Power and Punishment
Chapter Two: Absolute Power...

by Jb

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides.
Shakespeare  (King Lear)

John was very frustrated. He’d given the young man his best, and he’d gotten nowhere. Reluctant to use intimidation, he’d relied on the effect of the drug to help try to gain enough of Jackson’s trust so that the man would talk to him. But it hadn’t happened, and they were pretty much out of time.

This was Samuels’ fault. They had been assured that this wonder drug would make Jackson vulnerable to suggestion, at the same time confusing him and interfering with his short term memory. John’s companion had played the necessary part of the bully, being the one to give the every-three-hour injections. For the rest, knowing that the young scientist would be likely to clam up under threat, John had opted for the generous approach.

John made he sure he himself had been overbearingly friendly, just bordering upon, but not quite being, a threat… a coercive, constant presence at Jackson’s side. He’d helped the young man wash up, had made promises he never intended to keep; to return his clothing, to take him outside for a walk, to get him an electric razor and a toothbrush. Yet, all he had gotten were inscrutable looks.

The kid wasn’t eating and had barely drunk a full cup of water in the forty-eight hours he had been held captive. Jackson had spoken all of eleven words, five of which were surprisingly uncivil and unrepeatable; completely unusable.

Now, Samuels was back after a short absence, totally frantic and pushing at them really hard. Samuels said the boss had given them a deadline; he wanted it done and delivered in twelve hours. Samuels would need four hours to do the electronics and get the tape delivered; they had just eight hours left to get Jackson to read the frigging script.

They needed to push harder at Jackson. So they did and in doing so they made another mistake.

John and his partner showed Jackson the list, and told him to read it aloud. Vivid blue eyes turned to them, an unspoken one-worded message projected through the drugged haze… ‘Stupid’.

Daniel felt vaguely insulted. What did they think he was? Stupid? Sure, things were pretty hazy, and he had trouble remembering from one hour to the next just where he was and what was going on… but he wasn’t stupid.

He felt the pain in his left arm, could see the bleeding and inflamed veins. And Christ, he was all but naked. It really didn’t take much more than that for Daniel to understand that he was being abused and that even if he couldn’t quite remember, it probably had been going on for quite some time. That he had trouble thinking straight most of the time was irrelevant.

There’s no way he was going to do anything for them. Especially, he wasn’t about to read a list of words which clearly, from their nature, were specifically chosen with no good in mind. Words like "package", "codes", "cooperate", and the names of people; names like "Apophis", "O’Neill", "Teal’c"…

…and ‘oh my god’… "Sha’uri", "Ammonet"… ‘oh God, Sha’uri… she’s gone…’

Daniel vaguely recalled seeing this man before. He struggled to focus his thoughts. He seemed to remember a conversation… no, not a conversation, just the man, talking to him. His clothes – that’s right – he had said he’d give Daniel his clothes back, let him go outside, if he would just, what? Oh, right, just talk to him? ‘No… not going to happen.’

He didn’t have any sense of being so overwhelmingly afraid of the man before, though, at least not like he sure was now. So, something must have changed. As the big man – ‘wait, his name was… what… John? was that right?’ – roughly grabbed his sore left arm, Daniel tried to pull away.

He heard harsh words and felt an equally strong grip on his other arm, his right arm. ‘My right arm now.’ Inanely, Daniel thought that he wanted to keep his right arm. He was right handed; he needed that arm in working condition. Pulling back sharply, he kicked out at the man and through sheer good luck – or maybe it was bad luck – caught him right in the groin.

It wasn’t all that strong of a blow, but it was in a sensitive area. It was enough. There was a loud bellow of anger, and Daniel was rocked by a powerful backhand across the face. His head crashed back into the wall, leaving an indentation in the gyprock. Momentarily stunned, he slumped. John roughly pinned him to the wall with one shoulder, and manipulated the syringe.

Daniel felt the chill of the wall against his bare back and knew that it was hopeless. He’d just be hurt more if he resisted. His mind fogged over; he wasn’t even sure anymore what it was they had wanted him to do… paper? Was there… something about a piece of paper? He submitted to the strong body which pushed him back against the wall and hung his head, trying to avoid allowing the two men in front of him to see the bitter defeat he knew must show on his face.

A heavy weight pushed him more firmly against the wall, and his left wrist was taken and turned. Daniel muttered "No", pulling back. "Hurts."  The arm was a pin cushion, dotted with countless tender bruised and reddened areas, several of the larger of the veins running along the underside of his forearm painfully inflamed from overuse.

John knew he had been right about someone badly misjudging Jackson. Only now, he realized that he had just done the same thing;  in actually showing him the list John knew he had badly underestimated the young man’s innate intelligence. For John, all willingness toward even the pretense of sympathy vanished as Jackson demonstrated just how headstrong he could really be. Now, they found themselves both figuratively and literally up against the wall.

The kid whimpered in pain as John tightened his grip on the badly misused left arm. "Sure, Bud. We can just use the other one."

It didn’t matter much any more which arm was injected; that was a trivial concern, now. When John had understood that they’d be using a lot more time and drug than they had ever anticipated, he had wanted to spare the right arm. The guy was right-handed, and the boss had wanted a written statement if at all possible. Now, it was abundantly clear that would never happen. Now, both arms were fair game.

John was disgusted. This hadn’t turned out to be a quick and dirty job after all; Jackson was not the milksop they had been led to believe he was. The young man was unbelievably difficult… why couldn’t he just say the goddamned words and be done with it? ‘Take a few thousand more off my pay. Sure.’ John thought.

His tone harshened at the thought of what Jackson’s obstinance was costing him in cold hard cash. "Don’t matter to me which arm we infect and which one we break… and take my word for it, Bud, you don’t cooperate, and you’ll be writing with a pen in your mouth for the rest of your life."

Injecting the contents of the syringe, John looked up to find himself staring into wide bright blue eyes. Intelligent, accusing eyes… which were a little too alert for John’s liking.

‘Shit. Waited too long. Dammit. Maybe the drug isn’t working for as long as it was before.’ John’s eyes narrowed as it occurred to him that this likely wasn’t the first time the drug had worn off sooner than they realized. Well, maybe it wasn’t a big deal; Jackson was getting the drug now. The way it worked, the kid would zone out for an hour or so, and then they’d have a couple of hours to work on him before the next shot was due. Hopefully, next time he’d just read the goddamned thing. John knew they only had time for a couple more kicks at the can on this.

Samuels had sworn that Jackson wouldn’t remember, but there was definitely recognition in those blue eyes. John sat back on his heels, feeling uncharacteristically unsettled. They shouldn’t have been so complacent. Despite the yet to come inevitable end of all of this, maybe he should have kept his mask on.

John shrugged. Probably didn’t matter much… the kid would be dead soon anyway. ‘Aw, crap.’ For safety’s sake, John thought that he’d have his friend do the up-front dirty work from now on, just in case.

Samuels could almost feel the sharp sting of the backhanded blow on his own face, even though he was a room away. The scene on the monitor played out like a bad action/adventure B-movie. He couldn’t let this continue. No matter what the outcome of this, whether Kinsey got what he needed from Jackson or not, the scientist was going to be killed. And more than likely, so was he himself. This was totally insane.

Samuels pulled an empty syringe out of the box. Charging it to the 2cc mark with the fluid from a 10cc ampule, he placed it on the table next to the door, pocketing the one which was already in place there. Just in time. The outside door swung open and a huge bulk bore down on him.

"Worm. Just picked up our pay. He shorted us again." The big man grabbed Samuel’s upper arm in a death grip which cut off the circulation. "You bleedin’ bugger. You said it’d go easy. If we’d ‘a known, we’d ‘a asked for a lot more."

The door to the hall opened and John leaned against the frame. "What’s up?"

A dark hand waved an envelope. Samuels shook like a leaf in the grip of the other hand. "Two thou’ short, for us each. Four big ones, in all."

John wasn’t surprised at being shorted, the boss had shorted the last packet by one thousand. The size of this shortfall, though, that was unexpected; this man must have a lot more nerve than John had given him credit for. He figured that his partner’s excuse for the larger amount of supposedly missing cash would be that it was their continued penance for initially beating Jackson up, and for the delay in getting the goods. Feeling the anger burning in his chest, John cast a hard look toward the man.

"Let go of him." John wasn’t at all surprised at his cohort’s actions against Samuels, either. After all, the man had to keep up his front, didn’t he? John prided himself as being, for a thug, a pretty smart guy. He knew what was going on here. Knew that the boss – that shadowy figure who jerked Samuel’s strings, who kept his identity a careful secret from John – probably didn’t trust Samuels further than the man could be thrown.

The boss had to have an ace in the hole, and John had worked hard over the last couple of days to figure it out. Mind you, he always had known that that his partner in crime wasn’t exactly the faithful type. The only thing he hadn’t yet managed to figure out for sure was whether or not the boss intended for John himself to be allowed to live through this.

Another three hours wasted. Jackson had been allowed to space out for the hour, being quite unresponsive as the drug took hold, and then as the sedative effect started to ebb they had tried again. It had not gone well, and now Samuels was white as a sheet and felt like he was going to vomit

They had only five more words; two of them not very polite, one inconsequential, and two little more than guttural exclamations of outrage. Of course, there were the screams, but they didn’t count.

John had left it to the other – his ex-friend, although he had to keep those feelings to himself for the time being – to manage Jackson, and it hadn’t been pretty. The man had started by giving the scientist one word at a time, but had only gotten a muttered "drop dead" in response.

The simple demand was then delivered again, supported with a threat, and when the demand was ignored the threat had been efficiently carried out. From there it had proceeded, the nature of the threats escalating to exceed the degree of the refusal to cooperate; the violence – as the threats were carried out – spiraling the two men into a situation where there could be no winners.

By the time Jackson finally crumbled completely, passing from a shocked stupor into true unconsciousness, Samuels was in a total panic.

"It won’t work. We’ve got nothing. We can’t get anything! I can’t make the tape, I won’t be able to get a tape…" Samuels had broken out into a cold sweat. He stared intensely at John. "He’ll kill us all. You know that?"

John started to answer, but they were interrupted. Grabbing the syringe on the table, Daniel’s tormentor left as quickly as he had entered. In silence, Samuels watched on the monitor as the contents of the syringe were administered.

The door re-opened and closed, and an ominous presence passed John to hover over Samuels. Samuels felt like he would lift off, he was vibrating so violently.

"One more chance, ya’ bugger. Better hope it…"

The big man’s words were sharply cut off as, in concert with a muffled ‘thunk’ noise, he suddenly pitched forward onto the ground, blood oozing from the back of his head. Samuels gaped in shock at the sight of John standing over the prone man, pistol barrel in hand and cold anger in his eyes. There was blood on the handgrip.

"Nobody does an end run around me." The noise as the handgun fired in the small room was deafening; the devastation as the man’s head literally exploded was sickening.

Samuels retched violently, stumbling back from the gory sight. John grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through the small hallway, into the room where Jackson lay in a pathetic heap on the floor by the far wall.

John let go of Samuels and crouched by the unconscious man. He could hear Samuels still heaving, but tried to ignore it in favor of turning his full attention to Jackson.

Somewhere along the line, during his ex-friend’s ill-conceived torture of this young man, John’s attitude had changed. While all along he had felt surprised and begrudging appreciation for the scientist, even right from the beginning in the parking lot, what he now felt bordered upon open respect. He knew that in large measure this was fueled by his anger at the boss, his disgust with Samuels’ weakness of character, and bitter feelings of being cheated and betrayed by his own.

But there was Jackson himself in there somewhere, too. Hell, out of them all, the kid was the only one who had shown any class... probably the only one really worthy of living through this. John sat back, thinking hard. Killing his own soon-to-be-executioner, his ex-partner… he’d figured that would be therapeutic, but somehow it wasn’t doing the trick. As well, it provided only temporary protection from the boss; John was well aware that his life was still in jeopardy. Maybe this life, Jackson’s life, was the key to finding a more permanent solution.

The decision made, he gently unfolded the battered body before him, laying Jackson onto his back so he could assess the damage. ‘Well, he’s gonna have two black eyes now.’ There was blood running from Jackson’s mouth and nose; no deviation or swelling, though, so John figured maybe his nose wasn’t broken after all. The blood in his mouth came from a gash on the inside of the lower lip, cut against the kid’s teeth by a vicious blow to the chin.

As John’s hands moved to explore further down, they were grasped by Samuels own shaky hands. "What are you doing? Leave him alone! It’s enough!"

"It’s okay. I’m trying to help him." John grinned at the total disbelief on Samuels’ face. "Look, if we wanna get out of this alive, and stay alive, then we need to be sure that he…" John jerked a thumb towards Jackson, "… stays alive until we figure out how to deal with this. He’s just as valuable to us as to the boss, right?"

He turned back to the task at hand. The livid bruising even now coming out on Jackson’s neck was evidence of the strength of the chokehold that had been used to intimidate the young man. Three fingers on the right hand, clearly broken. A bit of grinding under John’s hand on the right side of Jackson's chest foretold cracked ribs.

‘Man, that left arm’s bad, though.’ John recalled how his ex-in-crime had taken ruthless advantage of the painfully abused veins, brutally squeezing the arm until Jackson had cried out. Bleeding from numerous punctures, horribly inflamed, there were streaks of red flaring up past the elbow into the upper arm... obvious signs of what was soon to be a deep seated infection.

"How is he?" Samuels voice was quiet, and John, turning to him, was gratified to see that the man was making an effort to pull himself together.

John shrugged in reply. "Depends." He indicated the red fist marks over both flanks. "Kidney punched. If there’s no internal bleeding, then he’ll live."

"It... uh, it was saline."

‘Huh?’  John gave Samuels a questioning look.

"The last injection. It wasn’t the drug. It was just saline solution. Dilutent." Samuels fought to cover his fear with an expression of defiance, clearly anxious over what the other man’s reaction would be to his confession that he had decided some time ago to try to prevent Jackson’s death. "I… I switched the syringes… after, after you gave him the last one."

A flood of conflicting thoughts and emotions raced through John. Saline? A grin huge enough to crack his face in two had only just barely surfaced before it was replaced by an expression of dawning horror. "Crap!" John grabbed Jackson’s chin and turned the slack face toward him. He took a good look, and noted the flicker of the closed eyelids, the definite twitch of the lips and the change in the cadence of the man’s breathing.

"Crap." He turned an accusing look toward Samuels. "Why didn’t you say that fifteen minutes ago? Dammit, he’s not drugged… he’s waking up!" Jumping up, he turned to leave the room, intent on going to find his mask. His path was blocked by Samuels.

"So what? I won’t let you run out now. We have to get him out of here. He needs to be mobile…"

"You idiot! He’s not drugged. He’ll see us, and he’ll remember us!"

"I don’t care anymore! We have to end this!"  Samuels face was flushed and his eyes flared with determination. He gripped John’s arm in an attempt to keep the man in place. "Look. This was a big mistake, we made a horrible, horrible mistake. I’m not afraid to face up to it, but we have no time. We have to get him out of here…"

Samuels let go of John and took several steps toward Jackson. "Kinsey. He’s crazy. We need to get out of here and figure out a way to get to Kinsey."

John was more than just a little surprised at Samuels. Hey, the weasel had some spine after all. But who the hell was Kinsey?

"Kin…Kinsey?"  The weak, unexpected voice came from over by the near wall. John whirled around to be faced with a bad waking dream. Jackson was half-sitting leaning up against the wall, staring at them with those very bright, very pain-filled but very alert blue eyes.

‘Aw crap.’ Too late for even a mask, now. Samuels was just as shocked as John was; the Lt. Colonel’s mouth was hanging down around his knees, which looked to be in danger of melting out from under him. John chuckled softly to himself. All that resolve, not caring if he was seen, seemed to be on the verge of collapsing now that Samuels was actually looking into the eyes of the man whose torture he was jointly responsible for.

John, well, he was a pragmatist. No way to change it now.

The indiscreet voices were a distraction. Daniel couldn’t understand such disregard… why couldn’t they be quieter, just go away? Didn’t they know he was sick?

He felt a hand on his face, felt his neck protest as his head was forcibly turned. Then, thankfully, it was gone. But the voices got more insistent, and with the increasing volume came a corresponding increase in his own alertness. ‘Who were they? Where was he… wait … he hurt because, because he had been beaten up?’ His arms, wrists… ‘cuffs.’ He was handcuffed.

The abrupt realization that he was at risk jolted Daniel into complete wakefulness. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself looking around a room which seemed vaguely familiar. He followed the voices and saw two men standing several feet away. They were arguing.

Painfully, trying to be as quiet as possible, Daniel tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Fire lanced through his hand as his fingers brushed the floor. Biting back a cry of pain, the best he could manage was to slide back to the wall behind him, leaning on his right elbow.

"Kinsey. He’s crazy. We need to figure out a way to get to Kinsey."

"Kin… Kinsey?" The name had left his lips before Daniel was even aware of having spoken. The two men turned, and Daniel recognized… Lieutenant Colonel Samuels? And another… a tall, impressive man with dark brown close cropped hair, a wide face. He knew that face, he was certain he knew…

"… and take my word for it, Bud, you don’t cooperate, and you’ll be writing with a pen in your mouth for the rest of your life."

Ohhh yeah. He knew that face.

John saw recognition flood into the now-lucid wide eyes as Jackson stared at him… saw a quick flash of fear which was immediately neutralized by determined defiance. He held up his hands, palms facing outwards. "Take it easy, Dr. Jackson. It’s all over with. Nobody’s going to hurt you again. You’re safe."

The expression on Jackson’s face spoke of anything and everything but belief. John glanced at Samuels. The man was positively green he was so scared. John tried, but could not stifle the laughter. "Look at him." Addressing Jackson, John hooked a thumb in Samuels’ direction. "You think he’d be shitting his pants like that if we were in charge here?"

"Yeah, well, he always was pretty feeble." Daniel did not seem any more reassured, but John could see that even in his dismal state Jackson recognized the incongruity of Samuels’ fear.

‘Feeble - the perfect description.’ John’s appreciation of this young man grew. He was about to comment, when Jackson suddenly let out a faint cry, went whiter than white and slumping to the floor began to retch violently. John was at his side in a split second.

Daniel had to admit, Samuels looked pretty pathetic. The man was obviously even more frightened than Daniel was himself. Mind you, the big man was imposing… Daniel wondered if maybe Samuels was just as much a victim of this thug as was he? But Samuels wasn’t handcuffed, or beaten and battered… or mostly naked.

Once again Daniel tried to pull himself up to sit more comfortably, but as he did so pain flared in more spots than he cared to think about and the room did a rapid series of flips which rivaled the wormhole in their inventiveness. Then there was an excruciating pain in his chest, and as his stomach finally thoroughly rebelled Daniel felt himself falling forward... right into a strong supportive pair of arms.

Daniel figured it wasn’t a good idea to place much reliance on anybody or anything right about now, but if there was any merit at all in the old saying ‘actions speak louder than words’, then just maybe this John guy was on the up-and-up. Quicker than his military friends at the SGC could snap to attention, Daniel had found himself uncuffed, gathered up in a warm blanket, and laid down on the narrow bunk. He’d been plied with cool water and plenty of Tylenol, and his broken fingers crudely splinted.

Now, an hour later and having listened with growing horror to several shameful explanations, laying in relative comfort – or, at least, markedly less discomfort – with John quietly watching him from his position on the floor beside the bed, Daniel was able to thrust aside his mistrust and physical pain and attend to the crumpled piece of paper he had been given. It was a list… a list of words and simple phrases, and as Daniel read it over for the third time he began to understand.

Samuels had said it was Kinsey, but so far had been reluctant to spill the rest of the beans. But Daniel didn’t really need it to be spelled out… the words, in combination with the obvious high-tech monitoring equipment peeking out from various spots high on each wall of the room, spoke for themselves. ‘Crazy. Completely crazy. Unimaginable.’ Daniel brought his face up, eyes seeking those of Samuels, silently seeking confirmation. Samuels would not meet his eyes, though; the man just moved further away.

Daniel understood that John had no idea of precisely what this was all about. He had been hired to do what had seemed to be a simple task… to abduct a geeky archaeologist, administer provided drugs, get him to either say spontaneously or to read a list of pretty bizarre words, and then dump him right back where he got him from. So when Daniel turned his inquisitive eyes in John’s direction, he wasn’t at all surprised that the man shrugged his shoulders in ignorance.

"Don’t look at me. I already told you, I have no idea what this is all about. Or why. I’m just the muscle... and if you’re up to moving around now, I think we better flex some muscle and get the hell outta here."

The questioning look changed to one of barely concealed impatience. Allowing his head to sag back onto the bed, Daniel sighed. "I don’t need you to tell me what’s going on... this…" Daniel weakly waved the piece of paper "… says a lot." He turned his attention back to Samuels. "I’m pretty sure I know why. What I don’t know is how… and I think that how is important."

John followed Daniel’s gaze, settling his own look in Samuels’ direction. "Well, I’m no genius, that’s for sure, but I know a situation when I’m in one. I’m not too sure I care about the why’s and how’s right now. There’s a powerful man out there who isn’t gonna much like the way this is working out… and I didn’t go to all this trouble to lose my skin on this one."

John looked Daniel in the eye. "Look, like I said before, I decided to switch sides here because I got double-crossed, and because it was pretty obvious that whatever they…" he aimed a thumb in Samuels’ direction "…wanted from you, they weren’t gonna get. And that’s a death sentence for more than just you."

The thumb switched direction. "You’re an obstinate son of a bitch, Buddy. You came this close to getting us all killed… and we’re not out of this yet. We really gotta get out of here."

Anger flared in Daniel. This… this person, this man… had kidnapped him, whacked him around, messed with his mind and his body, and just because he’d had a change of heart out of a drive for self-preservation, Daniel was supposed to put up with being accused of being the author of this farce? Not likely.

With an effort which brought tears of pain to his eyes, Daniel struggled against cracked ribs and the searing heat in his arm to sit upright. The pain intensified his anger, and his mouth took off before his mind could even click into first gear.

"First off, don’t call me Buddy… you asshole. And second, no, it’s pretty obvious you’re no genius. You don’t even rate as a dull star in the night sky. And third, the best way, maybe the only way, we can get out of this is to understand it… to use it against Kinsey."

That caught Samuels’ full and undivided attention.

Thoroughly soaked, caked with mud, muscles aching and for the first time in twelve days feeling – quite unexpectedly – almost overwhelmingly contented, Jack O’Neill cast a sidelong glance at the impassive man in the passenger seat next to him. Sure enough, Teal’c caught the look and favored Jack with a raised eyebrow, followed by a rare upturn of his lips.

So, Teal’c felt it as well. Jack grinned, experiencing a sense of peace and self-satisfaction, a result of the opportunity to release negative energy through honest and non-stressful physical exertion. It had been a great two days.

"Daniel Jackson would have benefited from this trip."

Jack nodded his agreement. The weather sucked, but the hike was invigorating nevertheless and when they had reached the summit, the spectacular view of the mountains and peaceful valleys beneath them had been soul-restoring. Hard work, sweat and exertion, followed by the serenity of their surroundings; there was no better medicine. The gentle sounds of the forest, the enveloping darkness and cool fresh breezes of the night had embraced and sheltered them, cleansing away all worry.

Yes, Daniel would have benefited.

He had been on their minds. As concerned as he was for his friend, Jack thought Daniel had possibly been even more on Teal’c’s mind than on his own. They had talked about it last night… as much as Teal’c – and O’Neill himself, for that matter – ever talked about anything.

Teal’c had admitted to his feelings of frustration at seeing Daniel go through the trauma of delivering the child of Apophis from his own wife, only to endure losing her to the Goa’uld yet again. He'd admitted to his ever-increasing respect for the young man’s resilience, and to his worry that at some point, too much for the gentle and passionate young man might simply be just that… too much.

They had discussed the team in general, reminiscing about past missions, and that had brought them to Carter. Now, in the mid-afternoon of their last day of leave, their first stop was to be O’Neill’s home for showers and fresh clothing… and the second stop, Carter, to find out what was bothering her and scoop her up for the continuation of their journey.

And then to the third stop… Daniel… with an offer of pizza, beer, and undemanding company to fill the last evening before they had to report back to the SCG.

Five hours… only five more hours until the imposed deadline, and Kinsey hadn’t heard from Samuels yet. Kinsey paced his office, agitated. Everything else was all ready to go; all of the relevant mission reports were assembled along with the re-analyses. A brilliant piece of work, those reinterpretations… a glow of self-satisfaction penetrated Kinsey’s nervousness.

‘Oh, yes.’ It had all come together so well... or at least, it would, once he got what he needed from Samuels.

At first, Kinsey had harbored a few nagging doubts about whether he would be believed; after all, the tape was going to have to be a fake. That’s why he had gone to so much trouble to forge Armin’s complicity and establish the dead man as the source; he’d need a source. And if the tape should ever be proven to be false Armin would take the fall, along with the hapless, soon-to-be-AWOL, Samuels. Kinsey had gone to great lengths to compile evidence of Samuels’ involvement with the abduction and the tape, and to ensure that he himself could not be linked to it.

But now… now. All of that hard work to conceal his own activities had been worth it, of course, but now he knew he wouldn’t need it. All he really needed was the truth. In going over the mission reports, analyzing them within the context of his theory, Kinsey had confirmed the irrefutable truth about Jackson. It was amazing that no one else had uncovered that reality before now. It had taken him, Kinsey, to do it. Faking the tape was necessary; it was the way to lead them to the truth... the truth which justified everything.

No one would doubt that truth as he would present it; it was all right there, so obvious. No one would question the authenticity of the tape in the face of God’s Honest Truth. The President – the entire Earth – would thank him for revealing the monstrous threat which had walked so freely amongst them.

And Kinsey would get the expensive oak frame back. He giggled to himself.

The letter – carefully linked to Armin, who was no longer around to deny writing it – which would accompany the tape was sitting right there, on the desk. Now all he needed was the tape itself. And just one other thing...

When he got the tape he’d need to contact his man on the inside, to be certain it was finished up properly.

They had burned his clothes. Burned them… for some reason, that new information enraged him even more than the knowledge of his abduction and abuse; even more so than the understanding of what Kinsey was up to. Not quite sure why he felt so uncontrollably angry at the revelation that he had nothing to wear, Daniel stood in the center of the room wrapped in the blanket, and struggled to keep from lashing out at the nearest object.

Which was the chair.

Suddenly, as a flash of insight lit up his brain, his body erupted like a roman candle and the chair flew across the room, impacting the far wall with a huge clattering crash. Samuels jumped back, edging toward the doorway with a startled and fearful look on his face.

John appeared from the hallway, entering the room and providing an additional target just as the second explosion occurred. Daniel launched himself at the man, yelling, enraged.

"You shit. You stupid shit! You burned my clothes…"

Where the mind was in fury, the body however was weak and John easily contained the flailing arms. Restraining Daniel, he softly pointed out, "Well, you weren’t going to need them… nobody was ever going to see you, anyway…"

That confirmation of the latent significance of the disposal of his clothes – that his body would never have been found – affected Daniel deeply. He could cope with plotting alongside these two men who had assaulted, had hurt, him, he could cope with the thought of what Kinsey was planning for himself and SG1… but the mental image of his dead body carelessly discarded, virtually naked, was simply too much.

Mutilated, murdered, stripped… never to be found. And if Kinsey had his way, never to be mourned either.

There was a lot riding on this boy. Initially John had just intended that they all get the hell out of here; he hadn’t thought much further than that. It was pretty clear that the boss couldn’t afford to have Jackson survive, not with his body broken and memory intact. John had just assumed that with Jackson still alive, the boss would be thwarted and he himself would be okay; he’d just need to disappear for a while. That it was not that simple for Samuels was not his concern. But now he understood that he’d been naïve.

John understood now that with his murder of his partner, there was probably nothing at all to tie the boss to this whole affair save his and Samuels’ word, and even though Samuels was well and truly compromised, Kinsey couldn’t allow the man to talk. While John’s own word might not be worth anything in the face of the wealth and power the boss wielded, he knew that Kinsey simply wouldn’t be willing to take that chance. Jackson had been right from the get-go; probably the only way to ensure that he wouldn’t have to live looking over his shoulder was to play Kinsey’s own game.

Now, John found himself relying on his former victim to come up with a way to effectively and permanently neutralize the boss, to eliminate the threat of any present or future vengeance for their failure to carry out the original plan. But Jackson hadn’t had much time as yet. The kid was only just now pushing aside the residual haze caused by the drugs and the beating; the cold reality of the situation and the events of the past few days were beginning to sink in. The guy was traumatized. John knew he’d have to handle Jackson carefully for awhile.

When he judged the time was right, he released his grip. "No, I didn’t mean that. Look, bu…" A flash a blue anger halted his use of the word ‘Buddy’. Remembering his earlier mistake in underestimating Jackson’s intelligence, John thought that honesty might be the best policy right now. He started over. "Okay, look… yeah, we were gonna kill you, dump you where no sun ever shines. But we didn’t. Okay? This Kinsey guy, it’s all on him. You ever heard of the saying ‘don’t get mad, get even’?"

When there was no response, John continued to try to redirect the scientist. "Well, I’m gonna be really honest here… I just thought I’d take the fast way outta here, run off. But I gave it some thought, and you’re right... we have to get to him, to corner the boss if we want to get out of this. Come on… you said so yourself…"

He tried to will the return of his anger, but couldn’t. All he felt now was the weariness, and… and a certain uncomfortable roiling in his stomach at the thought of Kinsey. Daniel had never truly hated anyone or anything, before the Goa’uld. The depth of his antagonism to the Goa’uld sometimes worried and shocked him, but even that was nothing compared to the hatred he felt awakening in his gut at the thought of Kinsey.

‘Okay, okay, get it together here. He’s right, and even if he’s not… he’s in charge here. Get Kinsey, get this over with… then you can rest.’ Daniel opened his eyes; fixed what he hoped was a brave look onto his face.

"Okay. But there has to be ground rules. Like, first off, you don’t touch me… ever. And when this is over with, I’ll never see or hear from you ever again."

At John’s slight grin, Daniel continued. "If you want Kinsey to just go away, I might know how to make that happen, but I’m not sure… There’s some things I need to know first, and you’re both going to need to go along with what I say, right?" He turned to look at Samuels, who still refused to meet his eyes.

"Right, Samuels?" John’s tone was menacing. Samuels’ adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped and nodded in fearful agreement.

Daniel turned to Samuels. "The recording equipment? You were going to make a tape, right? Of me?"

Samuels nodded and ducked his head. "Yeah. I’m to compile a… a, short conversation… you and, and someone else."

"Who else?" Daniel prodded.

"I don’t exactly know who. That part was already provided. From the script I was given, it looks like it’s supposed to be a, a…" Samuels cast an uncertain glance in John’s direction.

"A what? Get on with it, Samuels." John was getting impatient with Samuels. "Just spit it all out. We don’t have time for twenty questions."

Daniel indicated his agreement. "Samuels, don’t worry too much about being, uhm, obsessively discrete, right now. Just try to be sensible about how much you say. We need to get on with it… so, you were to put together an incriminating conversation. Like, a telephone bug or something, with me and someone else, like a spy or a traitor…or something?"

"Yes. Although in this case I think it’s supposed to be a bug on the other person, not on a telephone. And he’s got written evidence, too…"

"Written evidence?" Daniel looked at John, and held out his damaged arms, the broken fingers. It was Samuels who answered, though.

"No… not anything from you. It’s the mission reports. We… ah, I mean, Kinsey, he’s going to use the mission reports against you, like he did before when he shut down the program." He shot another worried look toward John, who just leered at him.

Reassured that there were no misleading messages in his own handwriting, Daniel’s eyebrows came together in a frown as his mind raced ahead, a possible plan of action asserting itself with each new piece of information. As it all came together, clicked into place, Daniel jumped and pointed an animated finger at Samuels.

"Ah... Right! Samuels… can this equipment be used to bug a telephone?" At Samuels’ nod both Daniel and John grinned openly.

Daniel brought his fingers up to his mouth, chewed on his thumb. "Right. Okay… the equipment you have, it can string words together. Wouldn’t it be possible to, uh, to prove it was fake though?"

"No. This is very sophisticated equipment. NID. If I do it right, I can string anything together quite seamlessly. Done right, even the same equipment probably wouldn’t be able to detect any breaks or flaws in the recording."

Daniel nodded his head, thinking that this just might work. "You said… if you do it right?" Samuels nodded.

"Okay, okay… so… so, what if you do it, wrong?"

"Try the door again, Teal’c. I’ll go down and check out the car. Maybe he was going down as we came up." O’Neill turned and made his way down the short hallway, hearing Teal’c’s knock on Daniel’s door behind him. They had seen Daniel’s car when Jack had used his guest keycard to gain access to the parking garage. But, there was no answer at the door.

He could always use his key and let them in, but that was an intrusion… an abuse of the trust Daniel had shown in giving Jack the key in the first place. Exiting the elevator onto the parking level, Jack could see the car still there. He approached it; touched the hood. It was stone cold.

Peering inside, he wasn’t surprised to see that the car wasn’t locked. Even after well over a year of being back on Earth, Daniel still hadn’t gotten back into the habit of locking – or even, at times, of fully closing – doors. ‘Prime symptom of a pathologically trusting nature…’ Jack thought. ‘Either that, or he’s really careless.’ Jack figured that it was probably a little bit of both.

As Jack made his way back to the elevator, he was met by Carter. She peered over at Daniel’s car. "Maybe he went out with some friends?" At O’Neill’s raised eyebrows and patronizing look, which clearly said ‘friends? what friends?’, Carter shrugged and tried again. "Maybe out for a walk?"

"Yeah, or maybe he’s ignoring the door, or sacked out on the couch. Come on… let’s go check it out."

Up at Daniel’s apartment, having had no answer to Teal’c’s repeated knocking, Jack unlocked the door and let them in. The lights were all out, the heat turned down, and it was clear there was nobody home. They stood in the middle of the living room, the only sound the gentle bubbling of water through the fishtank filter. The place felt desolate with the absence of it’s owner, and Jack knew he wasn’t the only one experiencing a strong sense of deja vu. A quick memory came and went… of fire, and water, and something not right.

There was something wrong, he could sense it.

Teal’c broke the silence. "Perhaps, now that we are here, we should wait for Daniel Jackson’s return."

"Yeah, sure. I know where the cards are… want a game of gin?" O’Neill shook off his vague worry and decided that he really did want that pizza and beer. As soon as Daniel came back, they’d hustle him into the jeep and go and get it.

Sam Carter glanced around her. It felt wrong, being here without Daniel’s knowledge or presence. But it was a whole lot better than being at her place, at facing unpacking a bag which she’d barely cracked open in Washington. Her father had summarily rejected her, allowing her body into his home for one day, but not allowing her interest or concern. She’d left, and spent two restless nights in a hotel and interminable hours sitting in the airport waiting to get on a flight back.

The silence of Daniel’s living room – one of her most favorite places on the Earth with it’s informal comfort and accepting ambiance, just like that of Daniel himself – got to her and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. ‘Daniel, where are you? I think I need you…’

A hand was on her arm. "Carter? You okay?"

In an uncharacteristic moment of weakness, Sam blurted it out.

"My father has cancer."

Go on to part two of Chapter two

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