head swam under the weight of dreadful realisation. Cromwell may be 
to blame for him being in this prison camp, but even Jack could no 
longer pretend that Frank was the cause of his new suffering. O'Neill 
alone was at fault here. He had foolishly imagined he could give aid to 
the soldier in the neighbouring cell and not be found out. He had been 
an idiot to think it was worth the risk to help a dying prisoner, a 
blind man. And now Jack was being made to pay for his own arrogant 
stupidity.

After all this time, he finally knew who was at fault, and it was not 
Frank Cromwell. And that fact alone sank Jack to the lowest point of 
despair he could ever imagine, knowing that the only person left to 
blame for his dire predicament was himself. 

Not for the first time, O'Neill wondered whether it was possible to will 
himself to die and this time he knew it was definitely worth trying.

With such powerful motivation, it did not take long before Jack was 
close to succeeding. Gradually he began to feel his life slipping away 
from him, the ethereal connection between body and soul becoming less 
defined, their bonds loosening as he slowly succumbed to an eternal 
darkness. 

All pain faded away, his body growing numb, his senses detaching in 
blessed relief. But as he glided deeper into the bottomless pit, Jack 
suddenly realised that by giving up his life in this way, he would never 
escape the darkness again. It was a thought that frightened him even 
more than the prospect of returning to a world of constant pain, but it 
was too late, he had drifted too far to haul himself out of the trap. He 
would finally meet his destiny this day.

With his last effort, Jack turned his head to look back at the life he 
was abandoning, knowing he would only see as much darkness in the 
existence he was leaving behind as in the timeless death he now faced. 
But that final view brought him a ray of hope, new courage to retract 
his decision, to fight his way back to the surface, to reach for the 
light that had appeared out of nowhere enticing him from this darkened 
hole. And slowly, inexorably, Jack clawed his way back, gradually 
feeling the renewal of pain, accepting the suffering that he would have 
to endure, in the simple hope of his sight being restored.

With the blindness finally gone, Jack was left once more to consider his 
options. Whether to fight whatever was thrown at him, or to face his 
inevitable fate, not knowing how long he would have before his decision 
would be demanded. O'Neill did not imagine his captors would remain 
merciful for long and he could only assume that they had yet to finish 
toying with him before they finally released his soul.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, God!" Jack gasped in agony, his first sound in almost an hour 
shocking Daniel from his numb reverie. A pair of dark brown eyes 
flickered open, slowly focusing on him, Jack's curled up body only a few 
inches from Daniel's painfully trussed up position.

"Jack?" Daniel whispered hoarsely, trying not to alert their captors 
that his friend was finally coming around.

"Daniel! What happened? You okay?" Jack hissed, the effort of those few 
words leaving his chest and side in agony. He closed his eyes again, 
grimacing and pulling his knees up even tighter in response to the pain. 

"Yeah, you?" Daniel asked automatically.

Jack snorted, spitting coppery tasting blood from his mouth and slowly 
filling his battered lungs with air, "Peachy thanks!" He attempted a 
deeper breath, a motion which started a cough that jarred his whole body 
excruciatingly. He tried to move his numb arms, finding them tightly 
bound behind his back. Instead he used all his effort to swivel his legs 
around and push himself up with his right shoulder, desperate to achieve 
a more painless sitting position, no matter how much it hurt in doing 
so. As he struggled, Jack narrowed his attention to the rope around his 
ankles, forcing himself to think about what might have happened to the 
small cheese knife that had freed them from the basement.

Daniel could barely watch the obvious agony Jack was in, but concern for 
his condition overrode the terror that had been building inside him 
during the past hour. All he had been able to do was wait, praying his 
unconscious friend would revive one more time, but unable to stop his 
mind from conjuring up images of what further suffering he might be 
witness to if Jack did wake up. 

As he hauled himself upright, Jack's chest heaved from the exertion and 
he coughed up more blood, this time from somewhere internal, turning his 
head away for the large thick globules to land on the wooden floor, 
glistening darkly. He regarded the incriminating evidence numbly, 
chewing his lip before glancing at Daniel, hoping he couldn't see from 
his floor level position, but his gaze met a pair of knowing blue eyes, 
filled with guilt and grief.

"Jack, you've got to stop letting them use you as a punching bag!" 
Daniel tried to joke, but his voice came out as a strangled plea.

"Ya think?" Jack croaked hoarsely, the simple effort of talking and 
exhaling at the same time sending another wave of pain all the way down 
his chest into his battered ribs. He hung his swimming head, fighting 
the urge to slip back into unconsciousness. Then he recalled what he had 
seen the last time he passed out. "We don't have much time left," Jack's 
voice was barely audible, his breathing deliberately constricted and 
shallow, "There's a bomb in the basement and I don't think these guys 
put it there!"

Daniel stared at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean a bomb?" He 
hissed in shock.

Jack stared at him in astonishment, "What do you think I mean?" He 
gasped raggedly, wondering if he should really waste his breath 
explaining, but some sarcasms could not be left unsaid. "You know, a few 
lumps of C4, a little detonator, a digital timer thrown in," Jack rasped 
caustically. He couldn't help see the irony in the fact that someone was 
planning on getting rid of the bomber with a few explosives of their 
own. It had to be the Senator trying to ensure there would be nothing 
left to tie him into any of this.

"When?" Daniel asked bleakly.

"2100 hours," Jack murmured faintly, "Don't suppose you've got the 
time?"

"Oh, wait, I'll just check my watch!" Daniel hissed sarcastically, 
flapping his fingers in a frustrated gesture that only served to tighten 
the bonds that had him trussed up so effectively.

A sly look crept across Jack's face, "You remind me of the time someone 
took me fly fishing! Never did like it, too inactive."

Daniel gaped at him for a moment, then he shook the thought away and 
turned serious again, "We have to get out of here, Jack!"

"Sure, let's ask if we can go out and stretch our legs, shall we!" Jack 
swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to suppress another shuddering 
cough, that spurted a string of dark blood down the front of his black 
t-shirt.

"Damnit, Jack, don't joke about this," Daniel exclaimed softly, his eyes 
shining as the impact of his friend's grave condition hit him full on, 
another imminent deadline that might not wait long enough for Jack to be 
alive by the nine o'clock explosion. "Look at you! You're in trouble and 
this is all my fault! If I hadn't pushed so hard, you'd never have been 
at the base this morning," he moaned.

"I should have pushed myself harder and been able to beat the Slav in my 
own office!" Jack argued in an halting whisper, realising he could think 
of much better ways for him and Daniel to resume working together than 
to spend the day getting chased around and beaten up by two thugs. 

They fell silent as Jack attempted to reduce his breathing rate, 
pondering how his own weakness was once more to blame for his 
predicament. But hadn't he tried so hard this time? Hadn't he done 
everything in his power to overcome the odds? What more could he have 
done in the circumstances?

The truth suddenly occurred to Jack, like a bolt out of the blue, "This 
isn't your fault, Daniel. In fact I don't think it's even my fault, this 
time!" He said quietly, shocked by his startling discovery, the light 
slowly dawning in his eyes. He drew a shallow rasping breath, the 
stunning reality focusing his efforts, "Actually, it's nobody's fault 
except for the Senator behind all this. We're just pawns in his sick 
political game."

"I'm gonna kill him if I ever find out who he is," Daniel said 
determinedly.

"Join the queue, Danny Boy!" Jack grinned wolfishly at the satisfying 
idea, surprising himself with his eagerness as much as the younger man 
was surprised to hear him use his pet expression.

Daniel couldn't help staring in amazement. Despite their dire situation, 
Jack was beginning to sound much more like his old fighting self, even 
if it was too late. Then again, maybe there was still hope, "People are 
searching the area, Jack. They'll find us, we just have to hold out long 
enough," Daniel recalled encouragingly, "We've done it before. We've 
only been at it a few hours, you know we could last for days given the 
chance."

Jack looked at him, he had trouble believing in miracles, but Daniel had 
rescued him before, could he be right about this one too?

Daniel saw the doubt in his eyes, "We just have to stall them," he 
continued hopefully, "Stop them from killing us before the cavalry 
arrive." He held Jack's gaze for a long moment, "All we have to do is 
keep playing their game!" He said emphatically.

Jack saw the strength of belief in Daniel's eyes and allowed himself to 
be convinced. "Piece of cake!" He agreed in as hopeful a tone he could 
muster for his friend's benefit.

The thought was still lingering when the sound of movement drew closer 
from one of the other rooms and the captive pair both turned their eyes 
in the direction of the noise, waiting for the inevitable with 
trepidation.

"Whatever you do, don't give in," Jack croaked hoarsely.

"You either. Stall as long as possible, no matter what, promise?" Daniel 
licked his lips nervously, unwilling to imagine what that might be. Jack 
had already faced just about anything they could do to him, but Daniel 
couldn't be sure whether that made the Colonel stronger or weaker. 

"Yeah," Jack nodded, his voice quivering slightly as the door opened and 
the room filled with diffused light from the dusty hallway bulb, 
silhouetting the bulky form of a distinctly malevolent presence. 

Seeing the Colonel sitting upright, his vision restored, the Slav strode 
into the room irritably, kicking Daniel in the side on his way and then 
shoving his boot against Jack's left shoulder to roughly push him back 
down to the floor. He bent to pick up the blindfold lying loose beside 
the body, then he stepped back towards the door and handed it to the 
Egyptian.

The dark skinned man had a roll of duct tape in his other hand and Jack 
watched as he broke off a six inch strip and taped it across Daniel's 
mouth. The Colonel held his friend's gaze as the Egyptian moved across 
and replaced the blindfold to cover Jack's eyes, tying the knot tightly 
so that it would not slip. He hauled on Jack's arms to bring him to his 
feet. 

Jack's head swam at the sudden altitude, his legs threatening to buckle 
beneath him as he swayed uncertainly, blindly trying to regain some 
equilibrium amidst the dizziness. Without warning, he received a hard 
shove knocking him into the far wall, helplessly hitting solid stone 
with a sickening sense of deja vu as he crumpled to the floor. 

The Egyptian finished the job of securing Daniel by tying the long end 
of the rope binding his wrists to his ankles around the door knob, 
trapping him from shifting more than a few feet in any direction. Then 
the dark haired man paused long enough to switch on a table lamp in the 
far corner, before disappearing out of the door briefly. 

He returned heavily laden with an old fashioned manual typewriter, 
retrieved from the basement store room and dusted down, its ribbon 
almost too dry to serve its purpose. He placed it on a nearby chair, the 
long thin keys falling back into place with a crunch as the ancient 
piece of equipment was turned the right way up again.

Daniel could only watch the proceedings mutely, his dread growing as he 
recalled the conversation he had overheard before he got caught. 
Recognising that this was the beginning of the last stage in the game.

Jack forced himself to sit up, ignoring the pain spreading from his 
side. Leaning sideways against the wall, he tried to tune his senses to 
understand the sounds around him. But the feeling of being trapped in 
darkness washed over him, the blindfold proving equally as bad a method 
of inducing his claustrophobia as any closed metal box. He caught his 
breath at that thought, his heart racing with fear as his mind 
threatened to retreat back down the hole like a rabbit. That would do 
Daniel no good at all, Jack reminded himself determinedly, he had to 
stay focused. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth to speak, the only way he 
could think of ensuring he remained in the present, "What are you going 
to do?"

"We're going to give you a choice, Colonel." Jack's head snapped around, 
his heart in his throat at the source of the voice frighteningly close 
to his face. 

Daniel watched the Slav bend down to loom in front of unseeing eyes. 
"Cooperate now or later, either way is good for me. In fact, later would 
give me far greater pleasure," he added ominously. Unbuttoning his 
shirt, he pulled it loose and leaned towards O'Neill in his undershirt, 
muscles bulging beneath the cotton material stretched tautly across his 
chest and biceps. 

Jack swallowed dryly, he could feel the heat of the man's breath on his 
face, he braced himself against what might come next, vaguely wondering 
whether his body could take another pounding, let alone his mind. He 
shook the thought from his head, it wasn't like he had a choice! 
Focusing his resolve, he pushed his spine upright against the wall and 
stuck out his chin determinedly, belying the fear churning acidly in his 
stomach. "I guess that would have to be 'later' then!" He rasped.

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Eight:

Up till now, Daniel Jackson had considered the worst point of his recent 
adult life was seeing the true condition of Jack's battered body in the 
stark overhead lights of that hotel room in Giza. The moment that Janet 
had removed the blood stained t-shirt to expose a bruised and livid 
chest was an image that Daniel would never forget, whether he lived to 
be a hundred years old or didn't make it through the remains of this 
day. But in the course of one infinitely long hour, he came to realise 
that an even worse nightmare would have been to witness the torture 
inflicted upon this man who was as close to him as any brother could 
possibly be. Or to be on the painful receiving end of that harrowing 
experience himself.

It had started with a simple threat from the grinning Slav, who was 
clearly enjoying the method they had devised to prolong their torturous 
game even further and get their own back for the tedious sport of cat 
and mouse they had spent the afternoon playing. A game, in fact, they 
had begun in Egypt and were in no hurry to finish too soon, they had 
until later that night to complete their tasks and collect full payment. 
In the meantime, they could both revel in the pain they were about to 
inflict on their two unsuspecting victims. It would be a pleasure to 
prove just how fallible these two arrogant Americans really were. 

"You see Colonel, since you're so incapacitated at present, we took the 
liberty of typing your suicide note for you," the Slav explained 
gleefully, "We just need some fingerprints on the keys and paper to 
authenticate the message. Of course, such a profound piece of text 
didn't use all the letters of the alphabet, so we only need about twenty 
keys imprinted."

He looked across the room at Daniel then, an ominous glance that the 
younger man could only scowl at in response. "Sounds like a fair workout 
to me. One injury for each key you refuse. I wonder if your friend can 
handle the beating!" 

Jack was unable to hide his shock at those last words, his head turning 
sharply towards the threatening voice as if to see whether he was 
serious. The Slav smiled sadistically as he turned the tables on his 
victims, "Of course, we could always change it to one broken bone, or 
one bullet wound per fingerprint. You decide, Colonel!" He laughed 
viciously, enjoying the look of hatred in the eyes of O'Neill's trussed 
up friend.

Heart thudding painfully in his chest, Jack tried to keep his breathing 
steady, fighting panic and defeat. What did it matter if his 
fingerprints were on the typewriter keys? The thing would be blown up 
along with them all in just a few hours anyway. He wasn't going to let 
Daniel take a beating just to save his own name. 

Except, what of his promise? They had agreed neither one of them would 
give in, they had to stall long enough for a miracle. But when he had 
given his word, Jack had never dreamed it would be the younger man who 
would suffer more because of it. "Shit!" Jack swore under his breath, 
shaking his head, his own blindness causing him to forget that his 
emotions were on show to those around him.

Daniel watched his reaction, suddenly afraid that Jack might give in to 
protect him. He struggled against his bonds, trying to find a way to 
give him a sign, a warning to live up to his part of the deal. He bent 
his head as low as he could given the painful angle of his shoulders, he 
could just touch his chin to the floor. In one desperate motion, Daniel 
banged against the wood and grunted as loud as he could behind the 
strong tape across his mouth.

Jack's heightened senses heard the sounds and understood their meaning, 
but did Daniel know what he was asking him to do? Jack shook his head 
again miserably. Yeah, Daniel knew. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was 
going to happen and he was willing to endure to save them both.

"Well Colonel?" The Slav gloated at the turmoil visible on Jack's face. 
"What is your decision?"

Jack shuddered inwardly, "Sorry, but my secretarial skills are crap!" He 
managed, listening to the footsteps of the Slav walk away from him, 
imagining the sadistic smile on his face as he sized up his victim. He 
tried to determine the meaning of the thud of movement from across the 
room, holding his breath for the first sound of impact.

The Egyptian hauled the trussed up man to his knees and held him in 
place. Daniel swayed slightly as he watched the Slav approach, bracing 
himself, barely aware of the pain in his thigh or finger any more, his 
legs growing increasingly numb along with his arms.

The first punch to the chin snapped Daniel's head back painfully. The 
Slav followed through with a resounding thump in the chest. Dissatisfied 
with the awkward angle of his stooped attack, he signalled the Egyptian 
to release the man's shoulders and let him drop to the floor. 

Daniel breathed heavily, struggling to get enough air into his lungs 
through the restricted intake of his nose, his nasal passages already 
suffering an allergic reaction to the dust layering the floor he was 
face down on. If he couldn't get his breathing under control he would be 
in danger of asphyxiation.

The Slav stepped around his prone body, repositioning to raise his foot, 
swinging it forward in a solid kick to the stomach. Daniel grunted 
painfully against the tape over his mouth, snorting a breath with 
increasing difficulty.

Jack listened to the sound, understanding with frightening clarity. "Let 
him breathe or he'll die!" He gasped angrily.

The Slav looked thoughtful for a moment, deciding to make this an 
exercise in subtlety, in a round about sort of way. He leaned down and 
yanked the tape from Daniel's mouth. The man gasped for air, inhaling 
huge lungfuls desperately. "It goes back on now if you don't give me a 
print," the bald headed man said coldly.

"Don't do it, Jack!" Daniel managed with a cough, "I'll be fine."

Jack listened painfully to the rasping breath, weighing the odds. What 
was the saying, 'Give him an inch and he'll want a ruler'? Well give him 
a print and he'll want twenty! Jack shook his head despairingly, "No can 
do," he told the Slav.

The Egyptian tore off a new piece of tape and stuck it across Daniel's 
mouth, then he pulled him back to his knees for the Slav to continue his 
workout.

The most frightening sound Jack had ever heard was sudden silence. With 
growing anguish he had identified another three punches or kicks, he 
couldn't tell which, nor could he tell where they were aimed. All he 
could determine was the force of the impact, the grunt of pain they 
produced and the drastic effect they were having on Daniel's ragged 
breathing. The rasping noise increased in pitch, reaching a panicky peak 
which ended with shocking abruptness, followed by the thud of a body 
keeling over onto the floor.

For several long seconds, Jack listened to the silence in terror, 
straining to hear any sound of shallow unconscious breathing, but he 
could hear nothing. He had to do something, he had to find a way to save 
Daniel without giving up both their lives. Maybe he should simply take a 
greater part in the game? "Stop!" Jack gasped in a choked voice, his 
decision made, "I'll do it. One print! Just remove the tape. Let him 
breathe!"

"Two prints, Colonel. That is the current price," the Slav laughed at 
the Colonel's defeat.

Jack swallowed dryly, feeling snared in the trap, wondering if this was 
really the way to turn things around in their favour. "Okay. Just take 
the tape off him," he agreed bleakly.

At a signal from the Slav, the Egyptian pulled the tape from Daniel's 
mouth and nudged him roughly in the chest with his foot until he started 
coughing, beginning to revive. Then the Slav drew his 9mm handgun from 
the back of his belt and trained it on the sightless Colonel whilst the 
dark skinned man approached him and untied the bonds around his elbows. 
He retied the rope around Jack's waist and forearms, pulling it 
painfully tight to pin his elbows to his sides, leaving his hand 
sufficiently free to provide the necessary prints on the typewriter, 
without being able to reach up to remove his blindfold.

Jack felt pins and needles shoot down his arms as the numbness gave way 
to the constricting sensation of the rope. He listened carefully, 
focusing on the sound of his friend's breathing as it returned to some 
semblance of normality. "Daniel? You okay?"

"Yeah!" Daniel croaked, gazing at the group worriedly, knowing that 
something was afoot, that Jack had given into their demands, but how far 
had he gone? "What did you do, Jack?"

"It's okay!" Jack responded simply, wanting to say more, to tell Daniel 
that he knew what he was doing, that he was just trying to get some 
control of the game for himself. But he could not reveal any more to 
their captors. Instead, he concentrated on noise again, refocusing on 
the thud of footsteps crossing the room towards him, the creak of a 
chair being placed in front, the strange jangling bell of an old 
fashioned typewriter being knocked about.

Submissively, Jack allowed himself to be led, a hand grabbed his left 
index finger, pulling him close enough to jam it down on a cold smooth 
key. He felt the rounded indentation beneath the tip, vaguely wondering 
what letter it represented. One more imprint and he yanked his hand away 
rapidly, flexing his fingers and casually checking out how far he could 
reach with his arm bound. He could feel the movement digging his elbow 
into the ribs down his left side, but he didn't allow himself to wince, 
forcing his face into a blank mask.

Carefully he listened, searching for sounds of the typewriter being 
moved away, waiting for anything to change. He heard another strip of 
tape being pulled from the roll. "Leave it off and you can have one 
more," Jack offered hastily, desperately wanting to avoid that renewed 
trauma, he couldn't listen to the harrowing sound of Daniel slowly 
suffocating to death again.

"Two, Colonel!" The Slav negotiated in return.

Jack nodded reluctantly and repeated the same exercise as before. When 
he had added his print to two more keys he leaned back against the stone 
wall, wondering whether the Slav would keep his end of the bargain. Even 
if he did, how long could this go on?

Straining to understand every noise, Jack identified footsteps, a 
rustling of bodies. But this time there was no tear of duck tape before 
the repeated smack of punches began again. 

Helpless against the onslaught, Daniel resolutely refused to cry out, 
worried that any noise would only encourage the Colonel to submit 
further. It seemed that the Slav had finally found Jack's true weak spot 
and Daniel really didn't appreciate being the source. 

The Egyptian was still holding the younger man upright, yanking on the 
rope trapping his wrists behind his back. The Slav had pushed his gun 
into his belt and returned to the method he loved most, taking a 
swinging punch at the half conscious man's chin, which made a satisfying 
thwack to the ears of his assailant, catching the jaw solidly and 
splitting the lip open bloodily. Daniel's glasses slipped from one ear 
to hang down amidst a spurt of blood, his head lolled forward onto his 
chest, red stains forming on his shirt as he passed out with a groan.

Nodding to his colleague, the Slav's lips formed a devious smile as he 
took the rope to keep the unconscious man upright, allowing the Egyptian 
to silently stick the piece of tape he had pulled off the roll earlier 
over Daniel's mouth.

"Enough of this futility, Colonel," the Slav announced in a booming 
voice that echoed across the empty floor. He drew his CZ75 from his belt 
and retracted the bolt with an ominous sound that he knew the 
blindfolded Colonel would recognise. "I believe, you either still owe us 
at least four fingerprints or we owe your friend here four bullets!" 

Not wishing to leave any incriminating evidence inside the body in the 
form of bullets that did not come from the Colonel's own weapon, nor did 
he want to end the game too soon. The Slav aimed at an armchair that had 
been pushed against the wall nearby and fired a single round into the 
padded upholstery.

The noise was shockingly loud to Jack's ears, the concussive boom 
blocking out all chance of determining where the bullet hit. "Daniel!" 
Jack gasped, "Answer me! You okay?" The echoing gunshot slowly faded to 
silence. Jack swallowed panic, straining to hear breath sounds or 
movement.

"Three more!" A cold voice said right next to his ear, hot breath 
hitting his cheek as Jack's heart stopped and he recoiled in shock. He 
had not heard the man creep up beside him, he hadn't even heard his 
breathing, what chance did he have to confirm whether Daniel was still 
alive, albeit unconscious, all the way over the other side of the room?

But if he was still alive and Jack gave in, that would be the end of it, 
right there, right then. He shook his head wordlessly, unseen tears of 
grief and anger in his sightless eyes as he imagined what pain he was 
causing his friend. Desperately he searched for a way out, an opening to 
take advantage of. 

The hot breath faded rapidly from his cheek as the Slav glided with 
surprising stealth back across the room and prepared to fire another 
round. This time the Egyptian also had a job to do, timing a well placed 
kick to Daniel's existing gunshot wound at the same time as the second 
bullet was fired.

The piercing pain woke Daniel abruptly, the gunshot loud in his ears as 
he slowly became aware of the source of the sound and the fact that his 
mouth had been taped shut again. He looked up, just in time to see the 
Colonel make his move.

When the second round fired, Jack could take no more. He leaned forward, 
frantically scrambling with his outstretched hand to gain purchase on 
the hefty old fashioned typewriter. Wrapping his long fingers around the 
platen, he heaved it with all his strength, his anger and helplessness 
exploding furiously, channelled into that single motion, swinging his 
whole body behind it to send the unfortunate machine crashing against 
the stone wall nearby. There would be no more negotiating for 
fingerprints with the typewriter in pieces!

The Slav looked furious and, for one long moment, Daniel thought he was 
going to kill them both there and then, aiming his semiautomatic and 
firing at the Colonel's head, but Jack was already toppling off balance 
from the swing of his body against the restriction of bound ankles. He 
fell sideways to the floor just in time for the bullet to lodge in the 
stone wall above him.

The Egyptian shouted something that Daniel didn't understand at first, 
then he realised the meaning, "Beretta!" If either man were to be shot 
dead, it had to be done with the weapon checked out of the armoury in 
the name of Colonel O'Neill, for the subterfuge to remain convincing.

The Slav reluctantly lowered his weapon. The fallen Colonel was lying on 
the floor, about to push himself up off his painful ribs when he had 
frozen into place, hearing the bullet whistle past his ear. He hung his 
head, breathing hard and spitting blood again, listening intently for 
anything that signalled the next move. 

The bald headed man glared at him malevolently, then turned towards 
Daniel, seeking a target to vent his anger. Without warning he smashed 
the butt of the semiautomatic against Daniel's skull. The Egyptian 
finally let go of his bonds and the young man slumped to the floor with 
a groan, dazed and bruised, his head spinning as he tried to focus his 
blurring vision.

The Slav replaced the weapon into his belt and signalled his colleague 
to follow as he approached the prone Colonel. Grabbing one elbow, the 
Egyptian hauled the blindfolded man roughly to his feet, smacking him up 
against the stone wall. At the Slav's bidding, he untied the bonds from 
around Jack's waist and arms, freeing his movement, but pressing an arm 
across the Colonel's shoulders to pin him into place. 

The larger man stepped in front of O'Neill, sizing him up, noticing the 
pale colour of his skin, the blood stains on the floor and his clothes. 
He slowly dragged Jack's t-shirt from his khakis and raised it high up 
his chest. Then he examined the man's weakest point, admiring the way 
the bruising had spread through his left side, expanding out from the 
original boot print. He noted the way the ribs no longer ran smoothly, a 
slight crooked indent detectable beneath the blackened skin. 

Curiously, he stroked his fingers lightly down the discoloured flesh, 
noticing the tremor of fear in response to his touch. He smiled at the 
way the Colonel tried to draw away from him, the way he swallowed 
reflexively. The torment clearly visible in his body language. 

Enjoying the torturous effect it was having, the Slav circled his 
fingers around the bruising, edging ever closer to the centre. 
Increasing the pressure inexorably, until he could feel the body shudder 
beneath his contact.

Jack struggled futilely to fight against the constricting hold across 
his shoulders, blind and helpless to the power of his captor's 
malevolent impulses, terrified of where that vicious whim might finally 
take him. He felt the fingers closing in towards the centre of damage to 
his ribcage, flinching in anticipation as the pressure began to 
increase. He inhaled, holding his breath, trying to draw his trembling 
body away from the Slav's painful touch. 

The bald headed man watched every reaction with growing glee, his 
sadistic pleasure reaching new levels as he timed his next moves. When 
his captive raggedly expelled his breath, unable to hold it any longer, 
the Slav lifted his hand barely inches away from the body, watching the 
Colonel sag in relief at the cessation of torture.

Pausing for a long drawn out second, the Slav held his fingers close to 
O'Neill's quaking side, a smile of anticipation widening on his face. He 
grinned toothily at his Egyptian colleague who was watching raptly, 
waiting for the moment. 

Without mercy, the Slav suddenly jammed his fingertips hard into the 
centre point of damaged flesh. Jack inhaled sharply, an anguished gasp 
caught in his throat, beads of sweat on his forehead. He clenched his 
fist tightly, a shudder of pain passing through his entire body, unable 
to conceal the excruciating agony being inflicted upon him as bone was 
forced to grind against bone.

The Slav dug his fingers even harder until he felt the Colonel's tension 
begin to slip, threatening to pass out. Slowly he released the pressure, 
lifting his hand to stroke the skin once more, feeling the cold clammy 
flesh with a sense of satisfaction, knowing without a doubt that he had 
seen all the classic symptoms of someone bleeding internally. No matter 
what else he did here today, this man was dying anyway.

He shrugged, bored with the game. It seemed that neither man was worth 
expelling any more energy on, a workout would be less than gratifying. 
Still he couldn't resist one final parting shot before he killed them 
both and he knew how much agony it would cause the man who had tried to 
get one up on him by destroying the typewriter. Besides, there was 
nothing more pleasurable than a single perfectly placed punch. 

Daniel held his breath as he watched the Slav's brutality in his 
examination of the Colonel. When the bulky man finally stepped away 
seemingly satisfied, Daniel expelled air through his nose in relief, but 
his next snorted gasp became a strangled scream of anguish as the bald 
headed man changed direction, rounding on Jack and slamming a solid 
right fist into his left side, dead on target for his already weakened 
ribcage. 

They all heard the loud crack breaking the silence, the unhealed bone 
finally giving way with an horrendous sound that made Daniel's blood 
turn to ice.

The pain was unbelievable, Jack didn't even have time to let out a howl 
of agony before he passed out, his brain shutting down protectively. His 
head lolled forward, blood spilling from his lips onto his t-shirt, his 
legs lifeless, no longer able to hold him. Instead, the Egyptian 
continued to keep him upright, pressing him against the wall, awaiting 
the Slav's signal before his release.

The bald headed man considered the Colonel's limp body thoughtfully, a 
look of sadistic glee on his face. Finally fulfilled he nodded and the 
Egyptian let go and walked away. Jack's knees buckled and his body slid 
down the wall into an unconscious heap on the floor.

His blue eyes filled with tears of rage and grief, Daniel glared with 
hatred as the two men casually sauntered towards the door. "We'll be 
back shortly," the Slav grinned mercilessly.

Within minutes both men returned. The Slav carried a piece of 
typewritten paper, pressing it against Jack's lifeless hand to get the 
fingerprints he so fervently desired. Then he produced a Beretta and 
contemplated taking a gamble with the last stage of the game, but it 
seemed like a safe bet and the payoff would be tremendous. 

If they could get the Colonel to kill his own friend with the Beretta 
before shooting himself, there would be no argument in anyone's eyes as 
to the circumstances here. The other injuries would be forgotten, put 
down to fighting between themselves before the violence had escalated. 
To pull off such a feat of deception would earn his pay and probably set 
himself up for life on the reputation. And his Egyptian colleague was 
willing to go along with it in view of the potential rewards.

He knelt down beside the unconscious Colonel and murmured into his ear, 
a foreign language that he knew would be recognised by the victim, 
drawing him inexorably back to where the next scene would be set. 

Daniel strained to listen, vaguely recognising one or two syllables, but 
not enough to identify their country of origin.

Unbeknownst to the Slav and his Egyptian colleague, Jack was already 
right back where they wanted him, a familiar feeling of torment and pain 
and eternal darkness dragging him back to an inhumane torture, a steel 
box rapidly closing, until he was trapped within its agonising despair.

With time to kill, the Slav decided to explain his efforts to their mute 
captive, enjoying every moment of his sadistic task. "We decided it 
would be more convincing if the Colonel were to actually pull the 
trigger when he kills himself. That is, of course, after he has murdered 
his friend!"

Daniel blanched at the thought, then he considered the odds. Jack, in 
his current condition, being persuaded to shoot, and firing with his 
left hand. How was that going to work?

"Of course you might not believe we can pull it off," the Slav leered, 
reading the expression on his face, "But it's already been done once." 
The Slav nodded towards his Egyptian colleague, "My friend here 
witnessed your Colonel do the exact same thing under the influence of 
drugs. He shot a young girl. It was a blank bullet of course, but he was 
led to believe he had murdered her. It was a most effective ploy created 
by our dearly departed Russian friend Dmitri," he laughed coldly, "I do 
hope he doesn't mind me reusing his tricks." 

Daniel's mind reeled, trying to absorb the implications of his words. 
The young girl could only be Cassie, but as far as he knew, there had 
never been any such incident. At least not that she had told anyone. 
Daniel couldn't disguise his shock, reluctant to believe his captor, but 
somehow it all added up. Little clues, looks shared between Jack and 
Cassie in the hospital, the renewed closeness between them. He had put 
it down to their shared experience of imprisonment, but what if it was 
more? A secret kept between two friends, if only because the truth was 
too difficult for either one to admit?

The Slav saw the doubt on his face, "It doesn't matter whether you 
believe me or not. You will be a witness yourself very soon. In fact you 
will be on the receiving end! And this time the bullet will most 
definitely be live," he pointed out chillingly.

Daniel watched them attempt to revive the Colonel, finally removing the 
blindfold from his eyes. Jack blinked slowly and Daniel felt a tremor of 
shock at the lack of focus in those dark brown eyes. He had seen that 
look before recently and he knew with dreadful certainty that his friend 
was nowhere near the present and probably no longer conscious of his own 
actions.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack O'Neill was still in Iraq, it was a confusing place. A jumble of 
images thrown together before his eyes. He didn't remember being 
released from the box, but now he lay on the wooden floor of the guard 
house, his wasted muscles unable to hold him vertical, his body badly 
beaten, a mass of pain and bruises.

He was hauled upright, held by the tight grasp of a guard. Struggling to 
keep his head steady on his shoulders, his vision swam nauseatingly and 
he tried to focus on the face looming in front of him. "One bullet, two 
choices," the strange accent said. "A shot to the head. Him or you!" The 
face smiled cruelly, showing him the single cartridge already inserted 
into the clip, before he slammed it into the Beretta and pulled back on 
the slide. He placed the loaded weapon into O'Neill's trembling hand.

Jack hefted the semiautomatic, the weight felt uncomfortable somehow, 
but it had been a long time since he had held any gun. He was just glad 
he didn't have to load it himself, he wasn't sure that his nerveless 
fingers were up to the fiddly task. With an odd feeling of deja vu, he 
watched the large shaven headed man step away to one side, then Jack 
gazed ahead, regarding his objective with a sense of detachment. 

The intended victim was lying against the opposite wall, his wrists and 
ankles tightly bound behind his back, his mouth taped over. Raising the 
Beretta to aim at his target, Jack released the ambidextrous safety. 

He thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the bright blue eyes that 
stared at him. Hesitantly, he studied the face, trying to place the man, 
wondering if it was possible they had met before, perhaps under 
different circumstances. But Jack knew that this was the only reality 
available to him, anything else was simply an hallucination, conjured up 
by his imagination to help him withstand the insanity of his life.

Jack paused again, a thought thudding painfully inside his head as 
though trying to break through, waiting to be formed into one simple 
truth. He shook his head, pushing the hazy notion away to concentrate on 
his aim. His finger flexed around the trigger as he watched the blue 
eyes blink away tears of grief. 

Numbly Jack considered possible reasons for this display of emotion, 
what the man might be leaving behind. He gazed at the look of loss 
reflected in his eyes. Perhaps this man had a family, a loved one that 
he knew he would never see again. Jack thought about his wife, Sara, 
wondering if she would be able to forgive him for what he was about to 
do, wondering whether he would ever be able to forgive himself.

Jack's finger tightened on the trigger, his hand extended in front. The 
mistreated weakened muscles of his arm began to shake with the tension. 
He couldn't do it, he could not kill this helpless man. With a gasp of 
anguished despair, Jack turned the Beretta on himself, bending his elbow 
to aim the barrel directly at his own temple. Barely aware of the 
frightened look of horror from his originally intended victim. Before he 
could pull the trigger, he caught a flicker of glee on the face of the 
man standing off to his right, a sadistic leer that filled his memory 
with a flood of images. 

One single scene pushed to the fore, an Egyptian standing beside a pale 
blond man, their handguns trained in his direction, a petite woman stood 
in the centre. A bright red splash of colour flashed before Jack's eyes 
and each man toppled to the floor. He felt the pistol bucking in his 
hand again and again until it was empty, and then nothing. 

Recalling a not too distant time when he had wished he was dead, Jack 
tried to concentrate his fuzzy thoughts and recognise the change. 
Finding a need for vengeance now stood out above all else, retribution 
against the person who had put him into the box, revenge for the 
suffering and torment he had been forced to withstand. The gauze cleared 
to reveal a solution so obvious it had been overlooked by his addled 
mind. There was a way. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well 
take his torturer with him.

Blinking away sweat, Jack focused on the blue eyes across the room, 
seeing a leering smile in his peripheral vision. The large man had not 
moved, his attention rapt on the game playing out under his control. 
Jack's trembling finger tightened on the trigger, all of his senses 
becoming keenly aware of every living thing, each slightest movement in 
the room around him. 

The feel of the guard grasping his right shoulder to keep him upright, 
the hot stale breath of the bald headed man standing alongside him, 
barely two feet away. The reflexive blink of blue eyes gazing painfully 
at him from across the room. The hefty weight of a cast covering his 
right hand and the feel of solid metal beneath the fingers of his left. 

In one split second of movement, Jack turned his hand, shifting his aim 
two inches to the left, and pulled the trigger, feeling the heat of 
explosion searing his forehead, the concussive boom blasting his ear 
drum. The bald headed man's expression turned to shock before being 
obscured by a red mist of blood. 

At the same time, Jack raised his heavy right hand in a shattering 
motion, slamming it solidly into the face of the guard still holding his 
shoulder, a jarring blow that reverberated painfully all the way through 
the plaster into Jack's healing fingers. It smashed the guard's chin and 
nose before he could react, too close to escape the splintering 
destruction of the hefty cast.

The grasp went limp, releasing O'Neill as the corpse fell backwards 
covered in blood, knocking over the table lamp in the corner as he went 
down, turning the rest of the room into a landscape of high lurking 
shadows and darkness. 

Jack's legs buckled beneath him, no strength left in his damaged body. 
Distantly he recalled the wide eyed gaze that stared at him from across 
the room, finally recognising those bright blue eyes. "Daniel!" He tried 
to cry out the name of his friend, but the sound died on his lips as he 
passed into oblivion.

~~~~~~~~~~

The scientist in Captain Carter wasn't sure that she believed in that 
unofficial rule which said the thing you seek will always be in the last 
place left to look, but now seemed like the ultimate time to prove it 
for herself. They had checked every likely home bar this one, so that 
law was beginning to ring true. This had to be the one they were after, 
there were no other options left. Except the loss of two friends, she 
thought grimly. If they were not found here, then they were gone. There 
would be little chance of still finding them alive.

With a deep calming breath, Sam led her team down the rough trail into 
the dense green forest. The sun had already set, the pale light of dusk 
replaced by almost impenetrable darkness within the thick canopy of 
trees. It seemed there was little time left for any of them, soon the 
helicopter would be recalled for the night and the search would be 
called off. 

With that thought in mind, she made a strategic decision, "Use your 
night vision goggles, we'll jog in as far as the clearing. If they are 
there, it's not likely they'll be hiding outside in the woods! Okay, 
people? Let's move out!" 

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was never going back into that box again, he wouldn't take it 
anymore. He would fight anyone that tried to force him to spend another 
day in such terrifying confinement. He would fight them and win, of that 
he was grimly determined. Somehow he would survive, no matter what 
happened. He wanted to live. All he had to do was open his eyes and open 
his mind to the possibility.

He had finally defeated his captors, he had battled against everything 
they had thrown at him and ultimately gained retribution. His need for 
revenge had been sated. Now Jack only had to escape his own darkness, 
fight against its eternal hold. He wanted to survive and he wanted to 
break free, yet his energy was spent and the pull of permanent oblivion 
was so much stronger.

But hadn't he made a promise? Hadn't he vowed he would never give in? 
Jack struggled to recall the truth of the matter. How could he have made 
any such pledge? Who had there been to hear it?

Slowly Jack tried to recall the last thing that had happened, the 
slaying of his jailers, the end of the torture. And somewhere out of the 
blackness came a face. A pair of shining blue eyes that had gazed at him 
full of grief. Those same eyes staring wildly at the aftermath of a 
battle to the death. 

And suddenly Jack remembered the last words on his lips before he had 
stumbled and fallen into the bottomless pit that enveloped him. It was 
the name of his saviour. The name of the man who had demanded that 
promise. It seemed so long ago, a vow to never give in, but it was the 
reason he was still here. And now it was the reason he had to survive, 
to escape the darkness. To open his eyes and set himself free.

With all the effort he could summon from his entire battered body, Jack 
forced himself to the surface. His eyelids flickered, blinking, pushing 
themselves open to face the soft light and shadows surrounding him. 

"Daniel!" Jack gasped, his hoarse voice full of pain.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel had been watching for far too long, praying desperately as he 
worked at his bonds. Kneeling with his back to the door, rubbing the 
nylon rope against the sharpest point of the latch, his wrists red raw 
and beginning to bleed by the time the strands started to fray. 

The bald headed man was definitely dead, he had taken the full blast in 
the face, but the Egyptian may only be unconscious, Daniel couldn't tell 
from that distance. He could not see the face of the body obscured in 
the corner behind the fallen Slav, could not detect whether the chest 
heaved in a breathing motion. The man could wake up at any moment and 
then the game would be lost. 

And Daniel knew that somewhere below them was a ticking time bomb. 
Trapped within this shuttered room, he had no way of knowing how long 
since the sun had set, how close they were to that nine o'clock 
deadline. After all that had happened, the idea of dying in an explosion 
was beyond comprehension. Daniel rubbed harder at his bonds, matching 
his desperation with renewed prayers, uncertain whether they would be 
heard, let alone answered. 

All Daniel knew for sure was that his friend had finally won, against 
all the odds. And he was still alive, albeit barely. He could only watch 
Jack breath, glancing across constantly to study the rise and fall of 
his battered chest, praying that it would continue, no matter how 
shallowly. He was painfully aware that, somewhere within, Jack was 
bleeding internally, and the longer it went untended, the more dangerous 
his condition would become.

He couldn't even call to him, try to drag him from unconsciousness. Jack 
had to wake up, he had to tell him where the bomb was, he had to help 
Daniel end the game, because any second now the Egyptian might awaken. 

Daniel caught his breath at a flicker of movement on O'Neill's face. 
Slowly, inexorably, a tiny white slit appeared, blinking and squinting 
at the dim light, until his eyes finally opened, dark brown, unfocused 
and confused. "Daniel!" Jack's voice was a pain filled whisper.

Daniel could only grunt in response, working even harder at his bonds, 
desperately needing to talk to his friend, to free the tape from his own 
mouth and ask all the questions flooding his head.

"Is that you?" The voice sounded faint in the shadows, a tone that 
needed encouragement, faith that Daniel could not give without words of 
his own. 

Grimly he concentrated on his bonds, feeling them almost frayed through 
the final strand of rope that tied his ankles to his wrists, he pulled 
even more tautly as he worked, ignoring the soreness and pain cutting 
into his skin. 

With a sudden snort of expelled air, the rope split apart. Daniel's 
bound ankles dropped to the ground. At least now he could move, even 
with his wrists still tied. 

Standing slowly and stiffly, Daniel ignored the shooting pain of pins 
and needles in his shoulders and legs. He pushed his back against the 
door knob until his bound hands closed around it, his fingers scrabbling 
to release the rope that stopped him from moving more than a few feet 
from the entrance. Focusing away from the renewed agony in his broken 
finger, he concentrated hard, holding his breath until he finally 
managed to free the loop from the door handle.

He jumped painfully across the room, collapsing beside the Colonel when 
his injured left leg gave out. He nudged Jack until his eyes opened 
again and he forced himself to focus on the face in front of him. 
"Daniel!" He breathed, his voice a bare whisper, "You look trussed up 
like a Thanksgiving turkey!"

Daniel shook his head in front of Jack's face in frustration, trying to 
get his attention on his mouth, needing desperately for Jack to lift his 
hand and remove the tape. He pulled up his knees and nudged Jack's 
fingers which still rested over the butt of a recently fired Beretta. 
Finally, Jack responded, raising his hand slowly to weakly fumble at the 
edge of the strip of duck tape. 

When Daniel felt the feeble grasp was strong enough, he yanked his mouth 
away, feeling all the little hairs on his face pull away with the tape. 
His split lip tore open wider and he gasped, tasting fresh blood in his 
mouth, but at least he could open it once more. A wave of relief washed 
over him as Daniel breathed deeply for the first time in over an hour.

"Thanks!" Was all he managed to say at first. Watching Jack's eyes slide 
shut again, he added way too loudly, "Jack, wake up, damnit! We need 
your help."

"Daniel, pipe down!" Jack groaned, grimacing at the sound so loud in his 
ear, "I'm not deaf!"

"Sorry, Jack," Daniel lowered his voice, turning around and pushing his 
bound hands within reach of Jack's fingers. "But you have to stay with 
us, you have to help free my wrists. We have got to move, we're not out 
of the woods yet, remember!"

"I thought this was a forest!" Jack croaked lamely, the events flooding 
back to him. "Oh, God!" He gasped as he attempted to lift his head, his 
hand clenching over the tangle of Daniel's ropes as the agony in his 
left side burned like fire. "What hit me, a truck?" He swallowed against 
the dizziness which threatened to send him straight back into oblivion, 
breathing shallowly as he tried to fight it.

"No that!" Daniel nodded towards the Slav, "But I don't know if the 
other guy is dead or alive. Can you see if he's breathing?"

Pushing himself up with his right elbow, Jack lifted his head high 
enough to see over the body of the Slav, to check the face of the 
Egyptian in the corner, obscured behind his colleague's bulky shoulders. 
He shook his head grimly, immediately regretting the woozy motion, "He's 
dead!" Jack swallowed bile, the contents of his stomach churning 
sickeningly as his head swam. A pair of white eyes stared blindly at 
him, stark against the Egyptian's dark hair and skin. Jack had 
apparently fatally wounded him with the crushing impact of plaster 
against nose, forcing the bone into his brain and killing him outright.

"You sure?" Daniel asked, concentrating on staying still as Jack's left 
hand worked at his bonds.

"Oh yeah!" Jack hung his head, fighting to stay conscious, his vision 
blurring and his head roaring.

The movement at his wrists came to a halt. Daniel twisted around, 
worried that Jack had passed out again, but he was staring at the two 
dead men, his sickly bewildered expression slowly changing. "Jack, you 
okay?" Daniel asked worriedly.

Jack didn't speak, he didn't move, he simply continued to gaze at the 
bloodied corpses with a look that bordered on disbelief. Finally, he 
turned away from them, back to his friend, a joyful expression slowly 
creeping across his gaunt, pale features. "I won!" He whispered in 
astonishment, "I actually beat them." The smile grew wider, spreading 
towards his eyes until the haunted look that had shadowed his face for 
over three weeks began to lift, as though a harrowing death mask was 
being removed, "Daniel, I won. We won!"

"Yeah, you certainly did," Daniel agreed quietly and despite the sharp 
pain of his bloodied split lip, he couldn't help grin at the sight of 
his friend returning to the land of the living. "But can you do anything 
about this rope?"

It was a painstaking task, undoing knots tightened by a long struggle, 
with only one hand to use, but Jack worked at them with growing 
determination, focusing away from all the images in his head to a narrow 
view of nylon rope. When they finally loosened, he pulled them free 
easily, watching Daniel flex his red raw wrists and lean across to untie 
Jack's ankles before doing the same with his own.

Daniel stood up, free at last, his body aching from the abuse it had 
taken, but the pain was almost welcome, heralding the freedom of 
movement. 

He crouched down beside the Colonel, unmindful of his own leg wound, and 
placed two fingers against Jack's neck to check his pulse. Even to 
Daniel's untrained touch, it felt weak and thready. He withdrew his hand 
and looked at his watch, wondering how much time they had left, knowing 
it couldn't be more than half an hour. Squinting in the pale light, he 
couldn't be sure he had read it right until he used the backlight, 
"Shit! Jack, what time did you say that bomb was set to blow?"

"Nine," Jack murmured faintly, drifting away again.

"That's what I was afraid of! We have GOT to go!" He shouted urgently. 
"I know I shouldn't move you, but if I don't, in two minutes, we're both 
going up with the house!" He stooped down and put an arm around 
O'Neill's shoulders, trying to haul him upright as gently as possible, 
"Don't die on me now, Jack," he pleaded softly, almost stumbling as his 
wounded leg threatened to give way on him, he hefted the body further 
around his shoulders, unable to avoid Jack's damaged ribs.

Jack gasped in pain at the movement, his eyes flying wide open, ready to 
struggle away from his aggressor. "Jack, come on help me," Daniel 
pleaded fervently, "Move your legs, come on! Do you want to get blown 
up?"

Leaning on each other, they made it out into the hall and headed for the 
front door. Daniel scrambled to get it open and they practically fell 
down the porch steps. Daniel's legs almost buckled as he took all of 
Jack's weight, hauling him across the clearing in one last ditch effort. 
It occurred to him that he had no idea how much C4 was inside the house, 
but he knew he was about to find out. If they weren't far enough away, 
they would be the first to know.

The way ahead was suddenly lit up by a blinding flash of light. Daniel 
felt the heat rushing at them from behind before the blast hit and the 
noise deafened them. He felt himself being pushed forward, his feet 
lifting off the ground as he grimly struggled to keep hold of Jack. The 
shockwave threw him off balance and he travelled about six yards before 
landing face down on the grass, momentarily stunned, his ears ringing 
painfully. As he passed out, Daniel vaguely wondered about the odds of 
being blown up twice in one day and surviving.

~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Carter's team had found Doctor Jackson's abandoned vehicle, Sam 
recognising it immediately having been given a test drive when Daniel 
first purchased it only a fortnight before. She radioed their location 
to the other two SGC search parties as well as the Sheriff, whose 
deputies were only a few miles away. Then Carter rushed with her team up 
to the treeline.

All thought of stealth disappeared rapidly when the night sky lit up in 
front of them. Barely ten yards from the clearing, Sam ran as hard as 
she could through the remaining undergrowth, reaching the edge of the 
trees in time to see two indistinct silhouettes against the bright white 
light, thrown down the hillside by the force of the blast.

Yelling to her second in command, Sam told him to radio their position 
to the helicopter and get it down here immediately, then she took off 
running again, with her team not far behind. The aftermath of the 
explosion echoed around the mountains, the blast of light imprinted on 
her retinas.

~~~~~~~~~~

A thudding noise slowly encroached into Daniel's dazed thoughts, a noisy 
beat growing louder as it approached. Slowly he rolled over, his groan 
of pain sounding muffled to his deafened ears. He reached out a hand, 
blindly seeking his friend. When he found nothing, Daniel forced his 
eyes open and pushed himself upright with an immense effort. 

Jack had been tossed a few feet further downhill, Daniel crawled across 
to him, shaking him gently, desperate to keep him awake until he could 
get help. The thudding sound grew nearer and Daniel realised it wasn't 
inside his head anymore, the beating of rotors through air drew his gaze 
in the direction of the noise.

Suddenly he saw it, the black silhouette of a helicopter, its landing 
lights flashing through the night sky as it swooped low over the trees 
towards the still burning house. A shadowy figure ran across the 
clearing below and for a frightening second Daniel thought one of their 
assailants had survived after all, then his numb ears finally translated 
a shout, a voice that he recognised with utter relief.

"Daniel!" He watched Sam Carter approach, her footsteps following her 
bright flashlight. She stooped low as the Huey came in to land further 
across the clearing, whipping up grass and leaves with the whirring 
rotors. 

A petite doctor and a tall muscular Jaffa jumped from the helicopter the 
moment it touched down, racing across the clearing towards them. Daniel 
smiled weakly at the welcome sight of his saviour, Doctor Fraiser, 
struggling to focus his fuzzy gaze on her. "Jack's hurt bad," he 
whispered hoarsely. Janet glanced at Daniel as she stepped around to the 
prone body lying beside him, an unspoken question forming in her dark 
eyes. "Worse!" He admitted painfully.

With a grim sense of deja vu, she crouched over the body, this time 
joined by a silent Teal'c and Sam Carter, shining their flashlights in 
order for the doctor to do a rapid examination. "Jack, I thought you 
promised Cassie you'd be a bit more careful in future?" The doctor 
chided gently, getting little reaction from the barely conscious man. 
Quickly, she checked his pupils and his weak pulse.

"His rib's broken this time and he's bleeding internally," Daniel 
croaked dryly.

Janet was examining Jack's side in Sam's wavering flashlight beam, 
pulling up his blood stained t-shirt to reveal a sight that she had 
hoped to never see again. She glanced at Daniel, her own pain reflected 
in his overly bright eyes, then she got to work, ignoring the image of a 
hotel room in Giza that was conjured up as she carefully checked his 
ribcage. She noted the broken indentation, the cold clammy skin as he 
bled internally, the blackened bruising that had spread throughout 
Jack's left side, and the rest of his chest nearly as bad as she had 
ever seen it.

Jack briefly surfaced, blinking in the bright spotlight beam with a 
horrid feeling of deja vu, only he didn't remember seeing his friends 
there before. He focused on their faces, saw the looks they exchanged, 
the misery and pain in their eyes, and understood that he was to blame. 
"I'm sorry!" He murmured weakly, his vision blurring again, his eyelids 
fluttered, hardly able to keep them open, he was so tired. Jack gave in, 
closing his eyes, he passed out, slipping gladly into the warm depths of 
peace. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel came round first, just after lunchtime the following day. What 
must have been the worst Monday in his life finally over, his bullet 
wound stitched up and his blood loss replenished via transfusion. He had 
given in to unconsciousness as soon as he saw Jack placed on a stretcher 
in the safety of the helicopter and had been out for over sixteen hours. 
He awoke feeling pain free and comfortable, a multitude of bumps and 
bruises, his splinted broken finger, and other injuries, being numbed by 
a mild influx of painkiller administered via his IV drip. 

Blinking in the subdued lighting of the infirmary, Daniel tried to 
recall how he had got there. A slight frown still on his face when the 
doctor stepped into view, a blurred indistinct figure due to the absence 
of his glasses.

"Janet?" He croaked hoarsely, feeling the pull on his split lips, and 
the bruising in his throat as he swallowed dryly. He was rewarded by a 
pair of spectacles being pressed into his right hand.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, smiling gently as he blinked her into 
focus through the lenses.

"Oh, fine, actually," he answered a little too quickly, adding with a 
wince, "How's Jack?"

"He's going to be all right, Daniel," Janet hesitated, "We had to 
operate to stop the internal bleeding, but it could have been worse, and 
we managed to fix up his ribs. We had to put in some pins, but the bones 
should heal okay, so long as the Colonel behaves himself this time. Even 
we miracle workers have a limit on how many times we can put humpty 
dumpty back together again." 

Janet paused, her overly bright smile slipping exhaustedly, she had been 
awake for thirty hours straight and the strain was beginning to take its 
toll. "You're not looking much better yourself, Daniel," she pointed out 
quietly, struggling to suppress her shock at the state he had been in 
when they had started cleaning him up and tending his wounds. As if the 
Colonel being in such a poor condition was not bad enough, to find the 
pair of them battered, bleeding and bruised was even worse.

Both men practically had matching injuries, colourful contusions to the 
chest, stomach and, in Daniel's case, his right side and shoulder. They 
also shared bruising to the larynx from apparently brutal strangleholds, 
and their jaws were shadowed with blackened bruises to go with the split 
lips. 

The base of the Colonel's back was a mass of vivid colour, one shape in 
particular, which appeared to be a boot print, had been well placed 
enough to bruise his right kidney. Janet didn't know for sure how Jack's 
ribs had come to be broken, but the pattern of damage revealed by the x-
rays indicated a very vicious and lethal fist. The impact of that 
discovery alone had nearly ended the doctor's resolve there and then, as 
she struggled to remain professional, trying not to imagine the immense 
pain and torment the deliberate placement of such an injury must have 
caused.

So the list of damage inflicted on the two men went on. Daniel's 
additional injuries included a swollen bump on the top of his head, 
hidden from view by his brown hair, and nasty rope burns on his wrists. 
Not to mention the entry and exit wounds of a 9mm calibre bullet to the 
thigh and one broken little finger that had been completely snapped in 
two. 

And yet, despite everything, somehow, together they had managed to 
survive.

"What on earth happened out there, Daniel?" Janet asked eventually.

Daniel shrugged tiredly, knowing it was a question he would be asked 
many more times before he would ever be able to tell everything. For now 
there was only one thing that was important to him, "He won, Janet." His 
voice hitched as the realisation of what had been overcome hit him fully 
and he stared at her with tears in his eyes, "Jack won!"

"I think maybe we all did this time," Janet said softly, patting his 
hand. She thought about how close they had all come to disaster and how 
it seemed, from the bodies that had been found in the blast wreckage of 
the cabin, well what was left of the bodies, that at last all their 
remaining demons had been laid to rest. 

Daniel closed his fingers over hers and squeezed them tightly, holding 
her gaze wordlessly. The experience they had shared would never be 
forgotten, but maybe they could begin to put it behind them now. "Can I 
see him?" 

Janet was unwilling to stop him, knowing how important it was to him, 
"Just for a minute, then back to sleep, okay?"

Daniel nodded and Janet helped him from the bed, wrapping a robe around 
his shoulders and sitting him in a wheelchair that she had brought in 
for just this purpose. "Oh, you may want to return these," she said 
suddenly, fishing a hand into her white lab coat and pulling out a chain 
holding two metal dog tags. "I found them in your pocket," she said 
gently.

"Thanks," Daniel took them from her, holding them tightly, glad to be 
able to live up to one of his own promises from that day.

She wheeled him into the next room and, with a vivid flash of deja vu, 
Daniel realised he was glad for the dimness of the lights as he regarded 
his unconscious friend. The pale bruised face, the split lip, the top 
half of his chest exposed with electrode pads positioned amongst the 
contusions to monitor his condition until he stabilised, his left side 
swathed in post-op surgical dressing.

Daniel absorbed the sight slowly, noticing the insertion of a chest 
tube, leading to a pressurised bottle down beside the bed, and the thin 
plastic nasal tube aiding Jack's breathing. He gave Janet a questioning 
look, waiting for her to explain the full extent of the Colonel's 
condition, as he knew she would eventually.

"As well as the internal bleeding, a small shard of bone from the broken 
ribs punctured Jack's left lung. The chest tube is helping drain the air 
until the damaged lung has resealed itself. It's not as bad as it looks 
Daniel, don't worry, he's showing good signs of improvement already," 
she said positively, pushing all personal feelings aside about the 
condition of both men for when she had the time and energy to deal with 
them in privacy.

"Jack's blood level and vital signs are almost back to normal. If he 
continues to improve at this rate, we'll be removing the chest tube this 
evening," Janet added reassuringly, "You know Jack, he'll be up and 
about in no time, he'll just have to take it easy for awhile, so he 
doesn't pop his stitches or do anything to prevent his ribs from healing 
properly."

Janet watched from the end of the bed as Daniel nodded acceptance for 
what she had told him, trusting her prognosis. He gazed at his friend 
awhile longer before slowly standing from his chair, putting all his 
weight onto his good leg to lean into the Colonel's ear. "You won, 
Jack!" He grinned softly, "You beat them all." Gingerly he lifted the 
dog tags and placed the chain over Jack's unconscious head, laying the 
tags gently onto his chest, back where they had always belonged. 

"Come on," Janet urged, with a smile, "I told Sam and Teal'c I'd call 
them if you woke up, I sent them both off to get something to eat. 
They've been hanging around the infirmary since we brought you both in 
last night, taking turns over which one of you they sat with, I'm sure 
they'd like to see you. But after that you need to sleep, Daniel, you 
don't look any better than Jack does right now. Believe me, it's not a 
pretty sight!"

Daniel shrugged tiredly and lowered himself back into the wheelchair to 
be returned to his own bed, feeling like he could sleep for a week, if 
the nightmares would let him. He wondered whether Jack's were letting 
him rest for a change.

~~~~~~~~~~

Too many voices were fighting for supremacy inside Jack's head, each 
clamouring to be heard. But somehow he knew that only one of them had 
something vital to say, the rest were simply chemically induced static. 
Slowly he retuned his senses and concentrated harder on one nightmare 
vision in particular. A malevolent face loomed at him from the darkness, 
a huge bald headed man, laughing sadistically. Jack shuddered, not 
wanting to hear what he had to say, but knowing he would be forced to 
listen anyway.

"The explosives were signed out of the armoury in your name, Colonel," 
the face grinned maliciously, "I've already placed the other charges."

Jack fidgeted restlessly in his sleep. "Where?" The voice asked inside 
his head

"Oh, here and there, you know. One in the General's office, the 
infirmary, your friend Doctor Jackson's research lab, the control room, 
a few in the briefing room. A little over twenty four hours from now, 
the first bombs will explode. It will be a wonderful display of military 
pyrotechnics, that will echo deep in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain for 
at least two days."

Two days! 

Jack's eyes flickered open, wide and alert, adrenaline pumping through 
his veins. A beeping noise sounded softly beside his head and he glanced 
around in confusion, struggling to recognise the location. Slowly he 
realised he was lying in the SGC infirmary, a place he knew he didn't 
want to be for far more reasons than his mind could cope with right now. 
Swinging his legs off the bed, Jack pushed himself upright with 
difficulty, his head swimming dizzyingly at the sudden movement. There 
was a dull pain in his chest and side, but nothing he had not felt 
before.

Reaching across, he fumbled at the monitor, switching it off before 
removing the itchy pads from his chest. He gazed at the intravenous drip 
for a moment as it pumped chemicals into his veins for reasons he could 
not quite fathom, then he carefully disconnected the tubing from the 
needle in the back of his left hand and dropped it to the floor. 

Jack slowly stood up, swaying slightly. His senses felt fuzzy and numb, 
as though the nerve endings had been detached, and he was unable to 
focus his thoughts beyond one single imperative. He shivered as his bare 
feet touched the cold concrete floor, he was wearing a pair of hospital 
pyjama bottoms, but his chest and back were open to the elements. 

Glancing around the softly lit room, he spotted a robe hanging from the 
door and edged towards it gingerly, taking small steps as he tried to 
regain some semblance of equilibrium to his spinning head. His mind did 
not even acknowledge the presence of a woman with unkempt blonde hair 
sleeping soundly in a chair on the other side of the bed.

Opening the door as he pulled the robe around him, Jack peered into the 
corridor. He gasped when he saw a foreboding figure coming at him, a 
large malevolent presence that sent a tremor of fear through him, the 
man's words continually repeating in his head. He closed his eyes for a 
long nerve wracking moment, struggling to control breathing that seemed 
somehow more difficult than it ought. When he reopened his eyes, the 
passageway was quiet and empty, the lights dimmed during the night 
hours.

Slowly, determinedly, Jack moved along the hallway towards the stairwell 
at the end, following his instincts to seek out a point of danger that 
he sensed was present even though he couldn't tell why.

He struggled to open the spring loaded exit door, it felt heavy, the 
effort pulling across his chest and wrenching at his side. Finally he 
stood inside the doorway, swallowing nervously as he faced the darkness 
of the stairs with trepidation. Images flashed through his mind, recent 
realities mixing with distant visions, all clamouring for attention, to 
maximise his fear and intensify his weaknesses. 

With a ragged shuddering breath, he forced himself to move, climbing 
slowly down the flight of stairs. Compensating for an unusual lack of 
strength in his legs, Jack leaned heavily on the railing for support as 
he descended the remaining levels into the lowest part of the SGC. He 
reached the very bottom of the stairwell, the end of the line, his chest 
heaving as he struggled to fill his lungs sufficiently before 
continuing, driven beyond conscious thought to complete his vital task.

Opening the door and padding softly out into the corridor, his feet 
began to feel chilled on the painted concrete floors. He shivered 
involuntarily, trying to remember where he was heading, but the face 
loomed once more and he recalled the words again, turning towards the 
stairs that ascended into the control room. A ghost like apparition, 
moving so quietly that the night duty officer dozing at his console 
didn't even notice him pass.

Jack turned and climbed to the next level, finding himself in the 
mission briefing room, a cold, lifeless place at night, but full of 
memories. Stepping to the window, he gazed down at the view. The two 
storey high metal ring stood silently, waiting for traffic. Jack tried 
to recall when he had last used the Stargate, but he could no longer 
remember, he knew it had been a long time ago, but for some reason he 
could not recall the circumstances. In any case he had more pressing 
things clouding his mind.

He turned back to the room, seeking a likely hiding place, consulting 
with the image inside his head, recognising it as one of the people who 
had invaded his life, filling every moment, waking or sleeping, with a 
malevolent presence until he had teetered on the brink of insanity. Jack 
wondered if he had finally gone over the edge, standing there, 
shivering, listening to the voices inside his head, being directed to 
seek out a hidden threat. Surely they would have found every bomb 
already, why would he find one the others had missed?

Even so, he vividly recalled the Slav saying 'a few in the briefing 
room', but there had been something else, something he could not yet put 
his finger on, an arrogant hint of a clever deception. Jack's life in 
the past six weeks had been ruled by double and triple cross, somehow he 
knew that was not over yet. 

He stepped across the room and stood in the centre beside the table, 
wondering whether he would ever return for a real mission briefing. The 
jury was still out on that one, he thought grimly, lifting his hand to 
scratch the stubble on his chin. Unless they would let him return as a 
left handed Colonel, he smiled ruefully, surprising himself. He did not 
remember wanting to return to duty, or having cause to smile, when he 
woke up that Monday morning. What had changed?

Jack shook the hazy thought from his head and gazed around the room, 
looking for clues. He suddenly had a feeling of being watched, lifting 
his head higher to stare directly at the security camera that faced him 
from the furthest end of the room. There was a second one in the 
opposite corner just over his right shoulder, aimed across the room to 
view the entrance as well as the conference table. 

He had never really taken much notice of them before, but for some 
reason they seemed significant now. Jack frowned, his mind wandering 
from his task as he gazed around the room again looking for the answer 
that he knew was right in front of him. He gazed at the SGC logo hanging 
on the wall, a permanent sign that this place was here to stay and, now 
that he was down in the depths of the mountain again, maybe he would be 
too. 

With that simple thought came another image of the Slav in his office 
that Monday morning, arriving uninvited to bring an abrupt end to Jack's 
first attempt to reenter the base. His accented words played over and 
over in Jack's mind, beating a repetitive cadence until one single 
sentence stood out above all others. 

"Even your security cameras hide more than they can see and, when the 
time is right, all will be revealed!" The Slav had observed cryptically.

Jack stared up at the far corner again, regarding the darkened lens 
thoughtfully, an indistinct notion beginning to form into a more 
positive idea. He stood there awhile longer, tilting his head to one 
side, deep in thought, chewing the edge of his lip where it wasn't 
split. He scrubbed his fingers through his greying hair and finally he 
shrugged, inhaling slowly before he walked towards the camera.

It may not be the most logical place, but it seemed to have a certain 
sense of symmetry, at least from the point of view of a bomber who 
yearned to see the results of his explosion. Jack reached up towards the 
high camera, feeling the stitches down his left side wrenching and the 
pain in his ribcage flaring sharply, the painkillers wearing off fast 
now that he was no longer benefiting from a regular flow. He groaned, 
lowering his arm again rapidly and waiting for his head to stop reeling 
before looking around for something to stand on. Wheeling one of the 
padded leather chairs closer to the wall, Jack contemplated it, 
wondering how steady he would be if he stood on it.

"Oh, what the hell," he muttered under his breath, "It's not like you 
have a better idea, Jack." He planted the first foot up onto the seat, 
wobbling slightly and leaning his plastered arm against the wall for 
support. He reached up to feel around the back of the camera with his 
left hand. His fingers dug into something soft, pulling his hand back to 
examine the grey putty like material under his nails. Jack gazed at 
them, somewhat dazed but unsurprised that his theory had proved correct.

Shifting in the chair to get even closer, he felt behind the camera 
again, his instincts kicking in, becoming more lucid and urgent as he 
blindly ran his fingers around the edge of the entire package to check 
for hidden wiring. Then he wrapped his hand around the rectangular block 
and lifted it down from its secret perch to examine it carefully.

According to the timer, it still had nearly twenty eight hours to tick. 
That's odd, Jack thought to himself, how could the Slav get the day 
wrong? 

He gently laid the explosive device onto his plaster cast to free up his 
other hand and gingerly eased the detonator from the overly large block 
of plastique, disconnecting it completely to successfully defuse the 
threat.

"Colonel O'Neill!" A loud voice startled him and he nearly dropped the 
charge. He looked up to recognise the source, wobbling on his precarious 
perch as he tried to bring the two figures into focus.

"What day is it?" His hoarse whisper asked curiously.

General Hammond exchanged looks with Teal'c as they moved closer across 
the floor. The security officer had alerted them to the unusual events 
in the briefing room, having been watching on the camera monitors, all 
attention stepped up after the near disastrous start to the week. Both 
men had been awakened from their light slumbers, listening to their 
separate telephone calls with a reaction of disbelief, but now they bore 
witness to the curious scene for themselves.

"Colonel O'Neill, what are you doing?" Hammond asked with a look of 
incredulity.

"What day is it?" Jack repeated his earlier question, a frown forming on 
his pale bruised face.

Wondering why it could possibly matter, Hammond said gently, "It's 
Wednesday, Jack."

"Wednesday? Already? That can't be right!" The Colonel said, almost to 
himself. He paused thoughtfully, then looked at them with clear brown 
eyes and asked, "What time is it?" 

"It is a quarter past six in the morning, O'Neill," Teal'c responded as 
he stepped nearer.

"Too late!" Jack muttered in disgust, "He set it way too late, but how 
could he make a mistake like that!" 

"Who?" Hammond asked in growing confusion, trying to fathom out what the 
Colonel was doing standing on a chair in the corner of the briefing room 
when he should surely still be in the infirmary recovering from surgery. 
He drew closer and looked into O'Neill's dark eyes, but they seemed 
lucid enough, maybe a little dazed, but he did not look like a man who 
had finally flipped over the edge.

Jack slowly went over the words that had been bouncing around inside his 
head since he awoke. The Slav had said the explosions would echo deep in 
the mountain for at least two days. "Two days!" Jack murmured under his 
breath, that was it! Adding the times together, he eventually looked up 
with a sober expression on his face, "General, what's happening at 1000 
hours tomorrow morning?"

Hammond paled slightly, swallowing dryly, wondering how O'Neill could 
possibly know about that. "Why do you ask, Colonel?" He asked warily. 

Jack gazed at him openly, his dark brown eyes unshielded, a knowing look 
of betrayal clear for all to see. "What's happening at ten hundred hours 
tomorrow, General Hammond, Sir?" Jack repeated coldly, realising the 
answer was being avoided because it directly effected him in some way.

Teal'c also turned to the General, a look of accusation on his features 
as he awaited the answer.

Hammond stared painfully at O'Neill, "Senator Mitchell has arranged a 
meeting ahead of the Senate Committee hearing on Friday. It commences 
here at 1000 hours tomorrow morning, Jack." The General paused, sighing 
deeply, "He's coming to take depositions from the rest of your team and 
anyone else in the SGC that was involved with your recent actions in 
Egypt."

Jack stared at his commanding officer with a look of shocked disbelief, 
his mind churning with the possible implications of his words. Suddenly 
it all added up, the unique timing and positioning of this particular 
explosive charge, secreted in such a way as to cause injury to a visitor 
in the briefing room at a specific time, obviously with one single 
target in mind. And if Senator Mitchell was the Slav's own personal 
target, then Senator Mitchell must be the man they all wanted a piece 
of. 

"I was going to tell you Monday morning, Colonel, but I didn't get a 
chance." Hammond shook his head dejectedly, this was yet another order 
being forced upon him that he neither agreed with, nor had any power to 
fight against. "It's not supposed to be hostile, Jack. He's just coming 
to collect all the facts relating to your conduct, that's all."

But it was supposed to be a closed hearing to decide whether an internal 
investigation would even be necessary. Why would they be interviewing 
members of the SGC beforehand when they didn't have O'Neill's story yet? 
When they had yet to decide whether they would want to delve further. 
And when they had yet to find out who else they would need to talk to. 

Unless of course a certain Senator wanted enough ammunition to plan a 
sneak attack. To undermine the credibility of what would be a shaky 
witness at best. A man who already viewed the very idea of the hearing 
as a further extension to his ongoing torturous nightmare. The only man 
who actually bore witness to any wrong doing on the part of the Senate 
Committee's operational liaison Philip Marshall. And the only man whose 
testimony could possibly result in an internal investigation being 
progressed, thus posing a potential threat to the secrecy of the 
Senator's own involvement. 

Slowly, Jack realised there could only be one reason for this particular 
Senator to arrange interviews with members of the SGC and that was to 
prepare his ambush of Colonel O'Neill in advance. To be ready to launch 
a verbal onslaught against the witness during the hearing, the only safe 
option now left open to the Senator. To remove all credence from 
O'Neill's statement would successfully ensure there would be no follow 
up investigation.

"He's going to hang me out to dry!" Jack whispered palely. He looked at 
the block of plastic explosive that still rested on his plaster cast. 
Hefting the large chunk of C4 with his left hand, he tossed it in the 
direction of General Hammond, who caught it deftly. "There's your 
Senator, General," Jack said quietly, numbed by the implications of his 
find. He shook his head in disbelief, "Triple cross," he murmured 
bleakly, "Might have known."

"What do you mean, Jack?" Maybe it was the early hour of the day, but 
Hammond still wasn't following. Judging by the look on his face, nor was 
Teal'c for that matter.

"All the charges the Slav planted, he said were set to go off Tuesday 
morning, but this one wasn't," Jack explained carefully, identifying all 
the facts in order, "If everything didn't go according to plan and he 
didn't get his money, this bomb would have gone off tomorrow morning, 
not long after the meeting began which had been called by the Senator 
that hired him. If the Slav didn't get his money, the Senator would be 
killed in retribution." 

Learning the name after all this time seemed somehow anticlimactic, a 
piece of information that Jack was no longer sure of how to use, all his 
fight had been expelled during the past few days and this final nagging 
task had now been completed. He licked his lips nervously as it slowly 
sunk in, muttering the identity under his breath, "Senator Mitchell." 

The name began repeating inside Jack's head, his stomach churning in new 
fear at the impact of this knowledge. The man was still alive, Jack had 
just saved his life! The man who had caused him to endure so much. The 
man who had hurt Cassie, Daniel and Janet. The man who had played with 
the lives of countless people, all effected by the events in Cairo in 
one way or another during the last five and a half weeks. How could he 
face such evil again? It would be like meeting with the devil himself, 
having suffered at the hands of, and then killed, all his minions.

Jack shook his head again, "Senator Mitchell," he murmured above the 
buzzing that was beginning to sound in his ears.

Teal'c was watching O'Neill closely, protectively. He saw Jack's dark 
brown eyes glaze over, noticed the wavering of his stance, the tremble 
in his grip. He hurriedly stepped forward, catching the Colonel like a 
feather as his legs buckled, toppling him from the chair. His eyes 
rolled up into his head and Jack passed out with a soft moan. 

General Hammond let out a held breath when Teal'c safely caught the 
falling man. "I think the Colonel's been away from the infirmary for too 
long," he said quietly. "We'd better get him back there and let Doctor 
Fraiser check him over."

~~~~~~~~~~

Teal'c was just settling the Colonel gently down on his abandoned bed 
when Hammond followed a worried looking Doctor Fraiser into the room. 
Close behind was Captain Carter, who had eventually awoken sometime 
after O'Neill had gone walkabout, shocked by the surprise absence of the 
patient and at something of a loss as to what might have happened. 
Standing off to one side, the trio waited while the doctor made some 
rapid checks of Jack's pulse and vital signs, listening to his breath 
sounds with her stethoscope and marking her findings onto his chart 
before reattaching the IV drip. 

"Colonel O'Neill, you're going to be the death of me," she admonished 
the unconscious man softly. "You ever try this again and I'll handcuff 
you to the rail myself. I promised Cassie I'd have you ready for 
visitors when she finishes school this afternoon, I don't want to have 
to tell her it was your fault she can't come, now do I?"

Hammond smiled at her gentle words. With the exception of Doctor 
Jackson, everyone on this base had only known Colonel O'Neill for two 
years, and yet their lives had all been profoundly touched by his 
actions during that time. He had made far too many trips to the 
infirmary in the name of the Stargate program, either due to his 
unceasing sense of adventure or through his efforts to save the base and 
its inhabitants.

Once again it was his selfless act that had left him in such a grave 
condition, starting with his attempt to rescue Doctor Jackson and 
hopefully now ending with him saving the SGC from another explosive 
threat. It was difficult to imagine what would have taken place if it 
was not for the presence of Colonel O'Neill and the General counted them 
all lucky that Jack had survived this latest ordeal. Perhaps now the 
Colonel would finally be able to see a light at the end of the tunnel, 
even if it might still seem a little dim and distant at present.

~~~~~~~~~~

With a look of grim determination, Hammond picked up the telephone and 
made his call. During the last three hours, the General had formed a 
plan with the two remaining members of SG1, whilst Doctor Jackson and 
Colonel O'Neill continued to recover in the infirmary. It was a devious 
scheme that would take some clever acting and synchronisation, but they 
all believed they would be able to pull it off and the payoff would be 
tremendous.

If the Senator wanted triple cross, he was certainly going to get it, 
Hammond thought with a sense of anticipation as he waited for the 
telephone call to be connected.

"Senator Mitchell? General Hammond here, Sir. I'm afraid I've got some 
most disturbing news."

~~~~~~~~~~

When Jack resurfaced again, late that Wednesday afternoon, his hazy 
vision slowly focused on a bright smiling, fair haired face not more 
than three feet from his head. Her tongue sticking out in concentration 
as she applied thick red and green colouring pens to his cast. Jack 
watched spellbound as Cassie painstakingly painted the white plaster 
with brightly coloured flowers. A sudden thought crossed her face and, 
with a grin, she turned to the box on the night stand and found a brown 
marker pen, quickly drawing the outline of a flower pot and colouring it 
in. Her task finally completed to her satisfaction, she signed her name 
to it and sat back to admire her handiwork.

"Ahem!" Jack said softly so as not to startle her. He was rewarded with 
a look that would keep his heart warm for weeks.

Cassie's eyes lit up and she smiled widely. "Jack!" She exclaimed 
happily, jumping off the bed and flinging her arms across his shoulders 
to hug him, carefully avoiding his chest. 

Jack laughed and wrapped his left arm around her, holding her tightly. 
"Hey sweetheart, how ya doing?" He croaked hoarsely.

"I'm fine, Jack," Cassie's voice was muffled as she buried her face in 
his shoulder, then she lifted her head. "But Mom says you haven't been 
looking after yourself very well," she said accusingly, "You promised me 
you'd be more careful!"

Jack slid his arm away and tried to sit up. The young girl placed a hand 
lightly on his chest, "Mom said you shouldn't move about too much yet 
because you might pop your stitches," she jumped back off the bed and 
adjusted the control to raise the top a little, before propping an extra 
pillow behind his head to make him comfortable. Jack chuckled as she 
took charge, realising just how much like Janet she was turning out to 
be.

Finally, Cassie stepped back, satisfied, gazing at him as she waited for 
an answer to her original accusation.

Practically withering under her mock sternness, Jack gave her a sheepish 
look. "Sorry!" He said in the end, adding with a grin that stretched at 
his split lip, "I won't do it again, honest!"

Cassie looked at him, determining the sincerity of his words, then she 
jumped up again and settled down beside him. "You'd better not," she 
warned with a giggle, "Or you won't get your present."

Jack's eyes grew wide, looking like a little boy at Christmas time, 
"What present?"

Cassie giggled again at the expression on his face, "Not telling! You 
can't have it until Daniel gets here." 

"How is Daniel?" Jack asked with sudden seriousness.

"He's got a limp!"

"Is that all?" Jack asked gently, knowing she would tell him everything 
she knew.

"Well, he looks nearly as battered as you do, Jack, and he's got a 
broken finger! But with help from the walking cane that Mom's making him 
use, he's been wandering about a bit since lunchtime," Cassie reported 
happily, glad that Daniel was recovering so quickly, and equally pleased 
to tell her friend such good news.

A fleeting recollection of hearing Daniel's voice sometime during the 
night came into Jack's head. His left hand reflexively went to his neck 
and he felt a presence that had been missing for too long, a metal chain 
and the weight of his dog tags. Suddenly seeing his friend for himself 
seemed so important. "Where is Daniel?" Jack asked.

"I'm here, actually," Daniel's voice drifted across from the door, where 
he'd been standing for a couple of minutes, watching the two friends 
interact, wondering again about what the Slav had told him shortly 
before the end.

Two heads turned towards the door. "Daniel!" They both exclaimed in 
tandem.

"Well, don't just stand there," Jack called, "Cassie said she's got a 
present for me and I can't have it until you're here!"

Daniel grinned, happy to see Jack really smile for the first time in 
weeks, an expression that reached his eyes and began to make him look 
human again despite the bruising shadowing his face. He hobbled across 
and perched on the end of the bed. 

"Sorry, I made her promise. I wanted to see you open it," he said 
softly, feeling the ache of his bruised jaw and the sharp pull on his 
split lip, but he couldn't help smile widely after all they had endured.

Jack held his gaze for a moment, his fingers still toying with his dog 
tags. He lifted the chain slightly, "You?" He asked quietly. Daniel 
nodded. "Thanks," Jack said with a look of deep gratitude.

Cassie jumped off the bed excitedly. Glancing at Daniel to receive his 
nod of approval, she turned to the night stand and lifted the top layer 
from her box of colouring equipment to reveal the larger compartment 
below, which hid a small brightly wrapped package that Daniel had helped 
her buy the previous week.

Lifting it out she turned to Jack, a solemn look on her face. "It's to 
replace the one you lost," she said, a slight quiver in her voice.

Jack took the gift, feeling a familiar weight and shape through the 
colourful paper. Moving his right arm across his chest, he rested the 
package on the plaster cast and fumbled with his left hand to tear the 
wrapping open, trying to hide his eagerness. Daniel grinned at the 
boyish look of glee on his face, the exact reaction he had been looking 
forward to seeing.

Finally, Jack freed the object from the paper and held it up in his 
hand. His long fingers running over the smooth red enamel, admiring the 
complexity of tools held within the cleverly crafted package, all the 
exact same items as his original Swiss army knife. "Sweet!" He said 
softly, gazing at Cassie, "Thank you." 

The young girl was smiling so widely her jaw ached, "Promise when you 
get better you'll show me some more uses for it!"

"So it was you who taught Cassie how to pick locks!" Janet's stern voice 
cut through the room and they all winced, turning towards her. She 
looked at Daniel, "And he taught you too, I suppose!"

Daniel nodded sheepishly, feeling like a snitch. But caught red handed, 
what could he say? He turned back to Jack and shrugged an apology.

Janet crossed to the bed and took Jack's arm, holding his wrist to check 
his pulse, deciding it was only a little fast because she had him 
scared. She let him stew a bit longer whilst she took his temperature, 
then finally turned and released her face into a wide smile. "Just don't 
let me catch you teaching my daughter how to hotwire a car!" She joked. 
Daniel and Jack exchanged guilty looks. "Oh you didn't!" She added in 
astonishment, glaring from one man to the other and receiving a pair of 
supremely innocent faces in return.

Daniel was the first to break down under her gaze, "Um, actually, that 
would be my fault." He paused, hugging his arm across his chest 
nervously. Seeing Janet's look of disbelief, he added, "Really, Jack 
didn't do it, honest! Um, it was me," he shrugged uncomfortably.

"Daniel!" Janet spluttered, "This might be the sort of thing I've come 
to expect from Jack, but I thought you'd know better!"

"Hey!" Jack exclaimed with the hurt look of one being falsely accused.

"Mom's right, you know!" Cassie whispered in his ear, watching the 
adults with a mischievous grin.

Jack shrugged, "Yeah. Guess you're right," he admitted with a soft 
smile, "But don't tell her that!" He added, listening to Daniel trying 
to explain himself out of this one. 

"But you never know when it could save her life!" He pointed out 
defensively.

"Yeah, speaking of which," Jack decided to rescue him, shifting the 
conversation slightly, "How on earth are you supposed to hotwire that 
new car of yours?"

"You're not!" Daniel grinned at him, vaguely wondering when Jack had the 
chance to try, "It's supposed to be hotwire proof! Believe me, I've 
tried it and I couldn't manage it. Why do you think I keep a spare set 
of keys in the back!"

"Well I wish I'd known that Monday!" Jack replied, then he thought about 
it for a moment, his face turning serious, "Actually, no I'm not," he 
murmured, almost to himself, wondering what would have happened if he 
had been able to start the car and make his getaway, unwittingly leaving 
Daniel behind to suffer his fate at the hands of the Slav. 

Daniel frowned, wondering if any of them would ever find out everything 
that had gone on in the previous few days, or in the past six weeks for 
that matter.

Janet eyed the two men, deciding to call a halt to visiting hours, "Come 
on, I think Jack needs to get some more rest. You too Daniel, you've 
wandered around enough for one day. And you can come back again 
tomorrow, Cass," she added before her daughter had time to protest.

Jack nodded wearily, hugging Cassie again and kissing her cheek 
solemnly, "Thank you for the gift, it's wonderful," he told her. "And 
there are a few more uses I haven't shown you yet," he whispered with a 
grin. 

He watched Daniel lead Cassie from the room, then settled down tiredly 
as Janet fussed over him for awhile longer. "I heard that, you know!" 
Janet murmured in his ear as she adjusted his pillow, "Welcome back, 
Jack!" She smiled widely, and left him to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Senator Mitchell had been relieved to hear the news from General Hammond 
that Colonel O'Neill was finally dead at last, but he was furious that 
the explosive charges placed within the SGC had been located and 
defused. The General had told him about the initial blast at the main 
entrance and how that had led to a search of the entire facility, 
turning up several more terrorist bombs.

The Senator stared thoughtfully at the telephone. What of his two hired 
mercenaries? They should have reported in by now, if only to try and 
claim some of their money. Hammond was adamant that only the bodies of 
Colonel O'Neill and Doctor Jackson were found in the wreckage of the 
cabin.

Mitchell sat back in his padded leather chair, steepling his fingers to 
his chin in thought. With a degree of foreboding he realised that the 
Slav and his Egyptian colleague must still be out there somewhere, alive 
to tell the tale of the Senator's involvement. Surely, by now, they also 
knew that a bomb had been placed in the cabin in order to kill them?

Now the Senator would have to attend the very SGC that he had hoped to 
destroy. A meeting had been arranged for the next morning, originally 
setup as a fallback plan with a view to taking depositions that he could 
use to destroy the reputation of one of the SGC's finest people. Now he 
would have to tread more wisely, the people he was to interview would be 
emotionally wrought following the loss of their friends. If he played it 
right, he might be able to get them to reveal much more than expected.

~~~~~~~~~~

Passages of Time - Part Nine:

Jack was released from his infirmary bed on Friday afternoon. Doctor 
Fraiser was satisfied with the way his surgical stitches were healing 
and she decided to trust him not to overexert himself and risk damaging 
his ribs. She knew a small amount of freedom to roam around the base 
would strengthen the Colonel's resolve to recover more quickly than if 
he were left to mope about in the infirmary any longer, so she 
conditionally discharged him, making him promise that he would take it 
easy and not stray too far from medical care for at least another thirty 
six hours.

Roughly translated that meant Jack was stuck within the confines of the 
base until at least early Sunday morning, or in fact, as Jack deciphered 
the order, he was not allowed to leave the actual mountain, that didn't 
mean he couldn't go up top every now and again. Besides the exercise was 
doing him the world of good.

For the third time in twelve hours, Jack slowly climbed the dimly lit 
staircase, pacing himself carefully as he ascended towards the emergency 
exit. On this trip, his breathing was becoming slightly easier and his 
muscles loosening up at last, but he still needed a steadying hand on 
the rail to support his weak steps by the time he passed the halfway 
point and he couldn't put too much weight on that arm because the bolt 
of pain the pressure provoked in his broken ribs was still severe enough 
to leave him gasping, which simply served to add to the tightness in his 
chest.

The exertion certainly helped narrow his focus, he suffered a lot fewer 
images strobing through his mind on exiting the base than he did 
descending back down. Although, if he really thought about it, he knew 
it was probably purely psychological, but he was trying not to think 
about it, after all thinking didn't seem to help him at all.

Still, he was determined to make it all the way to the top, failure left 
him with only two options, neither of which he was ready to face yet - 
taking an elevator the rest of the way out, or staying inside the 
mountain.

Jack shuddered, pressing on quickly when he finally caught his breath. 
He reached the top and swiped his badge through the exit door lock, 
pushing it open as he glanced out. He gasped in shock, seeing a menacing 
image leering at him, so close he could almost feel the hot breath on 
his face. Jack stepped back in fear, the vision fading and the door 
slowly closing again on its strong spring. He put out a shaking hand to 
stop it from shutting him in and stood for a moment, struggling for 
control as a vivid memory played through his mind, a nightmare encounter 
in his own office just four days before.

Hugging his right arm against his ribs, Jack fought for calm, gulping 
painfully as his chest heaved from the added stress on top of the effort 
of the climb. When eventually he was breathing shallowly again, he 
stepped out through the door.

Outside it was dark, a crystal clear sky embraced him. At the crest of 
the small hill not far above the emergency exit, Jack hunkered down, 
lowering himself slowly to sit on the slope, appreciating the fresh air 
and the view. He counted off the constellations in a process that he had 
been using for nearly eight years, ever since he took up astronomy 
sometime after his return from Iraq.

The thought of that place sent a shiver down his spine, recalling the 
intense claustrophobia that had all started way back then. He could no 
longer remember who had suggested it, somehow it had just happened, 
staring at the night sky had become the least damaging way for him to 
survive the nightmares. He smiled ruefully to himself, gently running 
his fingers through the scrub grass on the hillside, remembering how for 
at least a year he had probably spent more time sleeping out under the 
stars in the back yard than he had slept in their bed.

Not for the first time recently, he wondered how Sara had ever coped 
with him then. It was easy to forget how strong she had been, he would 
never have made it through without her help. Still it was hardly fair of 
him to even consider imposing on it again, even though she had told him 
to call her if he needed her and, right now, he really did want to. 

Jack shook the idea from his head, "You can do this alone, Jack," he 
murmured softly. "Leave Sara out of it, at least until you're stronger." 
Maybe next week, he thought hopefully, you could always call her next 
week.

He couldn't help recalling the warmth of her last embrace, the feel of 
her arms around him, her hair tickling his bare shoulder, her kiss on 
his cheek. He was reminded of an earlier encounter, inside a dark jail 
cell, soothing words spoken so softly, drawing him back from another 
time, holding him as he trembled. Images sprang unbidden into his head, 
a multitude of visions that had plagued him for weeks, new nightmares 
mixing with old ones until they were inseparable. A collage of faces and 
threats that continued to haunt him.

"God!" Jack rubbed his eyes and gently lowered himself to lay on the 
grass, ignoring the pain as his bruised back and kidney pressed against 
the hillside. He stared at the star filled sky, desperately trying to 
clear his mind. Why wasn't it getting any easier? He had won, hadn't he?

He had finally remembered gunning down his Russian torturer in a hotel 
room in Giza, a shocking recollection that satisfied a deep seated 
craving each time it came to mind in a way that scared him with its 
intensity. And he had beaten the Slav at his own game. He and Daniel had 
lived to tell the tale, not that either of them had exactly told it 
properly yet, but noone was pushing for facts any longer, not since 
Senator Mitchell had been implicated in the conspiracy, leaving the 
Senate Committee with far more to worry about than the horrific details 
of an eight day reign of torture.

So why were the nightmares still haunting him, the visions still 
following him awake or asleep? He had won! He had beaten the odds.

Jack cast his mind back to the previous morning. A meeting that had 
unnerved him more than he cared to admit. The idea of facing the man 
behind all his pain should have fed his need for retribution, yet he was 
sick of revenge and appalled by the violence that continued to surround 
him, effecting everything and everyone he touched. Instead, his part in 
the calculated act of snagging Senator Mitchell hook line and sinker had 
left him feeling like he was about to face Lucifer himself.

The setup had been well planned. The security cameras were re-routed to 
one of the labs below the briefing room, so that Daniel and Jack were 
able to watch the proceedings on a computer screen. The man himself had 
proven to be no devil incarnate, he was just an ordinary looking white 
collar politician. Just your average greedy, power hungry, evil Senator, 
Jack thought bitterly to himself as he examined the image on the 
monitor.

He couldn't help replay a scene in his mind from that Monday afternoon, 
a vengeful conversation between two friends facing certain death. They 
had wanted to kill this man, they were even going to form a queue! Yet 
now, as Jack watched Daniel's reactions to the figure on screen, he 
wasn't sure that either of them felt that way anymore.

"So, what do you say we check out a couple or three Berettas from the 
armoury and burst into the meeting guns blazing?" Jack quipped 
unconvincingly as they watched the Senator and his assistants take their 
seats in the briefing room under General Hammond's direction.

Daniel chewed his split lip nervously, "Actually, I think I'd rather see 
him rot in a dark jail cell for the rest of his life, it seems more 
fitting." He looked at Jack with a pained gaze then, as if to say that 
if the Colonel felt differently then Daniel would do whatever was asked 
of him.

"Yeah, I know," Jack admitted, "I think I've seen enough dead bodies 
lately. Kind of makes me wish I could just get off this planet and go 
explore some place peaceful, maybe stay awhile. In fact if I left right 
now it wouldn't be soon enough!"

"Nervous?" Daniel asked, hugging his arms across his chest as he perched 
on a stool by the computer. He knew the answer from the shadow in Jack's 
eyes and the way he was tapping his fingers against his chin, careful to 
avoid the bruises which coloured his face in a stark contrast to his 
pale skin. "You don't have to do this, you know." 

"Yeah, I do, Daniel," Jack said bleakly, looking up at him from the 
wheelchair that Doctor Fraiser had flatly insisted he be moved around in 
until she was ready to discharge him from her care. Daniel had been 
released earlier that morning, the doctor satisfied with the extent of 
his recovery, so long as he continued to use the walking stick for a few 
days until his gunshot wound was healed. "If we have to shake him up, 
this is the way," Jack paused, adding ironically, "Kind of makes me 
wonder what would have happened if I hadn't found that C4 though."

Daniel stared at him silently, holding his gaze with a look that said 
they both knew what would have happened and the consequences would have 
been unpleasant for anyone else attending that meeting, as well as for 
the Senator.

Hammond's voice suddenly emanated eerily from one of the monitors in 
front of them, "Well, Senator, we have had some good news," he announced 
grimly, "The local Sheriff has arrested the killers."

Jack and Daniel both watched for the Senator's reaction to the lie. His 
pen that was preparing to make notes on a pad, in addition to those of 
the stenographer and his personal assistant, froze in mid air for an 
instant.

"In fact they're going to transfer them to Cheyenne Mountain at midday 
to place them into military custody," Hammond added casually.

They both saw the brief flash of hope in Mitchell's eyes before the 
blank mask settled back over his features. "That is good news, General. 
So, shall we make a start?" The Senator asked nonchalantly, "Would you 
like to call in the first on the list?"

Daniel and Jack continued to bide their time, listening and occasionally 
glancing at the screen as Senator Mitchell questioned Captain Carter 
about her involvement in the affair at the beginning. Jack couldn't help 
thinking how it had been back then, it seemed so long ago, but he had at 
least had a purpose, along with the physical ability to pursue his task. 
He wondered for the millionth time at what point he had ended up on this 
particular road to destiny, whether he might have made a wrong turn 
somewhere earlier than that fateful Friday evening on Giza Plateau. 

Sam did an excellent job of looking like a career military person who 
was struggling to come to terms with the loss of her team mates, Daniel 
was all set to give her an Oscar by the time the Senator had finished 
asking his questions. Not that it took long to determine that she had 
only been in contact via e-mail with the people in Cairo and could give 
little firm proof as to the nature of Colonel O'Neill's actions, illegal 
or otherwise. Even the Senator knew that conjecture was not going to 
hang a dead man.

The session lasted for thirty minutes before the Captain was excused and 
they broke for coffee. At that point, Mitchell asked the General if he 
could make a call, "Yes of course, Senator. You can use my office," 
Hammond had responded pleasantly.

At those words, Daniel and Jack both stopped staring into space and sat 
up straight and alert, this was what they had been waiting for. On the 
second monitor in front of them, they were receiving feedback from a 
miniature camera that had been hidden on the book shelves in the corner 
of General Hammond's office. The picture had remained static until now, 
when the figure of Senator Mitchell stepped into shot.

He sat down in the comfortable chair behind Hammond's desk, a move that 
seemed to sum up the man's arrogance, but positioned him perfectly for 
the camera. The Senator lifted the grey telephone handset and dialled in 
a number from memory, leaning back in the chair as he waited for the 
call to be picked up.

"It's me. I've got another job for you," he said as soon as the phone 
had been answered. "This one pays double because there's a tight 
deadline." He glanced at the door then, ensuring it was securely shut. 
The blinds on the window were already closed, but the main light had 
been left on by General Hammond earlier that morning. The image was 
clear and the sound feed even sharper.

"Midday today, the Sheriff's office transports two men up to Cheyenne 
Mountain. I want them stopped at all costs. I don't care how you do it 
or what it takes, just make sure those two men are dead before you 
leave. The money will be deposited into your account as soon as I 
receive confirmation."

"We've got him," Daniel said softly, staring at the monitor screen, 
astounded by how easy it had been after all this time. They watched as 
the Senator replaced the phone, stood up and straightened his tie in the 
small mirror hanging on the back of the door, before calmly exiting the 
room.

Sam appeared in the lab a few minutes later. "Chapman's team managed to 
trace the call and the Sheriff is sending his patrols out there right 
now," she said with a smile, wheeling across another stool to sit at the 
keyboard in front of the second computer terminal. "How did you like my 
performance?" She asked over her shoulder as she typed in several 
commands.

"I still say it would have been more fun to send Teal'c in first. I've 
never seen crocodile tears from a Jaffa before!" Jack joked feebly, 
trying to break the tension building inside him, knowing there was one 
move left to make and he was playing a starring role.

Hearing the nervousness in his voice, Sam turned slightly and smiled 
encouragingly, "You're up next, Sir. Just as soon as I feed back a copy 
of this footage into the briefing room. The General will be able to play 
it back any.......minute.......now," she emphasised the final word as 
she hit the enter key to send the data back across the loop. 

All three turned their attention to the first screen again. A soft 
intermittent alarm emanated from the built in speaker, picking up the 
sound of a beeping computer perched on a trolley beside the wall in the 
briefing room as it began alerting the General to the arrival of a very 
important item.

As General Hammond placed his coffee cup on the table and walked across 
the room, Daniel and Sam both stood up. Daniel collected his walking 
stick from the back of the stool and Sam grabbed the handles of Jack's 
wheelchair to push him out into the corridor.

Wordlessly, they headed around the corner and stopped at the bottom of 
the steps leading up into the control room. Jack stood slowly, trying 
not to put all his weight on his left arm to lift himself out of the 
chair, knowing how much it would hurt his ribs even with the dose of 
painkillers Doctor Fraiser had given him before he left the infirmary. 
Carefully he climbed the first flight of stairs, with Sam hovering at 
his side in case she was needed. Several heads nodded in their direction 
from the control room. News travelled in the close knit community of the 
basement and they knew what was about to take place, each one relishing 
the possibility of ultimate retribution. 

Jack was pleased to find Teal'c waiting on the landing below the 
briefing room. Pausing for air, he attempted to calm his breathing to 
the gentle pace that Doctor Fraiser demanded for the benefit of his 
damaged lung.

Through the open stairwell, they all heard General Hammond's 
authoritative voice as he called up the files from the computer situated 
near the entrance above their heads. "Senator Mitchell, there is one 
piece of evidence that we would like you to review before we call the 
next person in for questioning."

Barely daring to breathe, the team listened as the film taken in 
Hammond's office was replayed, loudly and clearly. When it came to an 
end, the room fell silent. They all heard a cough as Senator Mitchell 
cleared his throat, stalling for time as he searched for some plausible 
reason that would explain away his actions.

It was time. With a slow intake of breath, Jack climbed the final flight 
of stairs, aware of three people following in his footsteps.

They heard Senator Mitchell find his voice at last, asking in a 
contentious manner, "I demand to know what is the meaning of this, 
General Hammond!"

"Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing!" Colonel O'Neill 
announced coldly as he appeared at the entrance to the briefing room. 
Mitchell's jaw gaped open in shock and Sam found herself wishing she had 
brought a pin with her to drop at that precise moment. 

Jack moved across to the opposite end of the conference table, standing 
straight and bold, his chin raised determinedly. He placed the 
fingertips of his left hand against the polished surface in a gesture 
that was designed to stop himself from swaying, but which added to the 
outward appearance of a calm commanding officer who was now in complete 
control of the game.

"Colonel O'Neill!" The Senator recovered quickly, forcing his expression 
into a picture of innocence. As three more uniforms stepped up beside 
their leader, standing shoulder to shoulder, Mitchell found himself 
facing the accusing glares of SG1, a complete four person team once 
more. "You're looking extremely well for a corpse!" He told O'Neill as 
casually as he could.

"Well, you know, it's only possible to play dead for so long before you 
start to believe it yourself!" Jack said bitterly. "And it was worth 
surviving just to get a look at your face. You're a hard man to track 
down."

"And you appear to be a surprisingly hard man to get rid of, Colonel!"

"Not for lack of trying, I'd say!" O'Neill responded defiantly.

"So I can see," Mitchell looked him over closely, somewhat astonished 
that the man could even stand up given how battered and pale he 
appeared. Yet here he stood, alive and in the flesh, and apparently 
prepared to face his aggressor. 

The Senator swallowed, desperately seeking plausible denial or at least 
a deflection away from his own guilt, "General Hammond, I demand an 
explanation for this. I was given to understand that Colonel O'Neill and 
Doctor Jackson had been killed." He glared at the General accusingly, 
"Did you lie to me, Hammond?"

"Oh, cut the crap, Senator," Jack interjected, "We all know what you 
did. Now it's your turn to pay."

Hammond smiled, sometimes the leader of SG1 could be insubordinate at 
the most perfect moments. The General addressed Senator Mitchell's 
question reasonably, "I don't believe my statement could be regarded as 
a lie," he decided to argue semantics, "I was simply falsely 
perpetuating the success of your own illegal request!"

"You have no proof that I made any such solicitations," Mitchell pointed 
out. 

"Don't you think it's somewhat futile to be professing your innocence 
when we have you on tape ordering the assassination of two men?" Hammond 
suggested soberly.

"That tape is illegal and you know it!" The Senator gloated, "Anything 
else you have is purely circumstantial!"

Just then a security officer came up the stairs from the control room 
and handed General Hammond a slip of paper, before stepping back to 
stand by the exit.

Hammond opened up the folded note and read the simple contents with a 
satisfied smile. "I wouldn't worry about evidence and testimony," he 
declared triumphantly, "The Sheriff has just picked up your hired 
assassin! Once he hears it was you who turned him in, I'm sure he'll be 
singing like a canary."

The General signalled towards the security officer, who disappeared back 
down the stairs briefly. He returned with the rest of his team, who had 
been waiting patiently in the control room below, ready to take the 
Senator into military custody until the government could decide how to 
prosecute the case.

As they led Mitchell away, General Hammond turned to the Senator's open 
mouthed assistant. "I suggest you contact Mr Mitchell's next appointment 
and tell them he will be delayed indefinitely!"

The man nodded hurriedly and followed the guards out of the room. The 
stenographer packed up her equipment quietly, chalking this meeting up 
as one of the most surprising she had been asked to attend during her 
service for the Senate Committee, before making her way from the room in 
the wake of her colleague.

General Hammond turned to the four remaining occupants, "Congratulations 
SG1!" He beamed at them like a proud father, "I had better get on the 
phone to the President and tell him what's happened." With that he went 
into his office wondering how the Commander in Chief would react when he 
discovered that Senator Mitchell, his new puppet inside the Senate 
Committee, had just been arrested by the head of the SGC. Still Hammond 
was certain the Committee itself would look upon the Stargate program 
more favourably for awhile at least, if only as a manoeuvre to distance 
themselves from the illegal acts of their colleague. 

A few seconds later he came back out carrying a miniature camera, "I 
believe Sergeant Chapman may want this," he handed it to Captain Carter 
and then turned back to his office, closing the door behind him.

SG1 found themselves alone and Jack found himself ready to collapse, the 
tension and exertion too much for him in the midst of his recovery. Sam 
turned round to smile at the three men, still holding the tiny camera. 
She noticed the colour suddenly leave Jack's face as his knees started 
to buckle beneath him. "Teal'c!" She cried out a warning needlessly. 

The Jaffa had been watching O'Neill like a hawk, ready to help should he 
stumble or falter. He gently grasped Jack beneath the shoulders to stop 
him from falling as he passed out with a groan, his body going limp and 
his eyes rolling up into his head. Sam wheeled one of the padded chairs 
up behind him and together they gently lowered the Colonel into the 
seat. The Captain crouched down beside him, checking his pulse, whilst 
Teal'c moved across to the telephone to call for Doctor Fraiser's 
attendance. 

At the same time, Daniel slumped down in another of the black leather 
seats, feeling suddenly exhausted as it slowly sank in that he could 
stop looking over his shoulder at long last.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack smiled slightly to himself as he gazed up at the star filled sky 
occupying his view. He recalled the previous morning in the briefing 
room vividly, the horrible woozy feeling as his legs gave way beneath 
him after Senator Mitchell had been taken away. He remembered coming 
around to find Captain Carter's hand gripping his wrist to measure his 
pulse as though afraid that if she let go, he might stop breathing. 

Teal'c had settled him into a chair, handing him a glass of water as 
soon as he opened his eyes and watching him carefully for any sign that 
he might pass out again, despite the Colonel's assurances that he would 
be fine now that the worst was over with.

Daniel had looked as stunned as Jack felt. The idea that the perpetrator 
of six weeks in hell had been trapped in his own game and would no 
longer be a threat to them, simply seemed too much to absorb in one 
attempt. It had left Jack shaky and numb, although some of that might 
have simply been exhaustion, and he struggled to concentrate on the 
three voices around him that began talking softly, but grew with 
excitement as the success of their plan sank in. 

Doctor Fraiser had been none too pleased when she had arrived, out of 
breath from her haste, to find one stressed out and utterly drained 
Colonel who looked long overdue to be delivered back to the infirmary. 
Still another twenty four hours in bed had been all that he could take. 
Fortunately the doctor had allowed him out that Friday afternoon, much 
to Jack's relief, and the opportunity to escape the confines of the 
underground base had been quickly and repeatedly taken.

He yawned wearily, searching around the night sky until he found Venus, 
shining out brightly above all else. Its presence was somehow comforting 
and Jack found himself closing his eyes to the view, relaxing his head 
against the grassy slope for a moment.

He came awake with a gasp, recalling a vision of three vast pyramids 
against a twilight blue sky with a single bright planet shining out 
above Kheops. It was the only star visible that early in the evening as 
Jack had waited for the Sound and Light show to begin in front of the 
Sphinx, never realising what fate had laid in store for him that night.

Images of dark passageways amidst ramshackle housing, leering gangsters 
with bushy moustaches and solid fists, tussled for attention until they 
slowly cleared from his view to be replaced by a deep blue star filled 
sky. Jack lay still for a moment, modifying his painful breathing once 
more. He noticed the movement of constellations that had taken place 
whilst his eyes were closed, realising with surprise that he must have 
been asleep for several hours. The night was beginning to feel chill in 
the early hours before dawn and he shivered slightly in the black t-
shirt and olive drab of his fatigues. 

He sat up gingerly, holding the plaster cast of his right arm across his 
ribs in support, feeling the ache in his stiffened muscles from his 
uncomfortable choice of mattress. Even after all these years, it seemed 
he could still sleep better out under the stars than indoors in bed, he 
considered ruefully, wondering what Doctor Fraiser would say if she 
caught him. With that thought, he stood up, allowing his head to adjust 
to the altitude before he attempted to move down the slope, mentally 
preparing himself for the long descent into the depths of Cheyenne 
Mountain. 

Reaching the emergency exit door, he fished in his pocket for his id 
card and swiped the lock, keying in the code that was required for 
entrance into the base through this particular accessway. He wrapped his 
fingers around the door handle and took a slow deep breath before easing 
it open to face whatever lay behind it down the poorly lit staircase 
within.

~~~~~~~~~~

To most people it seemed like any normal Monday, but for Daniel it was 
exactly a week since the explosion in the lobby. When he arrived that 
morning, he noticed the main entrance was beginning to look more like 
business as usual. The chipped and blasted walls had been replastered 
and painted over the weekend. The potted plants had been replaced, the 
comfortable reception chairs renewed and the chipboard covering the 
shattered inner doors had finally been taken away to leave shiny new 
glass in its place. Even Harry was sitting back at his desk, looking as 
cheerful as his old self, despite the odd bruise still highlighting his 
cheek.

"Doctor Jackson!" He exclaimed brightly when he saw the young man, "How 
are you?"

"I'm fine, Harry, but what about you? I didn't expect to see you back so 
soon," Daniel grinned, taking the proffered pen to sign himself in with. 

"Oh you know me, I get restless if I'm not doing something, so here I 
am. I'm only on half shifts for the first week, but then hopefully back 
up to full speed," the older man smiled broadly at the thought.

"Well you certainly look a lot better than when I saw you in the 
infirmary last week," Daniel declared, casting his mind back to a 
friendly conversation between the two men, who both found themselves in 
the doctor's care recovering from a bad start to the week.

"I've had a weekend of my wife's home cooking. It makes a world of 
difference after that hospital food!" Harry smiled cheerfully, recalling 
the younger man's words of gratitude for his perceived act of courage 
when the bomb had gone off in the lobby just seven days earlier. Harry 
barely remembered doing anything except pushing the man out of the way 
and falling on top of him, but he had accepted Daniel's thanks with due 
modesty.

Daniel laughed at his comment. "Yeah, I think the infirmary food is 
designed to discourage you from ending up there!" He said, adding after 
a moment, "Have you seen Colonel O'Neill yet this morning?"

"Yes, Sir, I have. He came in a couple of hours ago," Harry replied. 
"He's looking better himself, pretty tired though, I'd say. I noticed 
they've taken that big plaster cast off his arm and given him a smaller 
one. I guess that must be a good sign," he regarded Daniel with obvious 
curiosity since Colonel O'Neill still wouldn't take the bait when the 
duty officer had commented on his hand whilst signing him in that 
morning.

"Yeah, I guess," Daniel replied distractedly, "I'd better go see how he 
is." With that he headed for the lobby elevator to begin the normal 
routine of journeying into the bowels of the mountain. It had never 
occurred to him until recently just how much quicker it was to travel 
millions of miles between planets than it was to simply get down to the 
Stargate in the first place!

Jack wasn't in his office when Daniel knocked on the door. He stood in 
the corridor for a moment, wondering where else to look, when the door 
to the emergency stairwell opened and Jack appeared, looking warm and 
flushed. Daniel knew immediately that he'd been up top, wondering if he 
should read any significance into the fact that Jack had only been 
inside the base for two hours and yet had already been inclined to climb 
nearly twenty eight levels both ways as well as stopping for some fresh 
air outside.

"Morning, Daniel," Jack greeted him somewhat breathlessly, walking into 
his office and leaving the door open for the younger man to follow if he 
wanted.

Daniel gazed at Jack's right hand. The thick plaster with Cassie's 
flowers drawn on it had been removed, instead there was a much smaller 
cast covering his hand, interconnected with individual finger splints, 
designed to hold the digits straight but allow some movement as they 
grew stronger.

"How's your hand?" He asked, slumping down into the plastic chair near 
the wall.

"Okay, considering."

Daniel could tell by the way he said it, that it was far from okay, 
"What do you mean?"

Jack shrugged, wincing at the jab of pain such an innocuous gesture 
provoked in his side, "Daniel it was never going to be perfect," he 
sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as his friend. 
"The surgeon says I should get about fifty percent dexterity back."

"Oh," Daniel said flatly, wondering what that translated to in real 
terms.

"I'm never going to be able to use it in action again, Daniel," Jack 
explained, his voice choked. 

He had been trying to figure out what to do about it since he had heard 
the news the previous evening, after the surgeon had rushed through the 
tests made on it Sunday afternoon when the cast had been changed. 

It had seemed like the final nail in his coffin, to be removed from 
active duty, Daniel wouldn't want to know how close he had come to 
heading out to that liquor store again. Jack shuddered inwardly at the 
memory, the inner struggle between positive and negative he had fought 
that night amidst the certainty that, after all that had happened, he 
had not won at all. He had lost the one thing he cherished the most, his 
freedom of choice.

"What are you going to do?" Daniel asked with a pained look, new 
feelings of guilt hitting him full on with this shocking news. He had 
really believed that everything was going to be all right, that things 
would finally go back to the way they had been before all this had 
started. Now it seemed things were never going to be the same, and there 
would be nothing to keep Jack here, within the SGC. Why would he need to 
force himself into such claustrophobic surroundings day in day out if he 
was no longer on active duty. He may as well retire and enjoy living out 
the rest of his life in the open air.

Daniel bit his lip, fighting back emotions that threatened to overcome 
him at the thought of losing his friend and commanding officer.

Jack managed to suppress another urge to shrug. "Don't know what I'll do 
yet, I haven't decided. But I think I'll keep my options open," he tried 
to sound positive, if only for the sake of his friend. He knew how much 
Daniel wanted life to return to normal, he really hated to be the one 
that let him down. "Anyway, I've got some paperwork to catch up on," 
Jack added nonchalantly, really needing to be alone right then. He 
lifted a manila folder from his basket and opened the report, studying 
it closely until Daniel had left the room, closing the door quietly 
behind him. Then Jack went back to his normal routine of staring at the 
wall.

Daniel wandered aimlessly down the corridor, knowing he really ought to 
head for his lab and finish the research that seemed to be taking much 
longer than usual. Dawdling around the corner he was nearly knocked over 
by Captain Carter, who obviously had somewhere to be in a hurry. "Sam! 
How are you?"

"Daniel! Um, sorry, can't stop, I've got a meeting. I'll see you later, 
okay?" With that Sam sped off along the corridor, leaving Daniel to 
watch her go, marvelling that at least she could still look so excited 
over something given how the rest of the team were feeling.

He turned around and almost bumped into the fourth member of SG1 this 
time, "Teal'c!"

"Daniel Jackson, how are you?" The Jaffa asked politely, barely breaking 
stride as he continued past him, not waiting for any response, he added, 
"I am unable to tarry, Daniel, I am belated for an appointment."

Watching him go in astonishment, Daniel wondered whether he was the only 
one not in on some kind of secret. He shook his head dejectedly and 
slowly ambled up the stairwell to his research lab, to bury himself in 
work for awhile.

Daniel didn't see another soul until Jack poked his head around the door 
of the lab sometime in the afternoon, asking if he felt like some fresh 
air.

"Um, no thanks Jack, not if you're gonna make me walk up all those 
flights of stairs again," Daniel replied despondently. "Why don't you 
stop here for awhile instead? It is bigger than your office," he added 
unhelpfully.

Jack scratched his bruised chin, "Yeah, I've been wondering about that. 
How come you've got a bigger room than me?"

"Well, I do need more space for my research stuff," he responded 
defensively.

"Rocks you mean!" Jack attempted a grin. "Look maybe I'll stop past on 
my way back down, okay," he added, really needing some fresh air after 
being shut up inside for two hours. He ducked his head out the door 
again and headed back down the corridor towards the emergency stairwell. 
As he rounded the corner he almost bumped into Teal'c.

"Colonel O'Neill!" The Jaffa looked startled, as though he had been 
caught in the act of something.

"Teal'c! What's up?" Jack asked curiously, wondering how come he had not 
seen the man all day, normally he would have made the effort to visit 
his office at least once.

"My apologies, O'Neill, but I must not delay." The last words were 
spoken over his shoulder as the Jaffa disappeared on up the corridor.

Jack raised an eyebrow in surprise and then continued on down the 
hallway just passing the elevators when Sam Carter stepped out of one, 
"Afternoon, Captain!" Jack greeted her pleasantly.

"Oh, Colonel O'Neill!" Sam flushed beetroot red and Jack began to wonder 
what the hell was going on that he obviously did not know about. "Sorry, 
can't stop, got to go!" She stammered quickly and practically fled along 
the corridor.

Jack stared after her for a long moment, until his undying need for some 
open air distracted him once more and he headed for the emergency exit 
to begin his slow painful climb back up to ground level.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was more or less pleased with himself. He had managed to spend the 
entire Tuesday with only four trips outside the base. He had also begun 
to make a bit of headway into the dreaded paperwork that had built up on 
his desk during the last six and a half weeks. 

He had come to two decisions in the dark hours of the previous night. 
The first had been a brief, but incredibly nerve wracking telephone call 
to Sara's answering machine, during which he had managed to ask if she 
would like to meet for coffee one evening. As it turned out she had 
called back that morning, whilst he was in the shower, and left a 
similar message on his own machine, accepting his offer and arranging it 
for Thursday evening. That was the best start to a day he'd had in 
weeks.

The second decision he had made was to clear up all his outstanding work 
before he left the SGC for good. He didn't want to leave any loose ends 
untied, besides which, he knew the sheer effort of ploughing through all 
that paperwork would help him to decide whether he could stand doing it 
for the rest of his life or whether he should simply retire now and cut 
his losses.

He was just finishing up the last report for the day, when a tentative 
knock came at the door. "Come!" Jack yelled out a response, locking the 
drawer of his desk as he stood up and feebly stretched the kinks out of 
his tired body, ever mindful of his healing left side.

"Colonel O'Neill?" Sam Carter put her head around the door, an 
uncharacteristically nervous look on her face. "Um, I wonder if we could 
borrow you for a few minutes?"

Jack regarded her blue eyed gaze curiously, he had hardly seen the 
Captain in two days, come to think of it, he hadn't seen Teal'c either. 
Somewhat enviously, he wondered what they had been working on that would 
keep them so absorbed. "Yes, Captain, what is it?"

"Um, could you come with me to the infirmary please?" Sam asked.

Jack nodded and silently followed her from the room, grateful for the 
fact that she led him towards the stairwell rather than waiting for an 
elevator to go the couple of floors up.

By the time he reached the grey and white confines of the base 
infirmary, Jack's curiosity was piqued, especially when he found Teal'c, 
Janet and Daniel all waiting inside one of the rooms.

Jack stood inside the door, his first instinct being to flee, dreading 
that whatever they had planned might involve trying to get him to talk 
about his ordeal.

Daniel read his mind, "No, wait," he stepped towards the Colonel, "Wait, 
Jack, you have to hear what Sam has to say, this sounds 
really......um.......interesting."

Jack hesitated for a moment, then he forced himself to relax slightly 
and turned towards the woman beside him, "Captain? You want to tell me 
what this is all about?"

"Well, Sir," Sam began slowly, "Remember that equipment that Kendra used 
on Cimmeria?" Jack raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Well, she had 
some kind of hand held Goa'uld healing device," Sam continued, plunging 
on regardless, "We found it when we returned the second time and brought 
it back with us. Well Teal'c and I have been trying to figure out how to 
use it. We didn't do particularly well at first. In the end, General 
Hammond gave us permission to contact the Tok'ra and ask for their 
expertise." Sam smiled at the memory of having seen her father again 
that past weekend. 

Jack stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finally, Teal'c 
piped up, "Colonel O'Neill, we believe we have found the way to remedy 
your damaged hand," the Jaffa smiled broadly. He was as pleased as Sam 
to finally be able to do something towards the healing of their team 
leader.

Jack frowned in suspicion, recalling now how Captain Carter had 
originally attempted to use the healing device when they first found it 
and couldn't even get a peep out of it. He turned to Janet Fraiser, who 
was silently watching the group. "What do you think about this, Doctor?"

"Well, as a medical doctor, I admit I remain sceptical about such things 
until they are proven," Janet said softly, "But as your friend, Jack, I 
think it's worth a try. It can hardly do any harm, after all."

Sam squirmed slightly at those words, a reaction that Jack couldn't fail 
to miss. "What?"

"Um, well, we did experiment on a few things ourselves," Sam said 
sheepishly, "Some of them didn't exactly turn out too well."

"Like what?" Jack felt compelled to ask, even though he knew he wouldn't 
like the answer.

"Well, the Tok'ra told us that the healing device works on all organic 
matter," the Captain began to explain, "So I tried it out on one of my 
houseplants. It was dying anyway," she added defensively.

"And?" Jack asked with a touch of cynicism.

"Well, it kind of fried it, Sir!" Sam winced, chewing her lip, "But 
we've had some pretty good results since that first attempt."

"On plants?" Jack's sarcasm was really beginning to let loose.

Sam nodded cautiously. "But we did also try it out a few times on, um," 
Sam trailed off uncomfortably, unable to finish her statement.

Looking around the group expectantly, Jack waited for someone else to 
complete it for her. 

"I believe you call it 'finger licking good', O'Neill," Teal'c 
interjected.

Jack stared at him dumbfounded, trying to suppress the snort of cynical 
laughter that was desperately fighting to escape at their ridiculously 
serious proposal. "You're telling me you've been practising this Goa'uld 
healing device on Kentucky Fried Chicken? And now you want to try it out 
on me!"

"But, Sir, we figured the chicken bones were the closest proximity to 
hand bones that we could humanely experiment on," Sam protested hotly.

"Jack, think about it," Daniel's quiet voice calmly cut through the 
room, "What other choice do you have?" He shrugged painfully, "At least 
let them try."

For a long moment Jack gazed at him, realising that he had to do this as 
much for the rest of his team as for himself. Finally he nodded, "What 
do I have to do?"

"Firstly, Colonel, I have to remove all encumbrances from your hand. The 
cast and the splints will only get in the way," Doctor Fraiser 
explained, "But you'll have to keep your hand absolutely still without 
them, or you could only worsen the damage again without their support."

Besides which, Jack knew from experience, it would hurt like hell if he 
tried to move them, but he'd certainly been there before. He shrugged 
and let himself be led away by the doctor to begin the necessary 
preparation.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack and Janet were both in agreement that if they had not seen the 
results for themselves, neither would have believed it. 

Sam had ordered the others from the room, sat down at the table opposite 
Jack and slipped her left hand into the Goa'uld device. He had watched 
as she summoned up all her concentration powers into one narrow thought 
and held the beam of the healing device close to his hand. 

Jack could feel it almost touching the pale sensitive skin that had not 
seen the light of day in weeks, now covered in so much scar tissue from 
the multiple operations that he had endured in an effort to get a little 
movement back in his fingers. He felt a burning sensation deep within 
the hand that had unnerved him sufficiently to want to pull away, but 
Sam had sensed his nervousness and clamped her right hand over his wrist 
firmly, focusing all her efforts as she lifted his hand and turned it 
over gradually.

She had continued for ten minutes and he could see in her eyes the way 
it was draining her energy. The powerful hold the device seemed to gain 
over her frightened him so that he wanted to tell her to stop, but at 
the same time the light was almost mesmerising, hypnotic.

Finally, the door to the room opened and Teal'c stepped in, as though by 
some prearranged signal. Carter refocused her eyes back to the present 
and the beam of light stopped glowing. She slumped forward with a groan, 
leaning her elbows on the table for support as the Jaffa approached.

Doctor Fraiser and Daniel followed him into the room. Jack didn't dare 
move, afraid to find out whether it had worked almost as much as he was 
afraid that it had not. Janet took charge quickly, ordering Teal'c to 
take Sam to one of the infirmary beds to rest and recuperate, whilst she 
dealt with the Colonel.

"Okay, Jack. I know this is difficult, but you're going to have to wait 
a bit longer before you try moving anything. I think we should run full 
x-rays to see whether there's been any change first. We don't want you 
damaging it further by flexing it if this hasn't worked." Jack nodded 
soberly. He lifted his right forearm in his shaking left hand and 
followed her from the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Sam!" The Captain slowly surfaced from a comfortable warm dream as 
someone whispered her name in her ear. "Captain Carter, time to wake 
up," the voice persisted and gradually Samantha identified the source. 
Her military instincts kicked in and she sat bolt upright, "Colonel 
O'Neill, Sir!"

"It's all right, Sam, you deserve the rest," he smiled softly, leaning 
back into the chair he had pulled up beside the infirmary bed where she 
had been sleeping for several hours. "I just wanted to speak to you 
before I went home," Jack shrugged slightly, unable to suppress a broad 
grin, "Well, see for yourself!" 

He held up his right hand, painless and free from encumbrance for the 
first time in weeks, even the scar tissue was gone, somehow eradicated 
by the alien healing device. He wiggled the long healthy looking digits 
slightly, the tiny movement becoming a fraction more pronounced every 
time he tried it.

Sam gazed at the fingers with tears in her eyes. 

"You did it, Sam. Doctor Fraiser says if I exercise it carefully she 
thinks it'll be about eighty percent restored in a week or so. And the 
rest I'll be able to work on as it gets stronger." He smiled, feeling 
like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders not just from his 
wrist, "I don't know how to thank you."

"We can try again later in the week to completely heal it," Sam offered 
hopefully.

"No, Sam, I don't think you should use that thing anymore," Jack said 
softly, "And if I'd known what it was going to do to you I wouldn't have 
let you try it in the first place. Teal'c told me how it works by 
draining your energy, that out of control it will just continue until 
you have no life left to give. You shouldn't have done it."

"I had to, Sir, you know that," Sam said quietly, breaking his gaze to 
stare at her own fingers, still tingling from the energy that had 
coursed through them, "I needed to do something. We all did," her voice 
was barely audible.

"I know, but please don't use it anymore, promise?" Jack asked with 
concern, recalling the glassy transfixed look in her eyes as she was 
using the contraption. "I can make it the rest of the way with exercise, 
the hand will be almost as good as new. I'll certainly be able to sign 
my name or aim a gun as well as I ever could."

"You always were a bad shot, Sir!" Sam joked with a watery smile, 
knowing how big headed he could get about his expert level marksmanship 
with all forms of weaponry.

"Well, at least now I'll have an excuse!" Jack quipped in response, a 
smile lit up his eyes, "Thanks Sam, I owe you a lot." He squeezed her 
hand with his left, "Now get back to sleep, I don't want to see you 
leave here until the morning, okay?"

Sam nodded happily, settling back down exhaustedly.

Jack waited until she had closed her eyes before getting up from the 
chair and leaving, quietly closing the door behind him. The others were 
waiting for him outside. "Teal'c can you look after her, make sure she 
gets complete rest until tomorrow?"

"I will do so, O'Neill," the Jaffa said with a smile.

Janet turned to the Colonel and passed him a right handed support strap 
designed to protect the injured tendons in his wrist, hand and fingers. 
"Now remember, I want you to wear this on it all the time at first and 
don't try anything stupid for a few days, Colonel. No driving, no target 
practice, no writing, I don't even want you scratching your head with 
it! You have to work at it gradually, it will be painstaking, but you 
know the payoff is going to be worth it in the long run. Come back first 
thing tomorrow morning for me to check it again."

Jack nodded, taking the support from her and slipping it over his 
fingers almost gleefully, it would be a lot less annoying than his 
plaster cast and he still couldn't quite believe the turn of events in 
the last few hours that had brought about its necessity. He thanked 
Janet once more and turned to leave, wondering whether he'd be able to 
find a driver so late in the evening. 

Daniel coughed before he could walk away, "I'll take you home, Jack," he 
insisted, "I'm going that way anyway. It'll save you hassling for a 
driver tonight."

Jack looked at him for a moment before nodding, heading for the 
emergency stairwell before Daniel could protest at his choice of escape 
route.

~~~~~~~~~~

They drove in silence, Jack staring raptly at his hand and wiggling the 
fingers a fraction every now and again, Daniel lost in thought. When 
they reached Jack's home, he pulled his car onto the driveway. "Can I 
come in? I need to talk to you about something," Daniel asked quietly.

Jack regarded him cautiously, wondering whether this was going to be 
another one of Daniel's chats that always ended up with them arguing 
over something stupid. Eventually he nodded, the way he felt tonight, 
nothing could possibly upset his mood. His hand was finally on the mend 
and he was going to see Sara on Thursday night. What more could one man 
ask for? Well maybe a decent night's sleep for a change, but he was 
pretty sure that would soon follow once he was back on active duty and 
had something to immerse himself in.

Daniel followed him inside, accepting Jack's offer of a bottle of orange 
juice and watching curiously as he grabbed himself a glass filled with 
ice and mineral water. It hadn't really occurred to Daniel before, but 
since the alcohol binge he had not seen Jack drink anything other than 
water. Not even coffee. He smiled slightly at that, Daniel had wasted a 
lot of energy trying to get the Colonel to drink less caffeine, it 
seemed ironic that he had simply dropped the habit without even thinking 
about it.

"What are you grinning at?" Jack asked when he turned around to lead 
them into the den.

"When was the last time you drank coffee, Jack?" Daniel enquired with a 
certain amount of glee.

Jack shrugged, "Don't know, why?"

"Oh nothing, I just realised you don't drink it anymore, that's all."

"Keeps me awake," Jack said simply, turning his back and walking away 
down the hall.

Reaching the den, he placed the glass down before switching on a single 
side lamp, then he carefully pulled open the sliding doors which led 
onto the deck. Retrieving his drink, he gingerly lowered himself onto 
the couch and stuck his feet up on the coffee table. Jack absently 
swirled the water over the ice cubes, focusing on the chinking noise 
they made against the side of the glass and the condensation forming 
around his fingers. Eventually he took a sip of the deliciously cold 
water.

Daniel watched, fascinated by the psychological implications he was 
beginning to perceive in all of Jack's seemingly innocuous actions. He 
didn't know why he hadn't noticed before, maybe there had always been 
something more pressing to worry about lately, or maybe it was the 
simple fact that they no longer spent much time together since their 
shared experience eight days earlier.

Neither one of them seemed comfortable in the other's company lately and 
Daniel knew he was just as much to blame as Jack. He also knew what the 
problem was, or at least he thought he knew. Not even General Hammond 
had yet pushed them to give a blow by blow account of what had happened 
that day. He had settled for the overview, a basic synopsis that had 
been coupled with the detailed medical reports on both men, to give a 
fairly clear picture of what each one had suffered. But it didn't even 
skim the surface regarding the emotional effects and now both men were 
busy pretending that things were back to normal. 

And for a while there, Daniel had actually thought that life was 
returning to normal, right up to the point when he had followed Jack out 
of the SGC earlier that afternoon. He had not meant to spy on O'Neill, 
he was simply trying to catch up with him. 

Jack had poked his head around the door of Doctor Jackson's research lab 
soon after lunchtime that Tuesday, in what was becoming a daily attempt 
to get Daniel to accompany him upstairs for some fresh air. As usual, 
Daniel had turned him down, not even sure why, using the excuse of being 
behind with his work. But after Jack had left, he had reconsidered his 
actions, finally realising that he was doing his best to avoid being 
alone with the Colonel for too long. 

That thought had frightened Daniel, he had not been aware of his 
subconscious efforts, then he began to go back over the past week and 
discovered that the longest conversation they'd had was when Cassie was 
visiting Jack in the infirmary, two days after the explosion.

'Two days after the explosion'. Daniel had mulled that over for awhile, 
it wasn't two days after they had been tortured and beaten, shot at, 
locked up, psychologically abused. Or two days after Jack had pointed a 
gun at Daniel's head. It was simply 'two days after the explosion'. 

And suddenly Daniel had decided to stop burying his head in the sand and 
try to talk to Jack. So he had left his lab and started climbing the 
stairs. He could have used the elevator, it no longer bothered him so 
much anymore, but somehow he had thought he might be able to catch up 
with Jack before he reached ground level, forgetting of course that Jack 
was taking the same physical exercise at least four times a day if 
Daniel's estimates were correct, which was certainly strengthening his 
legs and his stamina, even if his broken ribs were still in the early 
stages of healing.

When Daniel had finally reached the emergency exit which came out on the 
hillside twenty yards from the main entrance, Jack was already at the 
crest of the hill, sitting hugging his right knee to his chest and 
staring into the distance. He had not noticed Daniel and the younger man 
had been reluctant to cut into his thoughts. But he couldn't help 
watching, and the looks that he saw flash across Jack's face, the 
tension in his body as he flinched away from his unseen attackers, made 
Daniel realise that he was fooling himself if he thought things were 
returning to normal. 

In fact, things didn't appear to be anywhere near normal for Jack, 
unless normal consisted of being subjected to waking nightmares twenty 
four hours a day and claustrophobia attacks that forced him to clamber 
twenty eight levels into the open air, only to face his demons whilst he 
sat on the grass with nothing else to occupy his mind. 

And, at that point, Daniel knew that none of their nightmares were 
getting better at all. Yet all the protagonists were either dead or 
captured, nothing could possibly threaten them anymore. Nothing except 
themselves. Or each other. Jack O'Neill had pointed a gun to Daniel 
Jackson's head and no matter how hard he tried, Daniel could not bring 
himself to trust the man not to do it again, especially now he knew Jack 
was still living the nightmare.

Sitting in the den in the comfort of Jack's home, it all seemed so 
clear. Jack's whole being was slowly changing in reaction to what he had 
endured, and his way of life was altering with it. And, apart from 
giving up coffee, Daniel really couldn't see anything good that could 
come out of it. It had to be now or never, he had tried so many times 
already that lately he had given up his efforts to get Jack to talk, but 
now he really didn't have any choice left. And there was one thing he 
had to find out for his own peace of mind.

"Jack, there's something I need to know," Daniel began quietly, 
determined not to be confrontational.

The older man threw him a look of suspicion, his hackles rising 
defensively already, but all he could do was shrug lopsidedly and 
gesture for Daniel to fire away. After all, he didn't have to answer the 
question if he didn't want to.

Daniel took a deep breath and plunged ahead, trying to ignore the way a 
shadow passed over Jack's eyes with his words, "What does 'one bullet, 
two choices' mean to you?"

Jack regarded him coolly. "Why do you ask?" He said eventually.

Daniel licked his lips nervously, "Because I heard you saying it over 
and over in your sleep during the weekend before you returned to the 
SGC."

"Aw, Daniel, you were probably hearing things," Jack attempted to brush 
him off, "How could you possibly read anything into the incoherent 
ramblings of someone talking in their sleep?"

"Actually Jack, you were pretty coherent," Daniel said grimly, "And I 
had plenty of time to listen! I spent most of that weekend watching you! 
I never exactly got much sleep of my own, remember?"

"And I suppose that's my fault!" Jack said sarcastically.

Daniel was taken aback by that comment, "Well, yes actually!" He said 
indignantly.

He couldn't forget what had disturbed his sleep during that weekend. The 
worst fright in the world was being dragged from the depths of your own 
nightmare by the screams of someone else's, Jack's to be precise.

Admittedly, sleeping on the small couch beneath the long window in 
Jack's bedroom probably wasn't the wisest way to guarantee a restful 
night and if Jack had known about it he would have kicked Daniel out on 
the Saturday instead of waiting until Sunday evening, but Daniel had 
been worried that the state of Jack's health could deteriorate, so he 
had settled down on the sofa to keep an eye on him.

Somewhere in the depths of his own recurring nightmare, looking down 
into that hole, the stench of death and a battered corpse lying in the 
corner. Somewhere about the point at which Daniel rolled the body over 
and saw himself instead of Jack, saw what could have happened if he had 
been captured instead of his friend. Somewhere in the middle of that 
unending terror, Jack had screamed Cassie's name in the most god awful, 
blood curdling, anguished cry Daniel had ever heard. 

Daniel had been startled awake so abruptly he almost fell off the couch, 
his heart thudding so hard in his chest he was afraid he might burst an 
artery.

Jack was tossing and turning, his hand clenched in a tight fist at his 
temple, his index finger moving back and forth reflexively, knees drawn 
up to his chest. He visibly struggled with someone or something, hands 
reached out blindly, grasping air in a stranglehold, and then Jack 
inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing before he let out a howl of 
agonised pain that ended so suddenly Daniel leapt towards the bed where 
Jack had collapsed back in a lifeless heap. He had held shaky fingers at 
Jack's throat, checking frantically for a pulse, his mind racing with 
possible explanations for the origin of what he had seen. 

One image above all else pushed to the fore, the fist to his temple, the 
trigger finger moving reflexively, was it a manifestation of Jack trying 
to kill himself? Had the opportunity arisen during his imprisonment to 
end it all there and then? Did Jack's tortured mind want to take that 
way out? Daniel had spent the rest of the night wondering, and worrying, 
that if the occasion arose again, what choice would Jack make? 

So yes, Jack was to blame for Daniel's disturbed sleep one way or the 
other, he thought, "But it doesn't matter who's fault it was, Jack, 
that's not the point," Daniel argued, "'One bullet, two choices'! That's 
the point! I know it means something because the Slav said it too, just 
before you aimed that Beretta at my head!" He swallowed dryly, adding 
quietly, "You pointed that gun at yourself too. I'd like to know why."

Jack said nothing, it was as if Daniel wasn't even there, he simply 
turned his head to stare out the open door, listening to the summer 
night beyond as the moment flashed through his mind with devastating 
clarity. It was as though an action replay was available inside his head 
for every tormented second he had endured in the last month or so. He 
remembered every harrowing instant, but there was nothing about it that 
he could share with anyone else, so Jack said nothing, until the 
unbearable silence forced his friend to play his hand.

"The Slav said you'd done it before, with Cassie," Daniel hesitated, "He 
said that you shot her, Jack! That you thought you'd murdered her."

"And you believe him?" Jack asked coldly.

"You've given me no reason not too," Daniel said quietly, "Besides, I'm 
not blind, Jack, I can see the way you and Cassie are together. You're 
sharing the experience because neither of you are willing to tell anyone 
else about it!"

The Colonel sighed irritably, even if Daniel was right, Jack could never 
admit it to him, "What's your point, Daniel?" 

Daniel felt his anger flare, he couldn't help it, it had been bottled up 
inside him for way too long, "My point is, Jack, that after what we went 
through, I think I deserve some sort of explanation!" He exclaimed 
incredulously. "It was me you were pointing that Beretta at this time, 
not Cassie! The two of you may not be willing to talk about it yet, but 
I am and I want to know why! What the hell was going through your head?"

Jack stared at him defiantly, resolutely refusing to say a word. For a 
long moment, Daniel held his gaze with fiery eyes. Why wouldn't the man 
talk to him? Didn't he know how much Daniel despised himself for what he 
was being forced to do? 

"Damn you, Jack!" Daniel yelled as he stood up and stormed out, slamming 
the door of the den behind him with a loud bang.

Within minutes he had returned, carrying a large brown envelope that he 
had left on the back seat of his car. Jack regarded it with trepidation, 
fidgeting in his seat as he wondered what it might contain.

Daniel waved the offending item in his direction, trying to calm his 
temper sufficiently to continue, "I bumped into General Hammond 
yesterday and we got talking about your hand. He was surprised that 
you'd had any news about it, since you hadn't mentioned it to him!" 
Daniel carefully selected his words, stretching the truth a little to 
make his point, "Actually, he seemed kind of relieved to hear that you 
wouldn't be able to return to active duty! Apparently, even if you're 
declared physically fit, regulations state you would still have to pass 
a psychological workup and Hammond doesn't want to put you through that 
because he knows you'll fail!"

In fact, the General had simply told Daniel that although he did not 
want to have to inflict that on the Colonel, it would be a mandatory 
requirement if Jack wanted to return to active duty. Daniel had found 
himself readily discussing his attempts to get Jack to talk and one 
thing had led to another until Hammond reluctantly allowed Daniel to 
borrow the one item the younger man believed might aid a last ditch 
attempt to get a few things out into the open.

Daniel lifted the flap on the manila envelope in his hand and pulled out 
a loose leaf folder. It contained the police report that had been sent 
over from Cairo along with the photographic evidence of Jack's torture. 
Daniel threw the file down onto the coffee table, watching with a 
painful expression as the photos spilled out, ten of them in total, each 
revealing a different part of the body or a wider angle of the whole. 
"Hammond says it's either me or therapy, Jack. Which would you prefer?"

Jack's curious gaze was drawn to the prints, trying to identify what 
they were. Then it hit him, about as hard as one of the Slav's 
devastating punches, and he hurriedly looked away, out through the 
sliding doors, trying to escape the horrific sight and the flood of 
memories that threatened him again.

He had painstakingly avoided any reflection of himself, or glimpse of 
his body, since the day he awoke in a Cairo hospital, and he certainly 
did not want to see the graphic pictures now. Jack swallowed dryly, 
refusing to look at the younger man as he said determinedly, "No 
offence, Daniel, but I'd have to choose the therapy. I'm not putting you 
through that."

Daniel gaped at him angrily, "Don't you think I've already been through 
it?" He yelled, grabbing one of the pictures to wave in Jack's face. 
"Look at yourself, Jack! Do you think it was easy to see you like that?" 
His throat closed over the words, cutting them off as he recalled the 
hotel room in Giza where he had first seen the dreadful sight. Dropping 
the print into Jack's lap, he walked away in despair, rubbing a hand 
over his face as he fought for control.

His dark eyes hooded, unblinking, Jack stared fixedly at the colourful 
image of his battered chest. An array of livid welts and bruises, each 
one accompanied by a vivid nightmare floating loosely in his mind. 

Daniel turned around, watching with shining eyes as Jack pressed his 
right palm down onto one edge and gripped the top with a trembling left 
hand. With grim determination, he tore the photograph in two and brushed 
the pieces to the floor.

"What do you want from me, Daniel?" He regarded the man coldly, and in 
that moment Daniel was afraid he had lost.

"Don't you think you owe me, Jack? To at least tell me why you did what 
you did to Cassie? And to me?" He pleaded in a desperate tone that grew 
louder with his anger, "Give me a chance to decide whether it was all 
worth it! Because right now I don't know anymore. I don't know whether 
it was worth saving someone who doesn't want to be saved! Who won't 
forgive himself for something beyond his control."

Jack flinched, his voice hurt, but stubborn, "I'm sorry, Daniel. It was 
not my intention for you to suffer. And I don't see how making you 
listen to what I went through will help."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Daniel asked softly, unable 
to give it up. "'One bullet, two choices'?" He persisted, "What does it 
mean, Jack?" 

But his final plea fell on deaf ears, Jack was gone, gazing out into the 
night, a haunted look in his unfocused eyes, and Daniel knew he'd pushed 
too far, forcing Jack away, back into the arms of a waking nightmare. To 
one more vivid flashback among the multitude of harm that was dragging 
Jack inexorably away from all help, no matter the efforts of his friend. 
It seemed the power of recall was infinitely stronger than the power of 
friendship.

Daniel slumped into an armchair and gazed at him, fighting an 
overwhelming feeling of loss. His voice shook when he spoke again, thick 
with emotion, talking almost to himself, trying to justify to himself 
why he had pushed so hard. "I just wanted to know why you pointed that 
gun at my head!" He shuddered, closing his eyes and brushing his 
knuckles across his damp cheek self-consciously as a tragedy of silence 
surrounded them.

"It happened in Iraq." 

Daniel was startled when Jack suddenly spoke, his voice so soft that the 
younger man found himself holding his breath to not miss a syllable. He 
waited, praying for Jack to continue.

"Most of the flashbacks stem from there." Jack paused, trying to 
separate the original circumstances from the new twists that had been 
added so recently.

"I don't really remember how long I'd been there. Over three months, I 
guess," he recalled slowly, struggling for detachment from the 
overwhelming feeling of despair the memories provoked. "The soldier in 
the cell next to me had been blinded in an explosion that knocked out 
the rest of his team. He was dying. Hell, we all were!" Jack gestured 
frustratedly, "He was just going that much faster, slipping further away 
each day."

He trailed off, swallowing hard, dragging himself back to the present. 
He stared at Daniel, conflicting emotions of anger and hatred blazing in 
his eyes with a fierceness that unnerved the younger man. "How much 
detail do you want, Daniel?" He asked almost brutally.

Daniel regarded him nervously, unwilling to say anything that might 
prevent him from continuing.

Jack glared at the man who was forcing him to relive this horror. He saw 
a pair of overly bright blue eyes blinking reflexively and Jack suddenly 
recalled that cabin on a hillside just eight days before, he remembered 
what they had both been through and he knew Daniel deserved better than 
this. So he closed his eyes and turned away, sinking reluctantly into 
the past, attempting to recall anything that might sufficiently explain 
his actions towards his friend, for Daniel's own peace of mind.

"The Iraqis gave the guy a letter from his wife," he continued quietly, 
"They knew he wouldn't be able to read it. They just wanted to torment 
him with it." Jack scrubbed a hand roughly through his hair. "I stupidly 
figured I could do something to help," he said savagely, "I told him to 
roll up the letter and hide it in his bucket. The guards took us outside 
once a week, one at a time, to bury our shit, my trip always followed 
his. I managed to dig out the letter and get it back into my cell to 
read to him," he trailed off, still able to recall some of the words 
contained within that could have been written by any loving wife, 
including his own. 

Jack pulled one knee up to his chest, withdrawing protectively, resting 
his arm on it as he rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand. When he 
finally spoke again his voice was flat, a dead tone, "I still don't know 
how they found out, but they did. He died two days later and maybe the 
Iraqis realised the letter was gone when they emptied his cell. Maybe 
they just guessed it was me. Maybe they didn't really care, so long as 
they had a scapegoat," Jack's voice hitched in his throat and he shifted 
to reach for the glass of water that was on the floor beside the couch. 
His hand shook as he lifted the drink to his lips.

Afraid to speak for fear it would break the spell, Daniel watched every 
move, every emotion that crossed his face and his downturned eyes, 
finally beginning to form some understanding of the enormity of what 
this man had endured.

"The next day, we all got hauled out to the centre of the yard, every 
living prisoner lined up in a row, except for me. I was singled out," 
Jack said huskily, fighting against the recollection of what had gone 
through his mind that day, thoughts of Sara that he had believed would 
be his very last.

"The camp commandant had come up with a new game! He gave me a Colt and 
a single cartridge. The guards picked a victim at random, held a gun to 
my head and said it was him or me. 'One bullet, two choices'," Jack 
shrugged helplessly, his voice quivering as he continued, "I tried to 
kill him, but I couldn't do it.......I just couldn't." He shook his head 
despondently, "So I held the gun to my own head and fired."

Daniel gasped in shock. "What happened?" He asked in a strangled 
whisper.

"It didn't go off! The gun was old. It failed," Jack passed a trembling 
hand over his face, trying not to imagine what if. "Then the guard fired 
his AK47 and I thought I was dead, but he shot the other prisoner. After 
all that, the other guy still died!" He exclaimed angrily.

"That wasn't your fault, Jack," Daniel said gently.

"Maybe not, but what followed was........I flipped out and went for the 
officer's throat and they threw me in the box!" Jack gasped as the 
memories flooded back vividly.

Daniel wasn't sure he wanted to ask, but he knew he had to find out, 
"What box?"

Jack was silent for a long time, fighting back fear as he struggled to 
find words to describe it, staring out through the open doors into the 
night. He tried to make his voice sound light, but instead, to Daniel it 
was heart rending, "I think it was their idea of the ultimate solitary 
confinement. A steel box, about the size of a packing case, raised up on 
stilts." He could still feel the hot metal walls press against his body, 
the excruciating pain and the increasing despair of a dying man. "You 
had to hand it to the Iraqis, they really knew what hell was!" He 
murmured bitterly.

"How long were you in there for?" Daniel's grave voice was barely a 
whisper.

"About eight days, I think." Jack was unable to face it anymore, he 
couldn't go back in that box. He slid his feet to the floor and pushed 
up with his legs, lifting himself off the couch to disappear out through 
the doors onto the deck. He sat on the top step, trying to reduce his 
suffocating gasps to slow lungfuls of air. His head tilted back to gaze 
at the starlit sky, letting it fill his view until he had stopped 
quaking and his heart rate began to ease.

Daniel sat stunned for a long moment, rubbing his chin edgily. Finally, 
he stood up and moved to the door, leaning against the frame to watch 
his friend. "Why didn't you let on how bad it was?" Daniel got a rear 
view of Jack's helpless gesture. "How did you expect to combat 
claustrophobia that deep rooted without help?"

"I got past it before," Jack said softly.

"Maybe, but not by yourself. And not by bottling everything up inside 
and hoping it will go away!" Daniel pushed himself off the door frame 
and moved to the other end of the steps down into the backyard, far 
enough away to be unthreatening, but close enough to see Jack's face. 
"You were hallucinating, weren't you? Trying to stay out of the box! 
When you shot Cassie?"

Jack nodded almost imperceptibly. "That's no excuse!" He said huskily.

"Jack, you weren't to blame! You were tortured and drugged, pushed so 
hard that you were hanging over the edge by your fingertips! It wasn't 
your fault!" Daniel's voice begged him to believe, "Don't you see? It's 
eating you up inside, Jack. It's destroying you. You have to forgive 
yourself."

"After what I did to Cassie? What I almost did to you?" Jack cried in 
disbelief, "Who can possibly forgive that?"

"I can," Daniel said emphatically, "And I'm damn sure Cassie already 
has! You have to let yourself off the hook, Jack! Forgive yourself if 
you want to live past this." 

Daniel ground to a halt, he felt so close to breaking through, but he 
didn't know what more could be said, except perhaps one simple truth, 
"You're falling apart, Jack, and I'm rapidly following. Let me help you, 
please? You're my best friend! I need to do this as much as you do, it 
may be the only way I can stop my own nightmares."

Jack finally looked at him, straight in the eye, trying to detect a lie. 
But Daniel held his gaze, his feelings laid bare for all to see, and 
Jack suddenly realised how far off centre he had come. The man had never 
lied to him, yet Jack no longer trusted him. "I think I'm going crazy, 
Daniel," he admitted softly.

"Join the club, Jack. We've both been tearing ourselves apart with guilt 
and anger instead of trying to cope with what happened." Daniel stared 
out into the darkness, "I don't want to be afraid anymore."

"Me either," Jack gulped shakily, his voice plaintive, "But I don't know 
how to get past it."

"Just share it, Jack," Daniel pleaded, "Then maybe we'll both have a 
chance to free ourselves."

Both men fell silent, the sounds of a summer night surrounding them, and 
Daniel knew he could wait forever if necessary. But this time, perhaps, 
he would not have to. And so he sat in the darkness and listened for 
words that he knew would eventually come.

Jack's voice was distant when he finally did speak, staring up at the 
comforting stars, letting them fill his view as he was dragged 
inexorably back to the beginning. "I'd been following Philip Marshall 
around for four days when I overheard him that Friday afternoon. He said 
he was going to the show at the Sphinx, so I went to Giza plateau and 
waited for him to turn up......."

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long night and, when they finally headed for bed, Jack lay 
awake in the dark, listening to the sound of dawn approaching through 
his open window. He was emotionally spent, yet somehow he felt 
different, not afraid to close his eyes. His head was still filled with 
powerful images, yet they no longer threatened him. Ironically, he 
realised there was finally a possibility that he might sleep soundly, 
yet he was too awake to do so. 

Jack contemplated what his friend had done for him, wondering how much 
of the burden now weighed on Daniel's shoulders instead of his own. Had 
they simply shared the pain or reduced its intensity?

His thoughts led back to the hardest moment of all that night, trying to 
deal with the memories of being drugged and completely helpless, out of 
his mind and out of control. Jack's words had ground to a halt, unable 
to express the intense pain and despair, unable to describe what had 
happened with any objective clarity.

But Daniel, a man who often appeared so meek and naive, had proven to 
hold such depths of inner strength, enough for both of them when Jack 
faltered and swayed. Strong enough to carry them beyond the barriers 
that jeopardised the most difficult confessions of all.

And when Jack was finally finished, lying back on the deck, a hand 
shielding his eyes. When no more words could be spoken as he struggled 
to withhold the emotion that threatened to overcome him. Daniel had 
spoken so quietly, but so firmly, a powerful voice, cutting through the 
gauze of fear and guilt and wretchedness clamouring inside Jack's head, 
to be heard strong and true above all else.

"All that time we were planning Cassie's rescue, you thought we would 
only find her body, yet you still went inside Kheops. You went all the 
way back to that hole, to find out for certain." He gazed at his friend, 
wishing he could share the burden of pain and emotion Jack was feeling, 
"If you're going to take the blame for shooting Cassie, you have to take 
the credit for saving her too, Jack. You got shot to save her, a bullet 
grazed your skull, one inch closer and you'd be dead. And so would she."

Daniel continued to speak with all his conviction, his strength of 
belief spilling over in his words, "You saved her life twice, Jack, 
remember that every time you try to punish yourself for shooting her. If 
it wasn't for you, she would have died horribly from an overdose of 
those drugs, but you took them in her place, even though you already 
knew just how bad the effects were. You took them anyway, to save 
Cassie. You offered your life in her place and took that injection."

"And the fact is those same drugs are what turned you around, so that 
the next opportunity you had you were willing to take her life to save 
your own. But that wasn't you, Jack, how could it have been?" Daniel 
argued forcefully, "You had already saved her once, why would you then 
try to kill her if you had any control over your actions or their 
consequences?"

"And that's why you have to forgive yourself, Jack," Daniel said 
earnestly, "You are not to blame for what happened, you are not to blame 
for any of it. You never asked for it and you certainly did not deserve 
it." 

Daniel swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, fighting his own 
emotions that surged forth as he considered everything he had heard that 
night. At last he knew the truth behind the injuries they had found on 
Jack's body when they examined him in that brightly lit hotel room in 
Giza. The real story of the torture and pain that had been endlessly 
inflicted upon his friend.

Silently, Daniel gathered himself to take the final hurdle, repeating 
his previous words for emphasis, "You are not to blame for any of it, 
Jack. And Lord knows we would all have done everything in our power to 
prevent it, but sometimes these things just happen and no matter how 
badly we all want them to stop, they just keep going right on 
regardless." 

He paused to give strength to his choked voice, "You just have to make 
sure that when you're finally back behind the wheel, you take control 
again and steer yourself back onto the right path. You have that chance 
now, Jack. You are finally free to make the choice. All you have to do 
is reach out and take it."

Daniel stood up slowly and walked along the step. He sat down beside his 
friend, facing out into the darkness. Jack had not moved, he still lay 
back against the wooden surface of the deck, his knees bent, feet 
resting on the next step down. His left hand covered his eyes, his right 
arm lying loosely across his chest.

Daniel did not encroach, he didn't turn to look at him, he didn't need 
to see the tears streaking down Jack's face, running from the corner of 
his eyes to dampen his greying temples. He simply placed a hand on 
Jack's arm, a gesture of solid support, to show he would be there for as 
long as he was needed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack laid in bed and watched the dawn break through the wide window of 
his room, slowly turning the jet black sky to deep blue, growing ever 
brighter as he considered the new day which lay before him.

Curiously he lifted his right hand, silhouetting it against the light 
beginning to creep over the horizon. Gently he wiggled the fingers, a 
stiff, tiny movement that drew a smile of incredulity as he repeated the 
motion, a rapt look of concentration and hope on his face. 

And in the spare room, just down the hall, Daniel slept soundly, his own 
sleep undisturbed for the first time in weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

On less than three hours sleep, Daniel drove them back to Cheyenne 
Mountain, life went on and they had jobs to attend. They rode in 
silence, with no more words left to say, for the moment at least. 

For Jack, the first order of the day was to visit the SGC infirmary, so 
Doctor Fraiser could check on his hand. Daniel parked his car in the 
closest space he could find to the entrance, some distance away due to 
their lateness, then they walked across the tarmac together. 

"Um, Jack? How about the elevator?" Daniel asked hesitantly, wondering 
if he might be pushing his luck, even though now might be the best time 
to take that next step.

Jack stopped in his tracks, chewing his lip nervously as he regarded his 
friend's hopeful gaze. He wasn't sure he could face that test so soon, 
but he could see how much it meant to Daniel. Eventually he gave a 
slight nod and followed the younger man along to the lobby.

"Good morning, Colonel O'Neill, Doctor Jackson!" Harry, the duty 
officer, greeted cheerfully, passing them the clipboard and pen to sign 
themselves in.

"Morning, Harry!" They both said in tandem.

The security man regarded the two men curiously as Daniel initialled the 
form before offering it to the Colonel with a questioning look.

Jack gestured with his right hand, his fingers moving slightly beneath 
the support strap, indicating for Daniel to go ahead and sign in for 
him.

"I see your hand's improving nicely, Colonel," Harry observed with a 
smile. "Soon be back on active duty, then, I guess?"

Jack smiled almost to himself at the thought. "Yeah, I think I will, 
Harry," he said, then he turned towards the lobby elevators, his chin 
set determinedly as he went on ahead to punch the call button.

Daniel watched him go, handing the clipboard and pen back to the 
security officer. "Thanks, Harry," he said with a grin before following 
his friend.

As they waited for an elevator to arrive, Daniel found himself observing 
Jack closely, watching for any emotion that might pass over his face. 
Jack was gazing at the digital readout expectantly, mentally bracing 
himself as the doors finally opened.

Inside the car, Jack leaned into the back corner, glancing around idly 
for something to focus on. He looked up, staring directly into the blank 
eye of the security camera and an image flashed into his head vividly, 
startling him with a jolt. Jack pushed upright off the wall, his first 
instinct to flee, but instead he challenged himself to recall every 
moment of that elevator ride with the Slav some ten days earlier. Daring 
himself to face it head on and cope with it, and then hopefully get past 
it.

Daniel continued to watch quietly, noticing Jack go slightly pale before 
he stood up straight. He could see the memories were still vivid, still 
shocking, but he could also see the way Jack was fighting back at last, 
tackling them head on to push beyond them instead of burying them.

When the doors eventually opened on sub level eleven, Jack moved to the 
front of the car, his step faltering slightly as he remembered the last 
time he was there, the faces he had seen in the corridor outside. He 
lifted his gaze and looked straight ahead, taking a long breath before 
stepping from the elevator and turning along the corridor. He saw 
nothing, the best thing he could possibly hope for. Gaining in 
confidence with every step, Jack strode towards the end of the hallway 
to await the continuation of his journey into the bowels of the base.

By the time they arrived on the infirmary level, Jack was beginning to 
yearn for the hollow heights of the emergency stairwell, instead of 
still being in the elevator car, still travelling slowly downwards. He 
had begun pacing up and down like a caged animal, trying to fool himself 
into thinking he had freedom of movement, but he had not panicked and he 
had not given up and for that he was grateful and deeply relieved. And 
he knew it would get easier with every journey, now that he had broken 
the barrier that first time.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Jack walked the well known route 
through the concrete and metal structure towards the medical centre. 
Daniel continued to follow, almost unheeded, determined to see the 
Colonel safely to his destination, even though it was beginning to seem 
an unnecessary precaution. 

Doctor Fraiser was busily annotating charts when they strode into the 
infirmary together.

"Colonel O'Neill, I thought you were going to come and see me as soon as 
you arrived this morning?" Janet glanced up in surprise.

"I just did!" Jack said simply.

Suspiciously, the doctor considered the dark circles beneath Jack's 
tired, red rimmed eyes, then she noticed how exhausted Daniel also 
looked. Before she could open her mouth to say anything further, Daniel 
yawned loudly. "I'll leave you to it!" He said, disappearing rapidly out 
of the room before Janet could begin her grilling.

Doctor Fraiser turned to the Colonel, indicating for him to sit up on a 
stool as she pulled over a small trolley and rested his right hand on 
it. "Heavy night?" She asked, beginning to remove the support strap.

"Yeah, kind of," Jack scrubbed his free hand through his hair tiredly.

"You're not overdoing it, are you? You know you have to take it easy 
until your ribs are healed, it's only been ten days," she said 
pleadingly. Janet really couldn't face the idea of the Colonel making 
yet another return visit to the hospital.

"No it was nothing like that. Daniel and I just stayed up late talking, 
that's all."

From the tone of his voice, she could tell it most certainly was not 
'all', somehow he sounded different than of late, but Janet decided not 
to push him on the subject, for now, preferring to give him space to 
breathe. "Have you seen General Hammond yet? I'm sure he'll be happy to 
hear about your hand," she said as she began to examine the fingers.

"No, I kind of assumed you'd have told him when you gave your morning 
report," Jack explained.

Janet grunted noncommittally, "I usually just leave them on his desk."

Jack regarded her curiously, noticing the way she avoided his gaze. 
"Janet you have to let him off the hook, you know," he said softly. 
"What happened wasn't his fault."

Finally, she looked up at him, "I know, Daniel told me about the threats 
and I am trying, but it's hard to forget what almost happened to 
Cassie!" She shrugged helplessly.

"You can't blame General Hammond for that, what Cassie went through was 
because of me," Jack said quietly, staring down at his hand as Janet 
continued to manipulate it, testing out the movement painstakingly. He 
lifted his head and looked at her nervously, "Janet, there's something I 
have to tell you," he trailed off, swallowing reflexively, then he took 
a deep breath and blurted it out quickly before he lost courage, "When 
Cassie was inside Kheops, I pointed a gun at her head and pulled the 
trigger! The bullet was a blank, but I didn't know that at the time!"

Janet stopped flexing his fingers and met his gaze, "Jack, there's no 
need to torment yourself, I already know all about it." He gaped at her 
in surprise. "But I'm really glad you finally told me yourself, thanks," 
she squeezed his arm gently. 

"Cassie told me one night a couple of weeks back," Janet explained, "I'd 
been having nightmares and she woke me up. We talked about what had 
happened and in the end Cass told me everything. She knows why it 
happened, Jack. She doesn't fully understand why anyone wanted to hurt 
you like that, or hurt her, but she knows you were drugged and injured 
and simply looking for any way out. That wasn't you, Jack. Cassie knows 
that. She's okay with it, she forgave you long ago, she's more worried 
about how you're dealing with it!" Janet paused, considering him 
carefully, "How are you dealing with it, Jack?"

Jack shrugged lopsidedly at her question, not entirely sure of the 
answer himself yet, but beginning to feel a bit more positive with each 
passing moment. "If you knew what I did, how come you never said 
anything? I thought you'd despise me for it?" He said softly.

"I couldn't tell you, Jack. This was something that had to come from 
you, part of your acceptance of what happened, a way to work through 
it." She smiled gently, "As for hating you, that's never going to 
happen!" She assured him. "I saw what they did to you, Jack, remember? 
Everyone has their limits, you were pushed beyond yours. Noone's 
invincible, not even you!"

"And there's me thinking I'm Superman!" Jack quipped ironically, a soft 
grin forming on his face.

Janet's eyes twinkled, reflecting his own genuine smile, "Even Superman 
had an Achilles heel!" She wiggled his fingers one more time, "You know, 
I think it's going to be all right after all," she declared in 
amazement, her wider meaning clearly apparent.

"Does that mean you're going to tell Hammond?" Jack held her gaze with a 
sly look. She opened her mouth as if she might be about to object. "I 
can't tell him, I have something else I need to do," he added quickly.

In the end, Janet gave a soft sigh. "Okay, I'll go talk to him," she 
nodded, resigned to the fact that Jack was right, this time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Finished in the infirmary, Jack walked back along the corridor to the 
stairwell, going down a couple more levels to reach Doctor Jackson's 
office and knocking lightly on the door.

When he got no answer, Jack eased open the door and poked his head into 
the room, a slow smile spreading across his face. Daniel was snoring 
softly with his head down on the workbench, catching up on lost sleep.

The Colonel hesitated for a moment, unable to decide whether to leave 
him to it or not. He was about to turn and go, when Daniel stirred, 
seeming to sense his presence. "Jack?" He mumbled dopily.

"Yeah, Daniel," Jack turned back to face him.

"How's the hand?" Daniel asked, sitting up and rubbing his sleep filled 
eyes.

Jack lifted his right fingers and wiggled them a fraction, "Doctor 
Fraiser says it's fine. I can keep exercising it, so long as I let her 
keep checking it!"

"Good!" Daniel yawned widely.

"Actually, I came down to see if you fancied some fresh air," Jack 
admitted sheepishly, unable to break all his habits in one day.

Daniel gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Only if we can go in the 
elevator," he offered with a sly smile. He knew they couldn't expect 
miracles over night, but he was also confident that Jack would push 
himself as hard as he could now, and hopefully achieve a little more 
each day.

"Wouldn't you rather get some exercise while you're at it?" Jack asked 
persuasively. But Daniel simply stared at him resolutely until Jack put 
his hands up in a submissive gesture, "Okay, how about we go as far as 
the eleventh floor in the elevator, then walk the rest of the way," he 
bargained reasonably, figuring that way he'd get the best of all worlds, 
the challenge of a confined space, some physical exertion and the relief 
of the open air.

"Deal!" Daniel said with a grin, getting up off his stool and stretching 
his stiff back before following his friend from the room, looking 
forward to some fresh air and relaxed conversation for the first time in 
weeks.

Their voices drifted down the hall as they headed for the elevator, "So 
I had an e-mail from Doctor Blackwood yesterday," Daniel tried to make 
it sound like an idle comment, "They've found some new pictograms he 
wants me to take a look at."

"Daniel!" Jack's warning tone told the younger man that he shouldn't 
even be starting such a discussion.

"Well, he did say he could send me the digital images." Daniel threw the 
Colonel a pleading look as he punched the elevator call button lightly, 
"But it would be so much better to see them for real!" 

Jack gaped at him in astonishment, causing Daniel to plunge on quickly 
before O'Neill had a chance to get fired up. "You can't let one bad 
experience put you off an entire country, Jack," he argued mildly, "The 
Egyptian's are a wonderful people and they've got more history than the 
rest of the world put together. Besides, if you blamed the majority for 
the actions of a minority you'd never go anywhere!"

"Suits me fine," Jack said quietly, unable to believe that they were 
even having this conversation. He found himself actually wishing the 
elevator would hurry up and arrive to at least give him some form of 
distraction. "Daniel, I'm not going with you!" Jack said firmly, 
suddenly realising where this was heading, "So don't even think about 
asking."

"But Hammond says he won't let me go alone," Daniel objected.

The Colonel shook his head in disbelief, about to say something caustic. 
Instead he smiled as sweetly as he could given the circumstances, and 
spoke in the tone of a long suffering commanding officer, "Then I 
suggest you ask Captain Carter, I'm sure she would jump at the chance to 
study rocks in Egypt for a few days!" With that Jack stepped into the 
waiting elevator car, signalling an end to the discussion, at least for 
the time being.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday evening, Jack caught a cab to the diner and by the time he 
had settled into a booth he was beginning to feel like an excited 
teenager on his first date. It was ridiculous really, all they were 
going to do was have a cup of coffee together and talk. For a start he 
planned to apologise for his behaviour almost two weeks before, for 
causing Sara worry, not to mention her being woken up by the police in 
the middle of the night because of him.

When Sara arrived, dead on time, she looked as beautiful to Jack as the 
day they had met. She took one look at him and smiled so brightly he 
felt his heart ache despite everything he had promised to himself 
beforehand. All his resolve seemed to crumble in the face of her 
attention.

"Jack, you look great!" Sara exclaimed when he stood up to greet her, 
practically examining him from head to toe. "You look so much better 
than when I last saw you," she emphasised, "And you've had the cast off 
your hand!" Jack waggled his fingers a fraction to demonstrate the 
returning movement. "That's wonderful!" She declared happily, sitting 
down in the booth and watching him carefully retake his seat opposite 
her. "A few leftover bruises I see, and you still need to gain some 
weight, but you've lost that haunted look," she added almost shyly, 
gazing into his brown eyes.

"Well, I aim to please," Jack quipped lightly, somewhat overwhelmed by 
her reaction to seeing him again. "Sara, look," he paused, searching for 
words that would reflect his sincerity, "I wanted to apologise for what 
I put you through the other weekend."

"Jack, you don't have to apologise for anything," Sara said softly, 
laying her fingers over the strapping on his right hand and patting it 
gently.

Jack held her gaze, covering her hand with his left, entwining his 
fingers with hers, soaking up the moment while it lasted and storing 
every detail into memory. "So, do you want coffee?" He asked eventually.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Friday lunchtime crowd had already dissipated by the time Maggie had 
a chance to clear the dirty glasses and wash them. Eddie had gone on his 
break, leaving her to serve the few remaining stragglers.

She was busily tidying the back shelves and restocking the bottles when 
she caught a glimpse of someone approaching the bar. When she turned 
around, there stood a tall man, with greying temples. His handsome 
features no longer gaunt and pale, the haunted shadow gone from his 
soulful brown eyes. He grinned at her, an expression that lit up his 
whole face.

"You're looking better than when I last saw you," she smiled 
appreciatively. He was dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt, his 
jacket slung over one arm. The belt at his waist was tightened a few 
more notches than normal judging by the wear on the leather, "Still need 
to gain some weight though!"

"Yeah, that's what my ex-wife says," he admitted shyly.

"You're still talking then? That's got to be a good sign," Maggie 
berated herself for sticking her nose in, but no waitress worth her salt 
would pass up the opportunity for a good bit of gossip. 

"Yeah," he smiled and Maggie noticed the way his eyes twinkled suddenly, 
instinctively knowing there was more to that comment than he was letting 
on. The handsome face turned bashful and he brought his left arm around 
from behind his back, a bunch of sunshine yellow roses held in his hand. 
"These are for you, by way of an apology," he explained quietly. "I'm 
really sorry about what happened to your head!"

"Don't worry, it's pretty much healed now. No permanent damage." She 
smiled widely, accepting the gorgeous fresh buds, still barely open, and 
wondering what her husband would say about them. "They're beautiful, 
thank you," she held the flowers close and breathed their soft scent, 
her face lighting up radiantly. "My name's Maggie, by the way."

"Jack," he said simply.

"You're kidding, right? Your name's Jack and you drink Jack Daniels!"

He shrugged sheepishly, "Not anymore!" He grinned.

"Yeah? Well, Jack? Next time you're planning a binge, give me some 
warning and I'll wear my hardhat!" Maggie laughed, appreciating it all 
the more when he laughed with her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly seven weeks to the day when Colonel Jack O'Neill had been forced 
to break a promise to a young friend, he arrived at her house to accept 
his due punishment.

The second he stepped from the unfamiliar car that had delivered him to 
her door, Cassie jumped up to give him as restrained a hug as her usual 
over exuberance could manage, ever mindful of his still healing left 
side. "Jack! How are you?" She cried happily.

Janet watched the display of hugs and laughter from the porch step, 
surprised by the presence of a blonde woman driving the vehicle. She was 
even more surprised when Jack introduced her, holding out his strapped 
up right hand towards her, gesturing for her to come around from the 
driver side to join him.

"This is Sara," he said with a smile Janet didn't remember ever seeing 
before. Then she recalled the woman's face from a picture on his mantle 
of some long ago family time. 

The blonde woman smiled brightly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to 
encroach, I just offered to drop him round as I was passing," she 
explained.

Both members of the Fraiser household raised eyebrows in tandem, Janet 
wondering curiously how Sara happened to be in Jack's neighbourhood in 
the first place, but it was Cassie in her usual uninhibited manner, who 
actually said what she was thinking. "So you're Sara!" She grinned 
knowingly, "Jack says you're the best lock picker he knows!"

Sara withered slightly under Janet's shocked gaze, "I've just had a lot 
of practise!" She told the young girl, turning to her mother to explain, 
"When you've locked yourself out as often as I have, it comes in useful! 
I think it was one of the first tricks Jack taught me when we met!"

"Are you sure?" Jack's questioning grin echoed with hidden meaning that 
caused Sara to blush furiously. 

Cassie watched the two of them, a mischievous smile forming on her face, 
"Why don't you join us, Sara? Then maybe Mom will come along too if 
she's got someone to gossip with. She doesn't have many Saturdays off 
and I think we should get her out of the house for a change! Besides," 
Cassie declared confidently, "This is going to be fun!" 

With that, Jack grabbed Cassie around the waist with his left arm and 
lifted her off her feet tipping her horizontally until they were both 
giggling so hard that Jack's ribs were starting to hurt and he had to 
put her down. He ignored the way Janet was glaring at him with doctorly 
concern and turned back to Cassie, "So what punishment do you have in 
store for me?"

"Well since you're not allowed to play ice hockey yet, I figured maybe 
simple ice skating would do."

"Really?" Jack looked as excited by the prospect as she was.

Janet turned to Sara and smiled, this could be a prime opportunity to 
finally get to know a bit more about what made Jack O'Neill tick, "So 
what do you think, Sara? I'm game if you are."

"Yes, okay," Sara flashed a smile, she didn't quite feel ready to leave 
yet. Anyway she was enjoying the sight of Jack interacting with kids 
again after so long, he always was so great with them, she thought 
wistfully.

Janet saw the look in her eyes as Sara watched the laughing pair, "How 
about a coffee first?" She asked, already certain she was going to like 
this person.

~~~~~~~~~~

Together the two women leaned on the barrier watching the pair whizz 
round and round the ice rink. At times Jack hauled Cassie along, the 
fingers of her small right hand wrapped in his left, or tucking her 
under his arm like a football and racing so fast that her hair streamed 
out behind her, or simply skating in tandem at a less frenetic pace that 
her much shorter legs could keep up with and which gave his aching ribs 
a sorely needed rest.

Janet and Sara chatted like old friends, it had been a fun afternoon for 
them too even if neither had felt up to tackling the ice, or maybe they 
simply didn't want to encroach on the intense father daughter type 
bonding that was going on before their eyes.

Now they watched Jack standing with Cassie in the empty centre of the 
rink, teaching her to spin around on the spot. He twirled her by the 
arm, using his right hand only for careful support as his left did all 
the work. 

Janet chuckled at the pair on the ice, trusting Jack implicitly with her 
daughter's safety despite their antics. Still she couldn't help holding 
her breath every time the Colonel did something that might overstress 
his damaged ribcage. At least his stitches were all healed now, she 
didn't have to worry about him bursting any, and the fun form of 
exercise Cassie had come up with seemed to be doing him the power of 
good. 

"He looks so different to two weeks ago," Sara eventually said with a 
shy smile.

For a long moment, Janet studied the laughter on Jack's face and the 
look in his eyes and it finally occurred to her just what the difference 
was. 

"He looks free!"

~~~~~~~~~~

finis