aelfgyfu_mead (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aelfgyfu_mead) wrote2011-02-01 07:28 am
aelfgyfu_mead) wrote2011-02-01 07:28 am
Entry tags:
SG-1/Chuck crossover: "Doppelgänger"
RATING: G (general audiences)
LENGTH: about 8600 words
CATEGORIES: crossover, humor
SUMMARY: Casey is thrilled to head a mission once again, even if it involves impersonating some lowlife Ring agent who looks a lot like him. This Dave Dixon guy will never know what hit him.
SPOILERS: through early s8 of Stargate: SG-1 (set before "Heroes"); start of s3 of Chuck
WARNINGS: None
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many thanks to my betas, Brilliant Husband (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dudethemath) and especially redbyrd_sgfic, who read the story very quickly and made some great suggestions. All errors, infelicities, and poor judgement are my own.
I didn't get to revise this as much as usual. Please, let me know about typos, errors, and other things that could be improved! (If I make minor changes, I'll just make them here. If it really needs it, the story will get a revision and a later reposting.)
Colonel John Casey sat at the briefing table in Castle and waited for Chuck Bartowski to arrive. Casey liked Castle. They had the best equipment he'd ever seen in his career; most of the wall near him was taken up with computers and large monitors. Castle was clean and well-organized, with steel and bulletproof glass everywhere. Plus, well, Casey had always wanted to work in an underground lair. Not that he'd ever admit it, even on pain of death. Nor would he admit he had begun to enjoy the California weather.
Bartowski came through the secret door from Orange Orange, stumbled down the stairs in his haste to join Sarah Walker and Casey at the table, and Walker contacted General Beckman.
Casey was a little surprised when General Beckman said they had a new assignment particularly for him. He'd gotten used to playing second banana to Chuck Bartowski. He didn't like it, but it had been the story of his life for over two years now. It was bad enough after Chuck had downloaded the first Intersect. With that program in his brain, Chuck could just blink and photographically recall almost any information the US intelligence community held. But Bartowski couldn't defend himself, so he needed Casey then. Now, with the improved Intersect, Chuck... well, Chuck still needed Casey. He had karate skills, but sometimes they worked like a charm, and sometimes Chuck just stood there like an idiot. Bartowski's flamenco guitar skills hadn't failed since the new Intersect downloaded in his head, but that wasn't particularly useful in combat.
Maybe it wasn't a surprise the General wanted Casey to lead a mission again.
"We've recently learned of an operation that has been going on for years. I've never been briefed on it." Beckman's already-thin lips were pressed tightly together. She was really annoyed. Not many people in the intelligence community ranked higher than her. "I've been trying to get more information for months, but I was stopped every time I used official avenues. 'Need to know,' they told me." Casey had never heard the General say anything like that. He sat up straighter.
"I've had some operatives digging around, and what they've uncovered is extraordinary. In the mid- to late-90s, a program began that seems to have used huge amounts of money—over $7 billion annually a few years ago, if our information is correct, and probably well beyond that by now. We haven't been able to get an accurate count, but dozens of people are involved, possibly more."
Damn. They'd been confident they had wiped out much of the Ring; it should just be clean-up now. Sarah Walker and Chuck looked worse than he felt at the news. Walker scrunched her forehead and hitched her blond hair behind each ear nervously. If Walker's forehead was furrowed, Chuck's was corrugated.
Chuck was, of course, the one to tell the General, "But I thought we were pretty much done with them!"
The General shook her head grimly. "Our operatives suspect this is an arm of the Ring that was kept separate from the rest so that if we managed to take out part, this section could continue. It may even contain some of the leaders. We have reason to believe some people there are pretty high-ranking."
Bartowski looked horrified. "So it's like a horror movie monster. We think we've taken out the heart, and yet it still goes on! Or maybe the head. Or—"
Beckman's glare silenced him.
"Unfortunately," the General continued, "our operatives have not been able to get inside the US military base where these suspected Ring operatives work. Your mission is to infiltrate, determine whether this really is the Ring or some new organization, and hopefully bring it down."
A photo that Casey momentarily mistook for himself suddenly appeared on the screen.
"That's... Casey," said Chuck.
"No," grumbled Casey. It was obvious. This guy was a little younger, and just... didn't look right. Not tough enough.
"Colonel Casey is right, Agent Bartowski. The photograph shows Colonel Dave Dixon, U.S. Air Force," the General's voice continued while a couple more photos appeared. "He's a member of the SGC."
"SGC?" Chuck and Walker asked.
"No flashes on that, Chuck?" The photos went away and the General's face reappeared.
Casey already knew the answer: Chuck's eyes hadn't rolled up in his head as they would when the Intersect dumped information into his consciousness.
Chuck replied anyway: "No, General. Doesn't ring any bells."
"What if I call it 'Stargate Command'?"
Casey snorted. "Stargate Command? Sounds like a video game Bartowski would play." Still, he kept an eye on Chuck. Chuck's eyes didn't roll back, and he didn't blink fast. Nothing.
"Apparently it's very hush-hush," the General said, as if the fact that she didn't have access hadn't made that clear. "It took us a while just to get the name of the posting. Officially, Colonel Dixon is posted to NORAD in Colorado Springs."
Casey snorted again. Baby assignment.
"Since we have the remarkable good luck that Colonel Casey and Colonel Dixon are practically doppelgangers, we're going to be able to get a man on the inside," General Beckman continued. "Agents Bartowski and Walker, you will have roles to play, too. You will intercept Colonel Dixon on his way to work and question him while Colonel Casey uses his security pass and clothes to gain access to Cheyenne Mountain."
"Cheyenne Mountain," Chuck said, eyes rolling back. Now he had a flash. "Developed as a sheltered command-and-control center during the Cold War, becoming fully operational in April of 1966."
Casey tuned out and waited for the good stuff: the infiltration.
***
Colonel Dave Dixon kissed his wife and didn't stop until he was good and ready, despite their third son running into him and bouncing off at an angle while he finished saying goodbye. He wasn't scheduled to go off-world today, but SG-1 had a mission in the afternoon. All bets were off when SG-1 went to a new planet. There might be a rescue mission, or a lockdown, or some fresh hell he hadn't imagined yet. God knew when he might see his wife again. At last he stepped outside. The air was crisp but not quite cold. It was a beautiful day for a drive to the Mountain. He relaxed as he climbed into his truck, shut the door, and thus silenced the last remaining sounds of his tribe clustered at the door. He didn't know how his wife managed to get them to school every day on time. God, he loved Allison. Dave pumped some tunes and settled in to enjoy the ride.
Shortly after the road branched off for the base, where there wasn't much traffic, he saw a blonde looking forlornly under the hood of a sports car. Her skirt was too short and her blouse too thin to be outside a vehicle in the wind. She looked up and smiled as he came alongside. Dixon pulled off right in front of her car. It was clearly his duty to assist this woman. If she happened to be gorgeous, well, that was a nice bonus. He was married, but not blind. (Allison still had it over this woman anyway: the blonde was a bit too thin, and she looked, well, helpless.)
"Can I help you, Miss?" he asked as he approached.
She smiled tentatively at him. "I just have no idea what's wrong!" Her tone was apologetic. "It stalled, and I just can't seem to restart. I thought I'd look to see if any wires were loose, but. . . ."
"Well, I'm no expert, but I do know a few things about cars," he told her. "Dave," he added, holding out his hand.
"Julie," she said as she took it.
Then he felt a stinging at his neck. That was weird—it was way too cool for mosq—
Dark. And cold. And smelly. Dixon shivered and blinked; now the dark alternated with light.
"Wakes up worse than you," a gravelly voice said. "Damn it, I'm supposed to be there in less than twenty minutes!"
Dixon tried to keep his eyes closed to buy some time. He must be in enemy hands. What planet was he on? Wait. He hadn't had an off-world mission today. He hadn't even made it to the base!
"I think he's faking," the same voice said, now with a note of disgust. Something pinched the crook of his arm, and Dave started automatically, pulling away and opening his eyes, looking for the syringe.
A man wearing a ski mask snorted at him and pinched him again in the elbow, using his finger and thumb. "See?" he said, apparently not to Dixon.
Dave said nothing but stared at his tormentor. The brown eyes behind the silly hat looked unimpressed. He took a moment to study the rest of the room. It was small, windowless, and had cement-block walls. It seemed a little damp, like a basement. He was tied to a chair—so clichéd. Man, this would be embarrassing. He hoped his own team could rescue him. He could take the ribbing from them. He'd rather not have to put up with it from others.
A second figure in a ski mask had the pale skin and pretty eyes of the woman he'd stopped to help. She was now dressed in black coveralls that didn't hide a feminine figure. A third man, also dressed in black, stood behind the other two people.
"Let's get this party started," said the first man again, turning back to a table behind him.
"No, wait," said the woman from the car in a low voice. "We need to make sure he's fully recovered from the tranq first."
Well, that was weird. If he'd simply been captured by the enemy, it should be name, rank, and serial number. That they'd grabbed him, and the way they were dressed, meant they were enemy.
Then again, they already seemed to have dissension in their ranks. If he could gain information without giving any up.... General O'Neill had been pretty successful at that when he was still a colonel. And the situation would be less embarrassing if he could bring something out of it.
Dixon shook his head as if to clear it, but then he pretended he was still dazed. He squinted and let his head fall to the side a little. "I tried to be a good Samaritan, and I get held up by, what, Bonnie and Clyde and—sorry, what's your name?" he asked the man in back.
"Ch—" the man answered in surprise before the other two turned around and shushed him.
"He's alert enough to use the drugs," the first man said. The narrow eyes peering through him made it clear that he wasn't convincing this man. Sadly, the woman didn't look convinced either. He couldn't tell about the man in back.
"You know, you might as well take off the mask," Dave told her. "I've already seen your face. Besides, isn't it awfully hot in that thing?"
It wasn't the first tactic he'd learned at officer school for resisting interrogation, but it was the first they taught him at the SGC: delay, digress, divert. The enemy's gloating speeches, arguments with human captives, and demonstrations of power to shore up support among the Jaffa subordinates who might be surprised at humans talking back to Goa'uld had bought enough time for more than one SG team to be rescued.
The woman shook her head impatiently, but that meant at least she'd heard him.
"Look, you can tell us what we want to know without the drugs," she told him, "or we can just go with the drugs. You'll tell us in the end, but you might come out of it in rather different condition than you came in."
Okay, that was definitely strange. Why care about his condition at all? Why were they even covering his faces if they meant to kill him at the end? Were they NID?
The larger man, the one closer to him, stepped to the side to reveal what was on the table behind him. He opened a leather case containing vials and hypodermic needles. The man stroked the little glass bottles lovingly. Dixon felt really disturbed now.
"What do you want to know?" Dixon smiled pleasantly. He could keep them talking. He was pretty good at talking.
The man grunted unhappily and kept fondling the drugs.
"Are you with the Ring?" the woman asked.
Ring? Did they know about the Stargate? Was that the original translation Daniel Jackson had corrected when he joined the project? Ring of the heavens? Doorway to the heavens?
Dixon realized a moment later he must have shown something on his face. Damn! Divert.
"Only ring I got is the one my wife gave me the day we married." He bent his head to look at his hand, but of course he couldn't; his hands were tied behind him. It made a good show and allowed him to compose himself.
The first man snorted. "He knows something. Even you could see it in his face, right?" He half turned to the man behind him, but then he turned back without waiting for an answer.
"Let me try," the other man said. He has a higher, younger, more tentative voice. "Look, you're a colonel. You joined to serve your country, right?"
"That's right," Dave said, making eye contact with the brown eyes behind the mask. "It's my job to protect everyone. Even punks who kidnap officers who try to lend a hand."
The younger man winced a little. Had Dixon hit home, or was it just part of the good-cop, bad-cop routine?
"You know the Ring is a threat." The woman had taken over again. "You know you're undermining American security to get power for yourselves. If you really want to serve your country, you'll cooperate with us."
"With a bunch of thugs who kidnapped me off the road?" Dixon let contempt seep into his voice. "I don't think so." Did they really mean the Stargate project? If these people knew anything, they'd know it wasn't undermining the nation's security!
"Let's just use the drugs," the gravelly-voiced man said again.
Dave suddenly realized that the voice sounded oddly like his own. Maybe a little more nasal; maybe a little rougher. But it was strangely familiar.
That they were having this argument at all suggested they weren't sure that the drugs would get them good information—or that they didn't know if they might damage him. Dave really didn't want to find out. He must be overdue at the Mountain by now. Someone would call his house. His wife had a client to meet, and she'd probably have her phone off during the meeting. No one would tell the SGC that he'd left at the usual time. How long before they started a search?
The weird thing was that if they were NID, they should already have known about the Stargate; they shouldn't be calling it "the Ring." Not NID, then. Agents of some foreign power? Well, whatever they were, his duty was clear.
"I have drug allergies," Dave improvised. "Lots of them, actually. Penicillin. Oxycodone. Erythromycin. Nishta." Damn, why had he said that? Stick to earth drugs. "Ciprofloxacin." He wasn't really allergic to any of these, but he figured the more he could list, the more time he could buy. He continued listing the names of any drugs he could recall. "BioThrax. Menomune."
The younger man seemed to be having some sort of fit. It was pretty contained, but his eyes fluttered closed a few times, and his head jerked a little. Then he stopped.
"Guys?" the younger man asked, as if he had fits like that all the time. "Why is he listing antibiotics and vaccines?"
"They're the drugs I know I'm allergic to! Pay attention!" Dave snapped.
Both men jumped at that statement, oddly enough, and the woman snickered.
"Crap! Now I lost my place! What have I listed already? Penicillin, amoxycillin—"
"Delaying," the older man said accurately. He rolled up Dave's sleeve roughly.
"Wait, I'm not done!" Dixon frowned at the syringe with genuine conviction. "I have a sensitivity to ethanol, scopolamine, and most barbituates."
"How the heck would he know that?" the younger man asked in a high voice.
The older man actually snarled.
"I'm an officer of the US Air Force! Unfortunately, I did really badly at the interrogation part of SERE school. I had an allergic reaction when they tried barbituates—anaphylactic shock. Spent days in the infirmary and blew up like the little girl in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."
The older man grabbed a syringe and a vial.
"Wait! I think we should wait! We don't want to put him in the hospital! Casey—" the younger man exclaimed. Hey—had he just just used his colleague's name? Who the hell were these clowns? Was the young guy really just good cop, or was he a total goofball? The signs seemed to be pointing at goofball.
Unfortunately, the gravelly-voiced man grabbed his arm and injected the contents of a syringe, although the woman had started forward to grab his arm.
"Well," Dave said into the silence that followed. "This should be interesting." He smiled, just to throw them off.
***
Casey could not believe how badly this interrogation was going. Chuck had actually said his name! Not that this Dixon should remember afterwards; Casey figured he'd injected him soon enough after that it would all be a haze.
Casey had wanted to inject their target from the get-go, but Chuck and Walker were too soft. They thought maybe he would cooperate if they appealed to 'his better nature'. If scum had better natures, they wouldn't be scum! He'd seen Dixon's surprise when they named the Ring; the man must be working for them. He'd thought Chuck and Walker were ready to back him by the time Dixon came around, but apparently he was wrong.
Damn it, though—this was costing them time. He hoped that Dixon's four kids would be excuse enough for being late. Cheyenne Mountain was a cushy posting. He'd say the oldest kid had thrown up on him in the truck, forcing him to go back home to drop the sick kid with the wife, change, and clean the truck. Too much time, though, and they'd start to question it. He needed to be able to go around the base freely, especially Dixon's own office and locker, and see what he could find.
It was better if he didn't have to go in blind. He'd already looked through Dixon's wallet, and of course there was nothing helpful there. It did help if people didn't notice you couldn't find your own office, or that you didn't know the codes to get into secure areas.
He didn't like the way Dixon kept grinning at them while the drug took effect. It wasn't one of the ones Dixon had listed—not that Casey believed him about the drug allergies anyway—but it did seem to show confidence.
"Let's start with something simple," Walker began in a soothing voice. They'd agreed she was best to lead the interrogation. Beckman said that early testing showed that subjects under 3AD were easy to persuade to trust someone, and Walker was no doubt the easiest of them to trust.
"What's your name?"
"David Dixon."
"And where do you live, Dave?"
"Colorado Springs."
She took him through a few more easy questions about where he lived, and then where he worked, and then: "And what do you do at work?"
"I'm attached to NORAD."
"What do you do for NORAD?"
"I work on deep space..." There was a hesitation there. "Deep space radar telemetry." A slight snort.
Walker had picked up on it. His cover was cracking already. He wanted to tell them the truth! "And is that exciting, Dave?"
Dave laughed. "More exciting than you can ever know."
Walker giggled a little in response. "Really? You can tell me. I won't tell anyone!" Oh, she was flirting now.
Dave snickered again. Wasn't this man married? "Nah. I—I can't really explain."
Casey snorted to himself. Walker seemed to have this effect on a lot of people. He couldn't see it himself.
"Okay. Then how about where you work? Where's your office?"
"Cheyenne Mountain."
"Where in Cheyenne Mountain? It's a pretty big base." Walker still sounded flirty.
"Level 18."
Walker glanced at Casey. He nodded. This was gold: their plans of Cheyenne Mountain didn't even show a Level 18.
They extracted the exact location of Dixon's office and the route to it from the elevator so that Casey wouldn't look suspicious. They learned that swiping Dixon's ID would get him through most things, but they'd need a palm print, too. Fortunately, Casey had brought latex to make fake fingerprints in case they needed them, and he had enough to do a palm. They learned the name of Dixon's superior, a General Jack O'Neill. They couldn't get Dixon's computer password yet; he didn't trust them quite enough for that.
Still, they had all Casey needed to get started. Walker could phone him with the rest. He left Walker and Bartowski in the basement with Dixon, sprinted up the stairs, and unzipped the coveralls he wore over his fatigues. He already looked like Dixon; now he could take his place easily enough.
A short drive later in Dixon's truck, sprayed with ammonia to help his alibi, and Casey was on base. He got through the security checks, muttering excuses about sick kids that he should probably be keeping for this O'Neill character. He changed elevators at Level 11, and the ID card worked just fine, then the fake palm print. He slipped it carefully back into plastic and then into his pocket, in case he needed it later. In the meantime, no one would notice anything odd about his hand.
Casey was a little surprised to find that his office door wasn't closed, let alone locked. The lights were on, and someone was inside!
"Colonel!" A red-haired man jumped up as Casey walked in, but he didn't salute. "Everything okay? It's not like you to be late." He looked like a geek, but he was in fatigues.
"Robbie got sick—had to clean him, and the truck, and myself." Casey made a face.
The other man frowned sympathetically. "Yuck. But I suppose you're used to it, right? Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about P3X-227. The MALP data only show old-growth forest, but the UAV shows a surprising degree of regularity in the trees a few miles west of the Gate."
Soon the man was talking so fast you'd think he had to go pee or something. Worse, Casey had no idea what he was talking about.
After a bit, the redhead came to something that sounded like English, at least: "Dr. Jackson took a look, and I should tell you, sir, that he doesn't think my theory all that likely. Still, he did say it was possible that the area was a planned orchard that had become overgrown later. The most exciting part is that we have some rocky areas where we can't get good images or data!"
It was a damned good thing that this man didn't seem to expect any feedback, because Casey sure as hell had no idea what to say to him. It was good not to have usable images or data?
"The fact that we can't get good images could mean that the UAV was just getting some magnetic interference from the minerals, but it could mean that someone went to the trouble to hide something! We could—we could be talking about another Petra! Think of it, Colonel! Imagine if we could find even the remains of a civilization like that!"
Casey would like to lock this man in a room with Chuck for a week and let them talk to each other. Which one would emerge alive? Or would they both still be going at it seven days later?
The other man grinned. "I can see I've got your attention, sir!"
Casey frowned, not sure if he should deny it or agree.
The geek looked at him funny, then grinned again. "Is this a bet?"
Casey frowned. "Is what a bet?"
The geek fumbled. "To, uh... see how long I can talk if nobody stops me?"
Casey frowned at him. He had no idea how to respond. Dixon seemed like a bit of a smart mouth, but what would he say?
The other man's eyebrows rose and the grin vanished. "This is for real? You're really interested?"
"Uh, yeah." That seemed the safest response.
"Really? Wow, that's great! So you'll support my proposal to add P3X-227 to the mission schedule?"
What the hell was the man talking about? More importantly, how could Casey get him out of the office?
The answer to the second was obvious: "Sure. I'll approve your proposal."
"You—you will?" The man's eyes grew wide and a new smile burst over his face. Oh, God: if he started thanking Casey, he might never leave!
"Write it up, get me a proper memo on it, and I'll sign off on it."
"I will, sir! Thank you, sir!"
He had no idea what that strange man's mission was, but his first mission was accomplished. Once he finally got the man out of his office. It took a while.
Casey started up the computer. Of course it asked for a password. He took out his phone. He'd set it to vibrate, but maybe he'd missed something in all the talking.... No. Damn it! No reception. He must be too deep underground.
"You need Carter to fix that up for you?" A gray-haired man in fatigues lounged in his doorway. He hadn't heard him approaching.
Casey took a closer look and saw the star of a brigadier general on the man's fatigues. He jumped to his feet and saluted.
The general stared at him for a moment before returning the salute so that Casey could end his. "Bit formal this morning, Dixon?"
Formal to salute his CO walking down to his office? This must be O'Neill, but he didn't dress like any general Casey had ever seen on a base before. Casey could respect a man like that, if he weren't Ring.
"I was running late because Robbie threw up in the truck," he started, figuring he could explain any out-of-character behavior and his lateness at one blow.
"Thought Allison drove the kids, and you didn't like having them in your truck." The man's eyes narrowed at Casey, and Casey knew he was on thin ice here.
"I don't, but Allison was running the other three over to their school, and Robbie's the only one in middle school. I figured the truck would survive him. Guess I thought wrong."
"Last time, I thought you were worried about whether the kid would survive the truck: seat belt isn't adjusted for that size, no way to turn off the passenger side air bag.... Any of this sound familiar?"
"Sorry, sir. I'm a bit off my game this morning."
The general gave him an appraising look. "Apparently so, if you're trying to use your cell from down here. If you take it to Carter, I bet she can add you to that network I'm not supposed to know about that she uses to boost her signal to get out of the mountain."
"Right, sir. I'll do that, sir."
The general shrugged, turned, and left. Strange. Casey thought he was going to press harder. Now what to do? There was no way in hell that he was going to ask to be connected to any network, so they could monitor his calls, and he didn't want to call Walker from the phone in his office. That was probably monitored too. The Ring was tight with their secrets.
Dixon's password must be something obvious. Casey had memorized the full names of Dixon's wife and all four kids, as well as their birthdays and the wedding anniversary. He'd started using them; he'd just have to keep trying new combinations. Chuck wasn't the only person who could hack, after all.
***
These were nice people, Dave Dixon thought. He dimly remembered thinking that they weren't, but he couldn't think why. Or maybe those were different people? He remembered more people, in ski masks, but that had been some time ago. Now he just had a pretty young woman and a nice young man asking him questions over bagels. New recruits, apparently. He couldn't imagine what it was like to come into the SGC so young. Gate travel had been thrilling and new when he thought he'd seen just about everything. How did they even handle the excitement? Or could these young people not even understand how tremendous it all was?
He didn't know why they asked him about his password; he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to tell them that one. Everything else they asked seemed okay, though. They'd wanted to know how to get to his office so they could find him again if they had more questions. They were really happy when he told them how to get from there to the mess, the briefing room, and the gym. They wanted to hear about the gate room, too, though for some reason they said "ring" instead of "gate" sometimes.
"Sometimes I forget how amazing it is," he told them. "I walk through, and then I'm on another planet! They mostly look like earth, but still! I can be halfway across the galaxy! This will be your first mission, right?"
The young man shared a look at his friend. They no longer looked so excited. Were they afraid of Gate travel? They did look like civilians.
"What if he was right about being allergic to all kinds of medications?" the young man hissed to the blonde. She looked worried.
Who was allergic to what medications?
***
Casey was still trying to guess the password when a large, well-muscled, dark-skinned man with a weird gold tattoo on his forehead walked in.
"Colonel Dixon," the man said in a deep voice. "You are late for our sparring session."
He sparred with this guy? Well, that should give him a workout. Casey made apologies, repeating the story about the sick kid, and he figured he'd covered for the fact that he didn't even know this guy's name.
"Would now be an acceptable time?" The man's speech seemed strangely precise, as if he weren't really from around here but had learned the language well.
"Yeah! Yeah, sure." Casey stood and the man smiled at him. He tossed one last glance at the computer, the log-in screen mocking him, and walked to the door.
He stepped through, and the man suddenly turned him and slammed him into the wall. Damn! Casey automatically reached back with a leg to hook the other man's leg. He managed to get his leg in position, but somehow he couldn't pull the other man over. He did dig an elbow into the man's neck, though, and he heard a grunt. He aimed another blow at his attacker's abdomen but found himself suddenly face down on the floor, both legs swept out from under him by the man now standing above him.
Cuffs clicked around his wrists.
Casey looked up to see a handful of airmen positioned at even intervals a few feet away. They held weapons, but they didn't look tense. They looked... amused. Like they'd been there for backup, but they knew this guy was going to take Casey down. Now he was pissed.
General O'Neill stepped from behind one of the airmen with a smile that Casey knew wasn't friendly. "You were worried about the truck? Really, Dave?"
O'Neill's hands were in his pockets. He looked as casual as he had when he'd first come to the office doorway.
"But you're not really Dave, are you? Search him, T."
In moments, the extra knives Casey had hidden about himself were in the hands of the big black man, then in the hands of a couple of the airmen. 'T' and the general took just a little longer when T found the latex palm print carefully hidden in Casey's pocket. The general took a good look before pocketing that, along with Dixon's wallet.
Casey said nothing.
"Ya know, I thought at first that Balinsky was just wrong when he said you weren't... you. You know how excitable he is. Well, no, you probably don't know. Though maybe you figured it when you talked with him this morning. Man, to have been a fly on that wall! He knew there was something fishy when you never interrupted him, you didn't ask any questions, and you agreed to sign off on an archaeological mission!"
Balinsky must be the geek. Archaeology? Casey thought they'd been talking about geography.
"You fancy yourself the strong, silent type then?" O'Neill asked, bouncing on his toes a little. "We'll see how long that lasts. Teal'c, bring him to interrogation. I'll round up Daniel; he's gotten surprisingly good at this sort of thing."
Soon Casey found himself in a small, slightly dark room. He was seated at a table with his hands cuffed behind him, though not attached to the chair.
On the other side sat the general and a man wearing geeky glasses. Apparently that was Daniel. How many geeks did a secret base need? Teal'c stood behind the other two. Casey didn't know who might be on the other side of the one-way mirror.
"So, fingerprints have identified you as one Colonel John Casey, formerly of the Marines, now with NSA," the general read off a piece of paper.
"Or should that be NID?" Daniel asked.
"NID? What's that?" Casey probably should stick with name, rank, and serial number, but he figured that if he delayed long enough, Bartowski and Walker might come up with something useful. Chuck was good at last-minute rescues, though sometimes Casey wished he wouldn't leave it until the last minute. Or blow up Casey's car, or things like that.
"Daniel? What does NID stand for?" O'Neill asked.
"That's classified, apparently," Daniel answered.
"They probably think the 'i' is for 'Intelligence,' but given their record so far, I think we should come up with something else."
Seriously? They were going to make jokes in front of him?
"Or maybe it's not an acronym. It's a poetic doublet for 'nod,'" Daniel said.
"Ooh. I like it. The NID nods. That's certainly what they've done this time."
A booming voice from behind interrupted the chatter. "The current location of Colonel Dixon?"
"Right. Thank you, Teal'c. Where's Dave Dixon? You have his truck, his wallet, and apparently at least some knowledge of this base, since you seem to have found his office easily enough."
"Dixon's safe. Unless he really is allergic to drugs like he said."
Daniel started visibly and looked at the O'Neill. The general's face didn't change.
"I'll call Janet," Daniel said, and he left the room.
Casey felt more in control now. "You want Dixon back? We want some information."
Teal'c came up from behind to stand beside the table, between the general and Casey.
"Who are 'we'?" asked the general.
"You should know this already," Casey snorted. "I'm with the NSA, like my file says. I serve my country proudly. But you, you Ring operatives? You sell this country out, for what? Money? Power?"
"Ring?" the general frowned at Teal'c.
Teal'c frowned at Casey. "Explain."
What was the point in playing stupid? They'd identified Casey. It was safest just to kill him. They must want to know how he knew. Huh. They shouldn't be surprised. The Ring'd had so many security breaches in the last two years they should have just called it the Colander. Still, they didn't know about Chuck. That was the key thing: keep them from knowing about Chuck, and that he had the Intersect.
"What is this 'Ring'?" the general asked. "Is it an offshoot of the NID?"
If he were still a Marine, he'd be giving just name, rank, and serial number. But if he could get something Chuck could flash on later....
"I never even heard of the NID," said Casey. "Seriously, there's no point in denying that you work for the Ring. You're going to kill me when this is over, right? So let's quit messing around here. You may as well tell me that you're Ring, the CIA and NSA are going down, and so on."
He could really use Chuck here, actually. Chuck rambled too much, but it did tend to buy them time. Casey was out of words already.
O'Neill leaned across the table. "Who is the Ring?"
Daniel came back into the room without warning. "Janet says Dave has no known drug allergies." He sat back down.
"Do I really have to explain this?" Casey asked.
"I highly recommend that you do." Teal'c leaned over Casey, then raised an eyebrow and looked at the general.
Casey grunted. If Teal'c were going to do anything, he'd have done it by now.
Suddenly his back was against the wall, and it hurt. It probably hurt because a moment ago, he'd been sitting in a chair that was now on the floor, five feet away from the wall. Teal'c held him against the concrete by his shoulders.
"Let's start with where Dixon is," the general began. Casey couldn't see him at first, but then he and Daniel came up behind Teal'c, one on each side.
Why would the Ring care? They wrote off their operatives all the time. Beckman said she didn't know who these people were. Could they be wrong, and this wasn't the Ring at all? Fulcrum?
Something else? Casey decided to try digging for intel himself.
"Dixon is safe. Maybe we can work a trade?" Casey suggested.
"With whom?" Daniel asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"My superior. You have my file, right?"
Daniel vanished from Casey's line of sight, disappearing behind the man holding him against the wall.
"General Beckman?" the geek's voice asked.
"That's the one," Casey confirmed. He wasn't giving the Ring anything they didn't already know.
"Right. I'll have Sam start looking," Daniel said, and he left the room again.
The general looked calmly at Casey from beside Teal'c's shoulder. "Why don't you just tell us where Dixon is? See, he's a nice guy, and he has a wife and four kids. Allison's worried about him now, because of course I had to get in touch with her to see when he left home. It wasn't easy to get to her, because she was in a meeting, and she'd turned her phone off. He left at the usual time—without any of his sons, of course—and you showed up here 75 minutes later.
"Now, it's bad enough that Allison has to worry, and she is worried. Because Dave pulls some odd hours for working NORAD, but he doesn't just disappear. No, it's even worse than that. Dixon was supposed to go to his son's soccer game tonight, and if he's not there, they might all worry. Are you a dad?"
Casey's eyes grew wider. That wasn't in his file. Only Walker and Chuck knew about Alex, right?
The general must have recognized his reaction for what it was. "So, you're a dad? And you would kidnap a father of four? You're supposed to work for the NSA," he said, almost spitting out the initials.
"I do work for the NSA," Casey pushed out. It was getting harder to breathed.
Teal'c suddenly let go of his shoulders, and Casey fell to the floor. He picked himself back up and stood at parade rest (or as near as he could get with his hands cuffed).
"I'm working for the NSA, trying to keep the country safe from the Ring and other organizations that pretend they're helping this country, when really they're lining their own pockets."
The general and Teal'c exchanged looks again.
"Tell me what you know about the Ring," Teal'c commanded.
Casey considered. The worst he could do was show that they didn't know as much as the Ring thought they knew. If he stayed broad and vague, they wouldn't even get that. More than that, though, he had a sinking feeling that these people who kept asking about the Ring were really not the Ring. Since when did the leader of an organization like that know an agent's wife and kids? Since when did one care if he really got his own man back? They had Casey trapped in an underground base. This place would be tough even for Chuck and Walker to crack. Shouldn't they be gloating?
Casey had made up his mind. "The Ring is a secret organization that infiltrated the NSA, CIA, FBI, and the military. They have sabotaged this country's security repeatedly, sold secrets to foreign powers, and worked against legitimate agents of the United States."
The general whistled. "Sure they aren't called 'the NID'?"
"I never heard that name before this room," Casey said.
"And you think we're them? Why would you think that?"
"Because you have more levels under this mountain than you're supposed to have. You've got a huge budget and a lot of personnel. Because obviously NORAD is a cover for something else! Dixon doesn't really do 'deep space radar telemetry,' does he?"
"So? I've seen your classification, and you don't have the right to be here! Who authorized you? Your superior, this General Beckman?" The general was angry, genuinely angry.
Casey was in a military base. They wore fatigues, even down here, where no one without ID could come. They hadn't drugged him or tortured him, just tried to scare him and bruised him a little. If that red-headed kid was for real, they were running scans on woods and rocks, looking for lost civilizations? It didn't make any sense, but it made even less sense for them to be Ring or any other bad guys.
"Yes, sir. General Beckman."
The general pursed his lips. "I'm going to go make a phone call, T. Carter must have located this Beckman by now. Why don't you stay here with Mr. Casey and ask him some more about Dave Dixon?"
Teal'c smiled. Now Casey was scared.
***
"I really don't think Dr. Jackson would be happy that you keep calling the Stargate 'the Ring.' He gets upset about things like that. He even chewed out Balinsky once for a mistake in a translation—he seems like a really easy-going guy, you know? But words matter to him. A lot. Of course, he apologized later. It's hard to stay mad at Balinsky, even when he gets annoying. He's always sure we're going to find Ancients on the next planet, or at least evidence that they were there."
The young man and woman kept smiling at him and trying to get him to drink more water. They also kept taking his vitals.
"Earlier, when you said you were allergic to drugs?" the curly-haired guy asked.
"I said that? When?" Dave tried to remember. "How long have we been here? And I don't even know your names! Or did I forget them?"
"I'm Charles," the young man finally said.
"Did I know that already? And just forget? Sorry. Usually my memory is better than this. We didn't sleep too well last night—by the time we got the kids in bed, you know, it was pretty late, but Allison and I needed some time for ourselves." He almost started to tell them what a great time they'd had, but Allison wouldn't like that, would she? It was like telling your computer password. You just didn't do that. "Allison is so good, you know that? Have you met her?"
"Uh, no. No, we haven't," Charles said a little awkwardly.
"I have pictures! Her and the kids. Let me show you...." He couldn't find his wallet. "I know I put my wallet in my pocket this morning." Now he felt bad. He hadn't lost those photos, had he? They had copies of most, but not the earliest ones of Allison. He should have scanned them like Balinsky said. That kid went on too much, but he was smart.
"What did I do with my wallet?"
"Maybe... maybe you left it in your office?" the woman asked.
"Oh! Maybe. But why would I do that?"
"I don't know. Maybe—"
"You know what I can do?" Charles asked. "Let me get a computer, and I can remote-access your office. You have a webcam on it? I'll use that to look around your office, see if we can see it!"
"That's a great idea!" said the woman with enthusiasm.
Charles disappeared for a moment. He was looking for something. What was he looking for?
Wait. Dave had lost his wallet. Maybe Charles had gone to find his wallet?
Dave tried to remember where he was. He didn't recognize this room. It didn't have the usual SGC colors: gray, grayer, and gray with some burn marks on it. Was he at the Academy? That must be it.
A young man came in with a computer. "Great! So I'll just access your webcam, and we can see if we can see your wallet! You know what? I won't even ask you for your password. You just type it in here."
The man turned the computer towards him and pushed it across the table.
"That's great!" said Dave. "If only I had a webcam, this would be a wonderful idea!"
"You do!" exclaimed the woman. She was pretty, but a bit thin. Allison would want to feed her if she met her. She'd probably want to feed this other guy, too, though. "Chuck—Charles installed one just this morning!"
"Really?" Dave asked. "I don't remember that."
"That's okay," said Charles. "You just type your password right in here."
Dave happily complied.
***
Casey didn't want to ask to sit down again, because that would show weakness. He wasn't awfully comfortable, standing with his back up against the wall, with a big guy with a tattoo on his forehead standing about three inches in front of him. Teal'c wasn't moving. He wasn't even asking questions. He just stared. Casey thought he could return stare for stare, but he had to blink sometimes. Either Teal'c didn't, or he did it exactly when Casey did.
He found himself really hoping that Dixon wasn't allergic to any drugs, because he was increasingly sure that these people were going to get Dixon back with or without Beckman's help. Casey wasn't leaving if Dixon wasn't okay.
It was all right, Casey told himself. These didn't seem to be the bad guys. He didn't like that they'd caught him, but he still had hopes he could come out of this alive. You win some, you lose some. He'd lost very few since joining Operation Intersect, but they'd lost some. It wasn't over. It was never over.
The general threw the door open as he entered instead of closing it behind him. "It's over."
***
"But I heard Jackson say he wasn't allergic to any medications!" Casey told Beckman when they finally got back to Castle to debrief after the whole embarrassing op.
"He was talking about a ring that flushed with a big 'whoosh' and a light show and going to other planets, Casey!" Walker almost shouted at him. "Chuck gave him his name three different times, and he forgot it every time!"
Casey grunted at Chuck. It was stupid to give his name, though he probably used that 'Charles Carmichael' identity he'd concocted for himself. Dixon was probably faking. The people at the SGC were pros.
"3AD is a new drug," Beckman said. "Perhaps it simply doesn't work as well as our scientists said. It's hard to test under controlled conditions."
The General sighed and shook her head before she continued. She seemed unlike herself, almost... defeated? "No. This operation is a just wash. On the plus side, we didn't expose Chuck or the Intersect. We simply didn't get any useful information. Cheyenne Mountain is off-limits by the order of a General Hammond, who I thought had retired. Apparently there are some things even my clearance doesn't reach." She winced a little.
"Well, also on the plus side, General, it seems pretty clear that they aren't Ring." There went Walker, looking on the bright side again. "Nothing in their behavior fit the Ring or with what little we know of Fulcrum. They made a fair trade of Casey for their man."
And wasn't that embarrassing?
"More than fair: theirs was still drugged, and Casey was just bruised. It sounds like they had no interest in him once they decided he wasn't with their NID," Chuck added, as if Casey needed his help. "I know that my flashes on the NID weren't a lot of help, but now we've identified another group within the government that's apparently compromised, and we'll know to watch out for them."
"True enough." The General rubbed her face. "Perhaps this mission wasn't the complete loss it seems. Take the evening off. We'll have a new mission for you in the morning."
"Thank you, General!" chorused Chuck and Walker.
Casey grumbled a little to himself. Was the drug simply no good, or did Dixon play Walker and Bartowski? Maybe he shared resistance to interrogation with Casey, along with rugged good looks.
***
"I'm sorry, sirs." Dixon was more than sorry. He was absolutely mortified. "I have no memory of anything after I pulled over to help the woman with the sports car by the side of the road. The next thing I recall is Dr. Fraiser shining a flashlight into my eyes." He winced at that memory. Why was her flashlight always so bright?
"It's okay, Dixon," O'Neill told him. "Carter has identified several known associates of this John Casey, including the woman we think you saw with the sports car. Is this her?" He pushed a photo across the briefing room table.
Dixon studied it for a moment. "I think so, sir, but I'm afraid I'm not sure."
Carter smiled at him. "She lives very close to this John Casey. We're going to keep an eye on them. If Casey really is straight-up NSA, and he's working against moles within the US military and intelligence community, then he might eventually make a good ally. We're checking their other contacts as well."
"And if he's not on the up-and-up," said O'Neill, "then maybe we can use him anyway. After all, we seem to have a convenient double for him."
Dave Dixon sighed, but only inwardly. He wasn't surprised at what the General said. He just hoped he wouldn't have to go undercover as this jerk John Casey any time soon.
FIN
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters belong to Showtime, Gekko, MGM-UA, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions, Stargate SG-1 Prod. Ltd. Partnership, and probably other persons or entities whom I've forgotten. Chuck belongs to: College Hill Pictures Inc., Warner Bros. Television, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and probably others as well. They probably both belong to other persons or identities as well, but not to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and indeed the story probably won't make sense unless you've watched both shows. So watch the shows, buy the DVDs, etc. I do not profit from fic except insofar as comments make me happy.
LENGTH: about 8600 words
CATEGORIES: crossover, humor
SUMMARY: Casey is thrilled to head a mission once again, even if it involves impersonating some lowlife Ring agent who looks a lot like him. This Dave Dixon guy will never know what hit him.
SPOILERS: through early s8 of Stargate: SG-1 (set before "Heroes"); start of s3 of Chuck
WARNINGS: None
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many thanks to my betas, Brilliant Husband (
dudethemath) and especially redbyrd_sgfic, who read the story very quickly and made some great suggestions. All errors, infelicities, and poor judgement are my own.I didn't get to revise this as much as usual. Please, let me know about typos, errors, and other things that could be improved! (If I make minor changes, I'll just make them here. If it really needs it, the story will get a revision and a later reposting.)
Colonel John Casey sat at the briefing table in Castle and waited for Chuck Bartowski to arrive. Casey liked Castle. They had the best equipment he'd ever seen in his career; most of the wall near him was taken up with computers and large monitors. Castle was clean and well-organized, with steel and bulletproof glass everywhere. Plus, well, Casey had always wanted to work in an underground lair. Not that he'd ever admit it, even on pain of death. Nor would he admit he had begun to enjoy the California weather.
Bartowski came through the secret door from Orange Orange, stumbled down the stairs in his haste to join Sarah Walker and Casey at the table, and Walker contacted General Beckman.
Casey was a little surprised when General Beckman said they had a new assignment particularly for him. He'd gotten used to playing second banana to Chuck Bartowski. He didn't like it, but it had been the story of his life for over two years now. It was bad enough after Chuck had downloaded the first Intersect. With that program in his brain, Chuck could just blink and photographically recall almost any information the US intelligence community held. But Bartowski couldn't defend himself, so he needed Casey then. Now, with the improved Intersect, Chuck... well, Chuck still needed Casey. He had karate skills, but sometimes they worked like a charm, and sometimes Chuck just stood there like an idiot. Bartowski's flamenco guitar skills hadn't failed since the new Intersect downloaded in his head, but that wasn't particularly useful in combat.
Maybe it wasn't a surprise the General wanted Casey to lead a mission again.
"We've recently learned of an operation that has been going on for years. I've never been briefed on it." Beckman's already-thin lips were pressed tightly together. She was really annoyed. Not many people in the intelligence community ranked higher than her. "I've been trying to get more information for months, but I was stopped every time I used official avenues. 'Need to know,' they told me." Casey had never heard the General say anything like that. He sat up straighter.
"I've had some operatives digging around, and what they've uncovered is extraordinary. In the mid- to late-90s, a program began that seems to have used huge amounts of money—over $7 billion annually a few years ago, if our information is correct, and probably well beyond that by now. We haven't been able to get an accurate count, but dozens of people are involved, possibly more."
Damn. They'd been confident they had wiped out much of the Ring; it should just be clean-up now. Sarah Walker and Chuck looked worse than he felt at the news. Walker scrunched her forehead and hitched her blond hair behind each ear nervously. If Walker's forehead was furrowed, Chuck's was corrugated.
Chuck was, of course, the one to tell the General, "But I thought we were pretty much done with them!"
The General shook her head grimly. "Our operatives suspect this is an arm of the Ring that was kept separate from the rest so that if we managed to take out part, this section could continue. It may even contain some of the leaders. We have reason to believe some people there are pretty high-ranking."
Bartowski looked horrified. "So it's like a horror movie monster. We think we've taken out the heart, and yet it still goes on! Or maybe the head. Or—"
Beckman's glare silenced him.
"Unfortunately," the General continued, "our operatives have not been able to get inside the US military base where these suspected Ring operatives work. Your mission is to infiltrate, determine whether this really is the Ring or some new organization, and hopefully bring it down."
A photo that Casey momentarily mistook for himself suddenly appeared on the screen.
"That's... Casey," said Chuck.
"No," grumbled Casey. It was obvious. This guy was a little younger, and just... didn't look right. Not tough enough.
"Colonel Casey is right, Agent Bartowski. The photograph shows Colonel Dave Dixon, U.S. Air Force," the General's voice continued while a couple more photos appeared. "He's a member of the SGC."
"SGC?" Chuck and Walker asked.
"No flashes on that, Chuck?" The photos went away and the General's face reappeared.
Casey already knew the answer: Chuck's eyes hadn't rolled up in his head as they would when the Intersect dumped information into his consciousness.
Chuck replied anyway: "No, General. Doesn't ring any bells."
"What if I call it 'Stargate Command'?"
Casey snorted. "Stargate Command? Sounds like a video game Bartowski would play." Still, he kept an eye on Chuck. Chuck's eyes didn't roll back, and he didn't blink fast. Nothing.
"Apparently it's very hush-hush," the General said, as if the fact that she didn't have access hadn't made that clear. "It took us a while just to get the name of the posting. Officially, Colonel Dixon is posted to NORAD in Colorado Springs."
Casey snorted again. Baby assignment.
"Since we have the remarkable good luck that Colonel Casey and Colonel Dixon are practically doppelgangers, we're going to be able to get a man on the inside," General Beckman continued. "Agents Bartowski and Walker, you will have roles to play, too. You will intercept Colonel Dixon on his way to work and question him while Colonel Casey uses his security pass and clothes to gain access to Cheyenne Mountain."
"Cheyenne Mountain," Chuck said, eyes rolling back. Now he had a flash. "Developed as a sheltered command-and-control center during the Cold War, becoming fully operational in April of 1966."
Casey tuned out and waited for the good stuff: the infiltration.
***
Colonel Dave Dixon kissed his wife and didn't stop until he was good and ready, despite their third son running into him and bouncing off at an angle while he finished saying goodbye. He wasn't scheduled to go off-world today, but SG-1 had a mission in the afternoon. All bets were off when SG-1 went to a new planet. There might be a rescue mission, or a lockdown, or some fresh hell he hadn't imagined yet. God knew when he might see his wife again. At last he stepped outside. The air was crisp but not quite cold. It was a beautiful day for a drive to the Mountain. He relaxed as he climbed into his truck, shut the door, and thus silenced the last remaining sounds of his tribe clustered at the door. He didn't know how his wife managed to get them to school every day on time. God, he loved Allison. Dave pumped some tunes and settled in to enjoy the ride.
Shortly after the road branched off for the base, where there wasn't much traffic, he saw a blonde looking forlornly under the hood of a sports car. Her skirt was too short and her blouse too thin to be outside a vehicle in the wind. She looked up and smiled as he came alongside. Dixon pulled off right in front of her car. It was clearly his duty to assist this woman. If she happened to be gorgeous, well, that was a nice bonus. He was married, but not blind. (Allison still had it over this woman anyway: the blonde was a bit too thin, and she looked, well, helpless.)
"Can I help you, Miss?" he asked as he approached.
She smiled tentatively at him. "I just have no idea what's wrong!" Her tone was apologetic. "It stalled, and I just can't seem to restart. I thought I'd look to see if any wires were loose, but. . . ."
"Well, I'm no expert, but I do know a few things about cars," he told her. "Dave," he added, holding out his hand.
"Julie," she said as she took it.
Then he felt a stinging at his neck. That was weird—it was way too cool for mosq—
Dark. And cold. And smelly. Dixon shivered and blinked; now the dark alternated with light.
"Wakes up worse than you," a gravelly voice said. "Damn it, I'm supposed to be there in less than twenty minutes!"
Dixon tried to keep his eyes closed to buy some time. He must be in enemy hands. What planet was he on? Wait. He hadn't had an off-world mission today. He hadn't even made it to the base!
"I think he's faking," the same voice said, now with a note of disgust. Something pinched the crook of his arm, and Dave started automatically, pulling away and opening his eyes, looking for the syringe.
A man wearing a ski mask snorted at him and pinched him again in the elbow, using his finger and thumb. "See?" he said, apparently not to Dixon.
Dave said nothing but stared at his tormentor. The brown eyes behind the silly hat looked unimpressed. He took a moment to study the rest of the room. It was small, windowless, and had cement-block walls. It seemed a little damp, like a basement. He was tied to a chair—so clichéd. Man, this would be embarrassing. He hoped his own team could rescue him. He could take the ribbing from them. He'd rather not have to put up with it from others.
A second figure in a ski mask had the pale skin and pretty eyes of the woman he'd stopped to help. She was now dressed in black coveralls that didn't hide a feminine figure. A third man, also dressed in black, stood behind the other two people.
"Let's get this party started," said the first man again, turning back to a table behind him.
"No, wait," said the woman from the car in a low voice. "We need to make sure he's fully recovered from the tranq first."
Well, that was weird. If he'd simply been captured by the enemy, it should be name, rank, and serial number. That they'd grabbed him, and the way they were dressed, meant they were enemy.
Then again, they already seemed to have dissension in their ranks. If he could gain information without giving any up.... General O'Neill had been pretty successful at that when he was still a colonel. And the situation would be less embarrassing if he could bring something out of it.
Dixon shook his head as if to clear it, but then he pretended he was still dazed. He squinted and let his head fall to the side a little. "I tried to be a good Samaritan, and I get held up by, what, Bonnie and Clyde and—sorry, what's your name?" he asked the man in back.
"Ch—" the man answered in surprise before the other two turned around and shushed him.
"He's alert enough to use the drugs," the first man said. The narrow eyes peering through him made it clear that he wasn't convincing this man. Sadly, the woman didn't look convinced either. He couldn't tell about the man in back.
"You know, you might as well take off the mask," Dave told her. "I've already seen your face. Besides, isn't it awfully hot in that thing?"
It wasn't the first tactic he'd learned at officer school for resisting interrogation, but it was the first they taught him at the SGC: delay, digress, divert. The enemy's gloating speeches, arguments with human captives, and demonstrations of power to shore up support among the Jaffa subordinates who might be surprised at humans talking back to Goa'uld had bought enough time for more than one SG team to be rescued.
The woman shook her head impatiently, but that meant at least she'd heard him.
"Look, you can tell us what we want to know without the drugs," she told him, "or we can just go with the drugs. You'll tell us in the end, but you might come out of it in rather different condition than you came in."
Okay, that was definitely strange. Why care about his condition at all? Why were they even covering his faces if they meant to kill him at the end? Were they NID?
The larger man, the one closer to him, stepped to the side to reveal what was on the table behind him. He opened a leather case containing vials and hypodermic needles. The man stroked the little glass bottles lovingly. Dixon felt really disturbed now.
"What do you want to know?" Dixon smiled pleasantly. He could keep them talking. He was pretty good at talking.
The man grunted unhappily and kept fondling the drugs.
"Are you with the Ring?" the woman asked.
Ring? Did they know about the Stargate? Was that the original translation Daniel Jackson had corrected when he joined the project? Ring of the heavens? Doorway to the heavens?
Dixon realized a moment later he must have shown something on his face. Damn! Divert.
"Only ring I got is the one my wife gave me the day we married." He bent his head to look at his hand, but of course he couldn't; his hands were tied behind him. It made a good show and allowed him to compose himself.
The first man snorted. "He knows something. Even you could see it in his face, right?" He half turned to the man behind him, but then he turned back without waiting for an answer.
"Let me try," the other man said. He has a higher, younger, more tentative voice. "Look, you're a colonel. You joined to serve your country, right?"
"That's right," Dave said, making eye contact with the brown eyes behind the mask. "It's my job to protect everyone. Even punks who kidnap officers who try to lend a hand."
The younger man winced a little. Had Dixon hit home, or was it just part of the good-cop, bad-cop routine?
"You know the Ring is a threat." The woman had taken over again. "You know you're undermining American security to get power for yourselves. If you really want to serve your country, you'll cooperate with us."
"With a bunch of thugs who kidnapped me off the road?" Dixon let contempt seep into his voice. "I don't think so." Did they really mean the Stargate project? If these people knew anything, they'd know it wasn't undermining the nation's security!
"Let's just use the drugs," the gravelly-voiced man said again.
Dave suddenly realized that the voice sounded oddly like his own. Maybe a little more nasal; maybe a little rougher. But it was strangely familiar.
That they were having this argument at all suggested they weren't sure that the drugs would get them good information—or that they didn't know if they might damage him. Dave really didn't want to find out. He must be overdue at the Mountain by now. Someone would call his house. His wife had a client to meet, and she'd probably have her phone off during the meeting. No one would tell the SGC that he'd left at the usual time. How long before they started a search?
The weird thing was that if they were NID, they should already have known about the Stargate; they shouldn't be calling it "the Ring." Not NID, then. Agents of some foreign power? Well, whatever they were, his duty was clear.
"I have drug allergies," Dave improvised. "Lots of them, actually. Penicillin. Oxycodone. Erythromycin. Nishta." Damn, why had he said that? Stick to earth drugs. "Ciprofloxacin." He wasn't really allergic to any of these, but he figured the more he could list, the more time he could buy. He continued listing the names of any drugs he could recall. "BioThrax. Menomune."
The younger man seemed to be having some sort of fit. It was pretty contained, but his eyes fluttered closed a few times, and his head jerked a little. Then he stopped.
"Guys?" the younger man asked, as if he had fits like that all the time. "Why is he listing antibiotics and vaccines?"
"They're the drugs I know I'm allergic to! Pay attention!" Dave snapped.
Both men jumped at that statement, oddly enough, and the woman snickered.
"Crap! Now I lost my place! What have I listed already? Penicillin, amoxycillin—"
"Delaying," the older man said accurately. He rolled up Dave's sleeve roughly.
"Wait, I'm not done!" Dixon frowned at the syringe with genuine conviction. "I have a sensitivity to ethanol, scopolamine, and most barbituates."
"How the heck would he know that?" the younger man asked in a high voice.
The older man actually snarled.
"I'm an officer of the US Air Force! Unfortunately, I did really badly at the interrogation part of SERE school. I had an allergic reaction when they tried barbituates—anaphylactic shock. Spent days in the infirmary and blew up like the little girl in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."
The older man grabbed a syringe and a vial.
"Wait! I think we should wait! We don't want to put him in the hospital! Casey—" the younger man exclaimed. Hey—had he just just used his colleague's name? Who the hell were these clowns? Was the young guy really just good cop, or was he a total goofball? The signs seemed to be pointing at goofball.
Unfortunately, the gravelly-voiced man grabbed his arm and injected the contents of a syringe, although the woman had started forward to grab his arm.
"Well," Dave said into the silence that followed. "This should be interesting." He smiled, just to throw them off.
***
Casey could not believe how badly this interrogation was going. Chuck had actually said his name! Not that this Dixon should remember afterwards; Casey figured he'd injected him soon enough after that it would all be a haze.
Casey had wanted to inject their target from the get-go, but Chuck and Walker were too soft. They thought maybe he would cooperate if they appealed to 'his better nature'. If scum had better natures, they wouldn't be scum! He'd seen Dixon's surprise when they named the Ring; the man must be working for them. He'd thought Chuck and Walker were ready to back him by the time Dixon came around, but apparently he was wrong.
Damn it, though—this was costing them time. He hoped that Dixon's four kids would be excuse enough for being late. Cheyenne Mountain was a cushy posting. He'd say the oldest kid had thrown up on him in the truck, forcing him to go back home to drop the sick kid with the wife, change, and clean the truck. Too much time, though, and they'd start to question it. He needed to be able to go around the base freely, especially Dixon's own office and locker, and see what he could find.
It was better if he didn't have to go in blind. He'd already looked through Dixon's wallet, and of course there was nothing helpful there. It did help if people didn't notice you couldn't find your own office, or that you didn't know the codes to get into secure areas.
He didn't like the way Dixon kept grinning at them while the drug took effect. It wasn't one of the ones Dixon had listed—not that Casey believed him about the drug allergies anyway—but it did seem to show confidence.
"Let's start with something simple," Walker began in a soothing voice. They'd agreed she was best to lead the interrogation. Beckman said that early testing showed that subjects under 3AD were easy to persuade to trust someone, and Walker was no doubt the easiest of them to trust.
"What's your name?"
"David Dixon."
"And where do you live, Dave?"
"Colorado Springs."
She took him through a few more easy questions about where he lived, and then where he worked, and then: "And what do you do at work?"
"I'm attached to NORAD."
"What do you do for NORAD?"
"I work on deep space..." There was a hesitation there. "Deep space radar telemetry." A slight snort.
Walker had picked up on it. His cover was cracking already. He wanted to tell them the truth! "And is that exciting, Dave?"
Dave laughed. "More exciting than you can ever know."
Walker giggled a little in response. "Really? You can tell me. I won't tell anyone!" Oh, she was flirting now.
Dave snickered again. Wasn't this man married? "Nah. I—I can't really explain."
Casey snorted to himself. Walker seemed to have this effect on a lot of people. He couldn't see it himself.
"Okay. Then how about where you work? Where's your office?"
"Cheyenne Mountain."
"Where in Cheyenne Mountain? It's a pretty big base." Walker still sounded flirty.
"Level 18."
Walker glanced at Casey. He nodded. This was gold: their plans of Cheyenne Mountain didn't even show a Level 18.
They extracted the exact location of Dixon's office and the route to it from the elevator so that Casey wouldn't look suspicious. They learned that swiping Dixon's ID would get him through most things, but they'd need a palm print, too. Fortunately, Casey had brought latex to make fake fingerprints in case they needed them, and he had enough to do a palm. They learned the name of Dixon's superior, a General Jack O'Neill. They couldn't get Dixon's computer password yet; he didn't trust them quite enough for that.
Still, they had all Casey needed to get started. Walker could phone him with the rest. He left Walker and Bartowski in the basement with Dixon, sprinted up the stairs, and unzipped the coveralls he wore over his fatigues. He already looked like Dixon; now he could take his place easily enough.
A short drive later in Dixon's truck, sprayed with ammonia to help his alibi, and Casey was on base. He got through the security checks, muttering excuses about sick kids that he should probably be keeping for this O'Neill character. He changed elevators at Level 11, and the ID card worked just fine, then the fake palm print. He slipped it carefully back into plastic and then into his pocket, in case he needed it later. In the meantime, no one would notice anything odd about his hand.
Casey was a little surprised to find that his office door wasn't closed, let alone locked. The lights were on, and someone was inside!
"Colonel!" A red-haired man jumped up as Casey walked in, but he didn't salute. "Everything okay? It's not like you to be late." He looked like a geek, but he was in fatigues.
"Robbie got sick—had to clean him, and the truck, and myself." Casey made a face.
The other man frowned sympathetically. "Yuck. But I suppose you're used to it, right? Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about P3X-227. The MALP data only show old-growth forest, but the UAV shows a surprising degree of regularity in the trees a few miles west of the Gate."
Soon the man was talking so fast you'd think he had to go pee or something. Worse, Casey had no idea what he was talking about.
After a bit, the redhead came to something that sounded like English, at least: "Dr. Jackson took a look, and I should tell you, sir, that he doesn't think my theory all that likely. Still, he did say it was possible that the area was a planned orchard that had become overgrown later. The most exciting part is that we have some rocky areas where we can't get good images or data!"
It was a damned good thing that this man didn't seem to expect any feedback, because Casey sure as hell had no idea what to say to him. It was good not to have usable images or data?
"The fact that we can't get good images could mean that the UAV was just getting some magnetic interference from the minerals, but it could mean that someone went to the trouble to hide something! We could—we could be talking about another Petra! Think of it, Colonel! Imagine if we could find even the remains of a civilization like that!"
Casey would like to lock this man in a room with Chuck for a week and let them talk to each other. Which one would emerge alive? Or would they both still be going at it seven days later?
The other man grinned. "I can see I've got your attention, sir!"
Casey frowned, not sure if he should deny it or agree.
The geek looked at him funny, then grinned again. "Is this a bet?"
Casey frowned. "Is what a bet?"
The geek fumbled. "To, uh... see how long I can talk if nobody stops me?"
Casey frowned at him. He had no idea how to respond. Dixon seemed like a bit of a smart mouth, but what would he say?
The other man's eyebrows rose and the grin vanished. "This is for real? You're really interested?"
"Uh, yeah." That seemed the safest response.
"Really? Wow, that's great! So you'll support my proposal to add P3X-227 to the mission schedule?"
What the hell was the man talking about? More importantly, how could Casey get him out of the office?
The answer to the second was obvious: "Sure. I'll approve your proposal."
"You—you will?" The man's eyes grew wide and a new smile burst over his face. Oh, God: if he started thanking Casey, he might never leave!
"Write it up, get me a proper memo on it, and I'll sign off on it."
"I will, sir! Thank you, sir!"
He had no idea what that strange man's mission was, but his first mission was accomplished. Once he finally got the man out of his office. It took a while.
Casey started up the computer. Of course it asked for a password. He took out his phone. He'd set it to vibrate, but maybe he'd missed something in all the talking.... No. Damn it! No reception. He must be too deep underground.
"You need Carter to fix that up for you?" A gray-haired man in fatigues lounged in his doorway. He hadn't heard him approaching.
Casey took a closer look and saw the star of a brigadier general on the man's fatigues. He jumped to his feet and saluted.
The general stared at him for a moment before returning the salute so that Casey could end his. "Bit formal this morning, Dixon?"
Formal to salute his CO walking down to his office? This must be O'Neill, but he didn't dress like any general Casey had ever seen on a base before. Casey could respect a man like that, if he weren't Ring.
"I was running late because Robbie threw up in the truck," he started, figuring he could explain any out-of-character behavior and his lateness at one blow.
"Thought Allison drove the kids, and you didn't like having them in your truck." The man's eyes narrowed at Casey, and Casey knew he was on thin ice here.
"I don't, but Allison was running the other three over to their school, and Robbie's the only one in middle school. I figured the truck would survive him. Guess I thought wrong."
"Last time, I thought you were worried about whether the kid would survive the truck: seat belt isn't adjusted for that size, no way to turn off the passenger side air bag.... Any of this sound familiar?"
"Sorry, sir. I'm a bit off my game this morning."
The general gave him an appraising look. "Apparently so, if you're trying to use your cell from down here. If you take it to Carter, I bet she can add you to that network I'm not supposed to know about that she uses to boost her signal to get out of the mountain."
"Right, sir. I'll do that, sir."
The general shrugged, turned, and left. Strange. Casey thought he was going to press harder. Now what to do? There was no way in hell that he was going to ask to be connected to any network, so they could monitor his calls, and he didn't want to call Walker from the phone in his office. That was probably monitored too. The Ring was tight with their secrets.
Dixon's password must be something obvious. Casey had memorized the full names of Dixon's wife and all four kids, as well as their birthdays and the wedding anniversary. He'd started using them; he'd just have to keep trying new combinations. Chuck wasn't the only person who could hack, after all.
***
These were nice people, Dave Dixon thought. He dimly remembered thinking that they weren't, but he couldn't think why. Or maybe those were different people? He remembered more people, in ski masks, but that had been some time ago. Now he just had a pretty young woman and a nice young man asking him questions over bagels. New recruits, apparently. He couldn't imagine what it was like to come into the SGC so young. Gate travel had been thrilling and new when he thought he'd seen just about everything. How did they even handle the excitement? Or could these young people not even understand how tremendous it all was?
He didn't know why they asked him about his password; he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to tell them that one. Everything else they asked seemed okay, though. They'd wanted to know how to get to his office so they could find him again if they had more questions. They were really happy when he told them how to get from there to the mess, the briefing room, and the gym. They wanted to hear about the gate room, too, though for some reason they said "ring" instead of "gate" sometimes.
"Sometimes I forget how amazing it is," he told them. "I walk through, and then I'm on another planet! They mostly look like earth, but still! I can be halfway across the galaxy! This will be your first mission, right?"
The young man shared a look at his friend. They no longer looked so excited. Were they afraid of Gate travel? They did look like civilians.
"What if he was right about being allergic to all kinds of medications?" the young man hissed to the blonde. She looked worried.
Who was allergic to what medications?
***
Casey was still trying to guess the password when a large, well-muscled, dark-skinned man with a weird gold tattoo on his forehead walked in.
"Colonel Dixon," the man said in a deep voice. "You are late for our sparring session."
He sparred with this guy? Well, that should give him a workout. Casey made apologies, repeating the story about the sick kid, and he figured he'd covered for the fact that he didn't even know this guy's name.
"Would now be an acceptable time?" The man's speech seemed strangely precise, as if he weren't really from around here but had learned the language well.
"Yeah! Yeah, sure." Casey stood and the man smiled at him. He tossed one last glance at the computer, the log-in screen mocking him, and walked to the door.
He stepped through, and the man suddenly turned him and slammed him into the wall. Damn! Casey automatically reached back with a leg to hook the other man's leg. He managed to get his leg in position, but somehow he couldn't pull the other man over. He did dig an elbow into the man's neck, though, and he heard a grunt. He aimed another blow at his attacker's abdomen but found himself suddenly face down on the floor, both legs swept out from under him by the man now standing above him.
Cuffs clicked around his wrists.
Casey looked up to see a handful of airmen positioned at even intervals a few feet away. They held weapons, but they didn't look tense. They looked... amused. Like they'd been there for backup, but they knew this guy was going to take Casey down. Now he was pissed.
General O'Neill stepped from behind one of the airmen with a smile that Casey knew wasn't friendly. "You were worried about the truck? Really, Dave?"
O'Neill's hands were in his pockets. He looked as casual as he had when he'd first come to the office doorway.
"But you're not really Dave, are you? Search him, T."
In moments, the extra knives Casey had hidden about himself were in the hands of the big black man, then in the hands of a couple of the airmen. 'T' and the general took just a little longer when T found the latex palm print carefully hidden in Casey's pocket. The general took a good look before pocketing that, along with Dixon's wallet.
Casey said nothing.
"Ya know, I thought at first that Balinsky was just wrong when he said you weren't... you. You know how excitable he is. Well, no, you probably don't know. Though maybe you figured it when you talked with him this morning. Man, to have been a fly on that wall! He knew there was something fishy when you never interrupted him, you didn't ask any questions, and you agreed to sign off on an archaeological mission!"
Balinsky must be the geek. Archaeology? Casey thought they'd been talking about geography.
"You fancy yourself the strong, silent type then?" O'Neill asked, bouncing on his toes a little. "We'll see how long that lasts. Teal'c, bring him to interrogation. I'll round up Daniel; he's gotten surprisingly good at this sort of thing."
Soon Casey found himself in a small, slightly dark room. He was seated at a table with his hands cuffed behind him, though not attached to the chair.
On the other side sat the general and a man wearing geeky glasses. Apparently that was Daniel. How many geeks did a secret base need? Teal'c stood behind the other two. Casey didn't know who might be on the other side of the one-way mirror.
"So, fingerprints have identified you as one Colonel John Casey, formerly of the Marines, now with NSA," the general read off a piece of paper.
"Or should that be NID?" Daniel asked.
"NID? What's that?" Casey probably should stick with name, rank, and serial number, but he figured that if he delayed long enough, Bartowski and Walker might come up with something useful. Chuck was good at last-minute rescues, though sometimes Casey wished he wouldn't leave it until the last minute. Or blow up Casey's car, or things like that.
"Daniel? What does NID stand for?" O'Neill asked.
"That's classified, apparently," Daniel answered.
"They probably think the 'i' is for 'Intelligence,' but given their record so far, I think we should come up with something else."
Seriously? They were going to make jokes in front of him?
"Or maybe it's not an acronym. It's a poetic doublet for 'nod,'" Daniel said.
"Ooh. I like it. The NID nods. That's certainly what they've done this time."
A booming voice from behind interrupted the chatter. "The current location of Colonel Dixon?"
"Right. Thank you, Teal'c. Where's Dave Dixon? You have his truck, his wallet, and apparently at least some knowledge of this base, since you seem to have found his office easily enough."
"Dixon's safe. Unless he really is allergic to drugs like he said."
Daniel started visibly and looked at the O'Neill. The general's face didn't change.
"I'll call Janet," Daniel said, and he left the room.
Casey felt more in control now. "You want Dixon back? We want some information."
Teal'c came up from behind to stand beside the table, between the general and Casey.
"Who are 'we'?" asked the general.
"You should know this already," Casey snorted. "I'm with the NSA, like my file says. I serve my country proudly. But you, you Ring operatives? You sell this country out, for what? Money? Power?"
"Ring?" the general frowned at Teal'c.
Teal'c frowned at Casey. "Explain."
What was the point in playing stupid? They'd identified Casey. It was safest just to kill him. They must want to know how he knew. Huh. They shouldn't be surprised. The Ring'd had so many security breaches in the last two years they should have just called it the Colander. Still, they didn't know about Chuck. That was the key thing: keep them from knowing about Chuck, and that he had the Intersect.
"What is this 'Ring'?" the general asked. "Is it an offshoot of the NID?"
If he were still a Marine, he'd be giving just name, rank, and serial number. But if he could get something Chuck could flash on later....
"I never even heard of the NID," said Casey. "Seriously, there's no point in denying that you work for the Ring. You're going to kill me when this is over, right? So let's quit messing around here. You may as well tell me that you're Ring, the CIA and NSA are going down, and so on."
He could really use Chuck here, actually. Chuck rambled too much, but it did tend to buy them time. Casey was out of words already.
O'Neill leaned across the table. "Who is the Ring?"
Daniel came back into the room without warning. "Janet says Dave has no known drug allergies." He sat back down.
"Do I really have to explain this?" Casey asked.
"I highly recommend that you do." Teal'c leaned over Casey, then raised an eyebrow and looked at the general.
Casey grunted. If Teal'c were going to do anything, he'd have done it by now.
Suddenly his back was against the wall, and it hurt. It probably hurt because a moment ago, he'd been sitting in a chair that was now on the floor, five feet away from the wall. Teal'c held him against the concrete by his shoulders.
"Let's start with where Dixon is," the general began. Casey couldn't see him at first, but then he and Daniel came up behind Teal'c, one on each side.
Why would the Ring care? They wrote off their operatives all the time. Beckman said she didn't know who these people were. Could they be wrong, and this wasn't the Ring at all? Fulcrum?
Something else? Casey decided to try digging for intel himself.
"Dixon is safe. Maybe we can work a trade?" Casey suggested.
"With whom?" Daniel asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"My superior. You have my file, right?"
Daniel vanished from Casey's line of sight, disappearing behind the man holding him against the wall.
"General Beckman?" the geek's voice asked.
"That's the one," Casey confirmed. He wasn't giving the Ring anything they didn't already know.
"Right. I'll have Sam start looking," Daniel said, and he left the room again.
The general looked calmly at Casey from beside Teal'c's shoulder. "Why don't you just tell us where Dixon is? See, he's a nice guy, and he has a wife and four kids. Allison's worried about him now, because of course I had to get in touch with her to see when he left home. It wasn't easy to get to her, because she was in a meeting, and she'd turned her phone off. He left at the usual time—without any of his sons, of course—and you showed up here 75 minutes later.
"Now, it's bad enough that Allison has to worry, and she is worried. Because Dave pulls some odd hours for working NORAD, but he doesn't just disappear. No, it's even worse than that. Dixon was supposed to go to his son's soccer game tonight, and if he's not there, they might all worry. Are you a dad?"
Casey's eyes grew wider. That wasn't in his file. Only Walker and Chuck knew about Alex, right?
The general must have recognized his reaction for what it was. "So, you're a dad? And you would kidnap a father of four? You're supposed to work for the NSA," he said, almost spitting out the initials.
"I do work for the NSA," Casey pushed out. It was getting harder to breathed.
Teal'c suddenly let go of his shoulders, and Casey fell to the floor. He picked himself back up and stood at parade rest (or as near as he could get with his hands cuffed).
"I'm working for the NSA, trying to keep the country safe from the Ring and other organizations that pretend they're helping this country, when really they're lining their own pockets."
The general and Teal'c exchanged looks again.
"Tell me what you know about the Ring," Teal'c commanded.
Casey considered. The worst he could do was show that they didn't know as much as the Ring thought they knew. If he stayed broad and vague, they wouldn't even get that. More than that, though, he had a sinking feeling that these people who kept asking about the Ring were really not the Ring. Since when did the leader of an organization like that know an agent's wife and kids? Since when did one care if he really got his own man back? They had Casey trapped in an underground base. This place would be tough even for Chuck and Walker to crack. Shouldn't they be gloating?
Casey had made up his mind. "The Ring is a secret organization that infiltrated the NSA, CIA, FBI, and the military. They have sabotaged this country's security repeatedly, sold secrets to foreign powers, and worked against legitimate agents of the United States."
The general whistled. "Sure they aren't called 'the NID'?"
"I never heard that name before this room," Casey said.
"And you think we're them? Why would you think that?"
"Because you have more levels under this mountain than you're supposed to have. You've got a huge budget and a lot of personnel. Because obviously NORAD is a cover for something else! Dixon doesn't really do 'deep space radar telemetry,' does he?"
"So? I've seen your classification, and you don't have the right to be here! Who authorized you? Your superior, this General Beckman?" The general was angry, genuinely angry.
Casey was in a military base. They wore fatigues, even down here, where no one without ID could come. They hadn't drugged him or tortured him, just tried to scare him and bruised him a little. If that red-headed kid was for real, they were running scans on woods and rocks, looking for lost civilizations? It didn't make any sense, but it made even less sense for them to be Ring or any other bad guys.
"Yes, sir. General Beckman."
The general pursed his lips. "I'm going to go make a phone call, T. Carter must have located this Beckman by now. Why don't you stay here with Mr. Casey and ask him some more about Dave Dixon?"
Teal'c smiled. Now Casey was scared.
***
"I really don't think Dr. Jackson would be happy that you keep calling the Stargate 'the Ring.' He gets upset about things like that. He even chewed out Balinsky once for a mistake in a translation—he seems like a really easy-going guy, you know? But words matter to him. A lot. Of course, he apologized later. It's hard to stay mad at Balinsky, even when he gets annoying. He's always sure we're going to find Ancients on the next planet, or at least evidence that they were there."
The young man and woman kept smiling at him and trying to get him to drink more water. They also kept taking his vitals.
"Earlier, when you said you were allergic to drugs?" the curly-haired guy asked.
"I said that? When?" Dave tried to remember. "How long have we been here? And I don't even know your names! Or did I forget them?"
"I'm Charles," the young man finally said.
"Did I know that already? And just forget? Sorry. Usually my memory is better than this. We didn't sleep too well last night—by the time we got the kids in bed, you know, it was pretty late, but Allison and I needed some time for ourselves." He almost started to tell them what a great time they'd had, but Allison wouldn't like that, would she? It was like telling your computer password. You just didn't do that. "Allison is so good, you know that? Have you met her?"
"Uh, no. No, we haven't," Charles said a little awkwardly.
"I have pictures! Her and the kids. Let me show you...." He couldn't find his wallet. "I know I put my wallet in my pocket this morning." Now he felt bad. He hadn't lost those photos, had he? They had copies of most, but not the earliest ones of Allison. He should have scanned them like Balinsky said. That kid went on too much, but he was smart.
"What did I do with my wallet?"
"Maybe... maybe you left it in your office?" the woman asked.
"Oh! Maybe. But why would I do that?"
"I don't know. Maybe—"
"You know what I can do?" Charles asked. "Let me get a computer, and I can remote-access your office. You have a webcam on it? I'll use that to look around your office, see if we can see it!"
"That's a great idea!" said the woman with enthusiasm.
Charles disappeared for a moment. He was looking for something. What was he looking for?
Wait. Dave had lost his wallet. Maybe Charles had gone to find his wallet?
Dave tried to remember where he was. He didn't recognize this room. It didn't have the usual SGC colors: gray, grayer, and gray with some burn marks on it. Was he at the Academy? That must be it.
A young man came in with a computer. "Great! So I'll just access your webcam, and we can see if we can see your wallet! You know what? I won't even ask you for your password. You just type it in here."
The man turned the computer towards him and pushed it across the table.
"That's great!" said Dave. "If only I had a webcam, this would be a wonderful idea!"
"You do!" exclaimed the woman. She was pretty, but a bit thin. Allison would want to feed her if she met her. She'd probably want to feed this other guy, too, though. "Chuck—Charles installed one just this morning!"
"Really?" Dave asked. "I don't remember that."
"That's okay," said Charles. "You just type your password right in here."
Dave happily complied.
***
Casey didn't want to ask to sit down again, because that would show weakness. He wasn't awfully comfortable, standing with his back up against the wall, with a big guy with a tattoo on his forehead standing about three inches in front of him. Teal'c wasn't moving. He wasn't even asking questions. He just stared. Casey thought he could return stare for stare, but he had to blink sometimes. Either Teal'c didn't, or he did it exactly when Casey did.
He found himself really hoping that Dixon wasn't allergic to any drugs, because he was increasingly sure that these people were going to get Dixon back with or without Beckman's help. Casey wasn't leaving if Dixon wasn't okay.
It was all right, Casey told himself. These didn't seem to be the bad guys. He didn't like that they'd caught him, but he still had hopes he could come out of this alive. You win some, you lose some. He'd lost very few since joining Operation Intersect, but they'd lost some. It wasn't over. It was never over.
The general threw the door open as he entered instead of closing it behind him. "It's over."
***
"But I heard Jackson say he wasn't allergic to any medications!" Casey told Beckman when they finally got back to Castle to debrief after the whole embarrassing op.
"He was talking about a ring that flushed with a big 'whoosh' and a light show and going to other planets, Casey!" Walker almost shouted at him. "Chuck gave him his name three different times, and he forgot it every time!"
Casey grunted at Chuck. It was stupid to give his name, though he probably used that 'Charles Carmichael' identity he'd concocted for himself. Dixon was probably faking. The people at the SGC were pros.
"3AD is a new drug," Beckman said. "Perhaps it simply doesn't work as well as our scientists said. It's hard to test under controlled conditions."
The General sighed and shook her head before she continued. She seemed unlike herself, almost... defeated? "No. This operation is a just wash. On the plus side, we didn't expose Chuck or the Intersect. We simply didn't get any useful information. Cheyenne Mountain is off-limits by the order of a General Hammond, who I thought had retired. Apparently there are some things even my clearance doesn't reach." She winced a little.
"Well, also on the plus side, General, it seems pretty clear that they aren't Ring." There went Walker, looking on the bright side again. "Nothing in their behavior fit the Ring or with what little we know of Fulcrum. They made a fair trade of Casey for their man."
And wasn't that embarrassing?
"More than fair: theirs was still drugged, and Casey was just bruised. It sounds like they had no interest in him once they decided he wasn't with their NID," Chuck added, as if Casey needed his help. "I know that my flashes on the NID weren't a lot of help, but now we've identified another group within the government that's apparently compromised, and we'll know to watch out for them."
"True enough." The General rubbed her face. "Perhaps this mission wasn't the complete loss it seems. Take the evening off. We'll have a new mission for you in the morning."
"Thank you, General!" chorused Chuck and Walker.
Casey grumbled a little to himself. Was the drug simply no good, or did Dixon play Walker and Bartowski? Maybe he shared resistance to interrogation with Casey, along with rugged good looks.
***
"I'm sorry, sirs." Dixon was more than sorry. He was absolutely mortified. "I have no memory of anything after I pulled over to help the woman with the sports car by the side of the road. The next thing I recall is Dr. Fraiser shining a flashlight into my eyes." He winced at that memory. Why was her flashlight always so bright?
"It's okay, Dixon," O'Neill told him. "Carter has identified several known associates of this John Casey, including the woman we think you saw with the sports car. Is this her?" He pushed a photo across the briefing room table.
Dixon studied it for a moment. "I think so, sir, but I'm afraid I'm not sure."
Carter smiled at him. "She lives very close to this John Casey. We're going to keep an eye on them. If Casey really is straight-up NSA, and he's working against moles within the US military and intelligence community, then he might eventually make a good ally. We're checking their other contacts as well."
"And if he's not on the up-and-up," said O'Neill, "then maybe we can use him anyway. After all, we seem to have a convenient double for him."
Dave Dixon sighed, but only inwardly. He wasn't surprised at what the General said. He just hoped he wouldn't have to go undercover as this jerk John Casey any time soon.
FIN
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters belong to Showtime, Gekko, MGM-UA, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions, Stargate SG-1 Prod. Ltd. Partnership, and probably other persons or entities whom I've forgotten. Chuck belongs to: College Hill Pictures Inc., Warner Bros. Television, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and probably others as well. They probably both belong to other persons or identities as well, but not to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and indeed the story probably won't make sense unless you've watched both shows. So watch the shows, buy the DVDs, etc. I do not profit from fic except insofar as comments make me happy.
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Melissa M.
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And I loved the story--the redheaded "geek" member of the team figuring out there was something fishy, then Jack showing up to check him out--all very good-and of course we know how menacing Teal'c can be!!
Melissa M.
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Dixon! Balinsky! Casey giving himself away by letting Balinksy babble and saluting Jack, hee! The great Teal'c maneuver of Starting People into Submission!
I love your Dixon, I love your outsider POV, and this was easily accessible to someone like me who knows nothing about Chuck. Thanks for a great read!
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Awesome awesome!
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