Blood Ties

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 On Daniel's first visit, the people had been ruled by fear; this time the fear had been replaced by chaos.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.

Dr. Tariq Zahwas had long been one of the most charis matic and passionate champions of his country's legacy as the birthplace of human civilization. In the weeks before the Gulf War, he'd convinced the Ba'ath leadership to have the bulk of the Museum's collection moved to secret underground bunkers. During the next nine years, while the Museum had remained closed to visitors, Tariq had continued cataloguing thousands of irreplaceable artifacts, including the parchments and clay tablets that had brought Daniel to see him today.

Tariq's dedication to the Museum had made him an institution in his own right. The idea that he would even consider leaving was incomprehensible. "I'm sorry, Tariq," Daniel said. "I don't understand."

Under his thick gray mustache, Tariq's smile was tinged with resignation. His hand closed around Daniel's shoulder. "Come. We have time for a coffee. You can tell me all about what has happened in your life over these many years. Mine…" He made a listless gesture. "You know what there is to know."

"Apparently not all of it," Daniel answered quietly, tipping his head toward the open box.

They were rescued from the awkward silence by the sergeant standing behind him. "Sir, our orders were to bring you here and then back to base. I can't allow you to go out on the streets."

"That was not my intention," Tariq assured the Marine, his gaze sharpening. "I am well aware that lingering on Haifa Street is not safe for anyone, let alone an American."

The sergeant accepted the mild rebuke without comment. Daniel followed the Museum director down the hall, the soldiers trailing them by a few steps, to a communal staff area. A half-dozen employees seated at a table pointedly cut short their animated conversation. Daniel assumed they were reacting to the sudden military presence, but their gazes as they rose to leave the room were directed instead at Tariq.

When the archeologists were alone-or as alone as they ever would be with a quartet of well-armed men keeping a respectful distance-Tariq moved to the coffee pot on the counter and poured two cups. "Five years ago, some months before the current conflict began, I once again had the majority of the Museum's most valuable pieces moved to the vaults under the western side of the city. As soon as it became clear that war was inevitable, I then had thousands of additional artifacts moved to secret bunkers elsewhere in the country. My entire staff swore on the Quran that they would never reveal the location of those bunkers." He handed a cup to Daniel. "Your government kept its word that the Museum would not be targeted, even though the Republican Guard engaged your forces from within these walls. Of course, the lootings were almost as bad as a bomb would have been. Every office and safe was ransacked; fires were lit throughout the building."

"I know you've worked incredibly hard to assist Interpol and our FBI in locating many of the stolen items."

Tariq nodded. "Forty thousand manuscripts and several thousand artifacts have been recovered. The pieces hidden earlier remain so, protected by devoted servants of history. We dare not return them to the Museum because of the ongoing danger."

Most of this wasn't news to Daniel, but the man deserved better than impatience. "If you'll forgive me for being blunt, Tariq, that doesn't tell me why you're leaving."

With a heavy sigh, Tariq rubbed thick fingers, calloused from hundreds of hours spent in Iraq's innumerable archeological sites, against his mustache. "I am. unpopular with the current regime, for several reasons," he said finally. "I was a member of the Ba' ath Party. While I am hardly alone among former government officials in that regard, I also have the less common distinction of being a Christian. The people who have been appointed to the new Ministry of Antiquities have no understanding of archeology. Being devout Muslims, they wish to focus our limited resources on the country's Islamic heritage."

Suddenly, Daniel understood Tariq's quiet outrage, and quickly suppressed a surge of anger welling in his own gut. Iraq's history encompassed six thousand years-longer, in fact, for it truly was the cradle of civilization and thus contained the heritage of all mankind-not only the thirteen hundred years since the time of Mohammed.

After he took a sip from his mug, Tariq continued, "I also worry for the safety of my family. In the past month, many of my staff have been killed, some apparently with burning chemical weapons."

Daniel had spent years cultivating a pokerfaced expression, but it was of little use when swallowing overly strong coffee. A painful gulp resulted. Fortunately, Tariq seemed not to notice. "People are blaming the American military," he said. "I believe otherwise. My staff swore to keep secret the whereabouts of our hidden artifacts, and yet we revealed the sites to U.S. authorities. I fear that fundamentalists are using a covert store of chemical weapons to seek revenge for our perceived treason." He shook his head. "Whatever the motive may be, I have been threatened quite enough for one lifetime. I have accepted a position in Rome and will take my family there as soon as possible."

"I can't blame you," Daniel said honestly. "I must ask you for something before you go, though. There's a set of tablets-it's very important that I find them. I'm hoping they're in one of your secret storage locations, and because time's a factor I'm also hoping you can point me right to them."

"Of course I will do my best to assist." Tariq set down his cup, clasped his hands together on the table and examined him with interest. "What is it that you seek'?"

"The original Sumerian King List and the Gilgamesh. They were initially found with manuscripts whose dates never made sense."

"I recall cataloguing those items for storage. The fact that no one has ever been able to translate the unique writing on the manuscripts seemed significant" Tariq's expression sug gested that a good news, bad news scenario was coming. "A facility in Ramadi holds these pieces. I can show you how to find them. How you reach Ramadi…in that, I cannot help you."

Dredging up a mental map, Daniel felt an immediate tug of war between anxiety and frustration. The capital of Al Anbar province, Ramadi was about ninety miles from Baghdad. Ramadi itself was hardly considered safe-and to get there they'd have to go through Fallujah, widely recognized as one of the most dangerous cities in the most incendiary region on Earth.

Piece of cake, right? As much as he understood the rationale, he was starting to resent General Landry's reluctance in allowing them to use a jumper.

Tariq led Daniel back to his office. He printed out a map and scrawled a series of letters and digits in the comer. "There are over two hundred containers in that location. This is the catalog number of the one you need."

"Sirs, we're running behind," the sergeant broke in. "Procedure dictates that our convoys not stay too long in any one place."

Of course. Daniel exhaled a forceful breath. He wanted to be able to tell his old friend and mentor just how critical this information was, to explain that someone had in fact translated the Ancient language and that those tablets might hold the key to saving innumerable lives, possibly on several planets, if they contained useful notes on Lilith's work. Since he could say none of those things, he simply offered a weak smile. "Thank you, Tariq. You have no idea how much you've helped."

Thankfully, Tariq didn't push. "Some day you will visit Rome and tell me," he said simply. "It has done me good to see you, Daniel. People who truly understand what it is we do…they are becoming harder and harder to find in a world that seems to have forgotten that our future is firmly rooted in our past."

The Museum director walked with his guest down the front steps of the building. The soldiers mounted their vehicles while he shook Daniel's hand again.

"Give my best to your family," Daniel told him sincerely, then climbed into the rear seat of the first vehicle.

As the convoy pulled away from the curb, he spared a moment to consider the future of the Museum now that it had lost its primary advocate. The end of an era-

An explosion rocked the vehicle, lifting the back end and slamming Daniel's head into the seat in front of him.

"Shit-IED!" bellowed the sergeant. "Go, go, go!"

Improvised explosive device, Daniel's scrambled brain provided. The driver jammed on the accelerator, only to brake again when a truck blocked the road ahead. Vision swimming, Daniel tried to turn around to see what had happened. All he could make out through the choking black smoke was a severed leg and a charred, unidentifiable heap on the steps where Tariq had stood.

Daniel had only a split second to wonder who had been the target of the ambush before a second impact threw him out of his seat and awareness was ripped away.