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"This is just…incredible."
"Mmmhmm."
"I'm serious, Peter. I've never seen anything like this. Now, you're sure it's authentic?"
"That's what all the papers say," Special Agent in Charge Peter Burke said, laying a folder of official documents on the table before his team. Agents Clinton Jones and Lauren Cruz leaned forward to inspect them, while Neal Caffrey remained enthralled by the images posted on the walls.
"Why would anyone keep something like this in their home instead of a museum with the proper security measures in place?" Cruz mused to the room at large, not really expecting an answer.
Peter provider one. "The whims of the rich. They like to surround themselves with rare, pretty things."
Choosing not to acknowledge the veiled teasing of Peter's reply, Neal asked, "Has anyone found a translation of what these sigils mean?"
With a sigh, Peter said, "No, Neal. Reading the hieroglyphics is not a high priority."
"No, no, these aren't hieroglyphics…similar, but unique…."
"All right, all right. Jones, fax some of those engravings over to the local universities, see if someone can give us an idea what they say," Peter acquiesced, knowing that if he didn't Neal would find some other way to satisfy his curiosity, probably involving Havisham and some less than legal activity.
Agent Jones sighed, but nodded. Something told him it was going to be one of those cases.
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And the day had started off so well, General Jack O'Neill mused, listening to the increasingly frantic ramblings of one of the Stargate Projects resident nerds on patrol. Basically, they were tasked with monitoring communications for any signs of Gao'uld, Ori or other alien influence on Earth. Apparently, this guy had found something.
"And where did you say you intercepted this?…New York branch of the FBI to Columbia University…Right…" Jack peered down at the fax in his hand with annoyance. "Good work. I'll send someone to look into this."
Hanging up the phone, Jack pondered the facts. Weird, unidentified, old jar with what appeared to be a mix of Gao'uld and Ancient carvings (the fax was pretty grainy). It had been stolen from the family who had possessed the piece for decades. The FBI's White Collar crimes unit was investigating, as they thought the piece to be a mere object of art…hmmm, they could use that, actually, at least until things proved to be something more than an art theft. He could send a couple of his people up to New York, to assist with the investigation.
Daniel was an obvious choice, not only for his field experience and linguistic ability, but because he was good at playing with others. It was obvious why some of his underlings had gone into archaeology, as they didn't interact well with the living. The Daedalus was in orbit and could easily beam him from Colorado to New York.
If Jack wasn't mired down with a mountain of bureaucratic crap, he'd join Daniel, but no such luck. SO he'd have to send someone else. Sam…out of system on the Hammond. Mitchell and Teal'c were off world visiting some of T's Jaffa buddies. Vala was out of the question.
Some of the Atlantis people were wandering around the Pentagon, having been or waiting for debriefs, which, now that Atlantis was sitting in the middle of San Francisco Bay, were long over due. After a moment's consideration, Jack decided to send Lorne to New York with Daniel. If he sent Sheppard, McKay would probably get dragged along and that was just asking for trouble. Setting aside McKay's personality, both he and Daniel tended to be abducted by enemies, even when on Earth (thought the last bounty hunter to come after Daniel had ended up under a bus). The two of them together was just tempting fate.
Major Lorne was a good choice, Jack thought. Around the SGC, he had always been a quiet, level headed guy and a damn fine officer. And after his years on Atlantis, he was used to wrangling cranky scientists, so as long as Lorne remembered not to move any artifacts around without informing Daniel, they should do just fine.
He hoped.
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Reviewing their practically non-existent leads, Peter heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. At least Neal had abandoned his intense scrutiny of the missing vase in order to make a coffee run. It was still a bit of a mystery where Neal found the excellent coffee he would return with, but Peter wasn't going to push the issue. He was fairly certain even Neal couldn't find an illegal coffee shop…and if he had, Peter didn't want to know. It was really good coffee.
Cruz and Jones were occupied making dead end calls, but the rare piece had yet to show up on the usual black market venues for such items. And, if Neal's hunch was right (as they so often and annoyingly were), it wouldn't. There was something fishy about this thing.
A knock on the open door frame of his office drew Peter's attention, as someone asked, "Agent Burke?"
A pair of men were standing just outside his office, peering in at him. The man who had spoken was the shorter of the two, trim, broad shouldered with dark brown, nearly black hair, fair skin and blue eyes. He wore jeans, a white button down shirt and a weathered black leather jacket. His companion was about 6', equally fit and blue eyed but with glasses, sun darkened skin and golden brown hair. He too wore jeans, but had a black t-shirt under a battered brown jacket.
As a trained observer, Peter took all this in, even noted something oddly familiar about the first man, as he replied, "Yes?"
The smaller man stepped forward, extending an ID. "Major Evan Lorne, Dr. Daniel Jackson…we're here about a query someone from your office ran about a particular ancient artifact."
What the heck did the Air Force have to do with their missing vase? "How did you find out about that?" Peter asked, curiosity spiked as he wracked his brain for why Lorne's name was so familiar to him.
Eye's narrowing slightly, the major replied, "Your inquiry included a picture that tripped some alarms. We can't go into too much detail…our project is classified." He paused and pulled a small stack of papers from his jacket and handed them over to Peter. "The general sent us to assist with the recovery of the artifact and to asses it's…danger or lack there of."
Peter flicked through the papers, grimacing as he saw they were authorized by some general out of the Pentagon. That could mean only one thing. This case was going to be a hell of a lot more trouble than originally anticipated.
While he perused the documents, he was aware of the doctor drifting towards a photo enlargement of the missing vase, small note pad in hand, scribbling away as he muttered to himself.
Not liking their arrival one bit but more or less without option due to their authorizations, Peter looked from Lorne to Jackson then back. "Translator?" he asked Lorne, not wanting to disturb the other's work.
"Among other things," was the quiet reply and before Peter could ask anything else they were interrupted.
"Evan?"
Neal had returned, large cardboard tray of steaming coffee cups in hand, but instead of passing them out, he made a beeline for the office's new arrivals.
Lorne grinned, dimpling as his eyes twinkled and nose scrunched, and replied, "Hey, Neal. Good to see you."
As Peter watched, Neal placed the tray on the desk and embraced the stockier man, laughing, "Long time no see…Oh, does our mysterious missing urn have something to do with your 'project'?"
The older man huffed a laugh and thumped Neal gently on the back. "Something like that."
Seemingly sensing, Peter's eyes on him, Neal turned to face him and grinned. "Come on, Peter…All those years you spent chasing me, you had to have interviewed my cousin!"
The missing pieces clicked into place. He had spoken with Major Lorne, Neal's cousin on his mother's side, who was career Air Force with degrees in geology and art. It was the art degree that peaked Peter's interest. After months of trying to get the Air Force to produce the man for an interview, he had arrived with a broken nose and two black eyes and had not been very helpful. In fact, the longest sentence Peter had gotten out of the laconic man had been an explanation of his injuries. "Didn't duck quick enough."
Now Peter felt his headache rearing up to full force as two pairs of blue eyes regarded him, Neal's bright, curious and happy to see his cousin, Evan's as bright, but with an amused, tolerant undercurrent. Something told him letting the two of them loose together was not going to be a restful or mundane experience.
"Kuk."
Jackson spoke without turning to look at the little reunion happening in the room. Actually, Peter was pretty sure he had no idea anything had happened since he fixed his eyes on the images he was translating…Not that Kuk made a lot of sense.
Lorne heaved a sigh. "Bad or Really bad?"
Turning to face him, Jackson frowned, "What's worse than really bad?"
"FUBAR."
"That's it." Pointing to the picture, the doctor informed Peter, "The inscription identifies the canopic jar as the resting place of Kuk."
"As in the frog headed deification of the primordial concept of darkness in Egyptian mythology?" Neal asked lightly, then whistled in admiration. "An ancient holy relic…no wonder someone wanted it."
"A symbol of darkness, Kuk also represented obscurity and the unknown, and thus chaos," Jackson said, casting a worried look at Lorne, who nodded as though that meant something.
Whatever was going on, it was not going to be good.
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"Kuk (also spelled as Keku) is the deification of the primordial concept of darkness in Egyptian mythology. In the Ogdoad cosmogony, his name meant darkness. As a concept, Kuk was viewed as androgynous, his female form being known as Kauket (also spelled as Keket), which is simply the female form of the word Kuk. Like all 4 dualistic concepts in the Ogdoad, Kuk's male form was depicted as a frog, or as a frog-headed man, and the female form as a snake, or a snake-headed woman. As a symbol of darkness, Kuk also represented obscurity and the unknown, and thus chaos…."
Peter had called his team in after Doctor Jackson's initial revelation and, after introductions, asked the man to fill them in on what he'd gleaned from the translation. Which he did with gusto and in great volume. Jones and Cruz seemed startled by the virtual flood of information that seemed pretty darn useless, but Neal visibly interested and taking notes. Major Lorne was only listening with half an ear and was rapidly texting someone.
It was irking Peter to know end, not knowing what the Air Force had to do with their missing ancient Egyptian canopic jar. It was such a random, seemingly unthreatening thing, especially compared to all the other threats the military had to deal with. Which led him to the inescapable conclusion that the canopic jar was more than it appeared to be.
"And how exactly does any of this help us narrow down the list of people who might have taken the vase?" Lauren asked when Dr. Jackson paused his monologue to take a breath. It was actually quite impressive how long he had managed to go on without stopping for air.
Jackson paused, blinking at her, but otherwise unperturbed by the interruption. From his seat, Lorne glanced up from his texting and said, "The unique origin of the canopic jar suggests this isn't your average art heist. We'll provide a list of…parties who may have had some particular interest in it."
"We will?" Jackson asked him, brows jumping toward his hairline.
Lorne waved his Blackberry gently and smirked. "The general okayed us to read in personnel we deem necessary."
"Really?" Peter didn't know why Jackson seemed so incredulous, but Neal was practically bouncing in his seat.
"Yeah," the major drawled, then fiddled with the phone some more, aiming the small lens at the room. "He wants me to video their reactions."
Rolling his eyes, Jackson fixed a chiding look at the camera phone. "Very mature Jack," he said in a long suffering tone that Peter was very familiar with.
"Read us into what exactly?" Peter asked, hoping to hurry things along.
There a an odd tinkling noise and while Neal, Peter, Cruz and Jones glanced around in confusion, Jackson was pulling out a laptop and Lorne retrieved a backpack from beneath the table. Peter blinked, not having noticed the bag earlier, but the major just removed a few packets of paper and handed them out to Neal and the FBI agents. "Non-disclosure agreements," he said. "Basically, don't go talking about what we tell you or you disappear into the deepest hole of a military prison we can find. Forever."
That garnered a few winces, but they dutifully signed the documents and handed them back to Lorne, who said, "Daniel. Give them the facts."
Jackson flipped around the laptop, which showed a video of a large, bunker like room. In the center of the room stood a large, stone or metal ring, marked with symbols similar to those on the canopic jar.
"This is a Stargate," Jackson said and Peter got the feeling them man had given this talk more than a few times. "Ours was found in Giza in 1928, but was originally built by an alien race called the Ancients, many millennia ago. The 39 symbols on the 'Gate ring are constellations that can be seen from Earth. Using a seven symbol address, the 'Gate can be dialed and a stable wormhole vortex is created between Earth and an alien world…."
Huh. It was definitely going to be one of those cases.
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Peter wasn't sure, but he thought he felt something in his brain just break somewhere between finding out that aliens actually did build the pyramids and learning that their missing canopic jar was probably an alien cryogenic device containing an evil parasitic creature that, when released, could basically possess anyone it came into contact with.
Across the table, Jones looked like he wanted nothing more than to bang his head on the table until he forgot Jackson's little briefing and Cruz, well, she appeared to be in a mild state of shock. In Peter's opinion, both totally understandable reactions.
Neal, on the other hand, was grinning and practically glowing with glee, absorbing every word out of Jackson's mouth and every image that popped up on the screen.
Major Lorne simply seemed amused by the whole situation. He was settled back in his chair, a small smirk on his face as he continued to tap away at his Blackberry. Occasionally, when prompted by Jackson, he'd offer some brief input from the military point of view but his answers were brief and far more succinct than the archaeologist's.
As the images flipped by on Jackson's laptop, they all seemed to blur together, until Neal said, "Oh, hold up! I've seen that before…two screens back."
Pausing, Jackson scrolled back to an image of a tablet. Everyone leaned forward and Cruz said, "It looks like anything you'd see in the Egyptian wing of a museum."
She had a point, but Neal waggled a finger. "No," he said, "The markings are more similar to the ones of the missing canopic jar."
"It is a form of Gao'uld," Dr. Jackson confirmed with a nod to Neal. "Good eye. People usually miss the details."
"I'm all about the details," Neal said, then snapped. "Got it. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. That's where I saw it. There was something else too…a jar, but not like the canopic…."
"It's better than nothing," Peter said, rising from his chair. "We'll check it out…See if any attempts have been made on those pieces or if the theft of the canopic jar is an isolated incident."
He expected commentary from Lorne and Jackson, well maybe just Jackson, but the scientist simply shut his laptop and shoved it into his bag, looking more than a little perturbed.
Jones went ahead down to the motor pool, securing for them one of the bureau's extended SUV's instead of the usual sedan, in deference to the two additional men. As they piled into the vehicle, Lorne's phone beeped and he glanced at it, letting out a snort. Glancing at Jackson, he said, "Apparently, Ronon and a handful of marines are available if we need back up."
"Oh, good," Jackson said distractedly, causing Lorne to eye him funnily, but not comment.
Instead, the major continued, "Personally, I think Ronon's just itching to get off Atlantis. He hasn't been off world in a couple of weeks."
"ATLANTIS?" All three FBI agents practically shouted the word in disbelief, while Neal said it with a strong hint of excitement.
Before either Jackson or Lorne could reply, Peter said, "Okay, aliens I can kind of buy, but you're telling me there was a mythical city just hidden somewhere on Earth for the past millennia or so?"
"Of course not," Lorne attempted to sooth him. "The Ancient's flew the city to the Pegasus Galaxy when things got dicey around here."
"Flew the city?" Jones managed to echo.
"Yeah, weird huh? Anyhow, it stayed out there until recently, when we had to relocate back to Earth."
"Is that where you've been for the last 4 years?" Neal asked his cousin, turning in his seat to face him.
The major nodded and Peter said, "You brought a flying alien city back to Earth. How…where…why…."
"With the permission of the International Oversight Agency, which the SGC reports to. San Francisco Bay. Cloaking device."
Knuckles going white as he practically strangled the steering wheel, Peter said, "There's a cloaked alien city sitting in the middle of San Francisco Bay. Of course."
Because it made as much sense as any other part of this case.
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After a not entirely brief but necessary fight with traffic (it was New York City, after all), their strange little group, now an even match of 3 FBI agents and 3 outside consultants, arrived at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 26 Federal Plaza was less than nine miles from 1000 5th Avenue, but it still took over a half hour to make the trip.
The magnificent edifice of the museum rose above them as they ascended the massive stone stairs that led to the front doors. Entering the lobby, Peter led the way through the throngs of tourists and students to the information/admissions desk and pulled out his ID to show the clerk.
"Agent Burke, FBI. We need to see an item you have on display…" he began, only to have Neal pipe up.
"In the Egyptian Art Department," the former con man said, throwing one of his dazzling smiles at the elderly woman behind the desk, who reflexively smiled back.
Continuing as though Neal hadn't spoken, Peter said, "Is there any way you could call one of the curators, have them meet us in the Egyptian wing, in case we have any questions?"
"I can put a call up to the directors office," the woman, whose nametag identified her as Gretchen, said to Peter, reaching for the phone. "You can head up."
This time, Neal took the lead, striding into the museum with the confidence of a man who knew exactly where he was going. As they followed in his wake, Peter noticed Jackson handing a wad of bills over to Gretchen, who paused her hushed whispering into the phone to look up at him and say, "Thank you, young man."
Jackson nodded and matched pace with Lorne. Peter dropped back, confident Jones and Cruz would try to keep Neal out of trouble, to join them and commented, "We're not here to look at the exhibits. You didn't need to pay the cover charge."
"They do good work here," the archaeologist replied, glancing around at the various halls Neal led them through, the furrow between his brows becoming increasingly more pronounced. When they reached the Egyptian Art department, Peter thought the man would relax, surrounded by objects that were his specialty, but instead he just tensed more.
Passing under an archway into yet another cavernous room, Peter heard Neal say, "Ah, in here somewhere."
"Finally," Lorne murmured, then, in a louder voice asked, "Daniel?"
Peter turned, stopping his path to where Neal, Lauren and Clinton were inspecting various displays, looking for on in particular that might relate to their case. Lorne was a few yards into the room, looking back at Jackson who seemed to be frozen in the doorway.
The scientists face had gone pale under his tan and his hands were clenched into fists by his side. "Just give me a minute, Evan," he ground out, not looking at the major, but across the room to where Neal was staring at a few huge limestone slabs.
With a confused sigh, Peter asked, "What did he do?" He hadn't seen Neal do anything that should have thrown someone off to the degree that Jackson seemed to be suffering and he didn't think Neal had any reason to try and needle Jackson, who had been quite happy to have some listening to his briefing with interest.
"I didn't do anything." Neal's voice was close to Peter now, but he was looking at Jackson an expression of sympathy on his face. Nodding his head to the slabs he had been inspecting, he asked, "Your parents?"
"Shit," Lorne breathed so softly Peter barely heard him.
Nodding, Jackson finally dragged his eyes away from the display and said, "Yes. I'm going to look on this side of the room, if that's all right."
Spinning, the archaeologist made his way to the far wall, putting distance between himself and whatever the slabs had to do with his folks. Lorne followed after him, casting concerned looks at Jackson, pulling out his phone and firing off a few more rapid texts.
Pulling Neal back towards the displays that still needed inspecting, Peter leaned close and asked, "What was that about?"
A pained expression on Neal's face, he waved towards the display that Cruz and Jones were still near and replied, in a hushed tone, "There's a plaque by those cover stones. A sort of memorial for a pair of archaeologists who were crushed by a falling slab while setting up the display. A Melbourne and Claire Jackson. I inferred the relationship by his reaction."
"Aw hell," Peter murmured, looking over to where Jackson seemed to be contemplating a chunk of rock. "It happened in here?"
Neal nodded emphatically. "It also said they were survived by a son, who was here to witness the accident."
"This just keeps getting better and better," Peter said, closing his eyes and raising a hand to rub his forehead. Taking a breath, he counted to three, then opened his eyes to peer at the small relief in front of them. It looked…like any other piece of art in the room. He hoped Neal could identify the apparently alien writing as opposed to Egyptian hieroglyphs, in case their expert was (understandably) knocked off his game by their location. "What am I looking at?"
"A block from the sanctuary in the temple of Mentuhotep II at Deir el-Bahri, from circa 2000 BCE," Neal said, eyeing the piece with quiet pleasure in his eyes. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
"Is it alien?" Peter couldn't believe he was asking that. Still, the pharaoh on the piece did look a lot like one of those Coneheads from SNL.
Neal shook his head, still looking at the ancient art. "Nope, no alien text here."
"Then we move on." He towed Neal to the next display, a faded sketch on papyrus that had Neal sighing. Peter liked art, he truly did, but Neal seemed to have an appreciation for it that he couldn't understand. Especially when they were looking at a crude drawing of a man stabbing…something. A mutant badger maybe.
"I think I found something," Jones called across the room, drawing attention from the team as well as a few civilians scattered amongst the displays. Neal and Peter both moved quickly to join him and Cruz, as did Lorne and Jackson, who was obviously not looking in the direction of the cover stones. He did, however, seem to be focused on the strange little vase they gathered around.
"Oh, yes," Jackson murmured, cocking his head to get a good look at the inscriptions. "This is definitely…not from the Ramses dynasty."
Peter gave him a funny look then realized a few civilians had drifted closer in order to see what the fuss was about. "When the curator gets here you can mention that to him," he said, offering the surrounding people a tight smile. "Move along folks. Just a labeling error.
"Hey Doc, is that…?" Lorne trailed off pointing to a particular glyph with a frown.
Jackson gave a brief nod and said, "Baal."
That was enough to send the major into another rapid fire texting frenzy and, from the Blackberry's soft beeps, whoever was on the other end of the conversation was not a happy individual either. This could only mean that whatever Baal was, it was very bad. Glad their small audience had moved off, Peter asked softly, "What is Baal?"
"The honorific for master or lord in a few ancient cultures," Jones supplied, then off of Cruz's look he shrugged. "I took a few ancient history classes. The stuff's interesting."
"A troublesome Gao'uld," Jackson muttered as though that was enough.
"So, this is one of those things that pretends to be an ancient god?" Peter asked, then gave Lorne a look. "I thought you guys beat them."
"We helped break their chokehold on the populated planets in this galaxy, but the Replicators really dealt the death blow" the major replied, then looked up from his phone. "But there are always factions that will try to regain power. But Baal isn't part of the System Lord Allegiance. At least not anymore. He's dead."
"It's just one of his clones," Jackson said, taking out a small pad and making notes. "A few of them are still running around down here. Occasionally, one pops up and makes some trouble."
Peter opened his mouth to comment, but found he had no real reply to that. Looking around, he saw that Jones and Cruz seemed to be having similar reactions, while Neal's eyes were wide and his pursed lips were shaking as though he was trying to contain a laugh. Finally, the reforming criminal said, "So, basically, your life is a comic book, Ev?"
Lorne gave his cousin a smirk and drawled, "You have no idea."
"Back up a minute," Cruz said, peering at Lorne with a puzzled expression. "What's a Replicator?"
Jackson opened his mouth to tell her, but Lorne caught him in the side with a soft elbow jab. "A story for a less public place," he said, then nodded toward the door. "I think that curator you wanted is here."
Indeed, a man who looked like the stereotypical image of a museum employee had wandered into the room. Probably well into his sixties, he was on the shorter side, a bit round about the middle but possessed of a full head of gray hair that was well on it's way to white. His tweed jacket had patched elbows and both his plaid shirt and pleated khakis were ill fitting, far too large. Like Jackson, he wore glasses, but instead of the flattering rectangular frames, the older man's looked like Harry Potter's round spect
"Didn't you used to have that outfit, Daniel?" Lorne teased quietly, his friendly mocking tone similar to Neal's.
The archaeologist scrunched his nose in thought, then shrugged. "Probably. You know, after I descended, Sam and Janet took me shopping. I think I picked about 5 pieces of clothing that I own now."
"Huh," Lorne replied. "That explains a lot."
They quieted as the curator approached, looking confused and more than a little worried. Apparently, their little cluster screamed 'Federal Agents'…or at least some of them did. Neal, in his full rat pack suit, and Lorne and Jackson, in denim and leather, weren't as standard issue, but Jones and Cruz were fresh enough to still have Quantico stamped on their foreheads. At least, that was Peter's more seasoned opinion.
"Are you the agents Gretchen said were looking for me?"
No wonder the poor guy looked nervous. He thought the FBI was looking for him personally, probably not something that happened a lot in his day to day life.
"I'm Agent Peter Burke," he said, extending a hand to the skittish academic. "We actually just had a few questions about a particular piece, which might be relevant in an ongoing investigation. You are?"
"Doctor Clarence Jorgenson, head curator for this department," the man said, puffing up a bit with pride. "But you must be mistaken. The objects in this collection are thousands of years old. How could they be related to your investigation?"
Peter paused, then indicated Jackson with his hand. "Maybe it'd be easier for Dr. Jackson to explain."
Lorne and Jackson had brought the Air Force and aliens into the investigation, so the least they could do is help deal with the museums red tape. And God knew, priceless antiquities were surrounded by as much of the stuff as any other item of value. Maybe more so.
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TBC