Stargate SG1 Fan Fiction ❯ The Secret Life of a Major General ❯ Chapter 12 ( Chapter 12 )

Chapter 12

Walter Reed Army Hospital, Washington, DC
May 23, 2005
Late Morning

Quelling the urge to reach out to her lover Kerry smoothed the fabric of her skirt and forced herself not to quail under the steely look the hospitalised man was giving her. In one corner of her mind she wondered at the strength of character of the man that could make him look like a threatening presence instead of the sitting wounded that he was. Making a pre-emptive strike Kerry spoke, “What would you like to ask me Jack?”

“Why did you run background checks on Tyler and Emily?”

The question was flatly stated in almost a monotone voice. 

“Because,” the brunette answered almost carelessly. She had hope that her investigation would never be learned of by Jack. A foolish and irrational hope in the face of his position as Homeworld Security director.

“That’s not good enough. Why did you do the checks?”

Kerry lifted her chin. “I will not be interrogated Jack.”

“But that’s just what this is Agent Johnson.” That was all he said, but far more was implied. More by his hard eyes than the unspoken words.

Kerry dropped her eyes to the floor and let the silence stretch. The tension mounted in the room and in the end the CIA agent was the one to break it.

“I ran the check because I was curious.”

“Like I said Agent Johnson, that’s not good enough.”

Her eyes still downcast and teeth worrying her lower lip Kerry opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it.

Jack prompted, “What made you curious Agent?”

“I found some newspaper clippings in a photo album. A story of a 1974 car crash and obituary.” Kerry lifted her eyes to meet Jack’s once more and stated challengingly, “Why’d I find them in your family album Jack?”

While Jack had been predatory still upon the hospital bed since her arrival in the room, now his chest stilled and his very energy seemed to freeze at her disclosure.

Deep within Jack’s mind, a mental voice was screaming in anguish that it had been carelessness on his part that had led to his children’s kidnapping. Just like his failure to secure his service revolver all those years ago had led to his first son’s death. Though he lay some blame at Kerry’s feet for performing the checks which would send up red flags to those interested in himself and by extension those in his life. After all, his lover would have to have a very good reason for marking inquiries. Most of the blame he laid on himself. It had been materials in his keeping that had tripped up his children’s cover story.

“Did you mention to anyone the reason behind your curiosity?”

Kerry shook her head and waited for him to answer her question. A question that would remain unanswered.

“Then keep your mouth shut. I hear about it from anyone and I’ll know where it came from. Is that understood Agent Johnson?” the orders were crisply issued.

Kerry instinctively responded to the authoritative voice and command presence, “Yes Sir.”

“No matter who asks you what promoted your illegal search, you will not answer. If they press, say they are to ask me. Clear?”

“Yes Sir,” she answered again.

“Good.” Jack leaned back against the raised bed mattress for the first time since waking from his drug-induced coma. “You’re dismissed Agent Johnson. Send in the others.”

“Jack,” Kerry beseeched as she reached a hand out to touch his arm.

“Dismissed Agent.” Jack repeated sharply.

Kerry dropped her hand before it touched him and rose to her feet. When she reached the door Jack called her attention back to him.

“And Agent Johnson, I think it best you return my key.”

Sam idled her motorcycle at the intersection on her way to her Nevada home. Her booted foot rested on the asphalt and jiggling an impatiently rhythm while she waited the long minutes for the traffic light to change from red to green.

Colonel Masiello had not been able to grant her leave until today though—two days after the general’s accident. She knew he had been sympathetic to her situation because he had taken the time to update her with anything that HWS had sent to his office. As of today however he had signed off a weeks leave stating that as the pressing projects had been dealt with, she could request more time if it became necessary at the end of the week.

Light changing she shifted gears and skilfully wove through the busy Las Vegas traffic until she reached the next intersection. Idling the machine she was riding once more, with her foot still jiggling its impatient rhythm, her worry consumed mind was jarred by an unexpected sensation.

Blood tingled in a hot rush through her veins.

What the?

Sam’s helmeted head jerked to look at the stretch limo idling in the lane beside her. She looked puzzled at the car and then switched her gaze back to watching the traffic light. Dismissing the sensation as a phantom illusion.

The sensation of tingling blood persisted.

Turning her head to look at the limo with its tinted windows again as the traffic lights changed green she kept pace with the vehicle, checking that indeed it had the ubiquitous Nevada plates, as they proceeded to the next intersection. Aware now of the tingling the feeling remained strong and when she idled a foot away from it at the intersection there was no doubt about what she was sensing.

Naquadah.

More naquadah than even one or two symbiotes would have.

Passing through three more intersections Sam found herself looking at the limo and paying particular attention to what she could see about driver. Finally reaching her turn she signalled and pulled away from the vehicle, and spotting a parking spot along the side street that was too small for a car, pulled her motorcycle into the vacant space.

Kicking the kickstand down Sam unzipped her leather jacket and dug through the inner pockets for her cell phone. Her first thought was SGC’s number, but she hesitated as she looked at the buttons. Finally she punched in DET 3’s number and waited for the line to be answered.

Reaching a helpful sergeant and learning that Masiello was unavailable to come to the phone at the moment she left a message inquiring about someone transporting naquadah into the city as well as the description of vehicle, driver, and plate numbers. Concluding the call, she snapped the phone shut, slipped it back into her pocket, and zipped up her leathers.

Kicking the kickstand back against the body of her motorcycle, she checked she was clear, and pulled into the traffic once again and continued onto her rental house. There was nothing else she could do after reporting her suspicions but wait for DET 3 to get back to her.