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

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