"Mr. Sandburg? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Blair Sandburg smiled at the man standing in the doorway, any distraction preferable to the article he was being forced to co-write. He happily pushed it aside and waved to the empty chair in front on his desk.

"Sure, have a seat."

The tall, young man entered, stumbling over the rock placed to hold the door open. He dropped into the seat with an apologetic grin.

"Sorry, `bout that. My parents couldn't afford finishing school," he joked.

Blair laughed. "No sweat," he said. "There's a rumor that I brought it back from the Andes, but it's really from a hole behind Hargrove, maintenance dug up the waterline last spring and I snagged it for the job of door prop. So, what can I do for you? You're Sam, right?"

"Right, you work with the police, right?"

Blair's smile waned. "Yes, I ride with a detective in Major Crimes... why?"

Sam pulled out a small box and set it on the table. "I was hoping you could listen to this and give me some advice."

Blair recognized it as a miniature recorder. He'd seen several of his students use similar ones in his class to record his lectures. Wondering what he was about to hear, Blair leaned forward and crossed his arms on the desk to wait.

Jim thumbed the button for his cell phone.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim. Whatcha doing?"

Jim cradled the small phone against his shoulder as he uncuffed the woman he'd just transported to Cascade's main jail. She made a show of rubbing her wrists while shooting the tall cop a hateful glance. Jim rolled his eyes; glad he was transferring her custody to the jail staff.

"Nothing, H and I just finished the Jackson case," Jim said, returning his cuffs to his pocket and handing the paperwork to the booking sergeant.

"Good, can you swing by my office? I have someone I want you to meet," Blair asked.

Fifteen minutes later, Jim entered the small office that doubled as a storage room for the anthropology department at Rainier University. A tall, thin student with thick glasses stood, looking at Jim nervously. Blair came around his desk to make the introductions.

"Jim, this is Sam Abernathy. Sam, this is Jim Ellison; he's the detective I was telling you about. Jim, Sam has a tape recording you should hear." Blair perched on the edge of his desk while Sam rewound the small tape recorder and hit the play button.

"Uh... it's kind of noisy for a few seconds. I was at the bus station yesterday when I recorded this," Sam explained.

Jim waited as the tape played sounds of people calling out to each other, an announcement for a departing bus was made, a young child was crying. Jim raised his eyebrows, giving Blair a look that said, `You brought me over here for this'?

Blair waved a hand, mouthing the word `wait' as the tape played on. Then the noise seemed to settle down as two male voices came out of the small box.

"Just like we agreed, half now and half when the job's done."

"Fine, you get me the blue prints like I asked?"

"It's in there. Just remember to make it look accidental."

"Look, you hired the best."

Another announcement for an arriving bus blared over a loudspeaker. Sam pressed a button and ended the recording. "That's all of it."

Jim eyed the young man carefully. "Did you make that tape?"

Sam nodded, swallowing hard before replying. "Yeah, I run the web site called `Overheard Quotes'. I was getting some sound bites for my next posting."

"Overheard Quotes? What kind of site is that?" Jim asked.

"It's real interesting, Jim. It started off as a study in human behavior and it's turned into a cool site where actual conversations are posted on the web. Some really funny stuff, man. Every major campus has one. I first heard about one like it down in Berkeley.

"Sounds like invasion of privacy to me," Jim said with a frown. "Did you see the men talking?"

"No, the recorder was on voice activation, that way I don't have to hold it. I got busy helping a lady with her luggage. I didn't even know I had taped it until I reviewed it. It sounded strange, so I thought I'd let Mr. Sandburg hear it," Sam replied, then stood straight, looking Jim in the eye bravely. "I'm not trying to invade anyone's right to privacy, I only record in public places. I checked with the Law department, and it's not illegal in Washington."

"What do you think, Jim? Doesn't it sound like a crime about to be committed?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, Chief, it does." Jim held out his hand. "I'd like to borrow your recorder and play this for my Captain. I'm going to need to keep the tape, but I'll have Sandburg return the recorder to you as soon as I can."

"Sure, I wasn't sure what to do, it just sounded too hinky, you know? Just like something out of a movie," Sam said handing the small box over.

"I'll go with you, Jim. I'm finished for the day anyway." Blair gathered up some papers and stuffed them into his backpack. "I promise your recorder will be safe, man."

Sam waved a hand in the air. "No sweat. I've got a back up that I can use. I just hope you guys can use the tape. I'd hate it if something bad happens and I had a chance to see it stopped and didn't."

Once Jim and Blair reached the station, most of the detectives in Major Crimes had gone home for the day. The light was still on in Captain Simon Banks' office. The large man answered their knock with a gruff acknowledgment, returning a framed photograph he'd been holding to the corner of his desk. Curious to see what Simon had been looking at, he recognized the young man in the photo as Simon's teenage son, Daryl.

"We've got a possible crime on tape, sir. I'd like to look into it, might be big," Jim said without preamble.

"What's going on with the Jackson case?" Simon asked. "You've got a full plate right now, Jim."

"I had enough PC to book the manager. Brown and I arrested her. He's already dropped the report off with the DA."

"Gee, maybe I'd like to be included in the loop next time, detective. I was under the impression that I'm your supervisor." Simon commented sourly.

"Wow, what's wrong, Simon? You're like... real crabby today," Blair asked.

Jim rolled his eyes. Leave it to Blair to state the obvious. The guy probably waves red bandanas in front of bulls for kicks. Before Simon could gather enough steam to vent a scalding retort, Jim set the recorder down and hit the play button.

"Listen to this, sir."

When the tape finished, Simon leaned back in his seat and pursed his lips in thought, his earlier irritation gone. "Where did this come from?"

"A student was taping conversations at the bus station yesterday. Apparently he has some Internet site that he puts them on." Jim shrugged as if to say `who knows why' when Simon looked at him in surprise. "He didn't see the two men talking, but I think if I tried, I might be able to pick out some more conversation at the end."

"Really? Wow, I didn't think of that, Jim. You heard something else?" Blair asked, catapulting off the conference table he used as a seat to stand by Jim's side.

"Yeah. I thought maybe you could talk me through it," Jim said, looking down into Blair's excited blue eyes.

"Sure! Let's wait till we get home, I want you to be in a comfortable environment before we try," Blair suggested happily. "I've been thinking about using aroma therapy. It might help you focus."

"Okay, whatever, Chief," Jim said returning his attention to his supervisor. "So, what do you think?"

Simon nodded. "Go ahead, but I want a copy of that Jackson case report on my desk before you leave today, Ellison."

"I'm going to print it right now, sir," Jim promised.

"You know, I think a few scented candles in here would help you with your temper, Simon," Blair mused, glancing around the office, oblivious of Mount St. Simon getting ready to erupt.

"Come on, Chief," Jim said quickly, hooking a hand around Blair's arm and towing him to the door. "Thanks again, sir. I'll get you that report."

Once he parked Blair in an empty chair, he powered up his computer. "Chief, we've got to talk about your survival skills."

"What?" Blair questioned; eyes wide in bewilderment. "I'm only saying Simon is wound up tight. God knows what his blood pressure is like."

"Just do yourself a favor, Doctor Health-nut. When you see Simon looking like an enraged bear, you'd do best by keeping quiet," Jim advised. He found Henry's supplemental report and quickly added it to his own, then sent it to the print domain located in the adjacent room.

"Jim, Simon's our friend. He's not going to bite my head off for just giving some friendly advice," Blair insisted with a stubborn look.

Shaking his head, Jim stood with a sigh. "He's also my boss, which means he can make my life miserable if he wants to. So keep your `friendly advice' to yourself when we're at the station and he's in a mood, okay?"

Blair slumped in his chair with an expression of reluctant acceptance. "Yeah, whatever. I still say some scented candles and prune juice would help."

Jim paused from retrieving the printed report, turning to Blair with a look of surprise. "Prune juice?"

Blair nodded. "I think he's constipated or something, it would explain his foul mood. He doesn't eat enough fiber. A man his age..."

Holding up a hand, Jim interrupted with a look of horror. "Do not, I repeat, do NOT mention the words `prune' or `constipation' to Simon, period. You got that? I like my job, Sandburg. I don't want to end up back on patrol for the rest of my career."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Okay, I got it already."

"I mean it, Chief," Jim repeated, pointing a finger at Blair. "Not. One. Word."

"Chill already, Jim," Blair said, holding both hands out. "I promise."

The old man dozing on the sidewalk was close enough to the street entrance of Jim's building that one had to step carefully as not to tread on the man's feet. Jim frowned. It was too cold for anyone to be sleeping on the streets, let alone some guy wearing nothing but a surplus army field jacket for a coat.

"Oh, man. He's gonna freeze out here, Jim," Blair said softly at his side.

"Yeah, let's see if we can send him to that shelter on Sunset," Jim said. "It's less than six blocks away."

"Maybe I can drive him over."

"Let's see how sober he is first, Chief," Jim suggested. "You don't need a drunk swinging on you while you drive, just because he's fighting some demon only he can see."

As they neared, Jim used his sentinel vision to pierce the dim light, taking in every detail. The man's clothes were dirty, but sturdy looking. In fact, Jim would guess them to be expensive brand names, judging by the quality of the material. No stench of alcohol drifted off the still figure, his breathing and heart rate seemed normal.

"I think he's just asleep," Jim said with surprise.

"Let's get him awake, maybe he's sick." Blair leaned down to gently shake the man's knee before stepping back out of range. "Hey, fella! Can you wake up for us?"

With a grunt, the body shifted and a gloved hand reached for the thick wool scarf wrapped around the man's mouth and nose. He looked about seventy, with a head of silver hair, three day old stubble of a beard and robin-egg blue eyes that blinked awake. He sat up, revealing a battered looking duffle bag hidden under his body.

"CJ?" Jim gasped.

"Jimmy?" the man asked, his voice strong and rough sounding, like someone fighting a cold. "About time you got home. I've been waiting for more than an hour."

Jim knew his mouth was open, he could feel the cool air chilling the back of his throat, but for the life of him, he had forgotten how to form a single word.

Blair moved forward, assisting as the old man struggled to stand. "Hey, easy, man. Let me help."

CJ nodded his thanks, towering over the younger man by a good six inches. "Thanks, I get stiff if the ground's cold, real nuisance. Let me warn ya, kid, don't get old - it sucks."

Blair grinned widely and stuck out his hand. "I'm Blair Sandburg. You know Jim?"

"Not as well as I should," CJ commented before smiling fondly at Jim. "Although I remember him as being more vocal than this."

Jim snapped his jaw shut, irritated with himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," the old man said. "Wanted to see you. Stephen's on some business trip. William's home, but he's such a horse's ass, I wouldn't spend an hour with him if you paid me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Blair get that quizzical expression, his entire body poised, ready to ask a dozen questions. "Let's go inside," he offered, not wanting to continue this discussion outside.

Hell, he wasn't sure he wanted it period.

Up in the loft, CJ nodded in an approving manner as he surveyed the open apartment. "Nice place."

Jim rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache beginning to build as he hung his coat next to Blair's and headed for the kitchen. Blair had remained blissfully silent on the elevator ride up. Considering the palpable excitement vibrating off his roommate, Jim was impressed with the show of restraint.

"Are you thirsty?" Blair asked their guest. "We've got juice or milk. I can make coffee."

Jim noticed Blair had left out the imported beers they both enjoyed occasionally in the evenings. He probably still thought the old man was an alcoholic.

"I'd take a cup of coffee," CJ told him, standing in the center of the loft. "I'd sit, but I've got half the state of Nevada in these clothes. You mind if I use your shower, Jimmy?"

Jim waved a hand towards the bathroom. "Help yourself, towels in the cupboard. I'll have dinner made when you get out and we can talk."

"Thanks." CJ disappeared into the bathroom.

Blair appeared immediately at Jim's side.

"So? Who is this guy?" he hissed. "I mean... at first I thought he was just a bum, but - his eyes... that jaw line. He looks like you, man!"

Jim pulled out the steaks he'd intended to grill later in the week. Closing the old refrigerator's door gently, he nodded wearily. "Yeah, he's my grandfather, Chief. You think you could make that salad with the apples and walnuts?"

"Sure, Jim." Blair began to set out a cutting board, knife and a large bowl. "Wow, you're grandfather! What's his story? You acted like you'd been sucker punched when you saw him."

"It's just been a while, that's all," Jim told him. "He only seems to drop in when something bad happens."

"Bad?" Blair asked, pausing in the act of chopping cheese into small cubes.

Jim shrugged. "When my mom left home... fights with my old man. He showed up when I came home from Peru. Thought the army was going to arrest him," Jim remembered, smiling for the first time. His grandfather had irritated every officer on that base until he'd been allowed to see Jim. "The last time he dropped by was when Carolyn and I got divorced. Just showed up at work, took me to lunch and then left."

Blair returned to his salad preparations. "So, what was that about someone being a horse's ass?"

"William is my father, those two never got along." Jim lightly peppered the steaks and added a liberal dose of garlic salt before sliding them beneath the flames of the broiler.

"Why not?"

Jim grimaced. Knowing Blair wouldn't stop asking questions until his curiosity was satisfied, which frankly, could be considered a rare occasion. Jim just wasn't up to it tonight. His headache wouldn't go away, he could feel it gaining ground like an advancing enemy. "Look, Sandburg. Let's just drop it for now, okay? I just hope CJ's not staying past dinner. We've still got that tape recording to work on."

"Right, right. Sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to pry," Blair said with ease. "But, you got to admit... CJ is not what I'd expect for your grandfather." Blair paused and shot Jim with a disapproving look. "What do you mean `not staying past dinner', man? He was sleeping on the sidewalk!"

"Don't let the look fool you, Chief. CJ does alright for himself."

"You don't know that, you just said you haven't heard from him in years," Blair insisted, pointing the blade of the knife at Jim in reproach. "He can sleep in my room; I'll take the couch... Or I can make some calls and crash somewhere else."

"Sandburg, you're not leaving," Jim sighed. Hell, Blair was right. "Fine, he can have my bed. I'll take the couch."

In the end, CJ took the couch.

The old man was a different person when he emerged from his shower. His face, free from stubble, was more like the grandfather Jim remembered from his childhood, only older. His thick hair was completely peppered with silver and cut short. Wrinkles criss-crossed his face, converging near his eyes, with the distinctive cheekbones and high forehead that had obviously been passed down to Jim. He wore clean, but wrinkled clothes, no doubt dug out of his duffle bag. His tall frame still had serious muscle tone and he stood straight and true without the hunched over shoulders Jim had seen on other men his age. He moved like a man in his fifties, causing Jim to wonder if he would have as much luck with his own health in thirty years.

The steak and salad disappeared with alarming speed. Blair had located a pop-n-fresh can of breadsticks, adding the fresh baked bread to the table. CJ ate almost two-thirds of the batch. The dinner conversation was sparse, with Blair trying unsuccessfully to get the older man to talk about his travels. As soon as the meal was finished, CJ accepted it the invitation to spend the night and claimed the sofa as his own.

"CJ, Blair and I need to work on a project for a new case," Jim explained. "You okay by yourself for a few hours?"

His grandfather nodded, already turning the blankets and pillow that Blair had brought him into a nice bed. "Ignore me, Jimmy. I'm just going to sleep for twelve solid hours and catch up with you tomorrow. We'll talk, okay?"

Jim nodded, handing Blair's coat to the younger man and heading for the door. "Come on, Sandburg. Bring the recorder."

Blair trotted along beside his roommate, not surprised when Jim headed down the sidewalk towards the shops rather than the parking lot across the street. A few blocks away sat a coffee shop they sometimes frequented. If they were lucky the place would be empty.

"Jim, I'm not sure we'll be able to do this outside the loft, man."

"Let's give it a try. I'm not going to perform a dog and pony act in front of CJ," Jim said simply, checking over his shoulder before jogging across the street toward the coffee shop. "Come on."

Blair followed. "You're paying the jaywalking ticket, man."

Inside the stylish shop a fireplace snapped happily against the far wall, giving the place a warm, homey atmosphere. Comfortable chairs were scattered about with magazines and low tables that held chess game and playing cards. As suspected, the only occupant was a young woman wearing a formal looking white shirt, black dress pants and a hunter green apron that fell past her knees. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a single attractive ponytail. She looked up with a customary smile, which widened when she recognized them.

"Blair! Jim! Great! I needed someone to watch the shop for a few minutes. You two mind if I run to the ATM real quick? I need some cash to pay the babysitter."

"Go ahead, Julie. We'll watch the place," Blair offered. "Is the decaf fresh?"

She had the apron off and her purse in hand. "I just made it, enjoy. I'll be right back."

Jim held the door open as she left.

"Perfect, Jim. We've got the place to ourselves," Blair chortled as he fixed two cups of coffee and carried them to the chairs by the fireplace.

"Let's do this before some one comes in and asks for the flavor of the week, candy bar coffee," Jim ordered, taking the seat next to Blair's.

Blair cued the tape to the beginning. How was he going to talk Jim through this? The cop looked far from relaxed and was looking at Blair as if expecting a switch to be thrown and a solution to fall into place. Far from it, Blair thought to himself glumly. Half the time, Blair didn't have clue how to proceed.

"Okay, play the tape." Jim motioned impatiently.

"Wait, man. You're not ready," Blair said. "Lean back and relax a second."

"Sandburg, we don't have time."

"Jim, it's not a race, man. You can't just order your senses to obey on command. You're still learning to use them," Blair insisted. "Now lean back and take a deep breath."

With a look that said `I'm not happy about this' Jim did as instructed. After a few moments of breathing exercises, Blair started to notice the muscles in Jim's jaw begin to smoothen out. The powerful shoulders dropped slightly and the lines above his eyebrows disappeared.

"Okay, I'm going to start. I want you to mentally think about the tape. Imagine you're already hearing the guy on the loud speaker... when it comes on, you're just going to override it, okay? You're taking control over what to listen to. Just let the loudspeaker float over you. Expect it and dismiss it at the same time."

Holding his breath, he hit the play button. The voices of the two men filled the small coffee shop.

"..accidental... Look, you hired the best..."

Blair watched Jim closely. The loudspeaker was next. Jim barely flinched. The loud, booming voice came next; Jim shook it off and closed his eyes. He took a slow breath through his nose.

"Play it again."

Blair did as instructed. "Override, Jim. You're in control," he said softly. "Here it is again."

They repeated the process two more times before Jim opened his eyes and dazzled Blair with his broad smile. "Got it, Chief."

Blair perched on the edge of the wingback. "What did you hear, Jim?"

"He called himself Firefly. They talked about the Waterford District." Jim said, picking up a pad of score sheets left out for customers wishing to play card games. "Play it again, I want to write it down word for word."

A few minutes later, Blair read Jim's transcript.

`The firefly doesn't make mistakes.'

`Just make sure it's within the next forty-eight hours.'

`What's so special about this Waterford Gallery?'

`That's none of your business. You're being paid, what do you care?'

Blair reread the four lines again. "Wow, this doesn't sound good, Jim. We've got a short window here."

"I agree, and half of it's gone." Jim said.

Julie entered the store, waving at them happily. "Thanks guys, coffee's on me tonight. Any customers?"

"Nope, been quiet," Blair answered.

Jim stood, handing Blair the recorder before pulling a few bills out of his pocket. "Come on, Chief. Let's go call Simon." He stuffed the bills into the tip jar on his way out. "Thanks, Julie. We'll see you later."

"Bye, guys."

Simon took a deep breath and counted to a slow ten. With difficulty he managed to keep from screaming over the phone to his teenage son on the other end.

"Darryl, my decision stands. You're not going and that's final. Please put your mother back on." He leaned against the wall in his small kitchen apartment and waited for the surly child to hand the phone back to his mother.

"Joan? Are you sure everything's okay there? I can drive down and deal with this in person if you want me to."

"No, I think we're okay now, Simon. Thanks for backing me up on this." Joan Banks answered quietly.

Simon found the strength to smile. "Anytime, babe, you're on the right track with him. I'll trust your judgment on this one."

"Thanks, I'd better go check on him. I'll call you tomorrow."

After hanging up the phone, Simon rubbed the back of his neck and wondered when his life had become so difficult. Raising a teenage son was hard, hell, he knew that. They had both talked it over before deciding to have children, but dealing with the same child now that he and Joan were getting a divorce had to border on lunacy. What kind of chance did his son have with a set of parents that couldn't even make their marriage work?

A knock at the door brought him out of his spiraling decent into self-recrimination. He checked the peek hole before unlocking the door. The apartment he'd moved to was supposed to be in a safe neighborhood, but it paid to be careful.

"Wonderful," he muttered, unlocking the door and opening it to let Jim and Blair in.

"Sorry we didn't call. The line was busy," Jim said, giving his boss a guilty look.

"I suppose this is an emergency?" Simon questioned.

"It could be, we think there's gonna be a big arson fire tonight or tomorrow morning," Blair blurted out.

"What?"

"The tape, Simon," Jim explained. "I listened to it, someone's hired some guy named `Firefly' to target a building in the Waterford district. The fire is supposed to happen sometime before noon tomorrow."

Simon groaned. "Do you know how many high priced galleries and converted warehouses there are in that area? Where are we supposed to start?"

"Well, the tape said it had to be an accident," Jim said. "Are any of the gallery owners having financial problems?"

Simon reached for his raincoat draped over the back of the sofa. "Something tells me I'm not going to get a lot of sleep tonight."

Cascade Communication dispatchers toned the fire out at two in the morning. By the time the first engine arrived on location, the building was seventy percent involved, causing the Lieutenant riding in the officer's seat to request a three alarm response to aid in the attack.

Word arrived to Simon by way of a desk sergeant who had been monitoring the fire channels on his break and knew Simon and his men were in the building working on a possible fire threat with the arson unit captain.

Jim followed Simon's car, parking his Ford Expedition inside the barricades. Police units had closed the narrow two lane street that led to the expensive Waterford District. Once a warehouse district, the two by three block district had been converted into a high-brow area of galleries and conference centers back in the eighties by a business man with a vision, and the guts to make it work. If any well known art exhibit came to Cascade, it was a sure bet the show was in Waterford.

"Oh, man. Look at that," Blair moaned as if in pain. He pointed to a single story brick building with heavy black smoke pouring out the windows and doorways. Fire engines parked at the corners. Hose lines ran from each engine, littering the street line in loops and curves. Each corner of the warehouse had tall, thirty foot metal ladders leaning against the roof's edge. Crews of firefighters labored to cut a long trench down the roof to stop the spread of fire from taking the entire building.

"It looks bad, Chief," Jim admitted. "Let's look around. Don't forget to display your police ID."

"You've got to stay out of the smoke, man."

"I know, I will," Jim promised as he killed the engine and opened the door. He knew enough about arsonists to know they sometimes stayed to watch the fire attack. Even though he had no idea who `Firefly' was or even what he looked like, he did know what he sounded like. "Okay, lets start with the `uh-oh squad'. Let's see if we can recognize Firefly by his voice."

Blair looked up at Jim in confusion. "Uh-oh squad?"

"Yeah, the crowd of rubber-neckers that always show up to stand around and say helpful things like `uh-oh'," Jim said heading for a view of the barricades that held the crowds back.

"That's cold, man," Blair commented as he followed.

Jim scanned the crowd from a position behind an extra command officer's truck. Civilians, mixed with members of the press alerted by fire and police scanners, watched from a safe distance. About thirty people crowded the closed off street. Traffic units had to be dispatched to standby and keep them safely back.

"Too much noise," Jim muttered, closing his eyes against the flashing red and blue lights of the fire and police units.

A steady hand gripped his arm, just below his elbow.

"Override, Jim. Select the sounds you're looking for. Ignore the sounds that belong here. Look for people who are talking in the crowd and target those voices."

Jim never could understand how Blair's words seemed to right his world. No matter what his roommate said - he could be reading the back of a cereal box - still, Jim's focus would sharpen. Suddenly, the bright lights dimmed. Police and fire radios quieted and Jim was able to zoom in on the faces behind the police barricades. Standing off to one side, a young man in his twenties watched the fire like a sinner fixed on salvation. His lips moved in fevered delight. Jim concentrated on picking out his words.

"...Burn baby, burn baby..."

Although Jim was convinced the man was a few sandwiches short a full picnic, this was not the voice from the tape. Knowing fire crews were risking their lives to extinguish the same fire that seemed to give this man so much delight, he frowned and forced himself to move on.

The world was full of sick-o's.

Nearer to the front of the crowd, an older man stood like a statue, watching the fire with almost an analytical detachment. Just the expression on his face caused Jim to wonder why he was there. The rest of the faces had a common look of amazement, horror or fear; but this man was different.

"Sandburg, check out the guy in the black leather jacket."

"Yeah, he looks out of place. Almost like he's bored," Blair commented.

"Let's see if we can get him to talk," Jim said, moving forward. A hand on his arm stopped him.

"Let me, Jim," Blair said.

Jim turned. Intending to say `no, way, Stay behind me', he saw Blair's look of eager confidence and sighed.

"Just get him to talk, Junior. Nothing else."

"Got it."

Jim tucked Blair's ID inside his coat and patted his cheeks. "Go to it, Ace."

Rolling his eyes, Blair gave a thumbs up before edging around the side and working his way through the crowd to end up standing next to the man in question.

Jim's ears had no problem picking out Blair's words over all the noise.

"Wow, too cool!" Blair said eagerly.

The man in the jacket shifted away, not acknowledging the newcomer's comment.

Blair tried again.

"I've seen better fires than this, though. Probably started by a few punk kids with a book of wet matches."

Jim chuckled. Go for the pride, he thought, agreeing with Blair's tactics.

Leather Jacket turned to frown at Blair. "Excuse me? I heard this was a very technical arson."

Blair smiled at the man. "Really? How'd you hear that?"

Jim was already moving. It was the voice from the tape. But before he could get close, the man caught sight of Jim's movement. With a curse, Leather Jacket turned to run, shoving people out of his way. But the crowd was thick, slowing his progress.

Jim jumped over large diameter supply hoses that fed water from the hydrants to the fire engines. The hoses seemed intent on tripping him, forcing Jim to glance down repeatedly as he ran. As Jim cleared the last fire hose and picked up speed, Blair latched on to the fleeing arsonist's arm.

Leather Jacket turned, his face twisted into an ugly mask, a cornered rat fighting for his freedom. Throwing a punch hampered by the tight quarters, the arsonist managed to sink his fist into Blair's stomach. Even from a distance, Jim could hear the air rushing out of his friend's lungs. Blair doubled over in pain and both men disappeared from Jim's view.

A primal part of Jim's brain screamed. It was as if Jim's very chance for a normal future was at risk. He cursed the fire hoses for slowing him down as he plunged into the crowd of gawkers forming a circle around the two men on the ground. Two uniformed officers guarding the street became alerted to the disturbance and were running to assist.

Jim shoved his way through. Amazingly, Blair hadn't lost his grip on the man's arm. He'd somehow managed to land on Leather Jacket's back, pinning the criminal to the asphalt.

"Cascade Police!" Jim yelled. "Everyone back!"

The crowd fell back, giving room. Jim reached down and pulled Blair off, not letting go until his friend was well clear and out of danger. The two uniforms had arrived and Jim nodded toward Leather Jacket, who was still trying to stand. "Ellison, Major Crimes! This guy may be the arsonist."

The officers had the suspect back on his stomach, his arms pinned behind his back, the first cop snapping on the cuffs while his partner patted the suspected arsonist down.

Jim turned to check out his partner. Blair sat on his butt, breathing in short gasps, one arm wrapped around his middle.

"You okay?"

Blair nodded, holding up an arm to let Jim pull him to his feet. Once standing, Blair bent over at his waist, one hand braced on a knee, the other still guarding his abdomen. "Give... me... a sec... man."

"What happened to `just getting him to talk?" Jim asked quietly when it looked like Blair could breathe again.

Blair shrugged, then groaned and wrapped his arms around his stomach again. "Oww, don't do that, man."

"Ellison?" Simon's voice cut through the noise of the crowd and firefighting efforts.

"Back here, Simon," Jim called out, spotting his boss approaching. He pointed to the suspect being helped to his feet by the uniforms. The shorter officer was holding what looked like a set of blueprints in his hand. "I think we've caught ourselves a firefly, sir."

It was four AM when Jim dropped Blair off at the loft to get a few hours sleep before classes. He entered the apartment, exhausted and sore... and exuberant.

God! What a night! He still felt the rush from his part in catching the arsonist. It was just too bad they hadn't been able to prevent the fire. But still, they caught the guy. Sure, he wasn't talking, but between the blue prints and voice match with the tape recording, it wouldn't take much to convince the DA.

Blair shrugged out of his coat and hung it on his hook, not bothering to turn on the light. A cup of chamomile tea would help calm him down enough to try and sleep a few hours. Navigating to the kitchen through the shadows of the loft, he pulled a face. He wasn't sure he had the energy to put a kettle of water on to boil.

A snort from behind Blair almost stopped his heart. He spun and slammed backwards, then collapsed against the counter in relief as he spied the shape of Jim's grandfather sleeping on the couch.

Oh, man! Blair had totally forgotten about the old guy. Softly laughing at himself for being frightened, Blair forgot the tea and headed for his bedroom. He toed off his sneakers and fell into his bed, pulling the covers up to his shoulders and falling instantly into sleep.

"Hey! Your alarm's going off."

Blair rolled over, facing the wall and groaned. "'nother ten minutes, Jim."

"I don't care - but could you kill the alarm?"

Blair opened his eyes, frowning at Jim's hoarse voice. Was his roommate coming down with a cold? Then the piercing alarm registered in his confused brain and Blair silenced it with an out flung hand, expertly nailing the button from experience.

"Jim? You okay?" he called out. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the loft and Blair traded the idea of extra sleep for a cup as he tossed blankets aside.

"He's not here," CJ called from the kitchen.

Blair fumbled for his glasses and checked the clock. Seven. Jim must still be at the station, finishing the report on the arsonist arrest. Seeing a perfect opportunity to talk with Jim's grandfather - meaning, Jim wasn't here to stop him - Blair finger combed his hair into a ponytail and entered the shared living area.

"Hey, good morning!" Blair said cheerfully. "You want some breakfast?"

CJ sat at the table with a cup of coffee and a battered notebook. He looked up from his writing to nod. "Sounds good... Blair, right?"

"That's right." Blair opened the refrigerator to take a quick inventory. "How about eggs?"

"Whatever you're having is fine."

Blair chuckled. "You might rethink that if you knew, man. But, I can make a mean omelet."

"Count me in, then," CJ set his pen down and eyed Blair. "So, what are you doing living with Jimmy?"

"I'm doing my dissertation on the police. Jim lets me ride along to collect data," Blair started slicing mushrooms and bell peppers, keeping his eyes on task as he glossed over his history with Jim. "When I ended up losing my place, Jim let me rent the lower bedroom here. It just worked out."

"Dissertation?" CJ asked. "You're a college kid?"

With effort, Blair managed to not roll his eyes. CJ seemed sharp for an old guy, he would have noticed. Reaching up for a hanging omelet pan, Blair explained. "I'm a teaching assistant at Rainier; I'm also working on my doctorate in anthropology.

CJ nodded. "Defending is tough. Maybe I can give you some pointers, if you'd like."

Blair almost dropped the pan on his foot. "You... you're a ... you mean, you've defending a dissertation before?"

CJ's face was a mask, devoid of expression, yet Blair thought he saw a trace of humor showing in the old man's blue eyes. Damn, this guy could give Jim a lesson on poker face. Hell, Blair realized with a start, Jim probably inherited his ability from this guy.

"I had to; otherwise I wouldn't be a history professor," CJ explained carefully clipping his pen to the notebook and rewrapping it inside a worn leather case. He stood and walked around the island to take the knife out of Blair's hand. "I'll chop, you start on the eggs."

Blair found his voice again as he whisked the eggs. "I've gotta ask, man. What's a professor doing sleeping on a sidewalk, looking like a bum sleeping off an all-nighter?"

CJ chuckled. "Waiting for his grandson to come home."

Blair shot him a look. "You know what I mean."

"I do. I've been traveling the last few years. I'm working on a theory that led me here. When I travel, I keep my expenses to a minimum. So I sleep where I can, eat what I can. I need my money for transport and books."

"Oh yeah, I so hear you there, man," Blair commented earnestly. "There's some cheddar in the fridge, look in the right bottom bin. We can add some on top if you'd like."

CJ retrieved the cheese and started slicing thin sections. "When I got into town, I thought I'd spend some time with my grandsons."

"That's great. If you want, you can take my room. I'm okay on the couch. That way you can stay as long as you want." Blair was already looking forward to long conversations with this man, getting some insight into Jim's earlier years. He tried to remind himself he was just being friendly to Jim's family. It helped him deal with the nagging little voice inside his head.

CJ brought the cutting board filled with neat piles of chopped vegetables and sliced cheese to Blair's side. "I'm fine on the sofa. You keep your room."

"If you say so... so, what does CJ stand for?"

"Charles James."

"Cool, Jim is named after you then?" Blair asked.

"That's what I'm told."

The omelets tasted good, some of the best ones Blair had ever made. When Jim walked through the door, Blair stood to start a new one.

"Thanks, Chief." Jim washed his hands at the kitchen sink, eyeing his grandfather as he dried them on a kitchen towel. "How are you feeling this morning, CJ? You survive Sandburg's interrogation okay?"

"I was the first to fire a question, figured a preemptive strike was needed," CJ said as Blair sputtered with indignation. "You just now getting in?"

Jim nodded taking the hot coffee from Blair with a smile that carried an amused apology. "Yeah, we had a lead on an arsonist. The guy torched the building overnight."

Blair heard the tone of self reproach in the cop's words. "Jim, we had like no time to figure it out. All we knew was Waterford District."

CJ's fork dropped to the table with a clatter, causing both roommates to turn and look. Blair's earlier assessment of the older man's ability to keep a poker face was shaken when he saw the look of horror on CJ's face.

"Waterford?" CJ whispered.

"You okay?" Blair asked quickly.

"You said the fire was in Waterford?" CJ said, his voice stronger. "Where in Waterford?"

"A gallery called `The Silverwood'," Jim told him. "Why? What's wrong?"

"That's the reason I'm in town. Silverwood is owned by a friend of mine. I'm here to study some papers that emerged recently."

"Oh man, you think these papers might have been destroyed? That fire looked pretty bad last night," Blair said, folding Jim's omelet in half to trap the sliced vegetables.

"I need to use your phone, Jimmy," CJ said, forgetting the last few bites of his breakfast to accept the cordless phone from Jim's hand before moving to the far corner of the living room to make his call.

Blair met Jim's gaze and shrugged.

"How's the gut this morning?" Jim asked quietly after watching the eggs cook for a few minutes.

"Fine, just a little sore. I did that thing that Simon told me about," Blair explained.

"What thing?"

Blair slid the omelet onto Jim's plate. "He told me once if someone is about to hit you in the stomach; turn and clench your abdominal muscles."

"Simon told you that?"

"Yeah, after the fight I had in the loft with Lash."

"And you remembered?"

"It just came to me. I'm not into pain, man," Blair admitted.

Jim gave him an approving chuckle. "We call that `survival instincts', Darwin. Glad to know you have some. Maybe we should sign you up for some self-defense classes at the academy."

Blair shrugged. "Whatever." He looked over to where CJ was speaking softly into the phone, the old man's face pinched with worry. "I can't believe your grandfather is a history professor, Jim. That is so... cool!" he hissed. "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

Jim shrugged, forking the eggs into his mouth as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "I didn't know. I remember he taught somewhere."

"He's not just a teacher, Jim. He's got a PHD." Blair straightened, a sudden thought bursting into his consciousness. "Hey, Rainer has an opening in the history department; maybe I should introduce him to a few people."

CJ finished his phone call and returned to the table to finish his breakfast. "I'm retired, Blair. Thanks, anyway."

"What did you find out?" Jim asked.

"The papers are safe. He doesn't get to pick them up till tomorrow," CJ said picking up his fork.

"What a relief," Blair said. "You sure about the position at Rainier? I could show you around the campus some before you make up your mind."

"Speaking of Rainier, Sandburg, isn't it about time for your first class?" Jim asked before CJ could answer.

"CRAP! I'm gonna be late!" Blair exclaimed.

"No, you're fine. I'll clean up in here. You have just enough time to shower, just keep it short," Jim said as Blair raced into the bathroom and slammed the door.

When Jim woke later that day, the loft was empty.

He spotted a handwritten note by the coffee pot as he headed for the bathroom.

Jimmy,

I'll catch up with you later.

CJ

PS - heck of a roommate

Jim smiled to himself as he headed for the shower. He'd told Simon to expect him at one. They had an appointment with the arsonist and his attorney at two-thirty. Simon had put Brown and Rafe on the case as well. By one, they should have the info on the owner of the gallery.

Who was also a friend of his grandfather. What if it turned out the owner did arrange to torch his own place for insurance money?

Jim tested the water before stepping under the spray. He was out of his shampoo and reached for Blair's herbal concoction, knowing he was going to spend the afternoon thinking Blair was in the room with him.

It was hard to believe CJ was back. He liked the old man, if truth be told, he liked him a lot. And Blair and CJ seem to be getting along fine. But how long was he going to be around this time? He dropped in and out without warning, sort of like someone else he knew.

God, there was a scary idea - Naomi and CJ in the same room.

Jim rinsed the last of the suds from his hair and finished his shower with the precision of a man trained by the military. Taking the last clean towel from the cupboard, he dried off and used it to wrap around his waist before heading back up the loft to dress.

If he stopped at Wonder Burger on the way in, he'd get to work on time.

Once he reached the bullpen, Simon waved at him from his office. Jim snagged a clean mug, making plans to snitch a cup of Simon's expensive brew.

"What's new with the Firefly case, sir?" Jim asked, indicating the coffee pot in the corner with his empty mug.

Simon nodded as he opened the file on top of his stack. "Help yourself. Brown just filed his report on the gallery owner, a Mr. Albert Davenport. He's insured with Cascade Mutual for basic replacement cost of the contents and minimum cost to rebuild."

"What was inside at the time of the fire?" Jim asked as he dropped into the chair in front of Simon's desk.

"That's just it, he was between shows. Basically he gets enough to rebuild," Simon reported, handing the report over for Jim to look at.

"Not much of a plan. Why hire a guy to torch your building when you're not set up for a large payoff?" Jim mused as he scanned the figures. "What do we know about this Davenport guy?"

"Well, for starters - he's a self made billionaire and into the civic duty thing in Cascade. He's a big sponsor at the Children's Hospital, foots the bill on several scholarships in town and financed the new Veterans' building last year," Simon explained, leaning back in his chair. "Brown also reports the guy has a southern accent thick enough to slice with a knife."

"The guy on the tape didn't have an accent," Jim said with a sigh. "So, he didn't hire Firefly."

"Doesn't look that way," Simon said, flipping open a second file and passing it across. "The Firefly, also known as Chester Stinger. Fourteen priors, only one other felony."

Jim picked up the file and settled in for a thorough read as Simon went to fill his own coffee cup. Stinger was new to arson work, from the looks of it. Jim noticed he had just finished serving six months for felony trespassing. "You know, if we threaten him with arson and first degree assault on Blair, we can rattle his cage a little with the `three strikes-you're out' law. Maybe he'll roll over on whoever hired him."

"Might work, let's run it by the DA and give it a try this afternoon when we interview him," Simon said approvingly.

Blair watched the last of his students file out of the classroom. Another hour of Anthropology 101 taught. How many future anthropologists in this group? Blair snorted softly at the thought, try... none. He didn't need a crystal ball to know his class today was far from inspiring. He'd just been too preoccupied with other things.

Gathering up his notes, he made a mental promise to make it up to his students next week.

"Blair? You done for the day?" CJ asked from the doorway.

"CJ! What are you doing here?" Blair asked in surprise. "You interested in looking around?"

CJ shook his head, entering the room with the same fluid grace that Jim exhibited. Blair was taken back with the similarities between the two men. It was like looking into the future. Jim was one lucky guy, Blair thought.

CJ picked up one of Blair's textbooks. "I enjoyed anthro when I was a freshman."

"You wouldn't have today, believe me," Blair admitted. "What's up?"

"I'm looking to mooch a ride, took the bus here hoping you were free."

"Yep, I'm all yours. Let me just drop this stuff off in my office." Blair led the way. "Where are we going?"

Thirty minutes later, Blair pulled into the exclusive neighborhood outside Cascade, overlooking the waters of the Puget Sound. Multi-million dollar estates on five acre lots of perfect landscaping bordered both sides of the street.

"The country club should be up on the left," CJ said pointing to a two story structure. Tall glass windows revealed high ceilings with open beamed cedar construction.

Blair parked his car and bit his cheek in apprehension. "Maybe I should wait out here."

CJ turned in surprise. "Why?"

Waving at his shirt and jeans, Blair rolled his eyes. "Hello... I'm not exactly dressed for this, man."

With a classic Jim Ellison frown of disapproval, CJ opened the door. "You're fine. Move out, soldier."

With a sigh, Blair climbed out of his car and slowly followed. "I'm not going to make it past the front door, man," he muttered under his breath.

At the entrance, a uniformed doorman opened the glass door and smiled broadly at CJ. "Mr. Davenports' guest?"

"Yes, with friend," CJ answered calmly, acting like he belonged.

"This way, please."

Inside a leggy brunette offered to take their coats. Another man, looking like waiter at a fine French restaurant led them into a spacious room with a large stone fireplace, and several expensive leather couches and chairs. Authentic Northwest Indian artwork filled the walls. A tall Alaskan totem pole stood in the middle of the room.

"CJ! You dirty dog! How you doing, kid?" a loud voice with a heavy southern accent boomed out across the room.

Blair blinked in surprise. Kid? Someone is calling Jim's grandfather a kid? This should be good.

A short man, almost as wide as he was tall crossed the room to slap CJ's back while shaking his hand up and down like an old-fashioned water pump. CJ smiled down at the man, putting up with the attention patiently.

"How are you, Sarge?"

"Hell, I'm great. Doctors can't believe I'm still alive. I'm making it my business to prove all those health food nuts wrong," the shorter man said. "I'm on the downhill side of seventy now. Why didn't you answer any of my letters? I would have met you at the airport. You're staying with me, right? I've got plenty of room. Damn, kid. Wait till I tell the fellas you're here."

CJ held up a hand. "Slow down, Sarge. I'm not staying with you. My grandson's putting me up with his roommate," he turned to Blair, pulling the younger man forward. "This is Blair Sandburg, Jimmy's roommate. He's a teacher at Rainier. Blair, this is Albert Davenport."

"Glad to meet you, Sandburg," Davenport said, shaking Blair's hand. "Now, y'all are staying for dinner, right? In fact, why don't you call Jimmy? We're having cedar planked salmon tonight."

CJ nodded. "I can't speak for Blair... or Jimmy, but I'm willing to eat your food."

Davenport turned his green eyes on Blair, who nodded. "Me too. I'll call Jim."

"No need, Chief. I'm already here."

Blair turned at that familiar voice. Jim stood in the entrance, under a large coastal carving of a bald eagle in flight.

"Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. My department interviewed you earlier today about the arson?" Jim said, flipping his ID case open for the older man to read. "I'd like to accept your invitation for dinner, if it's still open."

While the club prepared their food, Jim led Blair into the restroom to wash up.

"What are you doing here with CJ, Sandburg?"

Blair held Jim's gaze in the large mirror behind the marble countertops as they washed in side-by-side sinks. "Your grandfather showed up at Rainier asking for a ride. I'm just helping out. How does Davenport connect with the arson case?"

Pulling several paper towels out of the chrome dispenser, Jim leaned a hip against the counter and began to dry his hands. "He owns Silverwood. Don't worry, we're pretty sure he didn't hire Firefly."

"He doesn't sound anything like the guy on the tape, Jim."

"I agree. Simon and I interviewed the arsonist this afternoon. With a little push from the DA, he admitted the guy that hired him was an out-of-towner. He's agreed to work with a police sketch artist. Unfortunately, he has no idea why he was hired to burn down the gallery," Jim said, tossing the crumpled up towels into a matching chrome waste can.

"If it wasn't for insurance money, then what?" Blair pondered out loud. "Do galleries have rivals?"

"Sounds like a bad novel to me, but I guess they could."

"So, you talk to Davenport some more? Maybe he knows something he doesn't know he knows?"

Jim cracked a half smile, crossing his arms as he studied his friend. "Knows something he doesn't know he knows? Are you watching channel nine again, chief? The English mysteries, maybe?"

Blair lightly punched Jim's arm. "You know what I mean, wise-ass."

"Yeah, I know." Jim opened the door and waited for Blair to exit first. "Come on, let's eat."

The salmon was incredible. Jim enjoyed the hint of cedar as he used his fork to expose a hard white bone from the meat before taking another bite. A generous portion of steamed, fresh asparagus was served on the side, along with rice.

"How did you two guys meet?" Blair asked. He looked relaxed, oblivious to the subtle stares from the other club members.

Davenport took a long sip of wine before answering. "CJ was fresh off the boat when I met him. He was so green we checked behind his ears for mold."

"What boat?" Blair asked.

Jim notice CJ's fingers tighten on his fork. An invisible veil seemed to drop behind his eyes, making Jim realize he was about to hear a rare thing - part of his grandfather's past.

"That's just an expression we old-timers - God, what a laugh, old-timers? I was twenty-three then. Anyway, those of us that had already seen battle, called all the new guys `just off the boat'."

Jim did the math. "Are you talking about World War Two?"

"Yep, sure am. And I pray to God you boys never experience another like it," Davenport said, pointing his fork at Jim and Blair. "Me and my buddies were sent to the ghost front to rest. General Bradley mixed us experienced guys with the greenhorns. I got CJ." He smiled at his old friend; his eyes warm with long past memories.

Being an Army Ranger, Jim has done his share of reading about World War Two. He knew enough to hold his own in an in-depth conversation. Sorting through the odd facts in his mind, he searched for anything he recalled about a place called the ghost front. The only General Bradley he remembered was...

Oh my God, Jim thought, rocking back in his seat as if struck. "You both fought in the Battle of the Bulge?"

CJ snorted. "If you can call getting nearly massacred a battle."

Blair's eyes were wide. "Wow, I remember reading about that in school. But why did they call it the ghost front?"

Now that the subject had been broached, CJ seemed willing to talk. "The seventy miles of the Ardennes Mountain Range didn't have a lot of roads for tanks. It was filled with deep gorges and thick woods. Both the Allies and the Germans had a gentlemen's agreement not to shoot each other. That's why Bradley didn't need a lot of men to guard it. The army used it to rest the weary and give us newbie's some field training."

"Imagine our surprise when, on December sixteenth, tens of thousands of German infantry men, backed by swarms of panzers, rolled right over the top of us on their way to Belgium," Davenport said, the humor in his voice contradicted by the pain visible in his eyes.

Blair swallowed hard, his voice breathless sounding in Jim's ears. "How... how did you survive?"

Davenport shrugged, going back to his meal as only a man who'd lived a lifetime with this incredible story could. "Let's just say I became a believer that night. God is great, that's for sure. CJ and I were on patrol, freezing our nuts off..." He broke off to laugh. "Then CJ tells me he hears movement. I tell him he's crazy, but damn if he doesn't insist. Now, I'm not hearing a thing, but he's got me spooked, so we try and reach our men, but the radio's crap and we end up running back to warn them."

The table was silent for a long second. Jim has a vivid picture of his grandfather trying to run through the snow hampered by clumsy clothes and his heavy semi-automatic rifle. He knew few men on the frontlines survived that fight in the Ardennes.

"That attack shouldn't have been a surprise, damn it!" CJ said angrily, throwing his linen napkin down and standing.

"Calm down, kid," Davenport soothed. "I'm on your side, remember?"

Running a hand through his gray hair, CJ nodded, avoiding the eyes of the men at the table. "I need some fresh air, excuse me."

Before Jim could say a word, his grandfather was gone.

"He'll be okay," Davenport told the two men. "He always gets like that when ever we talk about the old days. In many ways, he's still fighting the war."

"Maybe now would be a good time to ask you about the fire," Jim said, disturbed by his grandfather's sudden anger, Jim turned the conversation to the issues of his job. "Do you have any idea who would pay to have your gallery burned?"

Davenport pushed his empty plate away. "No, I don't. But I don't appreciate the timing."

"Timing?" Jim asked.

"I was going to use it for a reunion. It was perfect for displaying my collection of war memorabilia. I even managed to get some recently discovered items loaned for the showing," the old man said, glancing around the spacious room. "I guess I'll have to use the clubhouse after all. Not my first choice, but I don't have time to find another suitable location. I'll just have to hire more security."

"What sort of reunion are you having?" Blair asked.

Davenport grinned. "Just a few buddies from the war. Their jaws are going drop when they see CJ. I've never been able to get him to come to any of these."

"Why not?"

Davenport shrugged. "He's modest I guess. We tend to gush when he's around. Most of us are alive because of him. He's a true hero, but he's too obsessed to see it."

Jim found himself unable to keep quiet. "Obsessed? What about?"

But Davenport shook his head. "I'm gonna have to let CJ explain it to you, if he wants you to know."

Jim could respect that decision, but he wondered if he'd ever get a chance to ask his grandfather. They didn't exactly have a history of long, heart-to-heart family times. "Fair enough. So you planned on using the gallery for the show and the reunion? Any chance you have an enemy that would like to see the reunion stopped?"

"Other than an old Nazi soldier, you mean?" Davenport said with a laugh. "No, not really. I've been having these reunions for years now, never had a problem before."

"What about these new artifacts?" Blair asked. "Anything special about them?"

"No... just some papers, journals and letters." Davenport filled his wine glass again. "A historian came across them in an estate auction. Recognized a few signatures and realized he had some stuff from General Eisenhower's camp in Paris. I imagine they're the reason CJ's here, now that I think about it."

"So, if you don't have any enemies and you're not pulling an insurance scam, then why would anyone pay to have your place burned down?" Jim asked.

Davenport grinned, as if the thought of being a criminal intrigued him. "That's what you get paid to find out, Detective. If you're anything like your grandfather, the bad guys don't stand a chance."

Blair spotted CJ standing by his car, leaning against the passenger door. He nudged his roommate and pointed. "You want him to ride with you?"

"No, he looks like he wants to go with you," Jim answered. "I need to swing by the station. I'll meet up with you at the loft, okay?"

Blair watched his best friend walk towards his Ford. He hurt for Jim. The chasm between grandson and grandfather was enormous. Blair headed for his car. "You ready to head back to the loft, CJ?" he asked as he unlocked his door. Leaning over to unlock CJ's door, Blair waited for the man to climb in before starting the motor.

CJ sighed as he settled in. "Sorry about the drama moment back there."

"No problem, man. I think you're entitled," Blair answered lightly. "So where to?"

CJ turned to study Blair with a wry smile. "No wonder Jim keeps you around, Blair. Any chance you could get me into the University's library?"

Blair started the engine. "Oh, I think I could manage that. I gotta warn you though, Jim claims I refuse to acknowledge the passing of time once I walk through the front door."

"Spend much time there, do you?"

"Let's just say I have my own coffee cup hanging in the librarian's break room."

"A man after my own heart," CJ said with a soft laugh.

Blair joined in as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Are you sure you're related to Jim? I'd kill to have you as my grandfather."

CJ's laugh died a premature death.

God, Blair. Way to kill a moment.

"Sorry, man."

CJ sighed. "I imagine Jim doesn't even consider me a relative. I haven't been in his life much."

Blair knew the correct thing to do was remain silent. Not to pry into Jim's personal life. Not to ask any questions just to satisfy his burning curiosity. The problem with knowing such a thing, it made it harder to rationalize the action to yourself later.

"Why not?"

CJ's face turned to watch the expensive homes pass by. "I tried. Whenever I heard Jim was having problems, I tried to be there for him. I don't communicate very well. Funny, I can talk to a lecture hall filled with students for a full day, but I can't sit in a room with my grandson for more than an hour without wanting to bolt."

"But you came when you thought you were needed, that's something," Blair reminded him.

"Jimmy doesn't strike me as someone who needs help from others."

"Everyone needs help. But maybe it's time you let him help you." Blair bit his lower lip and cringed. Damn, he never seemed to learn when to shut up. Casting a glance to his right, he noticed CJ didn't seem offended by that last comment.

"Maybe..."

When they arrive at the library, CJ headed for the military shelves while Blair reviewed some new textbooks he'd been meaning to look at. Before he realized it, they'd been there for more than two hours. Jim would be worried.

Jim was, but Blair could see he was trying not to show it.

"Sorry, Jim. We hit the library," Blair explained dropping his backpack on the kitchen table and pulling out his laptop. "How's the investigation going?"

"Slow," Jim said. "You two want a beer?"

"Sounds good," CJ said. He'd checked out several books under Blair's name and set them on the coffee table.

Blair read the scene as an opportunity for the two men to talk. "Nah, I'm going to work in my room. Okay if I use the phone line, Jim? I need to get on the Internet."

"Go for it, Chief."

Blair closed the French doors behind him quietly, praying the two men would use the time wisely.

The only sounds in the room were the swallowing of beer.

We're pathetic, Jim thought to himself. CJ stared at his beer as he picked at the label with a fingernail, giving Jim a chance to study him. Now that he had showered and shaved, he looked okay, even healthy. But the man's face could use some filling out, as if he'd been missing a few meals.

Obsession could do that to a person.

"Blair seems like a nice guy," CJ said, starting the conversation.

Jim nodded. "He is. He's more of an official partner than my boss would like to admit."

"Partners are important," CJ said simply taking another pull from his amber bottle.

Silence.

Jim began to wish Blair had stayed in the room. The guy could make small talk with a store mannequin. Jim cleared his throat. He could do this.

"Davenport seems like he was handy to have around."

CJ snorted. "You might say that. When the shooting started, a guy took a hit right in front of me." CJ's gaze left the bottle and skimmed over the far brick wall as he spoke. "I froze. So green I didn't have the common sense to keep down. Sarge knocked my ass down so fast, I was sore for days."

"He said you saved his life," Jim probed carefully.

"You know, I never understood all that talk," CJ said, confused. He turned to Jim and leaned forward. "All I did is hear the Germans moving around in the trees. We managed to hook up with some guys from our company and carried off a few hit and runs. Mostly we tried to stay alive. But the movement was so loud, anybody could have heard it."

Jim's mind started building a likely reason, enhanced sense of hearing. Blair had said the sentinel ability was genetic, maybe it was being carried down through CJ's blood line.

"But everyone keep insisting only I was hearing it. Hell, it could be. I remember my grandmother had good hearing."

Jim set his bottle down. "What about your other senses? Sight... smell... the rest of them?"

CJ shook his head. "They're normal. Although I've never needed glasses and the doctors say I'm better than twenty-twenty."

Wait till Blair found out about this. Jim could picture the hours of tests CJ would have in store for him.

"Want another?" Jim asked.

"No, thanks. Look Jimmy, I'm sorry about how I acted at dinner."

Jim leaned back into the sofa and held up his hand. "Don't... you have nothing to apologize for. I was kinda surprised to find out you fought that battle. No one ever told me."

CJ shifted in the large chair, looking relaxed and ready to talk. "It was not really a secret. Your folks knew, although your mom left when you were young and your dad wasn't exactly on speaking terms with me."

"Do you see mom at all?"

CJ shook his head. "I've made some mistakes during my life, chasing after this mystery. The biggest one was not being there for my wife, God rest her, or your mom and you boys."

"You haven't cornered the marked on mistakes, CJ. I let Carolyn down myself, still fighting my own demons from Peru, I guess," Jim admitted, surprised at himself for speaking so frankly. Something about knowing CJ had seen his share of death and horror gave Jim the courage to speak.

"You tend to carry that stuff around," CJ agreed. "At least I had some fellas with me. You were the lone survivor. That had to be hell, but you finished your mission. God, I'm proud of you, son."

An odd ache tried to climb up Jim's throat and he swallowed it down. Before he could answer, his cell phone chirped from its position in his coat pocket and he welcomed the interruption as he sprang off the couch to answer it

. "Ellison."

"Jim, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need some help." Simon sounded as close to a panic as Jim had ever heard.

"What's wrong?"

"Darryl's run off. He wanted to go with his friends on some stupid challenge, but we wouldn't let him. It looks like he went anyway."

"Challenge?" Jim walked over to Blair's door and knocked. "Come on, Chief. We're needed."

"Yeah, a few of school friends dared each other to explore the fish packing factory on Interurban," Simon continued.

"God, Simon. Those buildings are scheduled to be torn down, their rat infested death traps." Jim said tossing Blair his coat as the man emerged from his room with a puzzled expression. Blair caught it and began to put it on. Jim mouthed the word `flashlight' and Blair opened a kitchen drawer, tucking the lights and batteries in his pockets.

"Gee, Jim," Simon said, his sarcasm rich. "I hadn't thought about that. Can you meet me there?"

"We're closer, hopefully he'll already be found by the time you arrive," Jim said, ending the call.

"What's wrong, Jimmy?"

"What's up, man?"

Both Blair and CJ spoke at the same time.

"My boss's teenage son swallowed a stupid pill tonight and went off to explore a dangerous building. He needs help finding him," Jim said, surprised to see his grandfather move to get his own coat. Jim almost told him to stay, but changed his mind; another set of hands wouldn't hurt.

Blair fastened the top button of his coat, pausing to turn the collar up to keep the wind off his neck. They'd arrived ahead of Simon. The old buildings had been carefully shored up against trespassers, no doubt the work of the owner. All windows were high up on the walls, good for light only, not for views. The doors had been reinforced with extra locks and even some welded seals. It looked like a fortress.

"Where do we start?" CJ asked.

"I think Simon's worries are over," Jim said, looking down the dark side street. "Darryl! Over here!" he shouted, cupping his hands on either side of his mouth.

Blair turned to see Simon's son running towards them.

Darryl braked to a stop in front of the three men. "Oh, man, am I glad to see you! You've gotta do something, Jim!"

"Slow down, Darryl. What's wrong?" Jim asked.

Darryl pointed back at the dark building. "I didn't realize how trashed this place was inside. I tried to keep Jason and Eddie out, but they went in. I heard a crash, like something fell. I was just going to find a phone when you guys showed up."

"Okay, just show us where they got in," Jim ordered, pulling his phone out and wordlessly handing it off to Blair.

Trailing behind CJ and Jim, Blair dialed the emergency dispatcher and reported the situation. As he signed off, he peered over Jim's shoulder to see Darryl pointing to a section of wall with missing boards. The owners had taken a piece of plywood to cover the hole, but some of the nails had come loose. Darryl rotated the wood to reveal a small hole.

Jim bent down to look into the opening. "I can't see them."

"What do you hear, Jim?" Blair asked.

Jim tilted his head, but it was CJ that answered. "I can hear one calling for help. Sounds like the other one might be hurt."

Blair turned to look at the older man in surprise. Hello? As hard as Blair tried, he couldn't hear anything. The building was large, filling up nearly the entire block, yet CJ could hear them? Then Blair remembered the story Davenport had told them at dinner, how CJ had heard the Germans.

CJ was a Sentinel?

"It's just his hearing, Chief," Jim whispered over his shoulder. "None of his other senses are enhanced."

"Why didn't I make the connection at dinner?" Blair muttered, then got back to the business at hand. "Can you tell how bad the kid's hurt?"

Jim shook his head. "Both of them are breathing, they sound like they're below us, maybe fell into a basement. Do we have help coming?"

"Yeah, fire and police are on the way."

"Darryl!"

"Daddy!"

Simon took a moment to hug his son before pinning him with a look that promised punishment in the teen's future. Blair quickly caught Simon up on the facts of their situation as Jim tried to pry on the surrounding boards to make the opening larger. Even with Simon helping, they couldn't pull any more boards off.

Blair eyed the opening. "I can make it, Jim. I'll go in."

"No."

"Jim..."

"No, Chief. It's not going to happen," Jim answered with a stubborn set of his jaw.

Blair sighed, rolling his eyes. "Jim, just listen. I'll stay near the walls; maybe I can find a way to let you guys in from inside. I'm the lightest, it'll be fine. Those kids may not have time to wait for the fire department."

Jim gave a reluctant nod, his expression looking like a man sucking on a lemon. "If you do anything stupid, Chief, and end up getting hurt..."

"I know... you'll kick my butt all the way to the hospital," Blair answered. "I'll be careful."

Switching on his flashlight, Blair turned sideways to slide through the opening. It was a tight fit, and a nail tore at his coat, but he sucked in his breath and squeezed through. Playing the light over the interior, he saw a storage room of sorts, mostly empty. The floor looked solid.

"Sandburg!" Jim called sharply from outside.

"What!"

"Keep talking; let us know what you're seeing and where you're going," Jim ordered. "And follow the walls!"

"Okay, okay... lots of dust, man, Blair said as he skirted the room. "Uh... I'm at a door... now I'm in a real big room. The exterior walls look pretty good. The roof's bad, can't believe it hasn't fallen yet. And the floor is real bad, man. Lots of rotted planks." Blair shone his light through an opening in the floor. "Some kinda basement here... doesn't look finished though. Maybe there's some stairs somewhere... whew! Stinks in here... they definitely processed fish. Wait, I can see the hole." Blair left the wall, taking each step carefully. The floor started to feel spongy and he backed away. "Hey! Eddie? Jason? You guys in there?"

"Help! We're down here!" a faint voice answered immediately.

"Okay, we've got help coming," Blair called out. "Where's the other kid?"

"He's here, but I can't wake him up."

"Is he breathing?" Blair asked, the floor looked better to his right and he worked his way over, testing each step with a stomp before moving forward.

"Yeah."

"Okay, that's good. Are you okay?" Blair asked. He was close now. Lowering himself to lay full length on the floor, Blair slid the last few feet on his belly to the edge and pointed the flashlight into the hole. The two boys were fifteen feet down. The one talking was sitting next to his friend who lay on his back on the dirt floor. A fat, sleek-looking rat ran from the sudden pool of light.

The boy looked up, his face covered with dirt and full of fear. "Ohmygod, I didn't think anyone would find us!"

"Hey, you guys are practically home free. Everything is going to be okay now," Blair promised.

"Just don't leave us!"

Blair detected an increased level of panic. "I'm not, just hang on." He took the spare flashlight from his pocket and held it out. "I'm dropping you down a flashlight. Ready?" After the kid had it in hand and switched it on, Blair lifted his light up to look for a closer entrance. "Now, listen. I'm just going to let my friends inside, okay? Then I'm coming right back." Blair waited until the kid nodded, looking braver now with the flashlight in his hand.

"Okay."

"Be right back." Scooting backwards, away from the hole, Blair carefully stood and headed towards the far door. He could see a long two-by-four blocking the door to prevent anyone from getting in. It was just a matter of lifting the board off.

"Jim? I'm about three hundred feet in. I can see an old door... should be opposite from the side we parked the Ford. It's the closest door to the kids. We're about a hundred feet in from it. I'm going to let you guys..."

An ominous crack was the only warning Blair had that he'd taken a wrong step. Before he could move, the floor beneath him was gone, dropping Blair straight down. He hit the dirt below hard, rolling in a loose ball as boards rained down on his head and shoulders. In the several seconds it took Blair to get the air to return to his lungs, he remembered Jim was still listening.

Crap!

His first words sounded strained in his own ears as he pushed himself into a seated position in the dirt. "Jim... I'm okay. I just decided... to take a more direct route to the boys." Blair patted the ground for the flashlight. Where had it gone? He didn't want to think about the size of that rat he saw seconds before. "Uh... looks like you're gonna have to find your own way in, man. Maybe the fire department will bring a chainsaw or something." His hand brushed the metal casing of the light. Yes!

"Hey, are you okay, man?"

The kid's voice sounded close, but Blair couldn't see him. A wall of sorts had been erected, maybe to shore up the floor above. Blair played the light along it, spotting a crawl space that looked like it would take him to the kids.

"I'm okay. Hold on a second, I'm on my way." Blair stood, testing his legs carefully. Thankfully, they worked. He bent low and found himself standing in the part of the basement with the kids.

"Who ya talking to? Do you have a radio or something?" the kid asked.

"You know what? I forgot to introduce myself," Blair said, purposely avoiding the answer as he joined the boy on the ground and checked the other child's pulse. The kid's arm looked broken, but his pulse was strong and regular. "I'm Blair. My friend's outside with Darryl's dad. What's your name?"

"Eddie."

He kept the youth busy with small talk until the fire department arrived, hearing them above working with power tools. It sounded like they were just cutting a new opening in the wall. After a few moments, lighting was visible through the opening in the floor. Blair relaxed muscles he hadn't been aware were tight.

"Sandburg?" Jim called from above.

"Here, man! We're all together in the far hole. The floors bad, Jim! Make sure everyone knows."

"Sir! Cascade Fire Department! How's everybody doing?"

Blair glanced down at the boy laying on his back, happy to see the kid looking back up at him. "He's just waking up. Has a broken arm, was unconscious before," he called out.

Sounds of metal being dragged above told Blair they were busy working their way towards the hole. Presently, a face appeared above their heads.

"Hi, we're setting up a tripod device to lift you guys out. I want you to keep the injured person still. I'm tossing down some blankets."

Blair caught them easily, handing one to Eddie before draping the other over Jason. True to the fireman's word, a three legged tripod appeared and a firefighter was lowered down with an orange basket. Blair helped to splint the boy's broken arm in an inflatable cast. Once the injured boy was in the basket, he was lifted out of the hole. Then it was Eddie's turn. At last it was just Blair and the fireman.

"Okay, sir. You're next. You've got one mean looking dude waiting to talk with you outside," the rescuer said with a grin.

"Uh... any chance you guys found a back door out of this place?" Blair asked as the other man fitted the harness around him.

"Sorry, but if you'd like, we can hang around for a bit. Just in case you need an ambulance," he teased as he gave the workers above `thumbs up'. Blair felt the rope become taut as his feet left the ground.

"You're a riot, man," Blair moaned.

The earlier sounds of dragging metal turned out to be ladders they had placed on the floor. With instructions to keep his feet on the rungs, Blair exited the building, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the artificial lighting that made the street brighter than day. A large white paneled truck with red letters on the side spelling out the words `Command Center' dominated the street. A medic unit was parked nearby, its rear doors open. The inside looked like a miniature hospital room. Clear bags of saline hung from the ceiling within the back. Eddie was sitting on a side bench having his blood pressure taken. Blair couldn't see Jason, he must have already been transported to the hospital.

"Sandburg."

Jim came out of nowhere. To say Jim just looked mad was to say Mother Theresa is just a nice person. Blair tried a smile.

"What happened to staying near the walls?" Jim hissed.

"I did... for a while," Blair said, knocking off the dirt that clung to his clothes.

"Sandburg, you fell through the floor!"

"I know, Jim. I got to see it up-close and personal. Relax, man. I'm fine."

Jim took Blair's arm with a gentleness that Blair didn't expect. "I can smell blood. Where did you get hurt?" he insisted as he began to tow Blair towards the medic unit.

The medics found the injury on his back, just above the waistband of his jeans. Blair was surprised; he hadn't felt a thing, although he felt it plenty when they started to treat him.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Blair yelled. His back was on fire. What were they using, acid?

"Suck it up, Chief," Jim ordered from his position standing just outside the open door. CJ stood as his elbow, looking at Blair with an amused expression.

"When was the last time you had your tetanus shot, Mr. Sandburg?" the medic asked.

If anything, Jim's smile got wider.

It was almost midnight when the rescue operation was over and the fire department finished packing their tools away to transport back to their stations.

"Blair, thank you," Simon said solemnly, his arm around his son's shoulders. "You too, Jim. You guys make a hell of a search and rescue team."

"We're just glad Darryl's okay," Jim said.

"Well, he still has his mother and me to deal with," the father said, eyeing his son ominously.

"Simon, Darryl tried to talk the others out of going into the building," Blair said. "If he hadn't been here tonight, who knows what would have happened."

Darryl flashed Blair a quick smile.

"Sandburg, you'd make a great defense attorney, but Darryl still has to answer for his actions tonight," Simon said looking down at his son nestled under his arm. "Right, son?"

"Right," Darryl admitted glumly. "But Blair does have an interesting point..."

The three men arrived back at the loft tired and - in one case - sore. Jim took a moment to discard the empty beer bottles before bringing out the extra bedding for his grandfather. It still felt wrong to let the older man take the sofa, but each time one of the two roommates offered their beds, CJ was adamant. It was just better to let him have his way. The sofa was nearly ready when CJ spoke.

"So, you have the same kind of hearing I do?"

Jim paused, seeing Blair freeze as well.

CJ continued. "Tonight, when Blair was inside, he was talking to you, Jim. Only he didn't have to yell... he knew he didn't need to yell. You could hear him."

Jim stood. "Yes, I have good hearing. All five of my senses are enhanced. Sandburg is helping me learn to use them. He studies this kind of thing."

Blair came around the sofa to join in. "That's right. See... lots of people can have super good hearing or smell. One... maybe two senses are enhanced. But Jim's special. He's got the perfect genetic makeup to be a tribal watchman, or sentinel. It's rare, but I've found documentation that supports this. It was the way the tribes could defend themselves or find food. Look how it helped you during the war, CJ. You heard the soldiers before anyone else did. It must follow your bloodline! Did any other family members show signs of enhanced senses?"

"Slow down, Chief," Jim said watching his grandfather become overloaded with the younger man's rapid fire delivery.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Blair bobbed his head in agreement, his eyes still alive with questions.

"My grandmother had good hearing, she called it the family gift." CJ eyed Blair questioningly. "Why do you study it?"

"That's my true dissertation subject, modern day sentinels. No one believes they still exist, but..." Blair pointed to Jim with a childlike glee that caused Jim to roll his eyes.

"You have to excuse Sandburg, CJ. He gets like this and pretty soon I'm looking for my red cape and tights. The truth of the matter is - I couldn't control it at first. I thought I was going mad." Jim fluffed the pillow and dropped it on the sofa. "I would have, too, if he hadn't figured it out. Which is why I get so pissed off when he refuses to use his head and be careful!"

"Hey, how'd this get turned around on me all of a sudden?" Blair protested, backing away. "We covered this back at the warehouse, remember? You got all caveman-like and threatened me with pain and I promised not to fall through floors again. It's over." He flashed CJ a cheeky grin and waved a hand. "Goodnight, guys. See you in the morning."

Like a shot, before Jim could formulate a response, he disappeared into his room.

"Is it just me, or does he make you feel old?" CJ asked.

"It's not just you, trust me," Jim admitted. "So, what's your plan for tomorrow?"

"I want to be there when Davenport has that paperwork delivered at the clubhouse. He needs help getting it ready anyway, now that he's using it for the reunion and the showing of his memorabilia," CJ explained as he sat on the sofa and removed his shoes.

"How valuable is this stuff they found?" Jim asked, dropping down into his chair. "Would it be something that could be sold on a black market?"

"Perhaps, but I doubt it." CJ leaned his elbows on his knees in a manner that Jim recognized as his own. "Mostly its personal letters from Eisenhower's aide to his family, daily housekeeping records while they stayed in Paris and personal diaries."

"Why are you interested in it?" Jim asked. "What are you hoping to find?"

"I don't know how much you know about the Battle of the Bulge," CJ said. "But the more I study it, the more I'm convinced there was a spy somewhere high up on our side. We'd been told the war was all but over. Yet there were reports coming from different sources that Hitler was moving tanks, jeeps and foot soldiers. But we refused to believe it. German spies were found, dressed like us, behind our lines. They spread misinformation and rumors to the point that we had to be ready to give baseball scores or be shot as spies ourselves. Hell, Ike was a virtual prisoner in his own camp because no one trusted anyone. Someone managed to keep all the facts from coming together, I think that someone was close to Eisenhower. I have it whittled down to three possibilities; one is the aide that authored these papers. The Department of the Army has looked them over, but I want to read them."

Jim watched his grandfather's face as the old man spoke, recognizing the deep emotions; sorrow, regret, commitment. This was the reason Jim had never gotten a chance to know the man. This mission to find the truth, was it CJ's promise to all the men that didn't return home? Jim knew there were mysteries around his own ill fated mission in Peru. Was it worth your life to find the answers?

Jim was able to complete his mission.

Was his Grandfather still trying to do the same?

"Tomorrow's Saturday. Why don't I come along and help you and Davenport set up?"

"Thanks, Jimmy. I'd like that," CJ said, flashing a smile.

They slept in till eight and took turns in the shower the next morning. Jim was the last in and the hot water ran out as he washed his hair. Cutting his normal time in half, he emerged to see Blair and CJ both sipping their coffee and dressed. Jim headed for the stairs, clutching the ends of the towel around his hips as he eyed the empty table.

"Hurry up, Jim. Your granddad's taking us to breakfast," Blair said.

"I'll hurry, just save me a cup of coffee, Darwin."

Up in his room, he pulled on a pair of boxers and an older pair of jeans he saved for working around the loft. He could hear the voices drifting up from below.

"Why does he call you Darwin?"

"It's a term of endearment."

Jim couldn't help but laugh to himself. Sandburg cracked him up. He finished dressing and even let Blair drive them to Denny's in his classic. After breakfast they headed out for the Davenport's country club. The weather had changed overnight to overcast and stormy. As Blair parked in the nearly empty lot, they could see the golf course was deserted except for a maintenance truck with two Hispanic workers. Davenport met them at the front door, his round face breaking into a welcoming smile when he realized he had two more pairs of hands to order around.

"Fantastic! I've still got boxes to unpack and I can't decide on the lighting. Any of you guys good with electrical stuff?"

"I worked one summer as a roadie for a punk rock band," Blair said, pulling his long hair back to secure with a tie. "What do you need?"

"Come on, then. You're drafted." Davenport looked at CJ, his voice becoming gentle. "They delivered the crate about thirty minutes ago, you and Jim want to unpack it and check it with the inventory list for me?"

Jim watched CJ nearly stand at attention. "We'll do it, where is it?"

The old man pointed to a wooden crate about the size of half a footlocker. CJ eyed the crate with anticipation.

"I've got a reporter coming this afternoon to interview me and give me a bit of free advertising. See if you can get some sort of display worked up for a photo, nothing too fancy. I'll show you where I want it set up," Davenport said.

"I'll carry it," Jim said, picking up the crate and following the portly man into a back room that had been designated for the exhibits.

"Wow, this is great," Blair said.

Jim had to agree. The room was as large as the dining area, maybe even larger. The carpet was thick and expensive. The walls and ceiling were painted a soft green. Golden oak molding trimmed the row of windows that ran the entire length of the back two walls. The room had round antique tables scattered about, probably for the displays Davenport wanted to setup.

"When the weather is nice, you can see the Puget Sound. I bought this property when I heard a California company was thinking about turning it into a theme park." Davenport shuddered. "I couldn't let it happen. Finally decided to go with a golf course and put a few homes around it so the property could at least pay for itself. Liked it so much, I sold my other winter home and built one here. Still need to get some work done, though. I want to put in a set of stairs that let folks walk the beach. No natural way down right now, the cliffs are too rugged for us old-timers."

Jim extended his hearing, easily hearing the waves crashing against an invisible shore. It was a peaceful sound, causing Jim to wonder how much a house out here would cost. He shook his head at such an absurd thought. Blair would never put up with the long drives to Rainier.

"Okay, I'm thinking this table in the corner for the Eisenhower papers." Davenport pointed towards the table and Jim placed the box on the floor.

They worked for over an hour without a break. CJ waited for Jim to open the crate with a crowbar and together they checked off the contents with a list provided by Davenport. Loose letters were kept in acid proof full size envelopes. CJ read each letter carefully before setting it aside. Jim took charge of the inventory list.

Around eleven-thirty, CJ called for a break. Jim looked up to see Blair working off a high ladder, directing a track light towards a table with CJ looking on in approval. After carefully locking the room, they washed up before heading for the dining room. A small buffet of seafood in dishes resting in a bed of ice sat on a long table.

"Let's dig in," Davenport ordered, picking up a plate and filling it with king crab legs.

Blair stood at Jim's side eyeing the food. "Jim, I think I want to be rich," he whispered in awe.

"How many rich professors do you know, Sandburg?" Jim whispered back.

"Good point, man. I may have to turn to a life of crime."

After a filling lunch that would have cost Jim a day's pay, they got back to work. The lighting was finished to Davenport's standards. Boxes of memorabilia, delivered by the clubhouse employees, sat scattered about the room, ready to be unpacked.

"I'm surprised you didn't hire a company to do this for you," Blair said as Davenport began to set up the first table with authentic contents from a foot soldier's field pack.

Jim had wondered the same and paused in his reading to see how Davenport would answer. The old man set a small compass down almost reverently before speaking.

"No matter how old I get, or how much real estate I sell, or how much money my investor says I have, I need to remember those years in Europe." He sat on a nearby chair and looked down at the metal helmet in his hand. "None of us even expected to survive to see Christmas that year. Even if I'd ended up being a dirt poor potato farmer, I'd still know what I learned that year." He looked up to smile at CJ.

They sat for a second, all eyes on the helmet Davenport turned in his hands.

"We lost nine times the men in the Battle of the Bulge than on D-Day," CJ said quietly.

"Wow... I didn't know that," Blair said.

CJ set the helmet down and stood with a grunt. "Yep, that's why I do these reunions and get a little attention from the press. Which reminds me... this reporter is due anytime now."

"When does the reunion officially start?" Jim asked.

"Saturday, but I expect some of the men to start appearing about the middle of the week," Davenport said.

"Can I get a list of names from you today? I still think the arson might have something to do with this reunion," Jim said. "Nothing else makes any sense."

"Sure, I'll get it from my office. I have a box in there I need to bring out anyway," the old man replied.

"I'll go with you and carry the box." Blair offered, jumping down from the ladder and following the man out of the room.

"Jimmy, look at this," CJ said. "The diary."

It was small and about an inch thick. The pages were stiff with age, the edges starting to yellow. It was bound in brown, rough looking cloth. CJ opened it carefully to expose the hand written notes on the lined pages. It would take hours to read through it all.

"Maybe Davenport would let you make a photocopy," Jim suggested.

"Good idea, although Sarge may have promised not to do so, I'll have to ask." CJ turned a few pages. "If I'm right, the writer of this book could be the German spy."

"What happened to him?"

"He died back in the sixties of a heart attack. I did some research; his family is big in politics. His grandson is running on a democratic ticket for a position in Congress. There's talk of grooming him for the White House." CJ met Jim's gaze. "Wouldn't it blow a few minds to find out they had a traitor in the family tree?"

Jim nodded, it would.

"Look who we found," Davenport announced entering the room with Blair and a stranger holding an expensive looking camera in one hand. "Our reporter has arrived."

The newcomer was large and about Jim's age. He walked like an athlete, his upper body strong as if he worked out regularly. A press pass hung around his neck.

"This is Lenny Maddox from Newsweek. And these wonderful volunteers are CJ, Jim and you've already met Blair," Davenport finished his introductions. "Where do you want to start?"

"I'd like to see some of the exhibits and maybe take a few shots, then we need to find a quiet spot for the interview," the reporter said, eyeing the diary in CJ's hands.

Jim's cop instincts suddenly became alert. That voice...

"Something wrong?" the reporter asked, seeing Jim's reaction.

"Do we know each other?" Jim asked.

"I don't think so..."

The coin dropped.

"Any chance you were in Cascade's Greyhound station a few days ago?" Jim asked calmly.

The reaction was instantaneous. With a strong shove, Maddox sent Davenport's large body towards Jim and turned to run, only to find himself face to face with Blair. Blair stood firmly in the doorway, ready to stop the larger man from escaping. It looked like a mouse trying to prevent an elephant from charging. Jim had his hands full with a rich, overweight, old man and couldn't move to help.

"Sandburg, don't!" Jim ordered, fearful of what Maddox would do.

Maddox suddenly raised a stiff arm towards his new adversary. Blair moved to duck, but was slow, a hiss of gas caused Blair to fall back, hands flying to his face as the reporter shoved him aside and ran.

Davenport found his balance now, moving out of Jim's path. Blinded by the gas, Blair backed away as Jim neared, tears streamed down each cheek. Jim caught a whiff of the gas and recognized the chemically sharp bite of pepper mace. "Sandburg..."

"No! Stay back, man. You can't get near." Blair stumbled further away, one hand out to keep the cop back.

CJ appeared at Jim's side, ready to help.

"CJ, take care of him, flush his eyes with water, lots of water! I'm going after Maddox." Jim ran for the door. "And keep Sandburg here!" He tore through the clubhouse toward the main exit.

A young waitress stood staring out a rear exit. Jim changed direction to follow. Rain was falling hard outside. Jim swept the green lawn of the golf course, no sign of Maddox. The rain clouds hung low in the sky, making the visibility limited. The parking lot was on the opposite side of the clubhouse and Jim ran towards it, believing the other man would be going for his car.

He was right, but Maddox had taken the longer way around the building and Jim reached the parking lot ahead of him. Spying the cop blocking his route, Maddox turned and ran back out into the golf course. Jim took off after him.

Maddox was a fast runner. Jim kept him in sight, neither falling back nor gaining. By the sounds ahead, they were nearing the cliffs. Jim judged the direction his quarry would take and changed his angle to try and shorten the distance between them.

It worked. As Maddox reached the cliffs, he turned south without looking over his shoulder and Jim was able to tackle him when Maddox was forced to slow due to the rough terrain. They rolled over the ground.

"Cascade Police. You're under arrest, Maddox," Jim shouted as they both scrambled to their feet.

Maddox was not wasting any strength with a response; he squared off, ready to fight for his freedom. Jim dodged the first swing, and managed to block the left fist. Committed to taking down the criminal by force, Jim struck a solid punch of his own.

Maddox proved to be equal in every way, his skill in hand to hand obviously well learned. They traded blows, neither man getting an upper hand. Jim's breath became ragged. He needed to take this guy down... and soon.

Their fight brought them near the edge of a drop off - a large hole about fifty feet from the actual edge of the cliff. At one time it had been a sea cave, until the ceiling had caved in. Jim could hear the water entering through the original opening into the cave and splashing over the floor.

Suddenly, Maddox's foot slipped on the loose rocks scattered near the edge. Without thinking, Jim grabbed Maddox's arm to keep him from falling. Maddox turned the act of mercy into an opportunity to win the fight. Jim felt his arm jerked towards the cavern and he tightened his own hold on Maddox to prevent from going in.

As it turned out, they both fell in.

A moment of flying ended all too soon. Jim hit hard, but much of his body was cushioned by landing on Maddox. An intense flash of pain in his right leg caused his vision to gray for a second. When he could think and see clearly again, he eased himself off Maddox. The reporter was still, not breathing; his neck twisted at a severe angle.

Blair was positive his eyes had been burned out of his skull.

"Hold still, damn it," Davenport ordered, directing the kitchen sink's nozzle to flow water over Blair's eyes. "Keep them open."

"We need... to go after Jim," Blair protested weakly. The first few minutes under the spray had been hell. It took both men to hold him in place. But finally, copious amounts of water began lessen the pain and he could feel the burning start to ease off.

"Jim said to keep you here," CJ said while holding Blair's head over the sink.

"He's alone!" Blair sputtered as water dribbled into his mouth. "I'm his back-up."

CJ and Davenport exchanged worried looks.

Managing to pull out from under CJ's hands, Blair stood straight and snatched a dish towel to dry his face, the burning tolerable. "We need to follow, it's been too long. Jim should be back by now."

CJ began to look uncertain. "You sure?"

"Hey, I've worked with Jim long enough to know how it works." Blair tried to spot the doorway out. Tears still filled his eyes, making his world a distorted blur. Judging the exit by the brighter light, he moved forward, only to hit a service cart and send it crashing into the counter. A steady hand took his elbow.

"Come on, Helen Keller. I'll go with you," CJ said.

Blair let CJ tow him into the parking lot. Outside the rain had reduced to a light drizzle.

"Maddox's car is still here, so is yours," CJ reported. "They must be on foot."

Blair blinked furiously, trying to get some vision back.

"Use your hearing, CJ."

CJ stood quietly for a few moments. "No... nothing. They must be too far away."

"No, you can do it, CJ. You're part of the reason Jim's a Sentinel." Blair bit his lip, he didn't have time to talk about dials, but CJ's hearing was the only way he could think to track Jim. "Okay, picture a large antenna dish, turn your body and think about projecting your hearing as far as you can. There are no obstacles in your way, similar to shooting a powerful searchlight out across the countryside." As Blair spoke, he watched a blurry CJ close his eyes and turn, the older man's face a study in concentration.

He waited silently, letting the man cast out his hearing. "I think... I think I can hear Jim. He's calling for help."

"Which way?" Blair demanded.

"Towards the water." CJ headed out across the lush green turf of the golf course.

Blair trotted after him, getting four steps before falling to his hands and knees when his foot caught a short stake in the ground, marking a freshly planted, young shrub. CJ returned to help him up.

"You can't see?"

"I'm getting better," Blair said. "It's just blurry."

"Stay close."

"That was my plan," Blair admitted.

Jim had a major problem. It wasn't the fact his leg was broken, although the pain did have a way of getting his attention. No, Jim's real problem was the flood tide. Which meant it was coming in - and fast. The roofless cave was oblong, about twenty-five by fifty feet. The floor sloped up at one end, littered with rocks and driftwood carried in by the tide. The walls were thirty feet high, sheer and concave, making it impossible to climb out - even if Jim had two good legs. He had briefly considered swimming through the underwater opening, but moving his broken leg had almost caused him to blackout.

Another wave entered the ruined cave and washed over him. It picked up Maddox's body, bumping him against Jim's leg and bringing a grunt of pain. He dragged himself to the highest part of the cave, buying a few more minutes of dry ground. His call for help bounced around the wet walls before lifting up and out.

"Jim?"

Jim looked up at the patch of gray sky. "Blair?" he shouted.

"Jim! We're coming! Where are you?"

"I'm in a cave by the cliff! Watch your step!"

First CJ's, then Blair's head appeared.

"Jimmy? You okay?" CJ called down.

"I'm better off than Maddox. But it's going to take a rope to get me out," Jim said.

CJ turned to Blair. "I'll run back and see if Sarge has a rope."

"Jim, we're going to get you out," Blair said after CJ left.

"Good," Jim said watching another wave enter the cave and carry Maddox's body several feet. At this rate, he was going to be very wet, very soon. Glancing upward again, he saw Blair had moved. "Be careful, Sandburg. I can tell you the first step is not pleasurable."

"Don't worry, Jim. I see a better way down," Blair answered.

"No! Don't try it, Chief," Jim ordered.

Blair acted as if he hadn't heard, or didn't want to. The younger man dropped to sit on the edge, then rolled over to his stomach, using an exposed root to try and lower himself down. But the root only reached five feet from the top. It looked too small to support a child, let alone Blair.

"Sandburg, you're going to..."

With a loud crack, the root broke and Blair dropped into the waist-high saltwater.

"... fall," Jim finished with a groan.

Blair stood, spitting water. A wave, the largest one yet, boiled up behind him and knocked him face first into the cave wall.

"Blair!" Jim shouted, trying to push himself up onto one good knee but getting knocked over by the same wave.

The water receded. Jim waited for the pain in his leg to do the same before speaking again. Blair was moving, working his way to Jim's side. A gash above his eye trickled a small ribbon of red down his face.

"Chief, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, pausing when Maddox's body floated by. "Uh... is he..."

"Yeah," Jim said. "Get over here before the next wave finishes you off."

Blair waded to Jim's side. "I remember seeing one of these in Oregon, Jim. It was called `The Devil's Punchbowl." I had no idea there was one up here."

"I'd have preferred not to be occupying this one with you, Darwin. What were you thinking?" Jim growled.

"You're going to need this leg splinted, Jim. CJ's getting us a rope and he'll bring help, we'll get out," Blair said, sounding certain as he searched the wet ground.

"What are you looking for?"

"Stuff to splint your leg. We already covered this, man. Did you hit your head or something?" Blair picked two sturdy looking pieces of wood about the same length and returned to Jim's side. "This may hurt. I'll try and be gentle."

"Do you know what you're doing?" Jim asked nervously.

Another wave entered the cave and Blair moved to block Jim's leg from the surge. The water sluiced over the top, submerging him for a moment, leaving him soaked to the skin, his long hair looking like strands of seaweed around his face.

"Man! That's cold!" Blair exclaimed loudly. "Let's get this done before the next one hits."

Producing a roll of electrical tape from his jacket, Blair fashioned the splint. Using the wood, he managed to immobilize Jim's leg from ankle to knee. Jim had to admit, it wasn't bad. When the next huge wave hit and withdrew, they sat in six inches of water. Blair circled his arms around Jim's chest and pulled him as far up the cave floor as possible, then dropped down to sit in the water at his side.

"CJ should be back soon, Jim." His teeth chattered from cold.

Jim couldn't hear anyone approaching. Maybe it was the pain, maybe the way the sound of the waves echoed in the cave, but it didn't look very promising. "How'd you two find me?"

"It was so cool, Jim," Blair said, his face lighting up. "CJ tracked you with his hearing. At first he couldn't hear you, but he tried again and he said he heard you calling out."

"A whole new chapter for your paper," Jim teased.

"Maybe, here comes another one," Blair said as they braced themselves against the wave.

Because the original cave opening was underwater, each new wave boiled up from below like a witch's cauldron. It was a frightening sight to behold, especially when you were sitting inside. The new level reached their necks, breaking free a large piece of drift wood, flicking it with the same ease a person would a toothpick.

Blair scrambled to his feet and pulled Jim up to stand next to him. "Any idea what high tide is today, man?" he asked, a trace of fear in his voice.

"No clue," Jim circled an arm around the younger man's shoulders to steady himself. "So, how is it you carry around a roll of electrical tape?"

"Uh... I stuck it in my pocket when I was working on the lighting," Blair said. "Too bad I didn't pocket a hammer and a bag of nails. We've got enough wood in here to build a ladder."

The sea water was churning around them now, each wave bringing the water higher and higher. Jim would have fallen several times if not for Blair's help. But the force of the water was getting stronger, causing both men to bounce painfully off the rock wall.

"Blair, there's a chance you could swim out through the cave opening," Jim suggested as the water reached his waist.

"Not going to happen, Jim," Blair said pushing a heavy length of drift wood away with one hand.

"Jimmy! Blair!"

"Yes!" Blair breathed looking towards the patch of sky.

CJ's head appeared followed by the two workers from the clubhouse.

But the sight that made Jim's heart sing was the end of the strong looking, manila utility rope that hit the water in front of them. He grabbed it with both hands, trusting Blair to keep him from falling over. Wasting no time, he fashioned a double looped knot, large enough for a man to slip each leg into the loops and use as a seat.

"Here, Sandburg. Step into this."

Blair looked at him in disbelief. "Jim, you're going up first, not me."

"Don't argue, Blair. Just get in," Jim ordered.

Blair grabbed the rope and shook it in Jim's face. "Listen to me, you big, macho super-cop jerk! You are going up first! Got it? NOT me! YOU! Now quit wasting time we don't have and get in!"

Jim was rocked back by another wave and his friend's fury. The water reached the middle of Blair's chest now. He could feel his friend's body temperature dropping. He was right, they didn't have time. "Well, since you asked me so nicely," Jim muttered sarcastically as he grabbed the rope back. "I'm going to need help."

"I'll get it on your legs; just pull yourself up with the rope," Blair said.

In seconds Jim was in the improvised seat. Taking some slack, he wrapped it around his chest and folded the rope to tie it off. "Watch how this works, Sandburg." He hoped Blair would learn the mechanics of the rescue knot to retie on himself when his turn came.

"You'll have to teach me this knot when we get time," Blair said, his earlier anger gone.

"Tell you what, when we get back to the loft, I'll show you the handcuff knot and we'll see how long it takes you to get free," Jim promised finishing the knot to his satisfaction.

Blair snorted, waiting for Jim to finish before looking up. "Pull!" As Jim began to rise up out of the water, he gave Blair an encouraging smile. "See you topside."

Blair nodded, his attention fixed on Jim as he ascended.

"And we'll talk about which one of us is a macho jerk," Jim added, causing Blair to smirk.

Using his arms, Jim pushed off the wall to keep his injured leg from hitting. Soon, hands grabbed his coat and he was onto dry land. Even before they finished pulling him back from the edge, Jim tugged at the knot around his chest. "Quick, get this off and lower it for Blair!"

They did and CJ tossed the rope back down. Jim scooted on his butt back to the edge, rolling onto his stomach to peer over. Blair was swimming now, trying to keep away from the walls; but the water shoved him around like dirty clothes in a large washing machine. If even one of those large floating logs hit him, it could break his spine in two. CJ's first cast hit the water and floated away. He quickly pulled it up and threw it. The rope landed within Blair's reach.

One of the workers groaned. "He cannot see it," he said with a thick Mexican accent.

"Sandburg! Grab the rope!" Jim shouted watching the second cast sink unnoticed. Blair was doing all he could to keep his head above water. Catching a brief look at Blair's face in the water, Jim could see the problem, a second lump protruded on his forehead. Jim smacked the ground with a fist. His partner must have bounced his face off the rock wall again.

Blair was barely conscious.

Jim was so intent on watching Blair; he was startled when a large form dropped into the water with a splash. He looked over his shoulder and took inventory; the two workers from the golf course stood by themselves, holding the rope. A flash of fear chilled his already cold chest.

CJ!

Inside the cauldron, his grandfather surfaced within an arm's length from Blair. The look on CJ's face reminded Jim of the water's temperature. God, the shock alone could stop the old man's heart, but CJ proved Jim's fear unnecessary as he reached out to pull Blair close. CJ's arm was already threaded through the rope's loop. Now CJ was sliding Blair's arm through the other loop and slipping his free arm around Blair's middle in a one armed hug.

Blair seemed oblivious to what was happening.

"Pull!" CJ shouted at them.

They were one man short and over twice the weight to haul up. Jim wasn't sure the rope would take the strain. It was a common utility rope, not a specialized rescue rope favored by fire departments or used by rock climbers. But the workers seemed eager to try, their strong muscles flexing. CJ and Blair moved to a position directly beneath them and started to lift out of the swirling, foamy water. When they were about waist high, they stopped.

Jim looked back at the workers, they were giving it everything they had, but it wasn't going to be enough. Ignoring the pain from his leg, Jim crawled closer and added his efforts. Lifting nearly four hundred pounds of weight without the use of your lower body was impossible, even for a man with Jim's strength.

They needed help.

"Blair! Hold on!" CJ said from below.

Jim could hear the panic in his grandfather's voice. Blair was slipping back into the water.

No!

A particularly strong wave boiled up from below and the rope became slack in Jim's hands for a second.

"Pull!" Jim bellowed, grabbing hand over fist as the water gave them leverage they never would be able to take otherwise.

Blair's head lolled on CJ's shoulder and Jim could see the fingers gripping the rope just below his grandfather's hand. His other arm tightened around CJ's waist. Was Blair waking up? The level of the water dropped slightly and the brutal weight was back on the rope, causing the first worker to slide towards the edge.

"Hold them till we get set up!" a new voice ordered with authority.

Jim looked up in surprise. Help had arrived in the form of two county deputies and four firefighters carrying large soft sided bags with the words `High Angle Rescue' stenciled on the side. He felt like cheering, but didn't dare - knowing it would come out more like a sob. Besides, he didn't have any extra strength right now.

The firefighter in charge peered over the edge carefully, frowning at the rope in use. "Wade, set up. We'll lower you down."

In seconds Wade descended, wearing a helmet and a bright orange harness attached by heavy-duty carabineers to a static rope. A pulley set-up made it easy for his co-workers to lower him. The two cops backed up the workers, adding their strength and allowing Jim to release his hold to watch. Wade was alongside CJ and slipped an extra harness around Blair. Once the buckles were tightened and tested, the man attached Blair to his own rope and snaked an arm around the semiconscious man before giving the signal to be lifted up.

Jim held his breath, as if the slightest air movement would bring another mishap upon the rescue. Blair's wet, limp body reached the edge and was gently lifted to safety. His skin was pale, he'd stopped shivering. CJ was pulled up on his original rope with Wade alongside to assist.

Then before he knew it - folks were grinning and slapping each other's back. Jim had gone from `Blair was not going to make it' to `emergency is over' so fast, he felt dizzy and fought the sudden urge to throw up. His entire body was shaking from the cold that wrapped around his bones and numbed his hands and feet. There was a virtual crowd around them. He could see Davenport on the fringe talking with CJ and reasoned the man must have made the call for help. Blair was being wrapped in heavy blankets and strapped to a long board.

"Let's move you back away from the edge, okay?" a firefighter said, appearing at Jim's side, then seeing the leg. "On second thought... let's get you a backboard."

Jim let his head fall forward, his forehead on his arm. If it was okay with the world, he was going to let someone else take over now. He just wanted to sleep.

Blair was a tolerant person. He understood some people's desire to listen to pulsating music as loud as possible. Heck, he sometimes did the same thing, at least until Jim got home from work. But if the person responsible for the loud drums didn't turn down the noise soon... Blair was going to get nasty.

He moved his head and groaned.

Okay, maybe he'd hire someone else to get nasty. Apparently, he broke his head.

"Sandburg? Can you open your eyes?"

`Sure, I could, Jim,' Blair thought. `But I'm not going to... it hurts.'

"Come on, kid. You've slept long enough."

`That's debatable.'

"The doctor went to get a huge needle, Chief. I think he has plans for your butt."

"Jerk..." "I thought I was a macho jerk."

`Uh oh, did I say that out loud?' Blair wondered. He cracked open one eye to see a smiling Jim Ellison, sitting next to his hospital bed. Oh, crap... he was in a hospital bed.

"We got out..." Blair muttered softly.

"We sure did. How do you feel? You haven't been very alert tonight."

"Head's pounding... but I'm warm, that part... is nice."

"I hear you. You took a few blows to the head. Apparently your charm doesn't work on driftwood in water, but the doc says you're X-rays look okay," Jim told him, leaning back in his chair.

"How's the leg?"

"I've picked out a nice blue cast. It'll be fine," Jim said, patting his cast as he spoke. "The hospital was impressed with your splint, by the way. They even asked me how many rolls of tape you ended up using."

The pounding was going away and he was starting to feel better; he risked moving an arm to rub his forehead. He was thirsty. Blair's thoughts rolled and moved in his mind, it was hard to keep on track. But Jim sounded chipper, so everything must be okay. A faint memory danced in the back of his mind and he struggled to bring it forward. "Did... did your grandfather jump in?"

"He did," Jim admitted. "Surprised the hell out of me, too. Turns out he's quite the swimmer, does a mile every chance he gets. Says it keeps him in shape."

A thin straw nudged Blair's lips; he opened his eyes to see Jim holding the glass for him. He pulled eagerly. The water tasted good, great in fact and Blair enjoyed the fact it was salt free. He'd swallowed enough seawater to last him a lifetime.

"You going to stay awake long enough for the doctor to check you out? I was just kidding about the needle."

Blair smiled, unaware until now that his eyelids had closed again. "No... you tell him hi for me," he muttered before drifting back to sleep.

CJ entered the darkened hospital room balancing two coffees in one hand. He wore a baggy set of overalls and a heavy cotton sweater borrowed from Davenport. He transferred the top coffee to his right hand and handed it to Jim. His eyes swept the still form in the bed.

"He woke up," CJ said, lowering himself into a seat next to Jim, who wore matching overalls.

"Just for a second, he seemed okay. Remembered you in the water with him," Jim answered before blowing on the dark brew.

"I'm surprised, he wasn't very lucid," CJ commented.

Jim studied his grandfather a moment. This man was in his early seventies, in relatively good health, but still... he had jumped into dangerous waters to save a man he'd only known for a few days. It was like seeing his grandfather for the first time.

"CJ, don't take this wrong - because I owe you in ways you can't imagine - but, why did you jump in?" Jim asked softly.

CJ turned in surprise. "Jimmy, I like Blair. I'm not going to stand by and watch him drown. Besides, I could tell you were getting ready to do the same. You'd have to be an idiot not to see what he means to you."

Jim felt a smile break out on his face, unable to stop it, not even wanting to. "I can see why Davenport sings your praises. It would have been a real privilege to have served with you."

To Jim's surprise, his grandfather blushed, then laughed quietly. "I've got to admit, when I hit that water... I wondered if I was going to do any good. You would have had two men to save."

"Yeah, that water was cold," Jim agreed. "I may never be able to father any children."

CJ snorted coffee out of his nose.

They were still laughing when Davenport entered the room. Blair had been put in a room with two beds, thankfully, the far bed was empty. Since both the chairs were occupied, Davenport rested his bulk on the edge of the empty bed. He glanced at Blair sleeping peacefully before frowning at the grandfather and grandson.

"You two trying to wake this kid up?" he asked.

"He's already been awake, went back to sleep and been checked out by the doc," Jim said cheerfully. "Did you call my boss?"

"I did," Davenport said. "He's driving up in the morning. He wanted to come up tonight, but I talked him out of it."

"I'm impressed, no easy feat." Jim sighed. Piles of paperwork loomed in his near future. A suspect was dead, granted, by his own doing, but still - Simon tended to frown on such things. And they still didn't know why he'd arranged to have the gallery burned down.

As if he could read Jim's mind, CJ spoke. "I wonder why he ran."

"He was the other voice on the tape that alerted us to the pending arson job," Jim explained.

"Maddox hired some guy to burn down my gallery?" Davenport asked angrily. "Why?"

"If we knew that..." Jim said, shrugging.

"It's got to have something to do with that paperwork we were working on. This all started when word got out it had been found. Someone is trying to destroy any chance of finding evidence of German espionage in forty-four," CJ said with feeling.

"But who?" Davenport asked, folding his arms over his wide chest.

"I need to finish looking through those papers, I know it's there," CJ insisted earnestly.

"Relax, soldier. You can look to your heart's content. The papers are safe. I locked them up before leaving for the hospital."

CJ turned to Jim. "Maddox's body is being recovered by the sheriff's office. They wanted to wait for the tide to ebb. He's probably out by now, maybe this will make more sense when we find out who he really is."

Jim nodded. "Maybe... look, you guys, Sandburg is going to sleep through the night." Jim was tired and stuck without a car. He wasn't willing to leave Blair, but he didn't want CJ to have to hang around all night either.

Davenport held up a plump hand. "I've already talked to the hospital staff; it's amazing how nice they are to you when you're on the hospital board of directors. Jim, this bed is yours for tonight. CJ, you're coming home with me for tonight. If you want, we'll pick up the papers on the way. Banks will be driving you two back in the morning."

After CJ bid his grandson goodnight and left, Jim checked Blair one last time. Blair looked peaceful, his skin pink and warm looking. His broad forehead was marred by three neat sutures and an ugly contusion; the only evidence of the time he spent in the turbulent waters. Knowing he was looking forward to a night of hourly interruptions and constant noise, he stripped out of his clothes and crawled between the sheets. Blair's soft snores dropped him into instant sleep.

Simon arrived before seven the next morning. He walked into the room with a duffle bag filled with a full set of clothes for both Jim and Blair.

"I just had a lovely talk with the sheriff's office," he said by way of announcing his arrival.

"He died in the fall, Simon," Blair said. "It's not anybody's fault."

"I'm not saying it is, Sandburg," Simon explained, surprised at the protectiveness apparent in the younger man's voice. "I was referring to the guy's ID. He was a reporter of sorts, but not with Newsweek."

Jim sat up in bed, happy to see familiar clothes as he reached for the bag. "Who was he?"

"The Fed's say he's a high price thief for hire. More aliases than I have favorite cigar brands. They matched him by the fingerprints only. No one's ever been able to get a picture. They'll have fun tracking down everything they can on him." He eyed Jim's leg. "How do you feel, Jim?"

"Not bad, I may never be able to do laundry again. I dreamed I was stuck in the wash cycle all night," Jim joked.

Blair chuckled from his bed. "At least you got to sleep, how many times does a person need his vitals checked anyway?"

"When that person has a head injury, once every hour," Jim told him, tossing the bag with Blair's clothes onto the other bed. Blair hooked a strap and dragged it near.

"Thanks, Simon."

"You're welcome, Sandburg. So, any idea what this thief was after?"

"I think the answer is with Davenport and CJ right now. Would you take us down to the clubhouse? We can look over the papers there." Jim finished buttoning his shirt and looked at the jeans that Simon had packed for him. "Why did you have to bring my newest jeans?" he moaned.

Simon had his pocket knife out and grinned at the jeans. "Consider it payback, Detective. I nearly had a heart attack when Davenport told me you two were nearly drowned in a sea cave. Here, allow me."

Blair laughed at the look on Jim's face as Simon cut into the leg seam of the jeans.

They arrived back at the clubhouse in time for lunch. After hearing about the fine food Jim and Blair had already enjoyed, Simon was ready. He rubbed his hands happily at the thought of getting to eat at the rich man's table. They slowly walked towards the large clubhouse, allowing Jim time to maneuver on the rented crutches.

"Jim! How are you feeling? Blair, you look a lot better then the last time we saw you!" Davenport was wearing cream corduroys and a thick light blue cashmere sweater. "You must be Simon Banks, a pleasure to meet you, sir. Anyone that has these two fine men under his command has my instant respect."

Blair rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with his roommate. Jim answered with a smirk. Simon got the impression Davenport could charm a politician out of his tax shelter when he set his mind to it.

"Thank you. I appreciate all you've done for my men," Simon answered, missing the look of surprise that comment brought to Blair's face.

"You're all in time for lunch. Come in, come in. CJ's overdue for a break; he's been doing nothing but reading for hours now."

Eyeing the food spread out on a long table, Simon's mouth watered. It had everything a person could want, unless you were a vegetarian, that is. Every meat possible was on display. Beef, pork, lamb, chicken, turkey had been sliced and laid out on beds of lettuce over trays filled with ice, followed by six different types of sliced cheese and half a dozen mustards and mayonnaises. The head of the table was piled with stacks of hoagie rolls and flakey croissants, ready to fill. Bowls of potato chips sat at the end, at least five different varieties.

"Unfortunately, it's only sandwiches today. Sunday's are casual for us," Davenport told them.

CJ wandered into the room, rubbing his eyes with one hand as if they ached, an action Jim saw Blair do a lot. "Jimmy! Blair! You two look much better today," he said, warmly clapping a hand on both men's shoulders. "Is it time to eat? Great!"

Blair insisted on making Jim's sandwich for him.

"Sandburg, could you manage to fix my sandwich without the snide comments?" Jim asked.

"Jim, I'm just saying a little less red meat wouldn't hurt you. Look at this chicken and turkey! Yum, yum, man." Blair waved a slice of white meat in front of Jim's face invitingly.

"I'm gonna yum yum you in a second, Darwin," Jim threatened, pointing to the beef. "I want that."

"Do they ever stop?" Davenport asked Simon as the three older men headed towards a table by the far windows.

"Not that I can tell," Simon told them. "The stories I could tell you guys."

"Why don't you come to the reunion next Saturday?" Davenport suggested. "We have the room. Bring a guest, maybe your wife?"

Simon shook his head. "I'm separated, but my son may enjoy seeing your collection. He's studying the war in school right now. I know he'd enjoy getting out for a day. He's sort of grounded at the moment... for about a month." Simon set his plate on the table and took his seat. Flicking out the linen napkin and draping it across his thighs, he turned to CJ. "Jim says you're researching some new information regarding World War Two. Any luck yet?"

"No," CJ admitted glumly. "I've read everything over twice, I can't find anything that would justify that reporter's actions."

"My uncle served in the war," Simon said, a familiar feeling of pride swelling in his chest. "Served in an all black company in France."

"I remember several black companies, tough fighters," CJ said. He looked at Davenport. "Remember Cahill?"

"Yeah," Davenport answered. "Hell of a man."

Blair arrived setting a large hoagie sandwich down in front of an empty chair for Jim. "That was fun...not. Now, I'm going to go make a healthy lunch and show you all how it's done."

"You do that, Junior. I'm going to eat this trifle you call a sandwich, then go build me another... my way," Jim retorted as he leaned his crutches against the wall and sat down.

Simon checked out the man's sandwich. "Jim, there's plenty of beef on there. What are you talking about?"

"I know, just don't tell Sandburg," Jim whispered, picking up the large creation and taking a big bite.

"I heard that, man," Blair called out from the table.

After lunch, CJ led the way back to the exhibit room. Davenport unlocked the doors while nodding to the armed security pair sitting nearby. "I've got a second team patrolling the grounds."

"Wise precaution," Simon said.

Inside the room, the papers were spread out on a large table in the middle of the room. "Why don't we each take a stack and see if anything catches our eye," Davenport suggested. "CJ and I have been working all morning, but a new perspective may help."

Simon picked up the journal. "You say all of this stuff came from Eisenhower's aide?"

"Yes, a Captain named Robert Clements. He worked with Ike for about five years before moving on to another position. He took care of personal correspondence and day-to-day issues for the general. Near as I can tell, most of this stuff is requests for things like office supplies and such," CJ said, scratching his head as he eyed the papers. "I was hoping for some proof he was involved in misinformation."

They each took a chair and started going through the paperwork. Simon found the information fascinating, but like CJ, could not find anything of use for his cause. As each paper or document was read, the reader passed it off to the person next to him.

After a few hours, Simon stood and stretched his back, ready for a break. Davenport had left to take a phone call in his office.

"What if we're going about this all wrong?" Simon suggested. "Maybe what we're looking for isn't intended for anyone to read."

"You mean, like a hidden message?" Blair asked, setting the journal aside. "Invisible ink?"

Simon shook his head. "No, although I wouldn't be surprised... I'm thinking about something hidden inside. We've got ledgers, bank books and journals; maybe it's inside the binding."

Jim picked up Clements' personal journal, opening it up to examine the cover. "It's a normal looking cloth binding. We'd be destroying them if we started opening them up."

Blair leaned over to examine the book in Jim's hand. "What about feel, Jim. Try seeing if the front and back are the same thickness."

Jim compared the two hard boards of the book. "You know, I think you're right. The back board is about a page thicker."

"Oh, man. Do you know how thin a page is?" Blair asked excitedly. "That's great, Jim."

"It may be nothing, Sandburg," Jim warned. "It might just be the way the book was made."

"Let me see it, Jimmy," CJ requested. He held the book close to his face. "There's a small tear near the spine on the inside."

"That's it! It tore when he re-glued it," Blair exclaimed, popping out of his chair.

Davenport entered, seeing the excitement in the room. "You found something?"

"Maybe," CJ said. "But we'd have to remove the paste-down on the back board of the journal."

Davenport looked dubious. "I guaranteed the safety of all this memorabilia..."

"We could try steam. Maybe it will loosen the glue enough to let us peek under the cloth," Blair said.

Simon watched as Davenport gave that some thought, avoiding CJ's eyes. Glancing over at CJ, Simon could understand why. CJ looked like a man, who after waiting all his life for freedom, was gazing upon his rescuer holding the key. Simon shook his head. If he was Davenport, he'd have given in, in a heartbeat.

"Well... if you think we can do it without damaging the book," Davenport said slowly.

Blair flashed CJ a brilliant smile as the two raised their hands in a high five.

In the kitchen, the cook set a large tea kettle on the stove. Soon the steam was shooting out the opening. Wearing thick oven mitts that Jim had insisted on, Blair held the journal over the steam, moving it back and forth so the wet heat hit the inside cover.

"Okay, let me check." Jim said from his position by the stainless-steel table top the cook used for meal preparation.

"Just another second, Jim," Blair said.

After another twenty seconds, he brought Jim the book. Davenport had procured a set of tweezers from one of his waitresses. Jim carefully pried up the glued down cloth. CJ stood ready with a small flashlight.

"Okay, give her a look," Jim said.

CJ leaned over and peered under the lifted flap. His hands were shaking slightly. Simon bit his lip, the tension becoming almost too much to bear.

"There is something inside," CJ muttered in awe.

"Oh, wow..." Blair whispered.

Simon looked around for something small enough to use to get the paper out. A nearby crock sat on the counter, filled with different cooking utensils. Taking out a thin pastry spatula and a frosting knife, he handed them over to the old man. "Here, CJ. Try these."

A heart surgeon couldn't have been more careful. CJ gently worked the slip of paper out from beneath the cloth. It measured four by two inches, folded in half. They crowded around. With an unspoken agreement, no one tried to unfold the thin, onionskin paper; knowing the task belonged to CJ.

The paper was stiff with age and Simon wondered if it would crack apart, but it didn't. CJ gently held it open at the corners and cleared his voice to read the words out loud. From what Simon could see, it looked like an old fashion telegram notice.

"November twenty-nine, nineteen forty-four.

General Eisenhower, stop.

Sepp Dietrich tells of secret movement by the Sixth SS Panzer Army in the forest of Belgium and Luxembourg, stop. I have also told SHAEF, stop. I fear they are planning a large attack, stop.

Your loyal Ally, Megan, stop."

"Wow, this is it," Blair said, his eyes shinning with excitement that echoed in Simon's chest. "This is the proof you need, right?"

CJ nodded. "It will help. I can get some attention with this," he said quietly.

"Do you know who this Megan was?" Simon asked.

"The Irish wife of a top Hungarian diplomat; she was also an Allied spy. She went to social parties in Berlin with her husband and chatted up the German Generals - it didn't hurt that she was beautiful, and half the age of most of the men there - then she'd report what she'd learned." A broad smile broke over CJ's face. "Damn, Sarge. They're going to have to listen to me now!"

Jim worked the long chopstick into his cast, reaching the itch that had been tormenting him on and off all day. The reunion was in full swing. Men and women mingled with each other, laughing and commenting on the artfully displayed memorabilia placed through out the room. The dinner buffet had left him stuffed and content.

"Here, Jim." Blair handed him a tall glass of dark amber ale with a thick head of foam. Being driven around had unexpected advantages. He didn't have to worry about becoming the designated driver.

"CJ looks like he's having fun," Blair noted, nodding to the man in question.

Jim had to agree. He'd been keeping his eye on his grandfather all afternoon. It was a rare treat to see him loose and happy, still in a euphoric daze over the discovered telegraph. "Yeah, the army acted very interested when they heard about the telegraph. They couldn't get out here fast enough to see it."

"I know. And the way they interviewed CJ. Your grandfather looked so cool. I'll bet he taught an awesome college class. He sure knows his history," Blair said, sipping his green tea. "It's great that Davenport is going to work with him now. I was worried that Clements' family was going to try something else. I'm betting they hired Maddox to steal the journal. But why burn down the gallery?"

"Security. The gallery had state of the art security. Maddox probably thought he'd have an easier time stealing the journal from here," Jim said. "I did hear Clements' grandson is no longer running for Congress, stepped down due to health and family issues."

Blair snorted. "I'll bet."

"Blair! Jim! Did you see this exhibit about the tanks?" Darryl skidded to a stop in front of the seated pair. "See that guy over there with the blue jacket? He told me he took out a tank with nothing but a few grenades he stole off a German soldier! He said they told him and his company to surrender and they said, `Nuts'. Can you believe that? Nuts!" Darryl grinned, waving his hands in the air as he spoke. "I gotta find my dad. Did you know my dad's uncle was in World War Two?"

Blair opened his mouth to answer, but the young man was gone, moving like a video character stuck in fast forward. "Man, I think we're victims of a hit-an-run by one excited teenager," Blair said with a laugh.

"Check out Simon, he's looking pretty smug right now," Jim said as they watched the tall man listen to his son with pride. "I think we're looking at some father-son bonding going on."

Blair turned to study his friend. "Speaking of bonding...you and CJ stayed up pretty late last night."

Jim shrugged, reaching for the chopstick again. "Yeah, he and Davenport are going back to Washington DC. We spent last night clearing the air a bit."

"Anything resolved?" Blair asked.

"I think I have a clearer picture about why he was always gone. He regrets some of that, but I can understand his motivation. We're not that different, I guess," Jim admitted.

"I see a lot of him in you, that's for sure. Only I don't think you're going to get to keep as much hair when you reach his age...ow!" Blair rubbed the back of his head, glaring at his friend. "I'm still recovering from my injuries, man."

Jim set his drink down and pulled a length of clothesline out of his pocket. "That reminds me, Junior. We were going to work on our knots and have a little talk about following my orders..." Before Blair could move, he grabbed a wrist and held on tight. When it came down to strength, Jim knew he was superior. Besides, Blair wouldn't create a scene at Davenport's party.

"Hey, wait a minute, Jim. Let's talk about this!" Blair protested with a laugh.

"You never listen to me, Sandburg," Jim scolded. He wrapped a loop around the captured wrist and pulled it tight. "You got punched in the gut... fell through a rotted floor... a face full of mace..."

"No fair, man. That mace thing wasn't my fault!" Blair protested, trying ineffectively to break Jim's grip on him.

"You climbed into that sea cave the whole time I was telling you not to," Jim reminded him, successfully looping the other wrist.

"I always listen, Jim. I just don't always want to do what you say."

Jim finished the knot, holding the ends of the rope tightly with one hand. "Blair roping, one-oh-one."

"You're drunk!" Blair snorted with a laugh. "Let me go, you..."

"Macho super-cop jerk?" Jim asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I said I was sorry about that!" Blair protested, still amused. "Come on, man. This is not cool."

"Jim? Is there something you want to share?" CJ asked, appearing suddenly in front of them.

"I'm showing Sandburg some knots," Jim said simply.

"CJ, you gotta help me, Jim's over his limit," Blair sputtered with a laugh.

"Jim, I know we decided that Blair was very important to you in controlling your senses. But you can't get him to stay by tying him up. I'm pretty sure there are laws against that," CJ said firmly, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling.

"Oh, now you've done it, CJ," Jim moaned.

Blair sat perfectly still. "You guys talked about me last night? Cool! What did you say?"

"I told you not to say anything to him," Jim said in mock disgust. "I'm never going to hear the end of it now."

"Did he really say I was important, CJ? I can't get him to admit anything. I mean, I get him ear plugs and he doesn't even say thank you..."

"You're right, son," CJ said to Jim. "I've made a tactical error. You wouldn't by any chance have a gag to go with that handcuff knot, would you?"

The End

For this timeline to work, Jim's mother and grandfather were both very young when they started their families. I did the math, and I'm aware it's close. But hey - (shrug) - it's fiction. The WWII mystery is real; the facts about the Battle of the Bulge are real. The part about the general's aide being the spy was made up. Of course, CJ is not real. The books I used for my research are: Unexplained Mysteries of World War II by William B Breuer, Top Secret Projects of WWII by Jon C Halter, and Ardennes - the Secret War by Charles Whiting. I'd like you to believe I read all three from cover to cover, but I'd be fibbing. The parts I did read were fascinating, though and my admiration for the men and women that fought in WWII soared.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

Search for another story

[an error occurred while processing this directive]