Unable to help himself, Daniel closed his eyes as the noose passed over his head, repressing an urge to flinch when the heavy cord settled on the back of his neck. Upon repositioning, the coarse material flayed a bit of skin from behind his right ear, engendering a reflexive hiss. Seemingly happy with the knot’s position, the man who placed it shuffled away.

The muscles along his left side contracted, and Daniel fisted his bound hands, waiting for the pain to recede. In retrospect, maybe mouthing off hadn’t been one of his brighter moves. Which was why he generally liked to think things through before acting; spontaneity usually just got him into trouble. At least Vala knew for sure where they were now. Well, not where, of course – Optrica was a big place – but with whom. And, technically, since only he spoke, she only knew for sure that Rigar had him captive. She’d have to work out on her own that Mitchell was with him.

Sighing, Daniel recognized he was mentally babbling. He found to his dismay though, that rambling in your own head did not take your mind off the sensation of a noose pulling snug against your throat.

Swaying a bit on the sixteen inch square he was perched on, Daniel snapped his eyes open and determinedly righted himself. He smirked vaguely at the guard who’d assumed the role of his would-be hangman as the man returned from tying off the other end of the rope somewhere behind him. Daniel had recognized him from their first visit as one of the officers in Rigar’s tight circle of command, possibly his second. Though circumstances had reduced the man’s status to a grunt, still he went about his duties with the same commitment he’d employed directing others to their tasks. But then, Daniel reflected, readiness to get in there and get his hands dirty was the hallmark of a good officer; Jack had shown him that. Though, to his knowledge Jack had never used his hands to help a prisoner step up onto a jury-rigged gallows.

He still couldn’t believe he’d willingly climbed onto the chair. Not that he’d been given a choice. Well, actually he had, but Daniel found the ‘zatted into unconsciousness and lifted onto the chair by the rope around his neck’ option their captor had offered quite unappealing.

Daniel cast his gaze to the fuzzy figures of Rigar and his son, who had moved out of the way to allow their three minions room to work. He was ninety-eight percent sure that stringing them up this way was the ‘other means of torture’ Rigar had alluded to earlier. If he really wanted them dead, there were certainly other methods he could employ, ones less strenuous on his aging followers. Rigar had to know, too, he’d get nothing from Jack if he killed them. Except, maybe a bullet between the eyes.

He wobbled again, and Daniel suspected it was his slightly bent posture hindering his ability to keep his balance. His snide outburst during Rigar’s conversation with Vala had earned him a double prod with the Bedrosian stun gun and it seemed the electric pulse had disrupted the normal flow of communication between his brain and his body.

Providentially, the guy who’d zapped him moved into the periphery of his vision and, gingerly twisting his head, Daniel shot him a dark look. The guard raised his weapon, taking a step towards him, and, uncertain what he’d actually hoped to accomplish by the defiant gesture, Daniel backed off his scowl.

Redirecting his attention to Mitchell, his gaze lingered for a moment on the bruise that was blossoming across the colonel’s right cheekbone, a dark stain spreading towards his nose.

Mitchell stood stiffly on the chair across from him. Daniel noted that, while the colonel was having a much easier time maintaining a rigid posture in the limited space afforded them – a benefit of his military training he’d probably never considered – he didn’t look any more content with the change in location than was Daniel.

The third member of Rigar’s gang approached Mitchell from behind, rope looped over his upturned hand. Daniel felt his eyes widen and, alerted by the look of alarm, Mitchell turned, meeting the rebel’s eyes as he moved before him.

Dropping the bulk of the rope coil onto the floor, the man held the noose open between his hands. He extended his arms their full length, growling when he discovered he couldn’t reach over Mitchell’s head. “Bend down,” he ordered.

Mitchell pulled a lopsided grin, emphasizing the absurdity of the request with a half-laughed, “You’re kidding.”

Even before Daniel had a chance to open his mouth in warning, the alien stun gun-wielding guard skipped forward and planted the device in the colonel’s midsection. His grunt of surprise cut off by the current stimulating his diaphragm, Mitchell doubled over reflexively.   

Passing the noose over Mitchell’s bent head, the guy with the rope nodded in gratitude to his fellow, and Daniel imagined his smirk was every bit as smug as the one he could see on the face of the man who’d prodded the colonel. Without justification, the guard reached out and poked Mitchell again.

“Hey!” Daniel protested.

“Come on, Galen,” his partner said, with a measure of amusement. “Let the poor guy breathe.”

Throwing them both a look that said quite clearly that their objections had nothing to do with the decision, Galen took a step back.

Shuddering, Mitchell pulled in a huge breath, a pained, “Oh, man,” gushing out on the exhalation. He stood up slowly, but even as his torso straightened, his head remained bowed.

Daniel eyed their captors, encouraged by the disdainful leers they aimed at his friend. They may believe they’d broken Mitchell, but Daniel knew the colonel’s apparent submission hid his true state of mind. Far from being cowed by the rough treatment, Mitchell, like Daniel, was incensed, the strong emotion deepening his resolve to give these assholes no satisfaction.

Shifting his gaze to the top of Mitchell’s head, Daniel imagined his eyes fiercely fixed on the knot currently resting against Mitchell’s breastbone. His ire focused on that inanimate representation of their captors, Mitchell no doubt hoped to give their captors a false sense of his susceptibility to torture. A ruse they could use to their advantage if the right opportunity presented itself.

Apparently thinking he’d had ample time to recover, the guard reached up and twisted the noose until the great knot rested upon Mitchell’s left shoulder. Sidling the chair, he slipped out of sight behind the prisoner.

The rope twitched, and, though he couldn’t see him, Daniel knew that the guard was pulling on the other end to take out the slack. He swallowed reflexively: too recently familiar with the threat of strangulation that Mitchell was about to experience. Unable to do otherwise, he watched as Mitchell’s head came up, slightly widened eyes the only outward acknowledgement of his predicament.

Instinctively, Mitchell tipped his head back, hoping to lessen some of the tension against his Adam’s apple. He closed his eyes briefly and squared his shoulders, and when the eyelids lifted again, his entire bearing reflected perseverance.

Daniel met his friend’s unwavering gaze, infusing the moment with all the admiration and solidarity the silent communication allowed. Of their own accord, his eyes slid away, pinning themselves to Rigar, who slithered in behind Mitchell, his son on his heels.

Inspecting his men’s work, Rigar nodded approvingly. “I would have preferred the cages,” he stated, his habitually severe expression briefly softening with something akin to nostalgia. “But, apparently the usurpers saw them as an inhumane means of restraint and destroyed the lot.”

“Yeah, this method is much more humane,” Mitchell praised sarcastically.

Daniel cringed, anticipating the punishment the remark would earn his friend, but uncharacteristically Rigar let it pass. “I required some means to ensure you wouldn’t attempt to escape,” he said conversationally. “We are reclaiming followers for Nefertem daily, but I cannot yet spare a detail to watch you constantly. This was Crevan’s solution.” He nodded recognition to the man Daniel had identified as Rigar’s second in command. “It will also serve as a ready means of execution in the event O’Neill fails to make contact before the appointed deadline.” Hobbling a few paces closer, he purposefully set his right foot and lifted the other, gingerly pressing his heel against the seat of Mitchell’s chair. He held his hands open, palms up, displaying the radio and a watch confiscated from one of the prisoners. “Two minutes left,” he reported.

Whatever reaction he had expected, he was clearly disappointed. Closing his hand around the watch, Rigar squeezed it tightly. Dropping onto his injured leg with practiced grace, he turned to his men, lifting his right hand to motion them aside.

Daniel frowned at the silent radio clutched in his large fist.

“Galen, Eurus,” Rigar directed. “Check the perimeter. See that our forces are dispersed to their greatest advantage.”

Bowing slightly in instant obeisance, Galen passed his stun rifle over to Crevan. He jerked his head at Eurus to follow, and the two made their way quickly to the exit.

The radio squawked. Crevan shuffled to a position midway between the prisoners as Rigar moved away.

“Hey, Rigar!” Jack’s growl sounded clearly. “You know if you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was call. It wasn’t necessary to kidnap my people.”

“O’Neill.” Rigar looked again at the watch. “And without a moment to spare. You cut that rather close. Or did you not believe my threat to your operatives was genuine?”

“Can we skip the Dr. Evil theatrics? I left an important meeting for this. Just tell me what you want.”

Rigar frowned, clearly befuddled by Jack’s reference to Austin Powers’ nemesis. “No,” he replied after a moment, “not like this. I know the Optricans are monitoring this conversation. I will give you my demands in person, face to face.”

“Just a minute,” Jack said, before the radio clicked and went silent. Daniel swung his gaze to Mitchell’s, his mouth pursing thoughtfully. The colonel maintained his aura of self-possession, but the slight shift of his eyes told Daniel they were both thinking the same thing – the rest of their team members were arguing against Jack’s going in alone.

Sam and Teal’c – for surely they had accompanied him – would express concern for Jack’s welfare as well as that of their missing teammates. The younger members of SG-13 would object to being left out of the action, but both were too professional to voice their protest. Lucky for them, Vala had no such compunction. She would rail against being told to sit on her hands while her friends were in danger. Daniel remembered well the incident in Merlin’s cave; she was the picture of misery, able to do nothing but watch and wait.

Jack would tolerate their remonstrations to a point, but ultimately none of it would figure into his decision. He was coming, of that Daniel had no doubt. The only issue to be determined was whether Jack would allow defensive teams to track him and, if so, how to get them into position without their being detected.

Rigar shifted restlessly, his agitation growing with each second Jack delayed his response.

Finally, after what Daniel estimated was no more than a minute, the radio clicked again, flaring to life with Jack’s gruff, “Alright, I’ll meet you alone. But, first,” he added without pause, “I want assurances that my people are alive. Let me talk to them.”

“So they can pass coded messages to you? Do you take me for a fool?” Giving Crevan a pointed look, Rigar nodded curtly. The guard instantly stepped forward and raised his weapon, pressing the charged end into Mitchell’s thigh.

Jerking involuntarily, the colonel let out a surprised shout, the sound strangled as his movement pulled the noose tighter against his throat.

“Son of a bitch!” Daniel snarled.

Rigar waved the soldier away with a casual gesture. “There is your proof,” he mocked. Passing a critical gaze over Mitchell, who, though shaky, straightened quickly to ease the restriction of his windpipe, he added, “If you want them to stay alive, go to the park where my men picked them up. I’ll send transport for you. You have thirty minutes.”

*****

Tossing off a hasty salute to Parey’s men as they took to the sky, Jack spun, scanning the open ground of the park, threat assessing. There were only two other people in the immediate area. Both of them eyed him warily.

He awkwardly waggled his fingers in greeting and, feeling naked without his weapon or a radio, moved quickly to the raised square of green with its huge rock centerpiece. Coming around the far side of the monstrosity, he grimaced, aware that Daniel would have wanted to inspect that Stargate carved against the rock’s smooth surface. He cast his gaze downward, tilting his head in a knowing slant. There, beneath the closely trimmed grass, were the unmistakable impressions of US Government Issue boots, size eleven.

“Well, that explains how Rigar’s men got the drop on Daniel,” Jack grumbled.

No. That wasn’t fair. Daniel wasn’t alone; he’d had Mitchell to watch his six, and they were both being guarded by Parey’s men, who supposedly knew the lay of the land. If anyone was to blame here, it was the host team.

Shoving his hand into his jacket pocket, he gently pulled out the glasses Parey had turned over to him. Unfolding the arms, he noted that, while the lenses were heavily smudged, the frames were undamaged. He breathed a cautiously hopeful sigh, praying it augured well for the spectacles’ owner. 

Jack stiffened suddenly, his trained ear picking up the mechanical thrum of an approaching shuttlecraft. The whine reached a crescendo as the vehicle hovered briefly before settling on the ground half a dozen meters from him.

Unlike the personal transport shuttle he’d taken to this location, which had offered a nice tactical view of the city, his new ride was closed in on the sides. He recognized it instantly as a newer model of the shuttle they’d dealt with on their first trip here and surmised this was the craft Rigar’s kid had taken to rescue his old man from exile.

His jaw tightened in disapproval. How could Rigar let his son risk his freedom that way? Almost immediately the tension released with his scoffing snort. As Carter had reminded Grogan, Rigar was a religious zealot. He had only one goal – to bring back wholesale worship of his nonexistent god. That alone should have told Jack that reason figured nowhere in the guy’s thinking.

Pulling a deep breath, Jack let it out in a slow stream and began marching towards the craft as the double doors slid open. The rebel who met him, though wearing something that more resembled hospital scrubs than a uniform, had the unmistakable bearing of a military man. Standing at attention, he held his familiar weapon before him, and Jack felt suddenly like he was supposed to inspect the soldier before boarding. Bobbing an approving nod, he smiled vaguely.

“Turn around,” the man ordered. “Hands on your head.”

Jack’s mouth twitched in protest, but he moved as directed. The guard quickly frisked him, Jack growling a curt “Watch it,” when the guy lingered a little too long over the back of his right thigh. The pat-down complete, Jack dropped his arms and spun back around.

The man jerked his head over his shoulder by way of invitation, and Jack quickly hopped into the waiting craft.

Remembering from his previous time in a shuttle that the passenger compartment was on the left, Jack turned in that direction. He paused briefly at the bulkhead, frowning at the large rear window before inspecting the interior. There were six seats total, four facing forward and two aft.

Jack settled into the first seat on the right facing the cockpit, just as the craft lifted smoothly from the ground. His greeter dropped into the left side, rear-facing seat. Clearly believing the general was no threat – a misconception Jack hoped at some point to have the opportunity to dispel – the man kept his gaze glued to the large, transparent opening at the back of the craft.

Not that Jack had expected anything different. Rigar’s terms had put paid to any plan to have him followed to the hideout. According to Parey, there typically wasn’t a lot of traffic this time of day, mostly the open vehicles used for public transportation. As these ‘buses’ all had familiar pre-designated flight plans, and no one had any idea in which direction Rigar’s lair lay, Jack had determined it too risky to try and sneak another craft through undetected. He’d correctly estimated that Rigar’s men would be watching for a tail.

Still, it was annoying to be ignored.

“What, no beverage service?” he snarked.

Briefly cocking a questioning eyebrow at him, the guard quickly resumed his vigil.

Huffing a sigh, Jack pressed a hand against his right leg to quell its nervous twitching. Damn, he hated this. His system was flooded with adrenaline, preparing him for whatever awaited him on the other end of this journey, and all he could do was sit. He needed a distraction.

Leaning into the aisle, he focused on the multiple banks of instruments gleaming from the cockpit. He could just see the shoulder of the pilot as he guided the craft to their destination. Not that he had to do much; it seemed this baby practically flew itself.

A hands-on air jockey himself, Jack stifled a derisive snort. It had occurred to him to ask if he could ride up front to see first hand how the craft handled. He was glad he had resisted the temptation. Disappointment and anxiety were not a good combination going into a hostage negotiation. It might be cool though to see if he could talk the ruling powers that be into giving him one of the shuttles for his personal use. After all, making friends of former enemies was in his job description now.

He was drawn out of his musings as the shuttlecraft began its decent. Tension again pulled the fingers of his right hand against his palm and Jack forcefully unfurled the fist. The view through the front windscreen darkened suddenly, the side of a building replacing the open sky. The wall slid aside, revealing a cave-like space, and, perversely, Jack envisioned the pilot gesticulating and uttering an ‘Open Sesame’ as they approached. He smirked ill-humoredly. “I really need some new material,” he muttered to himself, recalling suddenly that he’d used the same crack in relation to the secret temple Chenzero? Chenzippy? – Ba’al’s host – had dragged them to.

The shuttle glided forward several meters then settled to the ground. The guard shot to his feet. Backing expectantly into the entryway, he waved the muzzle of his rifle, gesturing for Jack to stand and precede him.

Jack slowly climbed out of his seat and sauntered into the indicated space. Finding the door already open, he stepped down, suppressing a groan when his right knee twinged. He looked around and scowled. “An abandoned warehouse?” he disparaged under his breath. “That is just so cliché.” Finding some measure of satisfaction that his wit apparently wasn’t as stale as he’d feared, Jack locked his gaze on the small party gathered in the center of the empty building.

Clenching his teeth so firmly his jaw ached, Jack waited only until his guard had placed both feet on the concrete before marching purposefully towards his men. What the hell? Is a rope around the neck the featured intimidation strategy in Psycho Monthly or something? The vision of Grogan’s slumped form at the end of a line held by a child Goa’uld leapt to the forefront of his mind. He spared just a glance for Rigar. Brandishing a zat, the former commander wore a shit-eating grin that rivaled Ba’al’s at his most annoying.

Jack gave Mitchell the once over, content that the colonel was mostly unharmed, if in imminent danger of being strung up like some hapless horse thief in an old spaghetti western. He turned to then to his best friend. “Daniel, you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine,” Daniel replied tightly. “This is actually much more comfortable than it looks.”

Jack grunted, his unspoken “sorry, dumb question,” implicit in his chagrined grimace.

“Your men are very poor spies, O’Neill,” Rigar criticized. “It was ridiculously easy for my men to capture them.”

“That’s because they’re not spies and they had assurances from the Optrican government that it was safe to be out in the daylight.”

Frowning, Rigar eyed him skeptically. “The Optrican government. Your government.”

“Look,” Jack snapped. “I’m not going to waste my breath trying to convince you that we are not from this world. You wanna believe we’re Optricans, fine, we’re Optricans. But believe this, too: we are independent of the current government. We do not follow their edicts, nor do we necessarily agree with everything they say or do.”

Suspicion still weighed down his mouth, but a measure of understanding lifted Rigar’s brow. “Yours is a separate sect?”

Stymied for a second, unsure exactly how to respond to that, Jack settled on, “Yeah, whatever. You saw for yourself our weapons are nothing like those used by the Optrican soldiers. Our dress, our manner is different.”

“Yet, you do not oppose them,” Rigar pointed out.

“No,” Jack conceded simply. “But neither do we help them. Not until recently, that is, when your people started wreaking havoc in the city. They asked for our help and, against my better judgment, we agreed. But, it’s pretty clear that they don’t care enough about us as allies to keep our people safe, so they’ve lost any measure of sympathy your attack on them might have garnered. All I want now is to get my people the hell out of here. What’s it gonna take to make that happen?”

“You do not care whether the Optricans maintain control here?”

“It makes no difference to me who has control as long as you leave me and my people alone.”

“So you will help us be rid of them?”

Mouth pursed softly, Jack considered the request. “How about this,” he proposed. “We’ll take you and your people to another planet where you can worship whomever you choose in whatever way you choose and no one will bother you.”

“Another planet?” Rigar jeered. “We cannot leave here. This is where Nefertum created us.”

“Right,” Jack returned, patience wearing thin. “Well, I’d offer to move the Optricans but there are thousands of them and they’d insist on taking the gate with them, which would make transport a little tricky…”

Rigar tensed, and Jack let the inane chatter die. The rebel leader said nothing; eyes narrowed, he watched, gaze assessing.

Feeling more anxious every second the silence lingered – the anticipation like a small carnivorous animal gnawing at his insides – and fresh out of options, Jack decided on the short route to ending this mess. “You know what,” he snapped, “screw it. You want help getting rid of the Optricans, you got it.”

“Jack?”

Noting Daniel’s panicked gape from the corner of his eye, Jack turned slightly, removing the troubling image from his field of vision. “They have done nothing for me except put my people in a position to be kidnapped,” he reminded everyone. “How much fire power are we talking? It’ll likely be a hard sell with my superiors, but I might have a way around that.”

“General –”

“Jack, you can’t!”

Jack spun awkwardly, his features hardened with anger. “Are those ropes cutting off the blood supply to your brains? He will kill you, Daniel. You and Mitchell, both. Two men under my command dead, and for what? We don’t need these people as allies; they don’t have anything we want and I’m not convinced we could trust either side. As you were so quick to remind me when you needed an excuse to come on this mission, it was our initial visit which gave the Optricans the upper hand in that little war of theirs. All I’m proposing is to give the Bedrosians a chance to take it all back.”

“At what cost? The lives of more innocent people?”

“Their people, not mine. The only concern I have is getting you guys back home and if this is the fastest way to do it –” 

“Sir!” Mitchell interjected, “If I may ask, how do you propose to get General Landry to agree to this weapons-for-hostages exchange?”

“Not to mention the Joint Chiefs and the President,” Daniel added sarcastically.

“You may not ask,” Jack growled at Mitchell. “That’s my problem. Your only concern is keeping yourselves alive until I get back. Rigar!” He turned away from them, doggedly ignoring their continued protests. Motioning to their captor to follow, he began walking towards the exit. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk. You’re gonna have to give me some time to work this out. These two are right; my people are not going to agree to give you weapons just like that. I’ll need to call in a few favors. Fortunately, quite a few important people owe me big time.”

“Jack!”

“Don’t worry, Daniel,” Jack called, waving over his head. “I’ll take care of things as quickly as possible. You guys just…” On the verge of saying ‘hang in there,’ Jack pulled a pained expression; even he couldn’t make that quip fly under the present circumstances. “Wait here,” he finally muttered.

*****

After more than an hour in close quarters with Rigar working out the ‘details’ of the weapons for hostages exchange, Jack stood stiffly from his chair.

“Let me borrow your radio so I can arrange for transport back to the capital. Your men can drop me off back in the park.”

A glint of suspicion brightened Rigar’s eyes, but he handed the device over without comment.

Jack made the call and followed Rigar to his waiting transport. “Give me a couple hours,” he said. “I’ll contact you as soon as I have something. In the meantime, you keep my guys safe.” He cast a quick eye over Daniel and Mitchell. He’d felt Daniel’s squint on him since they’d emerged from the corner.

Rigar returned his hard gaze. “You have my word.”

Not at all comforted by the declaration, Jack boarded the shuttle for the trip back.

The transfer in the park was uneventful, and Jack clambered out of the Optrican transport in the courtyard outside the council chambers. An SG team waited nearby, and instantly recognizing Lou Ferretti, Jack breathed silent thanks that Landry had sent SG-2 to back him up. Not only was Lou one of the best damn team leaders they had, but he was also one of Daniel’s oldest friends.

Casting his assessing gaze over the troops as he passed, he headed inside to find his own team.

“T,” he called, easily picking his 2IC out of the small group leaning over what looked at first glance like a giant Etch-a-sketch laying on the table. Grogan and Kal’toc backed off, making room for the general. “What’s the word?”

Teal’c straightened fluidly and clasped his hands behind him. “Colonel Carter has sent through the UAV. She should return momentarily. We have been studying maps of the city.”

Skirting around Teal’c, Vala rushed forward. “How are Daniel and Mitchell?”

“Alive,” Jack said, adding as an afterthought, “and relatively unharmed.” He turned away from her responsive frown as Carter hurried through the door.
“The UAV is away, sir,” she reported without prompt. She glanced at the diagnostic device resting in her left palm. “It’s flying in an increasingly extended circular pattern over the city. I’ve plugged in the location of certain landmarks – this building and that park where Daniel and Mitchell were taken –”

“They’re hiding out in an old warehouse, if you can believe that,” Jack reported. He flapped his hand over the flat screen on the table. “Does this thing have a ‘get directions’ feature like Mapquest? How do we find the warehouse district?”

Carter glanced up from her gadget. “Parey will be here in a minute. She had to stop by her office. How did your meeting with Rigar go?”

“Better than I expected,” he answered casually. “He agreed to let our guys go and I agreed to try and get him some weapons.”

“You did what?” Carter bellowed!”

“Yeah, Carter, I actually plan to provide that maniac with the means to destroy everyone on the planet,” he snorted sarcastically. “He’s dangerous enough unarmed. It was all I could do to keep from ripping that zat out of his hand. There’s no way I’d give him more firepower. Fortunately, he’s so wrapped up in his own little world I think he believes I’ll come through.”

“General O’Neill.”

Jack turned to face Parey as she approached from across the room. Following behind the marshal, moving after her like a lapdog waiting anxiously for her master to sit again, was another woman. Frail and thin, she watched Parey’s back, pointedly avoiding eye contact with anyone. 

“Marshal Parey,” Jack returned mechanically.

Parey strode to a smooth halt. Following Jack’s eyes to her companion, she gestured to the younger woman. “This is my aide, Mallin.”

“Mallin?” There was pronounced incredulity in Carter’s voice, and Jack raised an eyebrow in her direction before turning back to quickly study the source of her surprise.

Having no memory of his first encounter with the waiflike creature, Jack surmised they had made her acquaintance on their first trip to her planet. Still declining direct contact, Mallin eyed them askance. She hunched her shoulders and shuffled to the side, placing Parey between herself and the strangers. Wondering at her extreme reaction, he made a mental note to have Carter fill in the holes of that first meeting. Nodding a curt greeting, he turned back to Parey as she spoke.

“What were you able to learn?” the marshal asked.

“I saw only four men in addition to Rigar,” Jack replied, instantly businesslike. “But I’d bet more were watching outside. They’ve got our men in an abandoned warehouse about twenty minutes by shuttle from that park. It’s difficult to say positively since I didn’t have a window, but I’m pretty sure we travelled northeast.”

Parey motioned Mallin to a seat at the opposite end of the table then touched the screen they’d been studying. “You should concentrate your search here, Colonel Carter,” she advised, as a new display came up.

Jack stepped back as Carter moved by him, her fingers skating over her hand-held screen. “I told Rigar I need a few hours to make the deal,” he advised.

Head snapping around, Parey challenged, “You had no authority to make a deal without consulting the Triumvirate. I told you before, this is our city. You cannot simply usurp –”

At the end of his patience with self-important idiots, Jack elongated his spine and leaned over her. “And I told you, the lives of my people trump your concerns. I have no interest in usurping anything. You’re more than welcome to have at Rigar once I’ve got my men back, but there is no way in hell I’m going to sit on my hands while you bureaucrats debate the merits of our rescue plan.”

Shooting her gaze to Carter, the marshal sniffed. She pulled back her shoulders, brushed her hands over the front of her uniform, symbolically dusting off her confrontation with the general, and fixed him with a level stare. “So, you have given in to Rigars’s demands?”

The question held just enough scorn that Jack felt his hackles rise again. “Not exactly,” he hedged. “He wants weapons, and I agreed to see what I could do – acht!” Jack’s index finger came up, stemming the protest he saw forming on her mouth. “They’ll all be rendered inoperative. Hopefully, Rigar won’t discover that until we’re far away from there with Daniel and Mitchell.”

“And you trust him to keep your men safe in the meantime?”

“Not completely, no. But, Rigar knows I won’t trade for bodies and I think he wants these weapons badly enough he’ll take care of them. Barring any unforeseen accidents, they should be okay.”

“Unforeseen accidents?”

Jack canted his head at the source of the irksome echo. Vala. Of course.

“Yeah, alright,” he huffed out. “I didn’t want to say, but I guess we need to plan…” He drew a large breath, releasing it in a rush. “Seems Rigar couldn’t find any of those electrified cages –”

“They’ve been outlawed,” Parey supplied unsolicited.

His train of thought momentarily derailed, Jack gave her a blank look. “Right.” Regaining his composure, he continued. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’d bet Daniel’s wishing about now that you hadn’t done that.”

“What could be worse than electrified cages?” Grogan muttered under his breath.

Jack raised a startled brow, having forgotten the younger members of SG-13 were there.

The captain winced, gushing out a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Waving off the apology, Jack pulled a quick breath and announced, “Rigar’s got them standing on chairs… with nooses around their necks.”

“Oh!” Vala gasped.

Carter’s equally soft, “Oh my god,” sounded just behind.

“The ropes are thrown over the rafters and tied off in rings in the floor behind them. They’re roughly in the center of the building, about ten feet apart.”

“We must ensure the ropes are immediately severed,” Teal’c dictated.

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too. Carter, you’re an expert marksman. Woman,” he corrected without prompt or apology. “Teal’c, you take the other one.”

“Kal’toc has proven himself most proficient with his automatic weapon,” Teal’c praised.

Jack turned, canting his head inquiringly at the young Jaffa. “You up to it, son?”

Kal’toc’s brows rose, his confused dark eyes sliding from the general to Teal’c.

“General O’Neill is seeking your opinion regarding your ability to perform the required task,” Teal’c clarified.

“You understand what I need you to do?” Jack asked gently. “Cut a two inch thick rope using your P-90 without hitting Dr. Jackson or Colonel Mitchell.”

Kal’toc nodded. “I understand,” he said, adding after a beat, “I am… up to it.”

“Good man.” Jack slapped the broad shoulder, turning an approving grin on the youngster’s mentor.

Beside him, Carter’s device beeped, and Jack craned his neck to look over her shoulder as she studied the readout. “Carter?” He flicked a finger at the device. “Your gizmo got something?”

“The UAV has a lock, sir. You were right. The hostages are about fifteen kilometers northeast of the park.”

“Okay, then, let’s mobilize. I'm headed back to base for a few cases of automatic weapons. Teal'c, Carter, take SG-13 and brief Ferretti. Make sure his team gets the information regarding Daniel and Mitchell’s status.” He turned suddenly. “Marshal Parey, I assume you’ll want to address your men?” he offered, watching for any indication she might renege on her earlier promise to let him take the lead.

Parey hissed a decisive, “Yes” before turning to her aide. “Mallin, alert Commander Alkar. I believe you’ll find him in the main barracks. Have him report to the courtyard with his men.”

Mallin rose smoothly from the table and headed for the exit. Her gaze darted to Jack as she passed him, and something in the look set up a prickling at the back of his neck.

“Sir.”

Turning to find Carter staring expectantly at him, Jack filed Mallin’s intriguing expression for later investigation and refocused on the matter at hand. “We need to get the troops in there without arousing suspicion," he told Parey. “Can you coordinate transportation with Colonel Carter?”

"I will have the pilots follow several predetermined routes,” Parey agreed. “From the ground they will look like any other means of public transportation."

"That’ll work,” Jack commended. “Carter, get radios to her men. Switch them all to a secure channel. I'll have Siler wire me so you'll know what's going on in the warehouse."

"Wire?" Parey asked.

Carter inclined her head, offering to field the query, and Jack tossed a hand, dropping the question in her lap. "General O'Neill will wear a hidden microphone that will transmit sound from his location over our radios. Don’t you take advantage of surveillance in the course of law enforcement?"

"No. I'm not aware of any Optrican or Bedrosian technology that has been used in this manner."

"Good,” Jack said. “Then Rigar won't be looking for it. Have the pilots set the shuttles down about half a kilometer out and move your teams into position. Keep an eye out for any scouts and take them out if you can do it without giving yourselves away. Otherwise, stay out of sight. Once I'm back inside, I'll try to get Daniel and Mitchell out of there quickly, but if Rigar doesn't go for it, I’ll signal you at the first chance I see that you might get in there without risk to our guys.”

"Yes, sir. Trigger word?" 

Jack considered his response, after a moment announcing flatly, “Lunatic.”

Carter’s brow pinched minutely, the only sign of concern over the wisdom of his choice of a potentially incendiary term. “Yes, sir,” she said again. Turning smartly to Parey, Carter ushered the marshal ahead of her.

“I would like to know more about the applications of a wire,” Parey informed the colonel as they walked away.

“Sure,” Carter replied readily. “Once this operation is complete, we can discuss the exchange of information and technology between our cultures.”

Quirking a bemused grin at Carter’s smooth transition from soldier to diplomat, Jack shifted his gaze to his 2IC. The utter calm residing in Teal’c’s dark eyes instantly eased his tension, the ghost of a confident smile increasing his hope for a positive outcome. He nodded dismissal, watching absently as the big guy began herding the members of SG-13 towards the exit to the courtyard. Left alone, he fixed his mind on the upcoming mission and marched determinedly to the Stargate.

Part 4

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