“You’re kidding, right?” she snapped and pulled back on the volume when it set off the bongos in her head again. “I’m not going to swallow anything you give me.”
“I won’t make you, but you may want to consider changing your mind, Cassandra. I may call you Cassandra?” He didn’t wait for a reply she wasn’t inclined to offer anyway. Instead he held out the pill. “This will ease the aftereffects of the sedative, that’s all.”
She slapped it from his hand and turned away.
“Suit yourself.” He lapsed into silence again.
About half an hour later the engine noise changed pitch, and Cassie’s ears were popping. They were descending. She risked a glimpse from under half-closed lids. The duo had buckled in across from her.
Creep Number One seemed to have been waiting for her to check. He smiled again. Too many teeth. “Yes, we’re almost there now, Cassandra. Only, oh, about five more minutes to landing, I’d say. By the way”— more teeth— “I’d strongly suggest you discard any escape plans you may be hatching. I can assure you, anything you could possibly think of we’ve thought of before, and at any rate, it would be entirely pointless.”
Yeah. We’ll see about that.
A low rumble from somewhere beneath told her that the wheels were going down. Not long now.
She turned away again, stared at the plastic blind over the window, wished she could at least see where they were going. Then again, she’d find out soon enough.
Moments later the wheels touched down smoothly. Reverse thrust kicked in, thunderously loud, spurring her headache to new heights. The plane slowed, turned off the runway. She furtively checked her watch while they were taxiing. Less than a minute. Small airport. And then, at last, they came to a halt.
Creep Number Two unbuckled, rose, and headed forward to open the door.
“Now, remember, Cassandra, no funny business. As I said, it would be pointless and obviously there would have to be reprisals.” Number One wasn’t smiling now. He grabbed her arm, pulled her from the seat and shoved her toward the door ahead of him.
You bet your ass there’ll be reprisals!
Once Sam and Jack and Daniel and Teal’c got their hands on him, they’d reprise the ever-loving crap out of the creep. Cassie never doubted for a second that her friends, her surrogate family, were looking for her.
A prod between her shoulders propelled her out onto the short flight of stairs. She squinted against a fierce midday sun, blinding after the semi-darkness of the cabin. Heat brooded amid the ceaseless scratching of cicadas. The air smelled of kerosene and, half hidden beneath the acrid stink of fuel, salt and olives.
When her eyes finally adjusted to the glare, Cassie’s heart sank. Now she knew why they hadn’t bothered to tie her hands or anything.
She wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
As a matter of fact, she didn’t have a clue where she was.
They were parked at the far end of a tiny airport, not a soul in sight, a mile of asphalt between them and the small huddle of terminal buildings; to the other side a parched expanse of grass and rocks and beyond that, stretching as far as she could see, a shimmering, endlessly blue sea.
“Welcome to Santorini Island,” Number One said behind her and shoved her down the steps and onto the strip where his pal was waiting.
Santorini?
That was in Greece, wasn’t it?
Fighting a whole new bout of nausea, she realized that, while her friends definitely would be searching for her, this was right up there among the least likely places for them to look in.
Chapter 13
They’d gotten another rental, an SUV this time. Jack and Teal’c were sprawled in the back, snoring. Sam was at the wheel, after taking some good-natured flak re: her record so far. Daniel had wedged himself into the corner between passenger door and seat, his head supported by the belt— kinda worked, though the belt was chafing his neck— and was trying to sleep. Not that he expected any success on that score, despite the hypnotic slap-slap of the windshield wipers. Dawn was breaking, and the watery gray light began to sketch out a narrow gravel road, steep cliffs, abrupt drops into God only knew what chasms, and a general abundance of soaking wet rocks and ferns and trees. Lots of trees. Jack would enjoy this…
The car found itself a pothole to bounce through, and Daniel’s head slipped off the belt and banged against the window. “Ouch!”
“Sorry,” muttered Sam. “I think the only thing ever coming down this road are logging trucks and quad bikes. Forty years ago it was draft dodgers.”
“Don’t forget the dope smugglers,” Daniel growled.
“They tend to use choppers.”
“Just goes to show that they’re smarter than advertised.”
Near as Daniel could make out and if the map was correct— by no means a given— they were rattling down a barely maintained forest road somewhere in the western reaches of the Cascade Mountains. Through torrential rain. They’d been taking turns driving through the night, and somewhere behind Seattle they’d veered off the highway and into the boonies, operating on the assumption that the officials at one of the larger border crossings— say, Peace Arch— might deny a carful of corpses entry into Canada. Besides, only a maniac would try to tail them through this.
Jack’s head poked through between the front seats like, well, a Jack-in-the box. “Are we there yet?”
Okay. Scratch Jack-in-the-box. The donkey from Shrek. Next he’d start making little popping noises. And Daniel probably was starting to get delirious with exhaustion.
“Best guess, we’re well across the border now, sir,” said Sam. “If this road does—”
“You call this a road, Carter?”
“— does what it’s supposed to do according to the map, we should come out near a place called Chilliwack. From there it’ll be another hour or so, depending on traffic.”
“Okay. Wake me when we’re there.” With that, Jack disappeared into the rear of the car again. Five minutes later he once more snored two-part harmony with Teal’c.
Closing his eyes, Daniel tried very hard to curb his envy. Mortal sin, and all that. But fact of the matter was, he wouldn’t sleep until he’d seen and, hopefully, translated that mysterious document and received some sort of credible assurance that Cassie was alright.
Cassie rolled over on the cot, which constituted the only item of furniture in the tiny room where they’d locked her up. Twelve feet square, stone floor, firmly shuttered windows, one door, which looked sturdy. At least it was cool. The shutters were louvered and let in narrow bands of light that painted strips on the floor and brightened the gloom just enough to see.
On the way here, she’d given up any hope of escape. A Land Rover had picked them up at the plane. The car trip had ended at an isolated private pier, where they’d changed to a power boat that took them to a small, sparsely inhabited island. At a guess, the most densely populated area was this place, some kind of camp spreading around a couple of ancient clay cottages that huddled under a volcanic cliff. One of these cottages had become her prison.
The denizens of the camp included maybe a dozen surly looking men who took their orders from Creep Number One, and two women, black-clad and wizened, who seemed to be in charge of catering and communicated in a language that was Greek to Cassie— and to anybody else for that matter.
Served her right for insisting on taking Spanish… and where was Daniel when you needed him?
She threw back the thin blanket and sat up. There wasn’t any real point in it, but at least it was something to do, Cassie figured. The headache had eased off completely, which was a relief. Apparently Number One had told the truth about this much at least; whatever they’d given her, it hadn’t caused any lasting damage. She felt surprisingly okay. Well, not counting the fact that she was a prisoner, and a ravenous one at that.
When had she last eaten?
The fettuccine Alfredo at the pizzeria.
No wonder she was hungry.
A
nd, dammit, she smelled food, too!
Maybe whoever was out there, stuffing their faces, would share if she banged at the door loud enough and long enough. And besides, it was something to do…
Cassie swung her legs off the cot and just about stopped herself before she stepped into a tray. The nice foody scent was coming from right beside her bed. Which would explain its sheer intensity. On the tray sat a tiny cup of coffee and, next to it, an earthenware plate with some kind of bun on it.
And now she realized what had woken her; the soft clicking noises of the door being pulled shut and locked.
She also realized that she must have slept, soundly at that.
“Crap,” she whispered. She’d promised herself to stay awake hadn’t she? Her situation was bad enough without anyone twigging on to her not-quite-ordinary bag of tricks.
Then again… She looked around the room. As long as she slept in here, she probably was safe. The only items that could conceivably levitate were the cot and a scattering of sand on the floor.
Relaxing a little, she picked up the plate, took a tentative bite of the bun, and all but sighed with contentment. Not only was it food, it was delicious, freshly baked, sprinkled with cinnamon and some other spice she couldn’t place, and dripping with honey. It was gone in no time, and Cassie wished there’d been about five more. As her mother used to say, her metabolism was an insult to every woman who’d ever stepped on a scale.
She tried the coffee instead. The brew inside the minuscule cup was hot and spicy and sweet, much thicker than any coffee she’d ever tasted. Not bad, not—
A rattle from outside the room made her swallow the wrong way. Coughing, eyes streaming, she watched the door swing open on a bold slash of sunlight that framed the somber figure of one of the women.
“Kalispera,” said the lady in black.
Which could mean anything, from Hands up! to It’ll rain this afternoon. Or maybe it just meant Hello.
Cassie responded with another coughing fit that caused a frown of concern from the woman. Eventually she was able to draw enough breath to say, “Hello.”
The worried look changed to approval, when the woman spotted the empty plate. “Kalo. Poli kalo,” she observed around a smile that was lacking a couple of teeth.
Apparently polishing off buns was A Good Thing.
They could agree on that, Cassie decided and smiled back. “It was very good. Thank you.”
Encouraged, the woman took a few steps into the room. “Eemay Evthokia,” she announced.
That one was anybody’s guess.
“Evthokia,” she said again, patting her ample chest. “Eemay Evthokia. Kathalaves?”
Oh! Okay… me Tarzan, you Jane, right?
Cassie put it to the test, pointed at her visitor and said, “Evthokia?”
“Ne!” The woman nodded enthusiastically, patted her chest again. “Evthokia.”
“I’m Cassandra. Cassandra.” Cassie mimicked the chest-patting move, thinking that, for once, it was handy to be stuck with a Greek name that was too long by half.
Evthokia’s smile broadened. “Cassandra. Poli oreo!”
Huh? How did Oreos come into it?
Somehow Cassie doubted she’d figure out the answer to that one any time soon. It also was kind of a conversation stopper. Having run out of topics easily communicated through sign language, Evthokia stood there, nodding and smiling and reminding Cassie of nothing so much as Teal’c’s awkward attempts to look friendly and unthreatening the first time she’d clapped eyes on him. A king-size Jaffa stranded in the scrubs and trying to come over cuddly in a HAZMAT suit was a vision you just didn’t forget, even if you lived to ninety.
Just about now, she’d give her right arm to see his reassuring bulk pop through the door to get her out of here— not to mention kick some serious bad-guy ass while he was at it. But she’d get to see just that before they were through here, Cassie promised herself. They were looking for her, Teal’c and Sam and Jack and Daniel, and they damn well would find her. Even here. They were good at finding stuff. And God help Number One and his nasty little playmates when they did!
The prospect tickled a grin from her.
Evthokia, understanding nothing but the grin, gave a satisfied grunt and stooped to pick up the breakfast tray. Behind her a shadow appeared in the doorway. Not Teal’c. Way too scrawny.
“Good afternoon,” said Number One, gratingly polite. “I hope you slept well.”
The question made her hackles rise. For a paranoid moment Cassie wondered if she’d done something weird after all, and if he had caught her at it.
No. Impossible. Unless she’d managed to levitate the bed with herself in it, it couldn’t have happened.
She took a deep breath and mumbled something that might be construed as Hi, bastard! but only if the other person was blessed with exceptionally acute hearing.
Either Number One wasn’t equipped that way or he simply didn’t care. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he replied. “I see you’ve eaten. Good, good, good.” The patronizing jackass sent her a bright smile. “Well, I assume an intelligent young woman like you could easily get bored in here, so I thought you might want to see what this is all about.”
Cassie blinked. “You’re kidding, right? You’ll show me the great big secret you had to kidnap me for?”
“No, and yes,” he said.
“And afterwards you’ll have to kill me of course.”
Clutching the tray, Evthokia scuttled from the room as if she’d understood every word of what was being said and wanted no part of it. Smart lady.
Number One glanced after her, smirking, then returned his attention to Cassie. “I’ve told you this before, Cassandra. We have no interest in harming you. Frankly, and without meaning to insult you, you’re not important enough.” He threw in a shrug, probably because he thought he didn’t look blasé enough yet. “I merely want to make this as easy as possible on you. You’ll be cooped up in here for a while yet. So it’s up to you. Are you coming or not?”
The next thing Daniel heard was the screeching of brakes and a quite impressive blue streak that sounded as if it came from Sam. All of it on a background of traffic noises.
Huh.
Cranking his eyelids open even to the level of slits required a near-superhuman effort.
Huh?
They were heading down a four lane road, cars parked either side and behind them a seemingly endless string of neighborhood shops— drugstores, Chinese takeouts, hardware stores, you name it. The screeching of brakes and swearing of blue streaks probably had been caused by the motorcycle courier who now was blindly switching lanes and aggravating three other motorists in the process. Cue screeching of brakes etc.
Sam took a right onto a bridge or flyover that soared past what looked like a giant white rubber dinghy and toward the rain-slick glass and steel and concrete array of high-rises clustering at the city center. Through the gaps between buildings you could make out cloud-laden mountains.
“Morning.” Sam slanted a look at him. “We’re nearly there. All we need is a parking space.”
A department store, a mall, an art gallery, an enormous old hotel disguised as a castle, more skyscrapers housing high-end stores at street level.
“Carter! Over there!” Jack was pointing across the street at a car about to pull out of a parking slot.
“You want me to do a U-turn? Here?”
“Do it!”
Daniel was sure he heard her mutter something about Washington drivers, but she hung a one-eighty— likely as not illegal— and shot into the vacant slot. The maneuver prompted a concert of outraged honking, loudest and longest from the guy who’d been heading up the road in the opposite direction and had his eye on the space until Sam cut him off.
“Excitable bunch, aren’t they?” Jack observed dryly. “Teal’c maybe you ought to get out first. We want to keep complaints to a minimum.”
“Indeed.” As Teal’c peeled his six foot three from the backseat a
nd out onto the sidewalk, the parking hopeful who’d been spoiling for an argument thought better of it, swung back into the traffic, and disappeared.
The high rise was set back from the road. In front was a small courtyard with fountains and greenery sprouting from concrete boxes. They headed up a set of shallow steps, past the urban landscaping, and to the front entrance, one of those automated glass carousels that had a tendency to get stuck as soon as you looked at them sideways. This one didn’t, quite possibly because Daniel, despite a solid hour of sleep, was too bleary-eyed to manage a decent sideways look.
Inside, the lobby, a gleaming affair of white marble and more glass, with a scattering of painfully cubic chairs thrown in, was deserted. At the back stretched a bank of four elevators. On the wall between the center two hung a brass plaque that informed the curious visitor of what was where.
Tip of his index finger rattling down the list, Daniel found it quickly enough. “Webber Holding. Top two floors.”
The elevator ride almost felt like home, except that the car was a little more upscale and dripped something syrupy for strings from invisible speakers. On the top floor was another lobby, this one sporting wall-to-wall windows that looked out over a bay and a tree-shrouded peninsula. It also sported an inhabitant who could have made a killing as a model. The woman was ensconced behind a reception desk the size of a small continent and stared in disapproval, first at them and then, more pointedly, at the dirty wet footprints they trailed across the carpet.
“Yes?” The word oozed through clenched teeth and a plastic smile. “Can I help you?”
Daniel put on a smile that was no more genuine than hers, but if she insisted on choreographed civility, he’d dance along. For now. “My name is Dr. Daniel Jackson. I’d like to see your boss.”
“May I ask what it’s about?”
“It concerns a matter referred to him by Dr. Dimitriades.”
“Ah.” An exquisitely manicured scarlet talon speared the talk button on the intercom. “Mr. Webber? There’s a Dr. Jackson here to speak to you. Regarding Dr. Dimitriades. Yes. Certainly, sir.” She disconnected, fluttered more talons in the direction of a double-panel oak door. “You may go right in, Dr. Jackson. Oh, do you prefer coffee or tea?”
STARGATE SG-1: Transitions Page 9