Seeing that Rodney suddenly looked ill as well, Katie's oblivious enthusiasm faltered. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Useful retroviruses," repeated Rodney, making a visible effort to stay calm. "As opposed to, say, Wraith retroviruses?"
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Elizabeth warned, scanning the faces of the other scientists at the table. "Can I infer that you have several worthwhile lines of study to pursue at the moment?" Heads nodded. "Then I won't keep you any longer."
One of the traits she most appreciated in Atlantis's science team was its collective willingness to dive into any topic, no matter how arcane or fantastical, without hesitation. When she dismissed the meeting, the participants gathered their notes and began to scatter, leaving the room in huddled pairs and trios to discuss options. Rodney followed, cautioning them all in a raised voice to take adequate protective measures when handling any and all samples from M1M-316.
Geisler trailed behind, moving as though his aging joints had had enough excitement for a while. Seeing an opportunity, Elizabeth called after him. "Dr. Geisler, may I have a moment?"
He paused, fixing her with a rueful, knowing smile. "If you're feeling the need to apologize for Dr. McKay, it isn't necessary. You're not responsible for his behavior, and he's hardly the first forceful personality I've come across in my career."
"I appreciate that. Unfortunately, this is a different and more serious matter." Elizabeth slid a printout of the victim list out of a folder on the table. "The group Colonel Sheppard and the SGC are investigating on Earth appears to carry out its killings according to a specific ritual. They also seem to be focusing on family, friends, and acquaintances of Stargate program personnel. The reason I'm telling you this before I announce it to the expedition at large is that there have been some deaths reported in New Zealand and Australia that fit the pattern."
A look of alarmed comprehension sprang into Geisler's eyes. Elizabeth pushed ahead. "I'm very sorry to have to ask you to do this. I need to know if you recognize any of the names on this list."
Summoning a reserve of composure, Geisler reached for the printout. While he read it, Elizabeth found another file to occupy herself, not wanting to intrude on his awful assignment.
After a minute or so, he exhaled on a sigh. "None of my family, thank God," he said at last. "Three of these poor souls, though-I knew them through my research. I wouldn't have called them friends, but they were decent people and good at their jobs."
Elizabeth offered him a pen. Still shaking off the shock, he circled a name. "This one worked at the U.S. Antarctic Division supply depot in Christchurch. She could be quite the battering ram when it came to our equipment requisitions." He made another mark. "This one was a crewman on the Aurora Australis, a ship that transported researchers and cargo from Hobart down to the Antarctic base. I barely ever heard him speak, but he was a fine sailor. This last one…" The pen hovered over a third name. "I can't imagine how he fits into this. He helped me many years ago with an unrelated project and had nothing to do with the Antarctic program."
"How did you know him?" Elizabeth asked.
"He worked for the Tasmanian Parks and Wildlife Service as a guide in the Newdegate Cave. It's near Hastings, about two hours south of Hobart."
The bottom of the world, or at least about as close as one could get while remaining in a recognized country. Elizabeth remembered Tasmania as the starting point of her own Antarctic journey. Why, though, would a wildlife official have been targeted alongside so many others with links-direct or otherwise-to the Stargate program?
"It's interesting," Geisler said, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "The Newdegate Cave bears a striking resemblance to the caves we found on M1M-316."
Chapter nineteen
John cinched up the chinstrap on his helmet before stepping out of the Humvee. The faint rays of sunlight on the horizon were no longer strong enough to punch through the haze that still hovered over the street. He inhaled slowly, recognizing the pervasive, acrid smell of cordite and dried blood. The Museum building itself hadn't been damaged in the ambush, but the front steps were a mess of crumbled concrete and shell casings.
It had taken a maddeningly long time to get here. The Army had had its hands full, trying to secure five different sites throughout Baghdad where explosions had occurred almost simultaneously. As critical as John and Rebecca's1 mission was, it didn't trump ongoing urban warfare. They'd been stuck on base at Balad, the outlook for Jackson getting bleaker by the minute, until word finally had come down that the Museum area was under control-at least for the moment.
Climbing down from the Humvee, Rebecca adjusted her Kevlar vest and studied the other vehicles on the street, many of them scarred, inoperable hunks of twisted metal. "Good God," she said quietly. "If Dr. Jackson was in one of those-"
"Let's not go off half-cocked on that just yet." John scanned the helmets of the assorted soldiers patrolling the block, checking their rank insignia. There was a lieutenant standing next to a damaged personnel carrier, supervising the repairs being attempted by two of his maintenance troops. Bingo.
"What do we know, Lieutenant?"
The young man straightened at John's approach. "Sir, this was a three-vehicle convoy. We believe it took the first hit of a coordinated citywide assault. Four of the ten soldiers in the convoy were killed by the blast, along with a local; med-evac took five more to Balad. The last one-"
— was a civilian and is missing. I know. He's the reason we're here." John glanced at the Museum steps again, averting his gaze when he noticed the dark, drying stains on the shattered stone. "Any leads on what might have happened to him?"
The lieutenant shook his head. "Everyone who survived was wounded badly enough to lose consciousness at one point or another. None of them even remembered Dr. Jackson's name, let alone where he'd been when all hell broke loose."
"But you didn't find a body." Rebecca joined the conversation. "No unidentified limbs, no uniform scraps."
"No, ma'am. We've gone door to door on the surrounding blocks. If the locals know anything, they sure aren't talking."
John had expected as much, but it still irritated him no end. He'd called back to Colorado Springs from one of Balad's secure phone lines, hoping that the SGC might be able to track Jackson's locator beacon even without the Daedalus or Odyssey around. Maybe they could use a satellite, or something-the workings of those beacons were pretty fuzzy to him. Just another example of how much he didn't know about homeworld defense.
In any case, he'd come up empty so far. At this point, the chances of finding Jackson before either his inevitable injuries or someone unfriendly caught up to him were remote at best. The security squad now cleaning up the site would most likely wrap up their efforts soon so they could leave the area before darkness settled in completely and masked any nearby threats.
All that advanced technology back on Atlantis, and John couldn't find one man on his own damned planet. He nodded to the lieutenant and walked a few paces away, trying to come up with some kind of plan and keep a lid on his frustration at the same time.
Rebecca matched him step for step. "Getting worked up won't help Dr. Jackson or anyone else," she said, keeping her voice low.
Apparently he hadn't done very well at that second task. "Easy for you to say. The stuff that guy's done over the past ten years… If he's really dead this time, I have to wonder if we have any shot at all of figuring-this-out."