Perhaps not all the unfortunate animals in this cave had been merely victims of a fall.
His weapon already drawn, Ronon shocked her with his sudden grunt of pain. As she stood frozen, he clutched at his head, giving a harsh, wordless cry, and collapsed to the ground, crushing the flowers beneath him.
Chapter fourteen
When Daniel had last traveled to Iraq, the ink had barely been dry on his PhD, and he'd spent much of his stay in abject awe. Consumed by the depth of history all around him, the modem state of affairs at that time had only registered as an afterthought. In the years since then, he'd learned, sometimes the hard way, that there was no set point at which the past could be distinguished from the present. Yesterday or five hundred years ago-both were linked to today, and often both were equally relevant.
On this visit, of course, recent events were undeniable. From the air, Baghdad hadn't looked markedly different to him, until he'd sought out a few specific landmarks and found them crumbled or missing. It wasn't until they were on the ground that he'd really begun to wonder if this was the same country he'd known.
Landing at Balad Air Base, one of the nerve centers of the coalition forces, Colonel Sheppard had done the talking for their unusual trio. Although Daniel could communicate in twenty-three Earth languages, he'd never truly adapted to military speak, so he was comfortable with letting Sheppard arrange a convoy for him. The SGC had always been officerheavy; out here a lieutenant colonel was a pretty high rank. Possibly as a consequence, Sheppard seemed more reserved than usual, more… well, more like a lieutenant colonel. In any event, he'd gotten Daniel's ride arranged in record time, and he'd been the only person not visibly surprised to see an archeologist ace the annoying yet compulsory qualification to carry a nine millimeter sidearm.
Now, as the armored vehicle passed through scarred streets, where passersby moved quickly past shattered storefronts and ducked their heads away from the military pres ence, there could be no doubt that this was a war zone. On Daniel's first visit, the people had been ruled by fear; this time the fear had been replaced by chaos. Which was worse, if there was such a thing as `worse,' wasn't for him to say. Wars had defined this society's existence since the dawn of civilization-and there was an oxymoron if ever he'd encountered one. Nothing, certainly not civilization, evolved without struggle, which in a perverse way explained why the culture here was so rich, so vibrant. Throughout the millennia of one ruler after another tearing the region apart, society-and the everyday men, women and children who made up that society-struggled to cling to some semblance of a normal life.
Daniel looked out the vehicle's small, reinforced windows and wondered just how worried he should be for his safety. The squad of soldiers accompanying him had modified a routine security patrol in order to deliver him to his appointment at the museum. While the soldiers would stay with him for the duration of his time away from the base, he was nonetheless on his own. He had no need for a translator, and Sheppard and Larance were heading for the coalition's pathology lab to examine the evidence gathered on the burned bodies.
They'd agreed for the sake of convenience to call the focus of their mission `the Lilith cult,' even if the moniker didn't perfectly describe what they'd agreed was some sort of organized group of succubi and incubi. Since nobody on Earth outside of the Stargate program was familiar with the history of the Ancients-and absolutely no one on the planet knew their language as well as Daniel-the idea of such a group finding its way to Iraq concerned him more than the threat of an insurgent attack. While these people might not be Wraith, the pattern of their murders indicated that they were endowed with the Wraithlike ability to draw information as well as life from their prey, a vital clue that had given Rebecca Larance the critical link she'd been looking for.
On the flight, she'd detailed the pattern of victims in the U.S. that had led to Colorado Springs and, presumably, the Stargate. Daniel agreed with her assessment that the postmortem display-the gate icon and the removal of the victims' hearts-was symbolic rather than functional, although it was likely that the cult members were unaware of that fact. Plenty of religions, particularly those who worshipped supposed gods such as the Goa'uld and On misrepresented themselves to be, continued to engage in rituals whose meaning had been all but lost to time. This `Lilith' group had had a full ten millennia of secretive existence in which to evolve its rites and customs.
Unfortunately, that didn't provide any insight into the bizarre pseudo-feeding behavior they'd seen on Woolsey's tape, nor did it explain why victims had also been found in Germany, Australia, or New Zealand.
Or Baghdad.
Agent Larance had confirmed McKay's fears: something she referred to as the `Awakening' in the Lilith doctrine appeared to be a direct reference to activating the genes responsible for the retrovirus in the population at large. Still, that couldn't have taken place just yet, or they'd be seeing victims without the ritualized behavior and attempted coverup. More likely, now that Daniel thought about it, the cult was searching for something in addition to the Stargate-and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what it was.
Finding the Stargate was only half the battle. Finding the right address was a very different proposition.
The trio of vehicles drew to a halt outside the angular, turreted building that had once opened Daniel's eyes on so many subjects. He waited for the sergeant in charge of the convoy to perform a quick visual sweep of the area before waving Daniel outside the vehicle. Four soldiers formed a knot around him and hustled him into the Iraq National Museum.
Since the Museum was again closed to the public, the emptiness of the main hall and the echo of their boots across its tiled floors evoked memories of after-hours research, many nights that had vanished out from under him while he'd pored over a revealing text. The illusion vanished when Daniel turned a corner and found most of the hallways sealed shut with concrete, an attempt to protect the priceless treasures within from further looting. It was those ugly gray barricades more than anything else that signaled to Daniel the walls that now separated the people of Iraq, and all of mankind, from their cultural heritage.
Tariq Zahwas's office was right where he remembered it, though apparently that was also soon to change. Unaware of the visitors, the gray-haired museum director flitted back and forth across the cramped space, gathering personal possessions. When Daniel got his attention with a knock on the doorframe, Tariq dropped the books in his arms into a box. "Daniel Jackson, is it you?" He hurried to clasp his guest's hands with the same effusive hospitality Daniel recalled from their first meeting. "You look so very different. The hair…" His wide, honest smile dissolved as he took in Daniel's desert fatigues, matching the uniforms of the soldiers flanking him.
"I'm not with them," Daniel told him, only to wince inwardly. "Well, of course I am with them, but what I mean is that I'm not in the military. These men are here to keep me out of any local trouble."
"Of that you will find no shortage." Tariq studied him, still looking anxious and uncertain. "While I am pleased to see you again, my friend, why have you come'?"
Daniel frowned and repositioned his glasses, already coated in dust from the short walk between the vehicle and the Museum's entrance. "You didn't get my message?"
A shadow crossed the older man's deeply set eyes, and his features darkened. "I received no word of your visit, which is not unexpected. Communications to my office are now-how shall I say-vetted by my new superiors in the Ministry of Antiquities." He laid another book in the box with perhaps a little too much force, and Daniel realized he wasn't packing to move to a larger office.