Blood Ties

Chapter fifteen

It had been a while since John had spent any time in a traditional military unit, and he'd never before worn a lieutenant colonel's oak leaves around this many young enlisted. His arm was starting to get tired from returning salutes. Ironic, really, since he was little more than hired help when compared to the two people he'd accompanied to Iraq.

Rebecca Larance seemed to be in her element in the coalition's pathology lab and morgue, moving from table to table with a brisk professionalism that implied she knew exactly what she was looking at. Peering through a microscope at a tissue sample, she asked her fellow FBI agent, "This was one of your contacts?"

The agent, a redheaded, freckled guy whose name John had already forgotten but who apparently had worked with Rebecca before, gave her a nod from his place against the back wall. "We were working with her on the ongoing efforts to recover the Museum's looted antiquities. Locals claim her home was hit with Willy Pete, but there was no evidence of that in the building. Then there were those weird symbols I showed you. The rings and triangle thing."

"There's also no chemical residue present in this or the other bodies you've shown me to suggest white phosphorus." Rebecca straightened up from the microscope. "These victims show the advanced decrepitude common to my other cases. It's safe to say they're linked."

"Same M.O. on the other side of the planet?"

John waited to see how Rebecca would deflect her colleague's curiosity. "It's a small world after all," she deadpanned. Her phone chirped, and she unclipped it from her belt to read a message off its screen. "Bingo. We've got what we need, Colonel." She looked up and offered him a cryptic smile. "Shall we head back?"

Back' in this case meant the Air Expeditionary Wing headquarters, where they'd been given space to bunk and talk tactics. John raised his eyebrows at her. "You work fast."

"She's just that good." The other agent grinned and, pushing himself off the wall, walked over to join them. "You'll write up your findings for the local division and for Washington?" he asked Rebecca.

"I'll send you a copy," she promised him, offering him a smile as she packed up her notebook and laptop. She seemed a hell of a lot more relaxed after getting some sleep on the flight. "For the moment, you can at least reassure a few Army colonels that their guys are off the hook for these deaths" Her fingers reached unerringly for the pair of sunglasses that had been propping her hair off her face, and she slipped them on.

Assuming she'd relay the contents of the text message when they'd ditched her Bureau cohort, John didn't push. Instead, once they were outside the autopsy bay, he hailed the motor pool corporal to find them a ride back across to the Air Force side of the base.

Before long he was behind the wheel of a Humvee, rounding the end of the flight line. The bright sun and warm, and landscape made for a hell of a contrast against the frigid grays they'd left in Colorado.

Rebecca spoke first, beating him to the punch. "I suppose this must look a lot like Bagram." She gestured to the activity surrounding the rows of helicopters, many receiving maintenance and being loaded with cargo or weapons.

Uh-uh. We're not going there. "I wouldn't know, these days," he said. If his tone was a little abrupt, well, he'd live with that. "Afghanistan was a long time ago for me. What was the message you got back in the lab?"

She cast a quick glance over at him, otherwise not reacting to the brush-off. "Details," she answered levelly. "Based on that and what we just saw from the bodies here, I think I have a more comprehensive profile of the… cult."

"We still sticking to that term?" They weren't Wraith and they weren't entirely human, but he supposed they couldn't go around calling them incubi and succubi, and somehow "buses' didn't cut it.

"Admittedly it doesn't fit the Bureau's definition. The Lilith worshippers don't actively seek membership or solicit money."

John took the corner at a higher speed than might have been advisable; he didn't get many opportunities to drive a Humvee. "On the other hand, they do literally suck the life out of people, so…"

"So they're distinctly abnormal." Holding onto the doorframe, Rebecca didn't comment on her chauffeur's skills. "Given that their members carry a specific set of genes, it raises an extremely difficult ethical question I suspect we may have to face at some point. What does it mean to be human?"

To his ears, she sounded uncomfortable with that prospect. He found the entire issue pretty disturbing himself, especially since he'd had to deal with it from a very intimate perspective. Sometimes he found himself wishing he could see things with Ronon's single-minded clarity.

Sidestepping the issue, she added, "Outside a purely legal framework, the term `cult' is still applicable. While their genetic makeup may drive them to behave as they do, as a group they're acting on a mythology, a belief structure. One based on fact, to be sure, but still largely ritualized-otherwise we wouldn't be seeing behavior like the removal and souveniring of organs, or the positioning of bodies within those symbols."

As she stared through the windshield, John had the impression she was focused on something other than the squat, nondescript buildings and `severe clear' sky.

"In any case, the term `cult' is applicable in a psychological context," she continued. "They've existed since Babylonian times, so there's nothing unusual about it from that point of view. The group never made it onto our radar until recently because as far as we know-or knew-its members had never engaged in any overtly illegal activities. It's just the alien bent that's eye-catching. But even that's common. Despite Freud's claim that religion is a neurosis, Karl Marx recognized its usefulness as a socializing tool. Bottom line is that people need some form of spiritual guidance, something beyond themselves, and they look for it in all sorts of places. Some find comfort through the worship of one ancient god or another; others see the image of the Virgin Mary in a grilled cheese sandwich or a fence post."

"I once convinced Rodney that his Jell-O was trying to show him how to optimize Atlantis's power grid." John shrugged. "In both my defense and his, we all were pretty sleep deprived at the time. Anyway, the Lilith cult got the FBI's-or at least your-attention not too long ago. You were saying?"

In his peripheral vision, he caught the ghost of a smile. "The followers saw their Gate of Heaven on television in Wormhole X-treme. They labeled it, as did a few other paranoid and generally delusional personality types, as a government-sponsored attempt at a disinformation campaign."

"Aside from the sponsorship thing, that's more or less true."

Wincing, Rebecca shook her head. "As I've noticed. Still, the facts notwithstanding, there are some pretty wild notions out there. Hell, one group of… `fans' is convinced we waged war on Iraq to acquire Saddam's Stargate. The profile I'm working on, the one I'll be writing up tonight, goes something like this: The Lilith cultists differ from the textbook conspiracy theorists in that they saw the show as a sign, one heralded in their texts. The gate is their version of the Holy Grail, or maybe a better analogy would be the Ark of the Covenant, because to them it's a literal doorway to their origins in the heavens-another galaxy. One of them fed on the network executive and in so doing gained information leading to D.C. Further attacks thereafter provided pointers to Colorado Springs."

Her head turned to follow the sudden rumble of a helicopter starting up-John identified it by the engine sound as one of the Hawk variants. Continuing, she said, "The cultists were smart in a couple of ways. They concealed their activities by burning the buildings where their victims bodies' were left, and until now they'd managed to avoid drawing attention from the only people who might recognize their aim: the SGC. They haven't killed anyone directly involved with the Stargate program, because they knew they had plenty of time-eleven years-to fulfill what they see is their destiny

John frowned, wondering if he'd missed something. "Where'd you come up with a specific timeframe?"

"It's in their set of doctrines." Rebecca threw him a selfdeprecating smile. "It's my job to know as much about them as they do themselves. In their scriptures it's written that, eleven years after the `revelation of the truth hidden in plain sight,' the misuse of the Gate of Heaven will allow the forces of evil-meaning aliens with godlike powers-to prey on Earth." Her gaze returned to the front windshield. "Either the creation of the television show or the SGC's standard operation of the gate could be interpreted as misuse, and one of those at least is in plain sight."

"What, you think we never should have used the gate?" John retorted, immediately getting defensive. He hadn't been a part of that decision years ago, but he sure as hell considered himself a part of the program now. "Should've just locked it up in some vault'? You have no idea what we've discovered out there-"

"Easy, Colonel." Rebecca lifted her hands in surrender. "Whatever else you might say about the Stargate program, it did expose humanity to predation. I'm not in a position to pass judgment; I'm just showing you the situation from the viewpoint of the cult. Their doctrine tells them that these metaphysical alien gods need human souls to give them power, in order to finally subdue and destroy the forces of good. God and Satan battling over immortal souls-it's the same dualistic `good versus evil' premise employed by virtually all religions."

"Not to mention plenty of comic books."

Rebecca glanced over at him with mild amusement. "Where do you think they get their ideas from'? Books, movies, games-the most successful stories are all based on mythology, even if they create their own. Anyway, fast-forward eleven years from the premiere of Wormhole X-creme and we end up with 2012. A dozen cultures and countless New Age cults, citing the Mayan calendar and others as guides, have marked that same year as the arrival of Armageddon, the Apocalypse, whatever you want to call it. That coincidence is a powerful reinforcement to the Lilith cult's convictions. 2012 will mark eleven years after the gate was first seen to be the `revelation of the truth hidden in plain sight."'

"Which proves right off the bat that they've got a couple of screws loose," John said, pulling the Humvee up to the Headquarters building. "Wormhole X-creme may have first started airing in 2001, but the gate was first used long before then."

"Regularly?"

He stopped in the middle of opening his door, unsure. "Depends on your definition of `regularly.' Not counting any Goa'uld stunts back in the bad old days, the gate was first used in 1945, then again in 1969 and 1994, but the program didn't really get going until 1996."

"In that case, if the Lilith worshippers are right, the final war is already underway." Rebecca swung her door open and climbed out of the vehicle, then turned and tossed him a considered look. When he didn't immediately reply, she moved to go inside.

There was something spooky about all of this, John had to admit. Looking around to make sure no one was within ear shot, he lengthened his stride to catch up to her. "The Ori have attacked Earth a few times," he admitted. "That epidemic we had a couple of years back, for starters. The SGC thinks they've finally managed to take all of 'em out, but the `true believer' nut jobs don't seem to have gotten the memo that their gods are dead. Assuming they are dead."

At that, Rebecca seemed to pick up her pace, spine rigid. John hurried up the steps of the building and reached for her arm. "Hey, what'd I say?"

She paused on the top step and faced him. "Mock their beliefs all you want," she said coolly. "The difference between a cult and a religion is often just a legal distinction, one that varies from country to country. We have `alien god' religions in the US that the UK and Germany have outlawed. It doesn't matter how baseless you might think their faith is. Bottom line, Colonel: whether their beliefs are founded on fact or fallacy is not the point. They believe it, and they're willing to kill for it, so we need to take that devotion seriously."

"I do take it seriously," he said, surprised at her vehemence. "I don't think murder's a joke under any circumstances. Being a smartass…it's just what I do."

Rebecca acknowledged the subtly offered truce with a nod. "In any case, what we're seeing here is symptomatic of two sects within an overarching framework, one more violently inclined than the other."

"Maybe it's related to the number of iratus genes a person has. The more Wraithlike you are, the more you believe."

Shaking her head, she said, "Think about it. Cults attract more believers, not less, when their leaders demonstrate manifest abilities. I realize charisma is ninety-nine percent of the attraction, rather than any actual ability to perform sleight of hand, but being able to suck the life out of someone is awfully damned manifest. I can't see how such an obvious demonstration of power would cause a rift unless they all believe with equal fervor but have fundamentally opposing epistemolo gies." She paused, biting her lip. "It's possible that they've split into two entirely different factions, each claiming to follow the one true `Lilith'."

Recalling the bitter divide between the peoples of the country in which they currently stood, John could understand how easily such a situation might arise.

Pushing open the door, Rebecca took off her sunglasses. "That conclusion fits with the evidence I've personally accumulated. It's also the only explanation I have for the videotape that uptight paper-pusher showed me-"

"Oh, so you're open-minded about cultists, but not bureaucrats." John couldn't pass up that opportunity, even if Woolsey got on his nerves.

"Everybody's free to believe what they choose. Personally, I believe that God created a different heaven for bureaucrats, lawyers, and accountants."

Only the slightest glimmer of humor was visible in her eyes, and John had the distinct impression that she was holding something back.

"Dr. Jackson pointed out earlier that succubi and incubi are fabled to take a liking to certain individuals," she continued, "sometimes plaguing them all of their lives. That looks to be the case with Mr. Payton. There are even accounts of succubi becoming so protective of their `pets' that they'll kill to protect them, restoring them to life under certain circumstances."

And there it was again: that phantom hand clawing against his chest.

When John's pace slowed, Rebecca glanced back at him. "Please don't say you're remembering that episode of The X Files," she warned.

"Actually, I've got a real life experience to draw on this time" No need to be too specific. "I've seen a Wraith restore life to someone on whom they've previously fed. I know it's possible."

She seemed briefly jarred by that news, but covered the reaction by starting up the stairs toward their assigned office, propping her sunglasses on her head as she went. A moment later, she said, "That adds substance to the profile suggesting we have two sects with conflicting epistemologies-no, I need to stop using that word. It's not an epistemology, since we know the Stargate and Ascended beings really exist. These two factions have different goals, different motives. According to what we've seen, and based on what you've just told me, one is deliberately poaching the other's pet victims." A frown settled on her face. "Dr. Jackson mentioned Lilith's Babylonian name, Ninlil. I briefly… encountered a couple of followers of Ninlil several years ago. They're so far below the radar they're flat-lined, but…"

When she trailed off, John again got the impression she was wrestling with something. "But?"

She pulled in a deep breath and, pausing midway up the steps, turned to look at him. Her expression had closed off, and any trace of uncertainty had vanished, replaced by a mask of focused professionalism. "They fit the profile of the more pacifist sect of the Lilith cult like a glove. The sect doing the killing is the more fundamentalist of the two. Having found the location of the gate, they're also searching for something more."

"So we need to figure out what that `something more' is." John had accompanied Rodney on plenty of similar treasure hunts in the Pegasus Galaxy. Most of them tended to start with a stroll through Atlantis's Ancient database. The local equivalent of that would be… "What else is in the cult's scriptures?" He removed his own sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket.

Ahead of him on the stairs, Rebecca tossed an approving look over her shoulder. "You're not bad at this investigative stuff," she said lightly. "The symbology provides the best clue."

"Okay. Should I be reading Dan Brown?"

Her lips twitched. "Maybe you can pitch the Jell-O theory to him for his next book. Symbols are representations, generally designed to provide meaning on more than one level. For the Lilith cult, the circles and geometric shapes represent the Stargate, which is both a metaphorical and in fact a functional `gate' to the `heavens'-celestial bodies in the sky, other worlds. There's a second component overlaying that: the isosceles triangle."

"Rodney's Wraith Dart." He nodded. "I have to admit there's a close resemblance, especially those markings indicating the cockpit."

"If you're right, then that's the physical representation, but what's its function in terms of its symbolism? There's an important detail to this that no one's mentioned yet. No matter where in the world these symbols are located, the tip of the triangle always points due south. You found a Stargate and evidence ofAtlantis in Antarctica, so I asked General Landry to have someone check the list of victims for any known link to your not-quite-normal-channels Antarctic expedition. Relatives, close friends, professional colleagues-anything." She detached her cell phone from her belt again and held it up for John to read the text message she'd received back in the lab.

DR L: YOU WERE RIGHT. LANDRY.

John had to grin. Just like the General to get straight to the point. "Then there is a connection between all of the victims."

"All except the ones here." Rebecca pushed open the stairwell door to the second floor. "I'm betting the Iraqi victims had something to do with whatever it is that Dr. Jackson is after, and that it links back to Lilith."

No sooner had they taken three steps toward the office than a lieutenant came speeding down the hallway. "Colonel Sheppard!" The young man skidded to a stop in front of them. "Sir, been looking for you. Joint Operations Center reported that a convoy was attacked outside the Iraq National Museum. The area's been secured, but there were a number of casual ties."

John's gaze flicked to Rebecca, who went pale. "Any word on Dr. Jackson?" he asked, half certain he already knew the answer.

From the grim hardness of the kid's expression, it looked like he was almost as experienced at delivering bad news as John was at receiving it. "He's missing, sir. Most likely he was identified as a civilian and abducted for possible ransom."

Damn it. John closed his eyes, all too aware that ransom was the one of the better options they could hope for. There were plenty that were much, much worse.