------------------------------
The Sentinel Project Part 15
by Lianne Burwell
September 2003
------------------------------

James Logan hissed when he arrived at the Markus Motel. 
Sally was waiting for him trying, to look calm, but he knew 
her well enough to tell just how worried she was. She was 
doing a damned good job of covering it up, though; probably 
in an attempt to make sure that she didn't start a panic. 
Luckily, while the freakishly hot weather from the summer 
had finally started to break, the tourists were light on 
the ground still. The last thing he needed was a public 
panic.

He was really hoping that whatever was in the room, it 
wasn't a real bomb, but he wasn't counting on it. Sally 
wasn't a fool. If she said it was a bomb, chances were 
pretty damned good that that was exactly what it was. That 
was why he'd tucked the number of the Miami bomb department 
into his pocket on the way out. No way in hell he or any of 
his people were ready to deal with a bomb. The Key West 
police department was used to handling belligerent drunks, 
break-ins, and the occasional fist-fight. Once, he'd even 
had to deal with a murder, but thankfully that was a rare 
occurrence.

Mike followed Sally to the row of tidy little cottages 
behind the main building. The motel wasn't right on the 
water, but it was up an incline, so you could see the ocean 
from the cottage back windows over the rooftops. Not the 
highest priced motel on the island, but not the cheapest 
either. It was, in fact, just what it looked like: a 
pleasant, well-kept place to have a vacation.

Sally's supply cart was parked outside of cabin 3, and she 
pulled out her keys to unlock the door. She held it open 
for Mike, but stayed where she was in the doorway. Mike 
stepped into the room cautiously, his eyes fixed on the 
open suitcase on the bed.

Yep. That sure looked like a bomb to him. Shit.

He stepped back out into the warm sunshine and pulled his 
cell phone and the piece of paper out of his pocket. 

Time to call in the experts.

>>>~~~<<<

Jack stood against the back wall of the room, arms crossed 
over his chest, glaring at the skinny-assed blonde giving 
the presentation. Carter would have made it far more 
interesting, he thought to himself. Anise was not exactly 
public-speaking material. Her material was too technical, 
and she delivered it in a near monotone that was 
threatening to put him to sleep.

Daniel and Carter seemed to be following it, at least, but 
neither one of them looked happy. Jack wasn't sure if it 
was just they were as unhappy as him at being tagged for 
this little test, or was there something in the 
presentation itself setting off warning bells.

Just being there was setting off *his* warning bells. Of 
course, being in the same room as the Tok'ra scientist, 
Maybourne, and the ice bitch from hell did that all by 
itself. Hell, he didn't want to be around any of them, let 
alone all three at the same time.

The briefing was winding down, finally. It was at that 
point that Anise brought out a rather ominous looking metal 
case. She flipped open the lid to reveal five of the damned 
wristbands. Jack had to fight the perfectly logical urge to 
scream and run when he saw them. Anticipation was a 
terrible thing, and he'd spent the night before tossing and 
turning, harassed by nightmares he hadn't had in months. 
Well, he hadn't had *those* nightmares. Considering 
everything he'd seen over the years, nightmares were a 
familiar friend.

Anise stopped in front of him, the box held out. One 
eyebrow was elegantly arched, and he could see just a hint 
of a smirk on those perfect lips. With her looks, if she'd 
been anyone else, he would have been flirting like mad. 
Instead, all he wanted was to wipe the smug look of her 
face. Maybe even with brass knuckles.

Refusing to give her the satisfaction, he reached out and 
picked on up. Then he stopped her before she could move on 
to the next person. "Hold it right there."

"Colonel O'Neill," Covarrubias said warningly. If it wasn't 
for Carter, he could develop a real hate for blondes.

"No. Last time we did this as a group, and you ended up 
with a restaurant in town smashed to pieces. This time, we 
do it right."

"And what do you consider right?"

"This time we stick with *one* subject. Me. And this time 
you don't give Dr. Frasier the run around. Have you found a 
way to get the armbands off if there is a problem?"

Anise glared at him. "Yes."

"Good. If the doctor says it comes off, it comes off. And 
no surprise missions."

"And no leaving the base," General Hammond added.

Jack winced. "Uh, right. That too. And once an adequate 
period of time has gone by without adverse effects, and the 
armband is successfully removed without damage to the 
wearer, *then* we think about expanding the tests. 
Understood?"

"And what do you consider an adequate length of time?"

Jack thought about it for a moment. "Based on last time, it 
only took a couple of days for us to start acting like... 
well, not ourselves. Let's say a week."

Covarrubias frowned. "Have you forgotten current events? 
These armbands could be very important."

"And last time we used them, they made us act like 
teenagers with poor impulse control, and they *fell off* at 
the worst possible moment, almost getting us all killed! 
Sure, they *might* be useful, but I wouldn't trust them any 
further than I can throw Teal'c here. We do this in slow 
baby steps this time. And if you don't like it, I guess you 
will have to arrest me, because neither I or my team will 
touch these things."

Jack met her, glare for glare, and in the end, Covarrubias 
was the one to back down. "All right. One week. And if 
there is no sign of ill-effects, we expand the trial to the 
entire team. Is that acceptable, Colonel?" she asked, 
sarcasm dripping from the title.

"Not really, but it will do."

Jack looked down at the armband and took a deep breath. 
Then he set it on his forearm and clicked it shut.

>>>~~~<<<

James Logan was definitely having a bad day. In the hours 
since he'd contacted Miami, first the Miami PD bomb squad 
had been flown it, and they'd taken one look at the bomb, 
then called the ATF. They hadn't answered any questions, 
just telling him to evacuate the area, but the almost gray 
cast to their faces worried him. They dealt with bombs 
practically all the time; what was different about this 
one?

When the ATF arrived, followed closely by the FBI, he knew 
it was trouble. The only problem was, no one was answering 
questions. More guys in suits were arriving by the hour to 
harass poor Sally, who'd already told them everything she 
could more times than he could count. It was almost like 
they thought she was trying to hide something from them. 
What did they think, she was helping the bombers? Perhaps 
they had forgotten that she was the one who had called him.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a clue what they were 
thinking, because no one was talking to him. Giving him 
orders, yes, but not telling him anything.

So he did what he could, clearing the area and doing his 
best to reassure the citizens, most of whom he knew by name 
and long familiarity. The experts were on the scene and 
doing their jobs.

That was when the press arrived.

>>>~~~<<<

Mulder was literally hanging onto the door frame as they 
whipped through he back roads, trying to keep his head from 
hitting the roof of the car every time Alex hit a pot hole. 
There seemed to be an unnatural number of them, and he 
tried to distract himself by mentally writing a travel 
request to investigate the reason. He actually laughed out 
loud as he imagined Skinner's face after reading it. Alex 
glanced at him with a frown, then thankfully turned his 
attention back to the road.

Montoya had spilled his guts. Considering the 
circumstances, that wasn't a big surprise. When he put his 
mind to it -- and even when he didn't -- Alex could be 
damned scary. He was an excellent actor, as Mulder had 
learned when he'd realized that his eager, innocent partner 
was actually a double-agent working for his worst enemy. 
And even more frightening, he was willing to follow through 
on his threats. And when faced with the idea of being 
sliced, then dumped for the 'gators or cougars to deal 
with, Montoya talked.

And what he had to say had chilled both their blood. If he 
was telling the truth. Only thing was, what he told them 
matched up too closely with what Alex's friend in Chicago 
had said.

Key West. Playground of Jimmy Buffet fans. Popular vacation 
spot. Subject of songs and movies. Mulder had never been 
there, but he'd heard stories.

About to be wiped off the map.

"How long do we have?"

Alex shrugged. "It'll take us a few hours to get there. 
Then we have to find the damned thing. And then we have to 
figure out how to disarm it." His expression turned grim. 
"I don't think we can do it."

"So what, then? Call it in?"

Alex shook his head. "Even if they believe us, they'll also 
trace the call. They'll be after us even faster than the 
bomb. *Especially* if the Consortium has people in the 
local police forces."

Mulder hesitated. "What about calling Spender? If he and 
Michaels are fighting for control..."

"Assuming he doesn't already know about it, I doubt he'll 
do anything. If anything, it'd be in his best interests to 
let it happen, then use it to nail Michaels to the wall."

Mulder shuddered, and looked out the car window. 
Unfortunately, Alex was probably right. It was just the 
sort of convoluted conspiracy-think that he would expect 
from the Consortium.

So, the only thing that stood between Key West and oblivion 
was two fugitives.

They were fucked.

Writing mental travel requests wasn't working anymore. 
Mulder turned up the radio instead. The car filled with the 
sound of a song that was popular when he was a kid, and he 
leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to doze.

"We interrupt this program with a news flash from the 
Florida Keys..."

>>>~~~<<<

"A terrorist bomb has been found in a motel room on Key 
West. The ATF has sent a team to disarm the bomb, while the 
FBI is tracing the person or persons who rented the room. 
Officials say that there is no cause for concern. I repeat, 
a terrorist bomb has been found in a hotel room in the 
Florida Keys."

The unwilling members of the Sentinel Project had quickly 
assembled in their break room as soon as CNN had broken the 
news. There was little information available to the news 
network, but that didn't stop them from broadcasting what 
little they did know, and they had plenty of 'experts' 
ready to speculate on what it meant.

Of course, the first and most obvious piece of speculation 
was that it was connected to the assassination attempt on 
the president, who was reportedly still in a coma, and the 
successful assassination of the vice-president. No one had 
any idea why the Florida Keys were being targeted, though. 
Perhaps because more obvious targets were too well 
protected. Perhaps the terrorists had come by boat from 
Cuba and it was the only place they had been able to land 
undetected. There were theories, but no details.

Jim couldn't help feeling a certain amount of powerlessness 
as they listened to the news reports, even though he knew 
that they wouldn't have been able to do anything even if 
the bastard upstairs hadn't snatched them. Back home in 
Cascade, the only way he could have been further from the 
scene be if he lived in Alaska or Hawaii.

"Relax," Blair whispered, squeezing his hand.

Jim glanced from the television to his partner's face. He 
could easily see the fine lines around the younger man's 
eyes and mouth. "I could say the same," he replied. He 
pulled his hand free and started massaging Blair's 
shoulders. A thought occurred to him. "Have you ever been 
to Key West?" he asked.

"A couple times, with Naomi. We used to go traveling during 
summer vacation, and it's a pretty obvious place to go, you 
know?" Blair tore his gaze away from the television screen 
with a near wince. "It's a beautiful place, and I always 
intended to go back someday. You?"

Jim paused for a moment, then sighed. "I always meant to 
get there, but never had the time."

They were silent for a moment, then Blair laughed, a sharp 
bark of a laugh. "Listen to us. We're talking like the 
place is gone. Nothing's happened to it. The experts are 
there, and they'll take care of the bomb, right? And even 
if it goes off, how much damage can it really do?"

"Depends on how big it is. A few buildings, maybe a block. 
Fire could be a big risk, if the surrounding buildings are 
made of wood. But they'll evacuate the area, just in case, 
and buildings can be rebuilt."

The lines were starting to disappear. "Right. And I'm sure 
they've got the best people on the job. They'll have that 
thing disarmed before we know it."

>>>~~~<<<

The rusted heap of a mini-bus was either missing its shock 
absorbers, or it had never had them to begin with. 
Whichever one it was, the drive over the border had been 
hell. Every dip or bump in the road had sent them all 
bouncing, and Kincaid hoped that Jarod's geek had packed 
his gear really well, because by the time they reached the 
main road on the other side of the border, he was beginning 
to think the *bus* wasn't going to survive the trip.

He knew his ass wasn't.

But they finally made it to a road that had been repaved 
sometime in the last decade, and the ride smoothed out 
slightly, to everyone's relief. It still wasn't great, 
since Mexico didn't have the tax money that the States did 
for paving roads unless they were in popular tourist areas, 
but at least they could hold a decent conversation.

Of course, that assumed that anyone was interested in 
conversation. Jarod had closed his eyes and was taking a 
nap, which Kincaid approved of. Back when he'd been a 
mercenary, he'd learned the value of catching a few weeks 
whenever the opportunity presented itself. His pal, Broots, 
had put on a pair of headphones and was listening to 
something on the little portable unit he'd brought with 
him. Skinner and Scully were at the back of the bus, 
whispering to each other. He wished he knew what they were 
talking about.

Which left him, sitting in the driver's sleep with nothing 
to do but drive. He had a map strapped to the dashboard, 
pointing the way to the first town where they would be 
stopping for gas. At that point, they would switch drivers, 
and he would take a nap himself.

The mini-bus was everything Wolfling had promised, though. 
The shocks may have been crappy, and it looked like it was 
being held together by rust, but the engine ran smoothly, 
and they'd made it over the roughest terrain without 
getting stuck.

The only thing it was missing that he really wanted was a 
tape deck, or even just a radio. Since no one was 
interested in talking to him, boredom was quickly setting 
in. All that he had to do was watch the terrain and think; 
about the state of affairs in the country they'd just left, 
speculation about what was ahead of them, worry that they 
were going to reach their destination only to find that 
Debi wasn't there, and about the lovely Captain Carter. The 
last was the only one that didn't threaten to give him 
ulcers, so he let himself reminisce about the gleam of her 
blonde hair and the brightness of her smile. His taste had 
usually run to men, but Captain Carter had definitely 
caught his attention.

He kept one eye on the fuel gauge, one on the road, and 
what was probably a slightly foolish grin on his face as he 
continued to drive. The relative silence started to lull 
him into complacency.

Of course, that was when Broots jumped out of his seat, hit 
the ceiling, and collapsed back down, cursing loudly. 
Kincaid hit the brakes and turned in his seat. "Are you all 
right?" he asked the man.

Broots was still letting loose with a string of invectives 
that Kincaid would have previously bet that the man had 
never heard, let alone understood. Broots wasn't exactly 
the cursing type.

Jarod was checking the top of the man's head when he pulled 
off the earphones and tossed them, and the mini radio, to 
Kincaid. Kincaid put the earphones on.

"Rumors that the bomb is possibly a pocket nuke cannot be 
confirmed. Authorities are urging the people of southern 
Florida to remain where they are, saying that there is no 
immediate threat. Again, the FBI and ATF are on the scene 
in the Florida Keys, where an apparent terrorist bomb has 
been found."

"Oh, crap," was all Kincaid could think of to say.

TO BE CONTINUED