------------------------------
The Sentinel Project Part 16
by Lianne Burwell
September 2004
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It was early afternoon when the head of the contingent of 
suits finally came over to bring him up to date. By that 
point, James Logan was about ready to blow a gasket; this 
was *his* town, and no one was telling him anything.

"Listen," he told the suit before the man could open his 
mouth. "I've got a lot of concerned citizens asking me 
questions, and I don't have any answers to give them. Why 
don't you people start talking? What should people be 
doing?"

The man glared at him, but underneath, he was looking gray. 
"Evacuate."

"What?"

"You heard me. Evacuate."

James shook his head. "We've already emptied everything for 
three blocks in every direction. How far do you want us to 
get?"

Suddenly, the man looked very tired. "Tell people to leave 
everything, just get off the island. It doesn't matter how 
-- plane, car, boat, or even scooter -- but they need to 
get as far away as they possibly can, and fast."

James froze. "What is it?" Off to the side, he could see 
another man in a suit with a grave expression heading over 
to where the reporters were clustered, waiting for a 
statement.

The suit he was talking to glanced that way as well, then 
looked him straight in the face. "It's a pocket nuke, and 
they aren't sure that they can disarm it in time."

>>>~~~<<<

There was nothing that Jack O'Neill hated more than being 
hooked up to a ton of medical equipment that was reading 
everything right down to how badly he needed to go to the 
bathroom. He was tempted to recreate the scene from Apollo 
13, but that would make everyone panic. While the mental 
image of everyone scurrying around, worried that the 
armband had sent him over the edge was amusing, he wasn't 
that cruel. Well, usually, although he might make an 
exception in Covarrubias' case.

"How do you feel?" 

Jack looked up into Daniel's concerned eyes. The man still 
tended to blush when you reminded him about what he did 
while under the influence of the armbands, version one. 
Danny still avoided going anywhere near O'Malley's, even if 
it meant driving well out of his way getting somewhere, out 
of embarrassment of attacking the guys for hitting on Sam.

"Not bad," Jack said with a shrug.

"Your heart rate is elevated," Janet said, joining them 
with a disapproving doctor expression on her face.

Jack glared at her. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a 
little nervous here. Give me a break."

"Which limb?" she shot back with a small grin. Jack rolled 
his eyes.

"Comics. Why do doctors always think they're comics?"

The corners of Daniel's mouth were twitching. "And Colonels 
are much better?"

"Hey! I'll have you know that we get training in the art of 
comedy. How else can we break the tension before a mission? 
I got top marks in my class."

"If you say so," Daniel said with a dubious expression.

"Well, your heart rate is back down to where it should be, 
so as long as you keep the remote sensors on, I guess you 
can leave the med center," Janet said, checking the screen 
showing all his readings.

"All right!" Jack said, sitting up. "Where are my clothes. 
I'm starving, so the glop in the cafeteria better be good."

Daniel handed him the requested garment. "Well, good is a 
relative term," he said while Jack got dressed, being 
careful not to dislodge the various doohickies glued to his 
skin. Getting them off was going to be a pain. Literally.

"Well, right now, I don't care. I'm hungry enough to eat a 
dozen MREs."

"Hopefully we can find something better than that," Daniel 
said with an exaggerated shudder. After all, only the 
insane actually enjoyed MREs.

The hallways were far too crowded for O'Neill's liking. It 
was to be expected, since no one was allowed to leave the 
base, including the ones who had come to work after the 
lock-down had started. Thankfully, there hadn't been many 
fights yet, since the off-world missions had kept going, 
but tension was still high. Sooner or later, someone was 
going to snap. Jack just hoped that it wasn't him. 
*Especially* while he was wearing the armband.

They'd already determined that the modified virus that 
would let him use it was running rampant through his body. 
His sudden hunger was just one sign of it as his metabolism 
adjusted. Soon, the strength would show up, along with the 
speed and other gifts. He just hoped that he didn't send 
another kid slamming into a wall from a friendly pat on the 
back. No wonder his heart rate was fucking elevated.

On the other hand, he could remember reading a book in two 
minutes. Okay, it had been one of  Daniel's books, which 
meant that he hadn't understood a word of it, but maybe 
this time around he could get a few more entry-level books 
and read them. Then he would understand where Daniel was 
coming from better when they were on missions. A good team-
leader should understand the basics of what his people did, 
he'd always thought.

The cafeteria was packed when they got there, but the 
lineup wasn't too bad. Everyone seemed to be watching the 
TV's set on shelves up near the ceiling in the corner. 
O'Neill noticed that, but didn't pay much attention. He 
wanted food.

By the time they reached the end of the line, O'Neill's 
tray was full, and he'd added several dishes to Daniel's 
tray -- the man didn't seem very hungry, so he had lots of 
extra space going to waste. Then they headed for the end of 
one of the tables; pretty much the only place where there 
were seats free. O'Neill dropped into the chair and 
immediately started shoveling shepherd's pie into his 
mouth, sighing in pleasure. He'd reached the point where it 
felt like his stomach was trying to wrap itself around his 
spine.

He forced himself not to speed through the plate. The virus 
in the armband might let him move faster, but it didn't 
mean that he digested any faster, so he had to restrain 
himself. Maybe it was the hunger, but the food tasted 
better than usual. Not that the base food was *bad*, of 
course; they were well fed. It was just... cafeteria food.

The shepherd's pie was gone, and he was trying to decide 
whether to tackle the spaghetti next, or have a piece of 
pie, when he realized that Daniel wasn't eating. "Not 
hungry?" he asked, finally reaching for a piece of apple 
pie. He had several plates of main courses, but enough 
deserts to stagger them.

"Jack..." Daniel said, then just pointed at one of the 
television sets.

O'Neill twisted in his seat so that he could see the 
closest screen. A month or two ago, it would have been 
tuned to a sports channel or a soap opera. These days it 
was usually set to CNN.

There was a grim-faced reporter talking, with a pleasant, 
tropical landscape behind him. A banner rolled across the 
bottom of the screen, announcing a breaking story. O'Neill 
forgot about his meal as he tuned into what the woman was 
saying. His stomach clenched and he nearly lost what he'd 
just eaten.

"A nuclear bomb?"

>>>~~~<<<

Within an hour or so of the evacuation order, the only 
people left on Key West were agents working feverishly to 
disarm the bomb and the few idiots who refused to leave.

The entire country was watching the evacuation of Key West. 
The assassination attempts had been big news, and the 
investigation since then had dominated the airwaves, but 
the news that for the first time the fears of a terrorist 
pocket nuke had been proven true had practically brought 
the country to a standstill. The fact that the bomb was in 
the Florida Keys instead of someplace with more tactical 
value didn't change that. In fact, if anything, targeting a 
vacation location as well known as Key West made it even 
worse.

Television screens across the country, and even around the 
world, were full of the images. The line of cars heading 
along the freeway heading north to the mainland and 
presumed safety. The empty airport; no planes were landing, 
and all the ones that were there leaving as fast as pilots 
could be found. The boats leaving the island, loaded with 
people and what possessions they managed to pack quickly, 
looking like a reenactment of the boat people leaving 
Vietnam. Everywhere, tight faces and worried expressions. 
And yet, at the same time, calm prevailed. There was no 
panic. No looting.

Experts discussed how far the destruction would stretch, 
all of them agreeing that it would be far. Key West would 
be the only island to suffer immediate damage. More 
worrisome was the radiation fallout. That would spread 
further. Weathermen were quickly analyzing the wind 
patterns, making estimates, and people in the probably path 
of the winds were also joining the caravans. Then there 
were the questions of the longer term affects, on weather 
patterns and maritime life. Fishing and tourism were likely 
to be the immediate victims if the bomb went off. Then 
entire local ecosystem would be devastated.

And then there was the other question.

Were there more?

>>>~~~<<<

As soon as the news broke about the bomb, the minibus had 
been pulled to a stop and the argument started. Did they 
keep going with their plan, or did they go back?

Broots stayed out of it. Personally, he didn't see any 
point in going back. After all, what would they be able to 
do? Certainly, they couldn't go to Key West; they would 
just end up being arrested by the Feds, assuming that they 
could even make it in time. And if there were more bombs, 
there was no way that *they* were going to find any.

But try telling that to Skinner. As far as the big man was 
concerned, their *duty* was to go back. What they would do 
when they got there, the ex-fed couldn't say.

Kincaid was the one to point out the futility of doing 
that. The entire weight of the US government, from the 
sound of it, was working on the bombs. No one but them was 
working on the fate of Debi McCullough. By going on with 
their plans, at least they would be doing something 
productive.

He was just glad that his daughter was out of the country, 
though. Maybe Canada wasn't that far away, but it wasn't 
the States, so it wasn't as big a target. Canada wasn't on 
the verge of martial law. Canada wasn't dancing to the beat 
of a secret organization out to control the world. At 
least, he hoped it wasn't.

Kincaid and Skinner looked like they were on the verge of 
fisticuffs, which Broots knew would be a very bad thing. 
For one thing, Scully had a gun, and she looked like she 
was ready to use it to protect her boss. 

"Jarod," Broots hissed to the man standing next to him. "We 
need to do something." Skinner's hands were now balled into 
uncomfortably large fists, and Kincaid had relaxed into a 
posture that Broots recognized from martial arts movies. 
They were two tiny steps away from a physical fight that 
would destroy the whole mission.

Jarod nodded, then in a few long-legged strides put himself 
between the two men. "Stop," he said firmly, his tone full 
of authority, and Broots felt his breath catch in his 
throat. The commanding tone in the man's voice sent shivers 
through his body. He'd made a fool of himself over Miss 
Parker because she had the same sort of presence, and if he 
weren't with Jarod, Skinner's tone would probably result in 
the same behavior.

"Stay out of this," Skinner growled. He had the same tone, 
but thankfully for Broots' peace of mind, he didn't have 
quite the same charisma behind it.

"No," Jarod said, glaring at first him, then Kincaid. "We 
don't have the time for this."

He turned to Skinner. "What do we do if we turn around?" 
Skinner opened his mouth. "And I want practical 
suggestions. What can we do to stop the nuke, or the people 
behind it?" he asked, echoing Broots' earlier thoughts.

Skinner's mouth snapped shut. "We find the people behind 
it."

"Every federal agency is probably already working on that, 
and if they run into us, they'll arrest us. What can we do 
that they can't?"

Skinner's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything. Surely 
even Scully couldn't dispute the truth of what Jarod was 
saying.

Kincaid had finally calmed down, and he reached out towards 
the big fed. "There are thousands of people working the 
problem," he said. "But no one cares about Debi. God only 
knows what they've done with her. *To* her. If you want to 
go back, feel free. The border is in that direction," he 
said, pointing back down the road. "But I'm going on."

"You'd just abandon us?" Scully asked, horrified.

Kincaid glared at her over Jarod's shoulder. "All I'm doing 
is sticking to the original plan. You're the ones who want 
to abandon Debi."

"Enough," Jarod growled. "We aren't going to get anywhere 
by fighting."

"So, what do *you* suggest?" The sneer in Skinner's voice 
raised Broot's hackles, but Jarod just ignored it.

"We discussed this several days ago. We decided to head to 
the Yucatan to find Miss McCullough. We made our plans."

"The situation has changed."

"And going back won't do one thing to change it again. We 
cannot affect what it happening in Florida, so I say we 
continue on with the original plan."

"I agree," Kincaid said, still glaring at the man. He no 
longer looked like he was going to attack the man, but 
Broots hadn't forgotten that Scully wasn't the only one 
with a gun.

"So do I," Broots piped up, even though the last thing he 
wanted to do was attract attention.

Scully finally stepped forward and laid a restraining hand 
of her former boss's arm. "They're right," she said, albeit 
a little reluctantly. "By the time we got to Florida, it 
would all be over. And we know that the Consortium is 
hunting for us."

For a moment, Broots thought that Skinner was still going 
to explode. Then the man seemed to deflate slightly, and 
the mood lightened. "I suppose you're right," he said with 
a small sigh. "But I swore an oath to protect my country 
from enemies external and internal. I feel like I've 
betrayed that oath."

"Any move against the Consortium is in defense of our 
country," Scully said, a trifle grandly, Broots thought. 
"If we can expose them..."

"I just think we can do a better job back in the States."

"If you want to go back, we'll drop you off at the next 
town. I'm sure you can find a bus back," Kincaid said. He 
did not offer to drive the man all the way back to 
civilization though. 

Skinner waved the offer off. "No. We'll go on."

"Well then," Jarod said, breaking into a wide grin. "Let's 
get back on the bus. We've got a long way to go, and we 
aren't getting any closer standing here."

One by one, they climbed back into the minibus. Like a 
summer storm, all the tension seemed to have disappeared 
with the end of the fight.

But Broots resolved to keep a closer eye on the former 
deputy director. There was something about the man that 
just didn't feel... right.

>>>~~~<<<

In a corner of the office was an antique cabinet. Inside 
that cabinet was a flat screen television. Spender rarely 
bothered with the television -- he certainly didn't use if 
for anything so crass as watching entertainment television 
-- but for the last two days, he had kept the set turned on 
to CNN, with the volume muted, waiting for the event he was 
expecting.

When the words 'News Alert' had flashed across the screen, 
he had immediately turned the volume back up, even though 
he already knew what he was going to hear.

Michaels was a fool. Handing over a nuclear bomb to a 
terrorist organization was sheer stupidity. Getting them to 
set it off in the Florida keys was pure folly. There was no 
tactical reason for it, other than to get tempers flaring 
up again, and that could very easily backfire on him.

Spender watched the television, listening to the nearly 
panicked speculation from the news anchors as scenes of the 
evacuation played out on the screen behind them. It looked 
as if the damage would be minimal, and the death toll 
almost zero. By late afternoon, the only people left on Key 
West were the bomb experts and a few die-hards who refused 
to leave their homes.

All that anyone knew at that point was that the bomb was 
armed. There was no indication of when it would detonate, 
and no one knew who had set it. No one except the man 
behind it and Spender, that was.

They were also two of the only people who knew another 
important fact.

That Michaels had paid the organization that had set the 
bomb with another.

That there was another nuclear weapon out there in the 
hands of a terrorist cell.

TO BE CONTINUED