DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters and property of Stargate SG-1 belong to MGM/UA, World Gekko Corp. and Double Secret Productions. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment purposes and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author. Not to be archived without permission of the author(s).
Daniel's climb up from the basement had left him wondering exactly how many staircases this, uh, house had anyway. The stairs down to his cellar accommodations had been the standard staircase common to most basement areas. The stairs up to the Jacuzzi area, on the other hand, had been narrow and winding, almost hidden in nature, and he knew that he'd climbed entirely too many steps for a mere two stories. As he left the bedroom, he glanced around for the steps which should have been close to the door and was not particularly surprised to see only walls, confirming his suspicion of a secret staircase.
As his guides prodded him down the long hall, he took note of a three foot high statue of the goddess Bastet standing beside the next doorway. Frowning, he realized it looked old, very old. His hand went out involuntarily to investigate its dark surface, and recoiled just as quickly when the handle end of the rawhide whip impacted with his knuckles. "Ouch!"
There was real amusement in the laugh that greeted his cry of pain. "No stalling. The colonel wants you. ... Badly." His grip tightened on Daniel's arm as he chuckled merrily at his little joke. Laughter from the other guard made Daniel suddenly realize that he did not want in on the joke.
Additional statuary lined the hallway at random intervals, while frescos of various sizes and shapes were embedded in the walls. The urge to touch, to investigate, to savor the texture of what appeared to be museum quality pieces was almost too much for the young man as he was pulled along the corridor. A whimper of emotional pain almost escaped his lips as they reached the top of yet another stairwell, and they started down, leaving the treasures behind.
Sam slouched in a very hard visitor's chair near Detective Carroll's cluttered desk, while Jack paced the narrow confines of the crowded room. Carroll was closeted with his captain in a nearby office, engaged, if hand motions could be trusted, in a lively discussion with the man. A strong hand on her shoulder made her jump. "Wh...what?"
"Carter, I'm told there's a couch in the break room, why don't you go use it?"
"I'm fine, sir."
"Sam, you were snoring." Jack hid a smile as his second in command blushed in embarrassment. "You're exhausted. The couch has got to be more comfortable than that chair."
"You're tired, too, sir." Sam pointed out as she attempted to smother a yawn.
"Untrue, Major. First thing you learn in Colonel's school is how to get by on very little sleep. Go. ANH!" He wagged a finger in her face. "Consider it an order."
"Yes, sir." She sighed deeply, weary in body as well as mind as she walked to the door. She paused in the doorway, turning to face Jack. "Sir, we will get Daniel back, won't we?"
"No doubt about it, Carter. None at all."
She studied him for a brief moment, as if questioning the veracity of his assertion, then nodded and left the room. Jack's reassuring smile faded as she left. 'But in what condition, I can only guess.'
George Hammond was a very unhappy general. He'd reached the point in his career where very few of his requests were denied. He smiled slightly as he realized that either he had a lot of influence in the nation's capital or he knew which requests would be successful, and which ones would fail. Considering the condition of his office furniture, he silently acknowledged that it must be the latter. But this request, dammit to hell, had been reasonable. All he wanted was access to the chain of paperwork removing Airman Barkley from his facility. Okay, he'd grant that requesting the body be returned to the SGC might have been a little off the wall, but the paperwork? A perfectly reasonable request from the man's CO. Except the arrogant little snip at the other end of the line had pointed out that Airman Barkley had been transferred, therefore, Hammond was no longer his CO. Besides, the soon to be ex-lieutenant had pointed out, shouldn't all of Barkley's paperwork already be at the SGC?
Hammond slapped the side of his computer monitor hard enough to scramble the image. Wincing at the pain in his hand, Hammond glared at the now steady screen. The one which proclaimed that Airman Barkley had never darkened the doors of the SGC.
An angry voice pulled Jack from his thoughts. "Colonel O'Neill, can you join us in here a moment. ... Please?"
Nodding his compliance as he started for the office, Jack couldn't help but notice that Detective Carroll was obviously livid. The colonel slipped easily into the room, and Carroll shut the door behind him.
"Colonel O'Neill ... Captain Smith." Carroll made the introductions quickly, then crossed his arms in front of his chest as he continued. "Captain, tell him."
Jack braced himself, visions of a dead or dying Daniel dominating his imagination.
Smith glared at his detective, then sighed, releasing the last vestiges of his anger as he did so. "Colonel, we've gotten nowhere on the prints, but the ticket was purchased with a Mastercard." He paused, obviously reluctant to continue.
Relieved beyond words that Daniel was still missing - odd how that worked -- Jack forced the captain to meet his eyes. "What's the problem, Captain?"
"We've been denied access to the records."
"What does that mean? I thought you'd gotten a court order?"
Captain Smith frowned. "We did. The card company representative is protesting the order, claiming we have no jurisdiction to request the information."
"And that's bad?"
Smith nodded. "Yes. I've run into this before. If I'm right, the FBI's got the records sealed."
Jack's eyes narrowed as he spoke. "Why?"
"There are other possibilities, but it could mean that whoever purchased the ticket is in the Witness Protection Program."
"And this means..."
"The odds of you getting a name and address went from good to zip in under an hour."
Daniel tugged at the hem of his skimpy robe as he was led toward an ornately carved oak door. The robe was very loose-fitting, swirling around his torso as he moved, but he had no illusions as to its coverage potential. And it was cooler down here. Much cooler. His chest ached from coughing and the pain just below his shoulder was much, much worse. Could he have broken something? He didn't think so, but the pain indicated otherwise. A frigid blast of air from an overhead register hit him and he found himself shivering violently as the smaller of his guards knocked on the door.
"Come." The voice was low, barely making it past the heavy wood.
The guard opened the door, shoved Daniel inside, and shut it again in one fluid motion. Daniel cringed as he heard the lock snap behind him. Leaning against the door, he looked at Parker, but said nothing.
"I'm pleased you could join us, Daniel."
"I'm happy you're happy." Wincing as Colonel Parker's eyes flashed ominously, Daniel moaned under his breath. 'God, I have got to stop hanging out with Jack.