Sitting in the dark corner of the bar he watched his target from the corner of his eye. Through the haze of cigarette smoke he saw the slight, non-descript man down his fourth of the amber colored drink in one swallow and order another before the ice had stopped tinkling in the glass. He’d been observing the banker for four nights now and his routine remained constant.

Between a quarter to eight and eight he arrived, sliding into the third booth from the front. After ordering his first drink he opened the hard leather case he carried and removed a paper file, giving the impression that he was working, however, the watcher had not once seen him actually peruse the document. A second item was pulled out; a black rectangular device. He pressed a few buttons and placed it against his ear, speaking into what the watcher assumed was a voice transmitter. By the time his beverage was placed before him the communication was concluded. He gulped the drink, ordered a second, hit a few more buttons and began the process all over again. In the space of an hour, seven of the alcoholic beverages were consumed. Upon finishing the seventh, the banker returned both file and communication device to the case, left payment on the table, and rose unsteadily to his feet.

The observer could have acted at anytime during the previous nights, fulfilling his assignment early. Yet his orders were to wait until the others were in place, the three of them acting as simultaneously as possible. Even so, his task had a wider window of opportunity than his comrades. The other two would only have a few seconds in which to act.

Like clockwork, the now drunk man stumbled to the back of the establishment, entering the door marked with a generic symbol of a man. After his side trip to the facilities the man would totter to his vehicle and begin an erratic journey to his residence.

To ensure the success of his mission, he had determined now was the best time to strike. Leaving his own payment for the liquor he had consumed, he followed his prey. Silently he approached the banker, who was relieving himself at one of the open metal cubicles, leaning heavily against the divider to support himself. "You are William Mahone?"

At the deep baritone directly behind him, the drunken man gave a start, glancing over his shoulder. "Jesus, man ya’ almost made me piss on my shoes. They’re Italian leather!"

"You are William Mahone?" he repeated, stepping closer, blocking the man’s path should he think himself capable of escape.

"Yeah. What’s it to ya’?" he slurred, fumbling with his zip.

Without another word he placed a hand on either side of the banker’s already turned head and gave a sharp ninety degree twist. The crunch of the man’s neck breaking was felt more than heard. He let the now lifeless body drop to the floor, spun on his heel and calmly walked from the rest room, through the bar and out onto the street.

Mission complete. But just to be sure Fate didn’t make an ironic play, he set off at a brisk pace to the major intersection three blocks away. The timer, hanging from a chain around his neck and tucked beneath his shirt, increased its tempo against his skin just as he reached the set of traffic lights. He halted on the corner, his eyes scanning the vehicles lined up waiting patiently for the lights to change. There were two with the additional ornament above the windshield, of a rectangular light with the word ‘TAXI’ printed across it.

He dismissed the first of the vehicles after identifying the passenger in the back seat as a male. A male pedestrian of unhealthy size was blocking his view of the back half of the second, forcing him to crane his neck around him. A glimmer of a smile touched his lips when he did manage to witness the passenger. A blonde woman stared out the window. Her unfocussed gaze told him that she was lost in her own thoughts, not seeing the hustle and bustle of the people on the sidewalk. He shifted position to get a better look. He was positive that this was the correct woman, the resemblance to her daughter was unmistakable. The woman’s sapphire eyes were suddenly sparked with determination and she tapped the driver’s chair to get his attention. He could not hear her words but the driver nodded. As she sat back against the seat, the lights changed to green and the line of cars surged into motion, the taxi with the blonde passenger the first to cross the intersection. He watched the vehicle drive away until it was indistinguishable in the distance. The device beneath his shirt was now still, the countdown concluded. Now he could report with confidence to his God that the woman had survived.

He snuck up the stairs, darting furtive looks all around him. His gaze fell to one of the photos hung on the wall. The old woman’s face, that he’d always considered friendly before, now seemed to gaze down at him in disapproval, as though she knew what he was planning.

"I just wanna look, Grandma," he whispered defensively. He slipped into his parents’ bedroom and tiptoed to the window. He could see his mom pottering in the garden, snapping off dead leaves and twigs from the bushes, pulling out the occasional weed that dared to grow in the flowerbeds. The chime of the grandfather clock downstairs signaled the half hour. He’d have to be quick. Dad would be home soon and he really, really shouldn’t be in here.

Very carefully, so as not to scrape the legs against the polished floors, he moved the little round stool from his mom’s dressing table and positioned it next to the wardrobe. He clambered up, having to stand on tiptoe to reach the top. His hand patted around the recess until he felt the coldness of metal. The box was heavier than he expected but he managed to lift it, then clutching it to his chest he dropped to the floor. He plopped himself into a cross-legged position and sat the tin in front of him, taking a moment to listen to his Jiminy Cricket.

Dad said everyone had a little voice in their heads that told right from wrong, just like Pinocchio. Right now his conscience was fairly yelling at him to stop, put the box back and go do his homework. Normally he paid attention to that voice, but today his curiosity was by far louder. Dad was always quoting some sort of saying, something about curiosity and a cat, usually followed by a second one about the cat having lots of lives. He was pretty sure that his dad meant that it was a good thing to be curious. Well, good or bad, his inquisitiveness would not be denied this time.

He’d known about the box and its contents for a few weeks now. Had seen his dad cleaning it late one night when he had gotten up to have a drink of water. Unseen in the shadows, he’d watched his dad carefully polishing the metal, the sharp smell of the oil wafting to his nose and enticing him like a drug. He had taken note of where his dad put the key to the lockbox and then hurried back to bed. It had taken him this long to pluck up the courage to do this. Besides the obvious ‘no-no’ of playing with the box, which he knew darn well he wasn’t supposed to be doing, there was also the other transgression of sneaking around in his parents’ room. And this was the second time he’d done it today. The first had been when he ‘borrowed’ the key from the bedside table and had scampered back out again, heart pounding, scared to death that his mom would come upon him and blow a gasket.

Holding his breath, he inserted the key into the lock and twisted it. The lock clicking open sounded awfully loud to his ears. He paused, positive his mom would have heard it, and if not that, then the hard rat-a-tat-tat of his heart.

All he heard was his mom’s voice, then the low rumble of a man’s tone. Dad was home! His mom gave a laugh that was abruptly cut off. The boy rolled his eyes. He knew what that meant. He didn’t understand why his dad loved kissing his mom so much, but on this particular day he was grateful for their icky past time. It would give him plenty of time to have a look and put it back and no one would be the wiser.

He flipped open the lid and curiously studied the contents. Frowned at the two pieces of black metal. He’d seen enough movies to know that it wasn’t right. Had seen enough movies to know how to ‘fix’ it. Gingerly he picked up the larger of the two; feeling the roughness of the handgrip. Holy smokes, it was heavy. He turned it upside-down to see the hole in the base of the handle. Yep, the other bit went in there!

The boy altered his position to clasp it between his knees. It was awkward to hold the L-shaped device this way, the longer end dug into his chest and it was cold against his skin, but his hands weren’t big enough to hold it and slide in the small rectangle thingy the TV shows called a clip. Picking up the second piece, he contemplated which end should go in first. One end was closed off. On the other he could see the shiny brass of the first of the small cylinders that tapered at one end, fitted firmly inside. That end went in first, he was pretty sure.

Brow puckered in concentration, he inserted the clip, having to push quite hard before he heard the metallic click telling him it was locked in place. He didn’t realize the pressure of his knees and the force of his efforts to insert the magazine, shifted the position of a small switch on the side. Even if he had noticed, he wouldn’t have comprehended the significance.

Immensely pleased with himself, the boy held the butt in a grip taught to him by TV, pretending to be Mad Murdoch from ‘The A-Team’, James Bond and Billy the Kid. He studiously ignored the voice screaming in his head that Dad would pitch a fit if he saw him now. Two weeks ago he had caught him playing with a water pistol that Jeff Eisen had given to him and boy had he been mad. He’d never seen his dad so angry before and that was just over a toy!

Still caught up in his game of firing bullets at the bad guys, little fingers poised on the trigger, not knowing that due to his dad’s care, it was well oiled with a hair trigger, he tilted the nose upwards to peer down the barrel of the gun. I wonder how loud a gunshot really sounds? Were the bullets really as fast as what they were on TV?

"Child, you should not be playing with that."

The unfamiliar voice made the boy jump. His head shot upwards, his wrists automatically straightening, angling the gun away from himself to the sound of the intruder. The biggest man he’d ever seen was calmly watching him, looking like he was about to climb through the side window. In his fright of being caught and from the menacing sight of the stranger, the boy unconsciously squeezed the gun tightly, his fingers depressing the trigger.

The resulting gunshot made his ears ring. It was so loud he barely heard his mom’s horrified scream and his dad’s panicked voice yell out his name.

"Charlie!"

In the few seconds it took for his parents to race upstairs, the scary man had leapt down from the window to the ground below and had disappeared.

When his dad burst into the room there was a moment of heart stopping silence as father and son stared at each other, both faces drained of color in fright. Then in two steps his dad had crossed the room and yanked the gun away from Charlie’s rigid fingers.

"Charlie, what the hell were you thinking?" he demanded. Jack gripped him by the shoulders, and after a quick assessment that he wasn’t injured gave him a rough shake. "A gun is not a toy!"

"I…I’m sorry…but there was a man…" Charlie pointed a shaky finger to the window. "…A really big man and he was trying to climb in…"

"A man?" Torn between the mad panic of his heart to throttle his son and hug him close simultaneously, and the urge to protect his family from intruders, he hesitated.

Sara appeared in the doorway, having caught the tale end of the two second conversation. She’d been slower to react than Jack, fearful of the consequences of the gunshot. Hearing Charlie’s almost hysterical babbling had made her knees weaken in relief. She saw Jack’s indecision. "Go. We’re not going anywhere."

Jack gave a curt nod, then turned a stern look to his son. "We’ll talk about this later, young man."

Charlie hung his head even as his mom pulled him into a rib-breaking hug.

Jack dashed from the house to do a scout around, not entirely sure that Charlie hadn’t just made up the mother-of-all excuses to sidestep the issue of playing with the gun. He held the pistol tightly in the basic two hand hold that he rarely used. Normally he was more comfortable with a single grip, however at the moment his hands were shaking too much from his son’s close call. He’d be lucky if he could hit the broad side of a barn let alone the moving target of an intruder.

He could feel the gentle pulse of the tiny device against his chest, warning him that the event was drawing near. The timer that had been counting down for two weeks by Earth’s measure, was hidden beneath the overalls he had obtained. The uniform he’d stripped from one of the cleaning staff whose bad luck it was to be the approximate size of the Jaffa. The body of the unfortunate cleaner was concealed in one of the storage cupboards and would undoubtedly be found shortly by one of the museum’s real staff. It mattered not to the Jaffa. Within five minutes his task would be complete and he could return through the mirror. The warrior wondered what he would return home to.

The beat of the timer quickened, returning his mind to the situation at hand. Time to set things in motion. He nudged the metal bucket with wheels across the floor in the direction of the small boy lying on his stomach in the corner of the spacious exhibition gallery. Swished the mop back and forth pretending to swab the marble tiles.

Daniel shut the textbook on Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs with a sigh. Propping his chin in his hand, he neatly finished the last of the copying exercises his dad had given him, then also flapped the exercise pad closed. He peeked over his glasses at the bustle of activity across the room. His parents were directing the forklift driver on where to place the capstone of an antechamber entrance. The Egyptian government had allowed the monument that had bid entrance to a temple of Atum to be part of the exhibit, and his parents had been given the important job of reassembling the ancient relic.

Oh, goodie! They were almost done. His mom had promised that if he was good and they finished the display on time, they’d take him to the movies. He’d only been once before, since most of his young life had been spent in countries where it was a luxury to have running water and electricity, let alone a movie theatre. Looking for something to do to while away the time until his parents were ready, Daniel tipped over his satchel and let the contents fall to the blanket his mom had set up like a picnic. Books and games scattered every which way.

It had never occurred to Daniel that the complex textbooks were anything unusual compared to the mix of comics that were more ‘suitable’ for a child his age; that most adults wouldn’t be able to understand the theories and philosophies detailed within, even if they had been printed in English. Adults had used the term ‘gifted’ but Daniel didn’t quite get why it was used in relation to himself. After all, a book was a book was a book, wasn’t it? All the boy knew was that he was fascinated by the written word, whatever language it was in, and his mind eagerly soaked up whatever it read. Except for today. Right now all he could focus on was hot buttery popcorn, and if he could wheedle it, maybe an ice-cream; just him and his parents sitting in a darkened theatre watching the giant silver screen.

He rummaged through the pile of books and games until he found what he was looking for. A small rectangle box with short legs, each one carved in the shape of a different animal. He gave the handle on the side a wiggle, for the drawer tended to stick, then carefully set up the wooden pieces at the starting point on the board. Five jackals and five hounds slid easily into the holes at the short end. Nimble fingers fished into the back of the drawer to find the three coins that would act as dice. He liked playing this game, though it was hardly an intellectual exercise. His mom had taught him the rules and the two of them quite often played a round together. Daniel loved the simple game of chance, loved the idea that he was playing a game that the Egyptians had played thousands of years ago. He jiggled the coins in his hands and released them, quickly tallying up the score. Yes! A five on my first go! The Gods’ luck must be with me today! He moved the first of the dog-shaped pieces from the holding section of the board to the first of the active section. He scooped up the coins again and as he dropped them a shadow fell over him.

He blinked up to see a man looking down at him. The New York Museum of Art logo on his overalls top pocket and the mop he was leaning against, identified him as one of the museum cleaners, even if Daniel did not recognize the man himself. And he was sure he would have remembered this man if he’d seen him before. He was huge, as in the Incredible Hulk huge. Plus he was wearing a bandana around his head like his dad and mom wore when they were on a dig. He smiled brightly at him. "Hi."

The giant ignored the greeting, studying the board game.

"Wanna play?" Daniel asked hopefully. It was always more fun with two players. "You can be the Sab, ‘cause I’ve already started with the Tsm. Or we can start again if you want, and you can be the Tsm."

"So young, and yet you learn the language of the Gods," the Jaffa mused. He wondered if Lord Ba’al knew how early Doctor Jackson had begun his education of the Goa’uld.

Daniel’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement. "You know what ‘Sab’ and ‘Tsm’ mean?" The boy knew it was rare that anyone outside the archaeological circle in which his parents lived knew any words of Ancient Egyptian.

"Indeed I do," the Jaffa responded automatically. Then cursed his idiocy at the boy’s unexpected reaction.

In a flash Daniel was on his feet and running towards the exhibit being set up, calling animatedly to his parents. "Mom! Dad!" He dodged around the other workers and scrambled beneath a convenient tunnel of stone that had yet to be shifted to its correct place in the display.

"Danny, what did we say about you being near the work area?" His dad kept his eyes on the lowering capstone, though his hand reached out to ruffle his son’s hair.

Daniel circled around to his mom to escape the babying caress. He was too old for that now. He was eight! It seemed neither of his parents recognized his manly age, because much to his disgust his mom also reached down to tousle his hair. "That it’s dangerous and I shouldn’t be here," he recited in a whoosh, eager to get beyond the admonishment and get to the reason for his disobedience. "But, Mom, Dad…"

"No buts, Danny." Melburn managed to catch his son around the waist and swung him up into arms, intending to carry him beyond the safety ropes. "It’s not safe."

Daniel squirmed at the indignity at being hoisted around like a baby in front of all the adults. "But Dad…" He wiggled his hands free so that he could place them on his dad’s cheeks and squeezed lightly to stop any further rebuke. It had the desired effect though it did squash his dad’s lips into an imitation of a fish, making the boy giggle. "Dad, the cleaner, he knows Ancient Egyptian!"

Melburn cast a glance at the man, who appeared quite anxious at Daniel’s mad dash into the construction area. He was surprised and interested by the comment, but he didn’t really have the time at the moment to strike up a conversation with the man. "Well, anybody can learn Ancient Egyptian, Danny. The knowledge is there for all."

Daniel whispered co-conspiratorially. "But he’s the first one I’ve found."

"He’s not an artifact to be dug up." He lowered Daniel over the rope barrier.

"I know that. But he’s someone like us…someone who knows about ancient stuff."

Melburn saw the pure, innocent delight in his son’s eyes at finding the ‘treasure’ of another person outside their archaeological click who shared their passion of ancient history. "Tell you what, why don’t you invite him to have lunch with us? Mom and I will only be few more minutes."

"Really? Radical!" Daniel ran across to the room, calling out to the cleaner still standing by his discarded play area. "Dad says to invite you to lunch with us. Can you come?"

The Jaffa schooled his features, hiding the fear of how close he’d come to failing his mission. The timer was almost a continual vibration against his skin, he only had a few seconds in which to work. He grabbed the scrawny child by the front of his shirt. "You dare to speak the language of the Gods?" he bellowed.

Daniel gave a squawk of shock at the unexpected attack. "Hey, let me down!" He struggled against the iron grip that was now lifting him clear off the ground.

From his periphery vision he saw the two archaeologists’ heads shoot up at the sound of their child in distress.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Melburn shouted, already scrambling across the exhibit towards them.

Claire was right on his heels. "Let him go!"

The Jaffa still ranting on the top of his lungs continued to shake the child in his hands, the child that as a man would become one of the key instigators of the demise of the Gods. How easy it would be to snap his neck now when he was so small and defenseless. But that was not his mission on this day.

The parents were halfway across the room when there was a thunderous crash that drowned out the cries of the boy, yells of the mother and father and the bellowing Jaffa.

The Jaffa instantly dropped the young Daniel Jackson and sprinted for the doorway, his task complete.

Claire reached her son first, cradling his shaking body in her arms. "Honey, are you okay?"

Daniel nodded, fighting back tears. "Why’d he do that?"

Melburn, seeing that while Daniel was scared he was alright, tried to go after the crazy man who had attacked his son, however the throng of people surging into the room blocked his path. He swung around to find out what had caused the commotion. The crash of a second ago hadn’t registered in his brain until now, his focus being entirely on the safety of his son. The carnage he beheld caused his knees to buckle. He slid down to the floor next to his wife, who still hugging Daniel to her, was also staring at the exhibit.

The chain holding the capstone in the air had snapped. The ton weight had crashed down, knocking the support stones over. The ancient entrance, where Melburn and Claire had been standing beneath just a few seconds ago, was now nothing more than chunks of rubble.

The two archaeologists shared stunned expressions.

Claire’s gaze darted to the exit where the crazed cleaner had disappeared, then back to her husband. "If it wasn’t for him attacking Danny…"